#how the fuck do you sculpt something out of your own flesh when youre fucking dead tho

[maleficore]

Trying to come up with a more or less lore-accurate and believable way for baby Durge to be sprung into existence makes me want to tear my hair out

[rhysazriel]

Kinktober Day 4: Breast Play

A/N: Day 4 is here, and it's a little something with Az loving on your chest for a while. 18+ only!! Includes sexual themes and breast play!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Azriel decided he could stay like this for an eternity; curled on his side in bed, a hand cupping one of your full breasts, his mouth on the other.

You were flat on your back, completely bare beneath the pale moonlight as you allowed Azriel to play with you for a while. The House was quiet, silent almost, aside from the wet noises from Azriel's mouth.

His pink tongue peeked between his lips, licking at your pearled nipple. Your breathing hitched, hand finding his head as your fingers weaved through the dark tendrils.

His palm cupping the other one grew more ansty, squeezing harder until his fingers curled to greet your nipple and pinch.

"Az..."

His lips wrapped around the other, sucking the nub into his warm mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive bud, rolling it and suckling.

Instinctively, your chest raised against his mouth, chasing that feeling he offered. You could barely make out the outline of his frame, his large, strong wings stretching out to block the moonlight.

“Azriel…” you panted, fingers scratching at his scalp as you thread through his hair.

He pulled off your nipple. “Just let me love my beautiful girls for a while.”

You huff out a laugh, eyes crinkling. Az lapped at your breast again, kneading and palming at the supple flesh with his paw-like hands. The texture of his scarred skin against yours was delicious, a jolt of pleasure at every stroke.

“Gods,” he groaned, “you’ve got the best tits I’ve ever seen.” He pressed them together, loving how they spilled from his hold.

He looked up at you, a glimmer in those mischievous hazel eyes. You narrowed your gaze. “What?”

His thumbs brushed your nipples again, flicking. He didn't respond. Instead, Azriel stood from the bed, towering at the base of it with his wings spread wide.

If you thought that sight was glorious, you were certain you’d been sent to heaven when he dropped his pants and tore off his shirt. He stood there, legs spread with his cock achingly hard. His shadows darted around his body in excitement.

He was all muscle. Big thighs, strong arms, perfectly sculpted abdomen and chest. Azriel pressed a knee onto the bed and it dipped under his weight as he climbed up your body.

Your breathing was lodged in your throat, eyes wide at the sight of him. He had a leg on either side of you, holding up his weight as he shuffled closer. Kneeling above your stomach, he moved a few inches until his cock was level with your abused breasts.

Azriel palmed at your chest again, his thick cock sliding between them. He let out a hiss of pleasure. He pushed your breasts together, spitting down on his shaft as he rolled his hips.

Your own hips began to buck, realising what he was doing. But his shadows came out to pin the bottom half of your body to the bed, hindering any and all movement.

“You’re gonna let me fuck these beautiful tits—“ He picked up the pace, the tip of his cock nudging your lips where you chin rested on your clavicle, “—And then you’re gonna swallow my cum like a good girl.”

[grimesbunny]

when you sleep

cw dubcon. somnophelia. unprotected piv. dirty talk. prison era. secret relationship. not proofread idc.

the exhaustion festering inside rick’s bones takes the form of something more heady once his eyes adjust enough in the darkness to make out your sleeping form. clad in just his shirt and your cotton panties, rounded, plump flesh peeking out just enough to feel purposely teasing. it takes everything in him to constrain his groan, cock quickly filling the front of his blood stained pants. you’re none the wiser— turned away from him on your stomach as slow breaths cause your chest to rise and fall rhythmically.

gently, he reaches over your figure, brushing your wild hair behind your ear to get a better look at your pretty face. the lack of ponytail or braid leads him to presume you fell asleep on accident, probably succumbing to restlessness after having been waiting for him all night. that thought is what has him reaching down to palm at his bulge.

“my sweet girl.” he coos lowly. his voice sounds gravelly to his own ears after having spent the majority of the journey back to the prison in silence. “so beautiful, aren’t you?”

it’s as if a magnetic force brings his lips to your cheek, his calloused hand to your hip. cant help himself.

the bed dips under the weight of his knee, sliding it where one of your legs is perched off to the side. his warm hands feel you up innocently at first, sculpting the dips and crevices of your pliant body. reveling in how soft. . . how alive you feel. “missed you so much. missed touchin you.”

his inhibitions falter the longer he sits there, hovering over you. breathing you in. he lets his hips fall slightly to catch the friction of your ass against his hard on.

“god.” he laughs out in disbelief at himself. “feel that baby? feel me throbbin for you in your sleep?”

he looks up for a reaction, any indication that you’re somehow consenting and enjoying this, because he doesn’t know if he can just stop here. he pins his hands on either side of you for leverage as he bucks into you. the side of his brain nagging at him for how perverted he’s being is overtaken by the part that’s chanting desperately for more.

“drive me crazy. make me need you so bad, don’t even have to try.” he grits out the misplaced blame, his thrusts becoming more deliberate. he’s chasing his own high, using your unconscious body to get off. humping you like a dog in heat.

one particularly rough thrust jostles you slightly, making you shift in your sleep. rick doesn’t stop, not even when a soft groan slips out of your mouth. not even when you blink awake.

“rick? is that you?” the mixture of confusion and innocence in your voice only spurs him on, his breathing growing heavier by the second.

“shhh, it’s me, baby.” he places another kiss onto your cheek, soothing your hair out of the way in attempt to comfort you. maybe coax you back to sleep. his lips trail down to your shoulder, the snap of his hips never faltering. “so soft, honey. how’s it that in a world like this, you still feel so fuckin soft?”

your next words sound more clear, more awake. you turn to look at him in the dark. his hair falling over his forehead, still fully clothed and unshowered from the run. the lustful glint that has turned his eyes almost completely black. “what’re you doing, rick?”

“i know, i know. fuck.” he’s sympathetic, even as his hand travels up your shirt. as it trails along your stomach, as it gropes the fat of your breast. you gasp, your own hand coming to weakly circle around his bulging bicep. as if you could ever fight him off. “can you feel how hard you made me?”

you don’t respond verbally, because rick doesn’t count whimpering into your pillow as a response, but you push your ass back to meet his thrusts, still meek from sleep. he groans out, long and throatily and low, a proud grin etched onto his lips.

“there’s my girl. d’you miss me too?” his breath tickles the shell of your ear, followed by a rougher kiss to your jaw. “waiting for me to get home and take you?”

you nod as best you can in your position, letting yourself bask in the pleasure of having him pressed against you. you’re leaking, soaking the spot where your groins connect. rick has to reach down and feel it.

“sure feels like you missed me.” he chuckles, cocky. the rough pads of his fingers dip into your panties from behind, sliding along your slippery folds. “fuckin’ say it.”

“missed you s’much, rick.” you whine through delirium and pleasure, bucking down into his hand involuntarily. “was getting worried.”

“poor thing. gonna make it up to you.” he hums absently. too lost in the feeling of you. your puffy mound, the scent of your hair. he dips a thick finger into your spongy entrance. “look at that, always open up nice and easy for me, huh? could slide right in.”

you instinctively clench around him at that. your thighs threaten to close— they would if it weren’t for the way his knee has rooted in between them. “yeah? want me to stuff this little pussy?”

you manage to squeak out your confirmation and he removes his hand, but the sound of his belt unraveling behind you is enough to make you whimper in anticipation.

“yeah, you need it just as bad as i do.” he states. he takes a pillow from beside your head, lifts your hips with one hand and slides it under you in one swift motion. it’s a position he’s taken you in several times, but neither of you have gotten used to just how deep it sends him. and it’s one of those nights where he needs to be as deep as possible, breach uncharted parts of you. “don’t you?”

you feel his spongy, thick tip press against your entrance in the dark and squeeze your eyes shut. he’s painfully hard at this point, and it takes every last bit of resilience from rick not to shove himself inside and pound your cervix until it’s bruised. of course, you would take whatever he gives you without complaint. but he’s not a barbarian.

“oh— mhm. need you, rick.” you confirm, though it feels like you’re speaking through cotton with how exhaustion and pleasure are playing tug of war inside you. it’s far from a lie. you need him in more ways than one, much like how the rest of the group needs him.

only this part of it, the one saved for when the two of you are alone, spoken through silent glances and subtle touches throughout the day— this is sacred. just between you.

“you’re gonna get me, honey.” he knees your thighs farther apart to make room and eases his way in. his ego soaks up your gasp at the intrusion, the stretch.

it winds him too, sends him toppling forward and landing with his hands pinned on either side of you for stability. he’ll never not marvel at how warm and tight you are inside, sucking him in like you never want him to pull out. it’s almost gotten you pregnant more than a few times.

“yeah, that’s it.” he groans, careful not to wake anyone in your cell block. the heavy weight of him envelopes you from behind, pressing you uncomfortably into the prison mattress. your bones are sure to be sore and bruised from it tomorrow, but all you can focus on is his voice, his breathing, his scent— his cock. filling and stretching you so nicely. curving enough to slot inside your stomach.

he’s grunting out strings of praises into your ear — “so fuckin’ perfect. takin’ care of me…” — and all you can manage out are mindless mewls, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. he doesn’t warn you before he cums inside, just fucks into you rapidly until you feel the warmth blossoming in your abdomen. it momentarily snaps you out of your entranced state, and you attempt blink back at him.

“rick, did you—”

“couldn’t find condoms, baby. i tried.” he sounds completely unfazed. he kisses your cheek one more time before he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. “go back to sleep.”

and with that, he rolls over next to you. it’s not seconds later that you hear snores falling from his mouth. you try your best to ignore the feeling of his come leaking out of you and close your eyes as you snuggle up next to him, knowing he’ll be out of your bed long before anyone else wakes up in the morning.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 5

Moniker: Alejandro Risk Level: Low. Alejandro has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Priest, cum, blood Safeword: Refer to first brief. It said you were agnostic in your file so reckoned you’d be ok with this one. Safeword out if you’re not, Ale won’t hold it against you - Price He is a benevolent God - Rudy

“Oh my child, are you ok?”

You had been given only a thin, white gown to wear and you knew he could see everything through it as you walked into the room. Inside there was a strange opulence to the space.

You hadn’t ever been inside a Catholic church, hadn’t considered that there would be so much violence staring down at you from the walls. You were caught staring at the 4th Station of the Cross, the way whoever had sculpted it had made the twist of limbs and the broken skin so visceral.

You could feel the stare of that figure twisted in pain on the cross, the weight of being judged a sinner.

You only froze for a moment, taking in Alejandro. He was handsome in a way that conveyed steadiness, safety. Those soft brown eyes were enough for you to launch yourself into his arms, sobbing explanations about your wickedness as he gently held you and ran a hand down your head in a gesture of comfort.

“There cordera perdido, you are safe. You are safe with Father Ale” he said, the low vibration of his voice soothing to you.

You could feel him through your dress and knew that you may as well have been naked for the very little modesty it provided, but you supposed he was a man of the cloth so to him sins of the flesh held no sway. His warm hands were on your shoulders then, applying pressure.

“You must kneel child, this is a house of God. We will absolve you of your sins and then all will be well.”

Your knees hit the floor and the air felt unbearably heavy. The priest tucked a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him from your knees.

“You must pray.”

Your hands clutched together in reverence, wanting to give this man what he wanted so he could deem you clean. Your head fell to your chest when his finger left, eyes squeezed shut and begging whatever deity would listen to help you. You were not a bad person, you were just doing your job, enjoying it so much was forgivable.

Something was pressed to your lips and your eyes shot open, the tip of his cock being fed to you by the priest now.

“Take this, all of you, and eat it. This is my body, given up for you” he said, eyes fixed on you.

They weren’t soft anymore, they looked crazed. When you tried to move you head away his other hand cupped the back of it, forcing his meat to press against your lips almost painfully before you opened your mouth to him. He did not push inside you, instead he started stroking himself.

“Confess.”

When you didn’t answer he smeared his pre-cum across your lips with the tip of his cock.

“Confess your wickedness so I may give you penance to earn forgiveness.”

“I… I let Soap lick me.”

“Where? You must be honest.”

“He licked my pussy.”

“More.”

“My clit. He put his tongue in my hole. Both of my holes.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

“Yes Father, I enjoyed it.”

He wanked himself off faster, his fingers brushing your mouth anytime his hand reached the tip.

“What else?”

“Farah took my virginity. I bled for her and came for her. I loved how Keegan leathered my ass and cunt with his hand. Rudy choked me on his cock and I wanted more, I wanted him to use me even while he was trying to fight his own urge to fuck my throat.”

It came out of you in a torrent, the confessions. It wasn’t even a week in and you were turning into someone who craved what these people did to you.

“Tongue out. You must find your release, only then can I give you your cleansing.”

You stuck your tongue out and played desperately with your clit. It was a quick and violent sort of orgasm and he pumped himself to release his holy seed for consumption upon your tongue. You wanted absolution, so you did not waste a drop.

He took a small vial from his robe. The liquid was viscous.

“Take this, all of you, and drink from it: for this is the chalice of my blood, the blood of the new and eternal covenant which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

This time he simply hooked a thumb between your teeth, forcing your mouth open and pouring the liquid in. You choked, trying to spit out the thick coppery tasting wine. He covered your mouth and cooed little praises, encouraging you until you swallowed it down. You thought you might have been crying. Was it from the warmth of forgiveness?

He was looking at you softly again, reverently, like you were the holy one.

“You are too sweet to serve penance to earn forgiveness, instead I give it freely to you. What happens to you in this place is my will and it is holy for you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes Father.”

Even as you came down from it all and he kissed you softly and handed you off to Price, you found some comfort in the act of someone telling you that you were not immoral for what was happening here. If you were ever to find religion, you think perhaps Ale would be a good God.

[voxofthevoid]

konnichiwa, vox-sama ✌️

it seems like everyone is having fun since wednesday, huh?

wanna join this club too if it's possible, pleasepleaseplease

what would i ask of you? jeez, tough choice + others' preferences are partly mine

- voyeurism

- hickeys/marks on skin

- causing and soothing the pain

- something sweet

thank you and your inner source of ideas 🩵

Y'know, I was thinking yesterday that you seemed to have missed this week's shenanigans. Good to see you!

I've picked snippets of ~200 words from four different fics.

There's voyeurism, joint shower, face slapping, and a marriage proposal, in that order. The last one is stealth angst because it's from the Amnesia Fic.

Voyeurism, ft. itagofushi from i can offer you a black-lit paradise

At least Itadori’s clearly not complaining. His hands are almost reverent as they slide down Gojou’s chest, palming the skin he fought so hard to bare. And there’s that same, damning familiarity drenching every touch. Fingers splaying wide, trying and failing to grasp the entire expanse of Gojou’s chest. Hands encircling the thick column of Gojou’s throat, a gesture that should by all rights be threatening somehow turned into hungry affection. Megumi doesn’t understand how or why Itadori touches Gojou like that, but he knows he doesn’t want to either.

He’s not surprised when he lifts his gaze and runs into nuclear blue.

“Don’t worry, Megumi,” Gojou murmurs, his voice too gentle to be trusted. “I’m sure you’ll pack on some meat there soon—ow! Yuuji.”

Megumi ignores the whine and the pout, staring at Itadori’s fingers clamped on Gojou’s nipples. They’re pink. He remembers that. Right now, they’re not even visible, swallowed by Itadori’s crushing grip.

He tugs, hard and mean.

Gojou just moans.

“Honestly,” Itadori sighs, pulling on the nipples again. “I don’t get why you’re being such an ass to Fushiguro.”

“He, uh, he likes it,” Gojou says absently, his mind clearly lodged in the flesh Itadori is bullying.

Hickeys/marks on skin, ft. goyuu from (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

Yuuji lets out a measured breath and goes to retrieve the soap. When he turns around, the sight of Satoru, every inch of his naked skin dripping wet, hits him like a freight train, and Yuuji doesn’t stop or even falter, but his face or body must do something because Satoru’s expression morphs into smug satisfaction. He leans against the tiled wall, head tilted back and chest thrust out to let the shower spray hit his chest and sluice down in gentler streams.

His pale skin almost glows under the bright bathroom lights, but it’s the reds and pinks littering his torso that take Yuuji’s breath away. All the bleeding stopped long ago, but the bite marks and bruises seem starker. It looks different like this—more real, more violent. Maybe because of the wetness or maybe because Satoru’s upright. Yuuji’s mouth grows hot, his teeth aching with want and his tongue thrumming with memory.

His eyes trail down, taking in the sculpted stomach marred by teeth and suction, the weirdly cute belly button, and the snowy trail of short hairs before landing and snagging on the metalwork between the legs.

Causing and soothing pain, ft. goyuu from (the euphoric taste of your tears) swallow it, darling

“It’s none of your business who I fuck.”

“You made it my business,” Yuuji tells him; he doesn’t say, You made yourself mine.

Satoru shudders like he heard it anyway, eyes going dark and hot.

But this boy has never wanted with grace.

“You just wanted an excuse to be a fucking pervert—”

Yuuji slaps him.

Satoru looks delicate, his features fine and fey, but he isn’t, not even a little, and Yuuji has always treated him like that. His hand impacts flesh hard enough to make his own palm sting, and Satoru’s head snaps to the side with a sound that reverberates in the air between them.

He doesn’t make a single sound. Yuuji’s palm print grows bright on his cheek.

Yuuji dips his head, pressing his cheek to Satoru’s.

It’s hot.

“Don’t provoke me,” Yuuji says softly. “I’m already giving you what you want. Don’t be greedy.”

Satoru says nothing, makes no sound, and Yuuji stays there, rubbing his cheek gently against Satoru’s burning one until his own perpetually cool skin leeches off some of that warmth. He turns his head then, kissing Satoru where he hurt him, and that does earn him a noise—a low, gutted thing.

“Understand, Satoru-kun?”

Something sweet, ft. goyuu from the ghost in me was true (but you were haunted too)

"I was only thinking—can’t have some nubile young thing snatch you away from under my nose. Gotta put a ring on it before you realize you’re with an old pervert.”

Yuuji makes another noise, but he’s laughing too, a throaty noise that’s more incredulous than amused. “Nobody’s snatching me away. And you’re barely over thirty, that’s not old. Japan doesn’t even recognize same-sex marriage.”

“Who cares?” Satoru sits up, the covers spilling down to pool in his lap. The room is dark, but the Six Eyes see every shadow in high definition until Satoru closes his eyes again, focusing only on the sound of Yuuji’s breathing. “Only you and I need to recognize it. A ceremony would be fun, hm? We can have another one when you’re back here, with everyone there.”

Yuuji swallows audibly. “Are you really serious?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Yuuji laughs again, that same strangled sound from before. “You’re unreal sometimes.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Yuuji’s dead silent for long enough that Satoru’s smile dies on his lips, slinking cold down his spine.

Yuuji says, “You didn’t actually ask a question.”

Ah, Satoru thinks, forcing down a shiver. You learned the worst things from me.

“Marry me, Yuuji.”

“Yes.” It’s instant, burning. “Of course I’ll marry you. Satoru, it’s you.”

[punks-never-die205]

Souled Out

Fem Reader x Demon!Eustass Kid

CW: Blood, religious tones, original creation myth, ritual, violence, dubious consent, 18+

tags: @keiva1000 @ryuv1i

Chapter 8: Breathe

You couldn’t deny him, by the terms of the contract you had agreed to, he had access to you as he pleased. So long as your body was hale and whole when your soul returned, he could do as he pleased, but still you knew you could stop him.

Demon though he was, he had quite the preference.

You’d only said one word in the living room, and that had been enough. Now here you were, laid out on your own bed, Eustass Kid towering over you.

“No need to keep these.” He says, hands turning black as human fingers turn into something more feral. Sharp claws rip into the scrubs like they aren’t even really there, and you feel almost no resistance as they fall away, cut neatly down the center and leaving you exposed, save for the tatters of sleeves and pant legs left barely clinging to your limbs.

The action had rent something within you as well, like someone pulling cotton from your ears you were beginning to feel with more clarity. Not just physical, but you could feel the swell of emotions within you start to raise your heart rate. It wasn’t just the light shift of tattered threads against your skin, a nearly foreign sensation after decades of muffled senses, but it was the shiver in your body.

A shiver all your own, before Kid had even begun to prod at your soul.

He licks his lips, sharp eyes taking you in. “I’ll have to thank the freak,” he nearly growls the words, caught between his enjoyment of watching you and wanting to devour you. “Squirmin’ before I’ve even begun.”

Kid’s visage holds no pretense of humanity, long horns curled and crowned against his head. Obsidian black coats clawed hands and reaches to his elbows, the tendrils of liquid rock mingled with flawless marble skin. It was hard to be sure he was made of flesh and blood, given how ethereal and sculpted he was like this.

His eyes were bright, burning more like the sun than anything else, slit pupils held you so completely he had to prompt you to breathe, mouth pulled into a devious grin, full of teeth far too sharp to be safe.

How easily he could tear you apart. Consume you.

He pulls the tattered remains of your pants away, and you aren’t sure why until you feel his tail coil around your leg, pushing it aside as he grips your other leg with his hand. Holding you open he leers at you for a long moment, until you feel another sweet shiver curl in your gut and warm your chest.

“The important part of any good meal is to savor it.” He explains, tongue slipping around the middle finger of his free hand. “Every time.”

A strange concern, not quite fear, sits low in your gut and you aren’t sure what it is until you look down and notice the massive cock twitching and hard between your thighs. Wetness is already pooled at the tip, head red as his hair, shaft impossibly thick. The twitch of desire makes it look like it’s licking the air, hungry to give the same attention to you.

Nerves. You realize with odd clarity as you tear your eyes away from his girth, finding comfort in the delight of his gaze. You’re feeling nervous.

His wet finger runs against your labia and he hums. “Wet on your own,” he leans forward, pressing his finger into your entrance. You’re concerned about the risk of the claw, but there’s nothing sharp caressing your delicate skin. “Makes this a little easier.” He purrs, finger steadily pushing in deeper, as he holds your gaze.

Pleasure wells up inside you as he sinks in, your legs shifting against his tail and hand. The slow build suddenly zings through you without warning, and you grab onto his forearm as your body bucks from the sensation. A sweet, surprised gasp breaks your lips open, as your face twists in embarrassment.

“Fuck, look at you.” Kid husks, letting you wiggle against his finger. “I know I’m ramping it up, but you’re going to be exquisite when you get all of your soul back.” He rolls his thumb against your clit, grinning as your fingernails dig into his arm.

“Breathe, little mouse.” He commands, leaning over you enough to lick against your ear. “You’re not allowed to pass out.”

The air leaves your lung in a shaky huff, and you pull air back in greedily, shivering as his middle finger and thumb drive pleasure into you. Soft whines escape with your breathing, breaking against the air, and nearly shattering in your throat when his tongue stopped teasing your ear and moved down to your throat.

“Sweet thing,” his voice rumbles in his chest, a second finger pushing into your cunt, the wet squelch ringing in your ears.

The stretch makes you gasp, body tensing and shivering beneath him. Red lines skitter along marble skin as your fingers scramble to hold onto something.

“Eu-Eustass!” You gasp, pleasure rushing into your senses. You’ve long since forgotten how to handle such a feeling, and the sweet delight he had carved into your back before was nothing by comparison. It had been pleasurable, but this was well beyond that.

It wasn’t scary, it wasn’t too much, but it was far more than you had known. You weren’t sure you’d reached such a state even before your soul had been stolen. For a brief moment you were concerned at the idea of getting your entire soul back, unsure what madness you would find, shattered by the pleasure he could drive into you.

“Go ahead and cum,” he urges.

“Please, no, wait - I!” Your welling concerns are shoved aside as your body acquiesces to his demand. Pleasure dances through your muscles like lightning, crackling against your skin and forcing a euphoric cry past your lips.

The ‘f’ hisses against your teeth until the orgasm releases its grip on your throat and the broken swear finally makes it beyond your lips. “F-f-f-fah-uck!” You cry, drawing in a deep breath and nearly thrashing in Kid’s iron hold, as his fingers don’t relent. “I came, Kid! I came!” You cry, certain that he knows, and worried he wouldn’t be satisfied until you cried his name again.

“You did,” he agrees, tail and hand spreading your legs further until the muscles ached a little from the stretch. “One more to go.”

“One more?” Your addled brain tries to catch up and you shiver. It was so big, there was no way you could take him. Not just after two fingers, not just after one orgasm. It seemed impossible even if he spent hours stretching you open.

“One more,” he asserts, and you realize quickly it’s not his cock he means to bury in you. Pulling you the edge of the bed, he kneels down between your thigh, bright burning eyes focused on you. “You can hold onto ‘em if you want.” He offers, before running his tongue, hot and wet, heavy against your slit, spreading your labia under the pressure and slipping into the sweet crevasses beneath.

Swears slipped from your lips as you struggled to breathe, hands wrapped around his horns before his tongue even neared your clit. The anticipation was terrible, and the amount of pleasure was concerning. Maybe it was only because you had been numb for so long, maybe it was because he was enhancing the experience, and maybe it was because it was harder to control such feelings with a partial soul.

There was only one way to know, and it was your goal anyway. Your fate at this point.

“Scream for me, little contractor.” He demands, tongue and lips assaulting your clit. There was no build up, no sweet teasing. He refused to let you come down from your first high anymore than you already had, and what little savoring he did wasn’t worth the prize he was after.

The rush of pleasure was almost overwhelming. His name came out of your lips like a song, shivered and lifted into the air like an impromptu gospel, even though you were the one being lifted into the clouds.

Your body shuddered against his grip, your breath cascading against your chest as you curled in pleasure, pulling yourself up by the hold you had on his horns. The sweet song of pleasure turned into a harsh growl as he drove his tongue deep into your pussy, nose pressed into your clit as his tongue, probing and twisting inside you, assailed your senses.

“Wha-what the ha-ha-aahhell-!” Your brain scrambled to comprehend the way his tongue was moving, and you almost made sense of it until he pressed against something inside you and you nearly came off the bed from the jolt that bucked your entire body. A soft grunt from Eustass was all you heard before his tongue retracted, licking along your slit as you released his horns and sank into the bed.

You were slick with sweat, breathing hard from the exertion and lost a little in the pleasure of it. Your gaze looked around your room aimlessly, not really focusing on any one thing. You felt his hand on your shoulder just before his face came into view.

“Doing alright?” He questions and you nod a little dumbly. You don’t feel bad, just worn out from the back to back orgasms. A slip of a smile crosses his face before he lifts you easily, setting you so that you’re laying more comfortably on the bed, instead of leaving your legs hanging over the edge.

“Good. I’m gonna go fix things, I’ll be right back.” He explains before walking away.

You aren’t sure how long he was gone, but it couldn’t have been a few minutes. You didn’t hear him say anything, you didn’t hear much of anything except the click of claws against the floor. You came out of your euphoric haze slowly, and when he was coming back into the bedroom you were already in the process of sitting up.

“All done?” You question, looking him over quickly. He wasn’t showing as much of his demonic nature as he had been earlier. His hands and feet looked human, his marble physique was a little more pink and flesh-looking, though his skin was still very pale. He was still completely naked, but there was no ominous, twitching cock pointing at you. He was, for all it was worth, relaxed.

“Yep,” he answers, coming over to the bed and scooping you up into his arms before you can say or ask anything else. “Made a few improvements while I was at it.”

“Improvements?” You question, sounding and feeling curious.

“Yeah, probably not covered in the lease agreement, but who fucking cares?” He admits walking down the hall. Stepping through the living room area you see it and the kitchen are effectively unchanged, if he made any big changes in these rooms it wasn’t obvious to you right now.

You did notice that the second hallway was shifted. You couldn’t really grasp how it had happened, but when he got to the end of the hall you noticed the guest room was smaller, barely large enough for the bed and closet, and the bathroom was bigger.

Whirlpool tub and open face stone shower kinds of bigger.

“… why?” You ask after a moment.

“Because I could.” He answers, carrying you into the bathroom and setting you down in the shower. “Because I like the extra room.” He adds, stepping toward you until your back’s against the cool wall.

“Because it’s easier to clean you up, after I fuck you up, when there’s room like this.” He grins, and his tail turns the water on in the shower.

[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || seven

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(7/14)

Mini-Series

Warnings: explicit language; overthinking

Word Count: 1,600+

~

     Bucky’s arm was around your waist.

He was in a deep sleep, immovable, and his flesh arm was around your waist. You don’t know who kicked the pillows off the bed first, but you know damn well your hips didn’t bend at all last night. You were conscious the whole time you were sleeping.

Don’t bend that way, you might climb the pillows.

Don’t kick your foot out, you might brush against his toes.

Keep your arms close to your chest so they don't touch Bucky’s.

It wasn’t because of your poor distancing skills that you ended up in this position. Bucky had traveled over the barrier, kicked his leg over, and wrapped you as close to his chest as his sleeping body allowed.

It made you both ecstatic and completely frightened.

Slowly, you pushed your body away. Inch by inch, pausing when necessary, cursing under your breath. He may be a mountain of a man and looked like he could sleep through a tsunami, but he was a super soldier. A super soldier who, with your luck, would probably accidentally rip you in half if you frightened him awake.

Ha. Rip you in half. In your wildest, most sinful fantasies.

That was another reason you had to get out of this bed. He was too tempting. Too beautiful, too nice, too perfectly sculpted by the Gods. When you were first assigned him, it was a cruel joke that you wouldn’t be able to fuck him.

Once you learned the reason, that hope dissipated.

Now, as Bucky grew more comfortable with your touch and you his, it was rushing back like a flash flood.

You hit the floor with a loud, graceless thud. Your elbow made contact the wrong way, pulling out a strangled yelp. Bucky shot up, gasping on his first manual inhale.

“Did you just fall?”

“No.”

“Did I push you?” he asked, seemingly unbothered as he wiped his eyes clean.

“I’ve broken every bone, bleeding profusely, and—And I think I see my ancestors!”

Bucky grumbled, lying back down as he continued to massage his face. “You’re fine.”

Damn him for not believing your sarcasm anymore. This was the quickest anyone has ever learned to decipher it.

“I needed to pee,” you lied, sitting up to wipe at your face as well.

“Was I holding you?”

“Stop ignoring my blabbering.”

He chuckled, the rumble of his morning voice curling something deep within your stomach. “Go pee, then.”

You shuffled along the floor, not bothering to stand fully. Perhaps you looked like a goblin crawling to your destination, who knows. But what spurred you on was Bucky’s low chuckling from your bed, clearly enjoying your childish show.

“You were holding me, by the way,” you called out, relieving yourself with the door closed.

“Was that okay?”

“It’s fine with me. Didn’t know if you would be comfortable with it if you had woken up first.”

You flushed and washed your hands, calm until the next formation of words left his mouth.

That deep timbre not at all helping.

“I have a hard-on, so we probably would have had that to discuss first.”

You gripped the counter and bent your knees, bending to the floor in a full squat as you released a breathy, low scream. Your heart quickened its pace and your grip turned your fingers numb. He had to know what he was doing.

Or he was just so beautifully oblivious to the effect it had on you.

“You know, if you want help with that, I will always volunteer,” you called back, praying your voice was absent from that slight quiver you felt in your thighs.

Bucky hummed in response. Not the response you wanted, but a response you expected.

“Would you help me if I asked?”

You bent down again, this time blowing out a breath. “Well, I am an expert at making a man come.”

Bucky remained silent until you returned to the bedroom, eyeing you up and down. You were in your red holiday pajamas, a large and happy snowman telling the world Happy Holidays! on your chest. Bucky was in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, his hair left up in a bun for the night.

A small part of you wanted to see what that hair looked like sprawled across your pillow, free and untangled.

“We never discussed sexual favors in this relationship,” he stated, his eyebrows coming together. Everything in your untrained mind told you to continue teasing him, to insinuate that you would do much more than help his morning wood simmer. But you were an expert in body language, and saw how he clutched the pillow to his chest, staring at the ceiling instead of at your face.

“Well, it’s not on the table unless you’re absolutely sure,” you declared, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. No messages, only a Snapchat notification telling you Happy Christmas Eve.

Did it bother you that the only person to send you holiday messages was a robot? Yes.

“I’m hungry,” you continued, turning to skip out of your bedroom. Bucky sat up and watched you with a guarded yet confused look, probably wondering how it was so easy for you to just change the subject. “Eggs or pancakes?”

Bucky’s mouth parted, and you could see the way his fingers started fidgeting in anticipation as he watched you take out a mixing bowl and some more cookie sheets. Tapping away, the same pattern he taps every single time you’ve seen him do it.

His lips twitched with a soft grin as he replied, “I’ll never say no to pancakes.”

~

    “Alright! Stomachs full, hydrated, lotioned hands—Let’s do this!” you announced, bending your knees. Swaying from side to side, Bucky thought you resembled a footballer about to hike a ball.

Is that what it was called? Hiking a ball?

So he settled for, “You’re making this look like we’re about to fight.”

You huffed, standing upright with your hands on your hips. “Well? Hugs can be aggressive. You hugged me because of emotional feelings last night, right? Now you’ll hug me because I asked for it.”

“I wanted to last night.”

“Ouch? You don’t want to hug me again?”

“I do want to hug you again.”

“Then get your bulky shoulders over here.”

“Bulky? You mean broad?”

“How many times must you correct my vocabulary? I know you’re a man from the forties, but that is so not in right now.”

He narrowed his eyes, matching your previous position to appease you. “You come across many assholes in your life?”

You made a pfft sound, bending your knees again. Then you started circling each other. “I had a regular set of clients before you. A roster, if you will. So I knew and understood their wants and needs, and they respected mine as well. But there were those dates that turned out too good to be true.”

Even though you said it casually, something in your tone reminded Bucky that your profession was dangerous. Perhaps just as dangerous as his. You had complete control in who you decided to go out and sleep with, but not everything was as it seemed on the internet. Something boiled in his chest at the mere thought of you having to escape a date, to block someone online, or of you physically defending yourself.

To reject someone’s touch with words is one thing. A rather embarrassing, awkward ramble. To reject someone’s touch with fists, was entirely another. An instinct of survival, of misdirected self-hate.

Why did it make one feel guilty for doing so? Why was the victim cursed to relive the moment until it dwindled into nothing?

“Tell me you hurt them.”

“Well, Barnes. Us civilians don’t get that honor,” you joked, inching closer to him. It was an innocent game you two were playing. As if whoever touched the other first won. “I hurt them, I’m charged with assault.”

“I say everyone should get two free passes.”

“Don’t ever run for politics.”

Your little giggle is what did him in. Bucky lurched forward, mimicking the growl of a bear, and tackled you onto the couch. You wrapped your arms around his waist, laughing, exhilarated. He hugged you close, rolling every so often as to not crush you. And once Axel joined the mix, slapping his paws against Bucky’s back and innocently clawing at your clothes, Bucky was laughing non-stop as well.

~

    Friday?

A chill crept up your spine as you reread the message flashing on your phone screen. Kendall had stopped messaging you through the app after your second date, asking for your number instead. Safer, he reasoned. Even though, by your reasoning, it was harder to trace anything through the app if you simply deleted it. It seemed he had ignored your mass message saying you were busy for the whole month.

Axel whined softly from his position on your living room floor, nudging his nose with his paw.

“I know,” you whispered before sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m going to delete it.”

You glanced at Bucky, peacefully napping on the couch after binge-watching the second and third Santa Clause movies. It made your heart swell knowing he felt comfortable to let his guard down in your presence now. Sleeping was perhaps the most dangerous thing to do.

He snored softly, his long hair swung to one side. Physical pictures were a no-no, so you settled for taking an image in your mind. You put your phone down, held up your hands, and snapped an imaginary photo. You prayed you’d remember it, all the lights surrounding him, the red throw blanket, the snow on your windowsill.

Satisfied, you punched in a response and sent the message to Kendall.

Busy.

~

[metalbuckaroo]

Selfish

SUMMARY// "I wanna be selfish with you."

WARNINGS// cursing, age gap (reader mid 20s, bucky mid 30s), unprotected sex (that's basically a given on this blog), lil angsty, one and a half smut scenes (one is brief)

AU// dbf!bucky x f!reader

NOTE// have this drunk drabble 🥴 idk what else to say, besides its not proof read

Bucky was a new friend of your dad's. A little younger than your dad but had quickly grown close to him over the course of a year. They started to do everything together- watch sports, go for drinks, all of the things two best friends do together.

Bucky was also one incident you told yourself wouldn't happen again. A perfectly sculpted, handsome, blue eyed incident that made you feel selfish for indulging im.

Sitting in his kitchen after a rejection to your dream job. The soothing tones of his low voice melting into you as he leaned closer, smoothing his sturdy left hand down your back.

It was something you'd never be able to forget. How metal and flesh hands gripped your hips, your waist. Stubble scratching your skin. The way his lips tasted as he filled you to the brim and fucked you against the counter.

Bucky was usually so confident during sex, but in that moment in his kitchen- he could barely do anything besides mutter filthy words and promises against your skin and lips.

After that, he noticed you distancing yourself away from him until you had moved to your own apartment across town. Where he could finally have the chance to talk to you.

"Bucky?" You said when you opened the door, confusion etching across your features. "We need to talk." He said, clearing his throat.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe and folded your arms across your chest. "About what?" You shrugged a shoulder, blue eyes boring into you. "My kitchen, what happened in it."

"James, if my dad f-"

"He won't, and if he does I'll handle it. We're adults." He assured. "Do you know how shitty it makes me feel to know I slept with his best friend? How selfish?"

Bucky scoffed and shook his head, tongue jutting out to wet his lips. "I should be the one who feel like shit, but I can't make myself feel bad. Want it too bad. Want you, too bad. "

You just looked up at him, his teeth chewing the edge of his bottom lip as he waited for you to say something. Anything.

"Y'know what, I should go. This was fucking stupid of me-" your hands reached out to grab the front of his shirt when he went to back away. A single tug taking him off guard as he stumbled closer. Your fingers twisting in the back of his short hair to pull his lips down to yours.

A fire you had craved since that night at his house lighting in your core as he backed you further into the apartment. Bending down to grab the backs of your thighs and lift you to his waist.

"Want you so fucking bad, sweet girl." Bucky groaned, kicking the door shut. Your mind fogging over from the messy kiss. Teeth clashing, tongues pressing and twisting together and biting on each others lips until your back met the plush cushions of your couch.

Bucky's lips locking back to yours as his hands pawed at the hem of your dress, shoving it up so he could hook his fingers in the sides of your underwear.

A sharp gasp left your lips when he ripped the thin fabric and dropped it to the floor. Fumbling with his belt and the fastening of his pants.

"Fucking hell, sweets-" he gasped out, shocks of pleasure coursing through both of you as your walls stretched around him.

Your hands holding his scratchy jaw and lips nipping his between moans as he found a steady pace. Bionic and flesh forearms caging in your head as his body waved over yours.

The pressure in your lower belly quickly building with every drag of his cock. "You make me feel s'good, Buck." Your words slurred together against his lips. His touch so intoxicating, you were addicted.

"Cum, pretty girl. Feel you milkin' me." Bucky panted, slipping his hand down to thumb tight circles to your clit. Palm applying the right amount of pressure just above your pelvic bone to push you over the edge. A pleasured cry of his name swallowed by his lips as his release mixed with yours.

Your body relaxed against the cushions, chest heaving as your breaths mixed with Bucky's. Taking in the after glow as his forehead leaned against yours.

His nose nudging yours and hands moving to hold the sides of your head, softening cock still buried in your cunt. "I wanna be selfish with you."

💙 💙 💙 💙 💙 💙

Taglist: @likeahorribledream @cxddlyash @iwannabekilledtwice @bookstan0618 @glxwingrxse @yliumy @pineprincess @makbarnes @cupcakehinch @doasyoudesireandlive @magicwithinnightmares @preferredrealty @andy-is-gay @stucky-my-ship @marvel-3407 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @i-l-y-3000 @avoxzy @impala1967666 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @supernaturalbaesduh @bucky-hues @suchababie @an-adult-fairy @ju5tyna20 @hallecarey1 @jxlystan @elizabeth228 @secret21121 @strwbrrybucky @busybeingtrash @harrysthiccthighss @everything-burns-down @ynsdiarys @sunnynapp @bucky-harrymybfs @sylleblossomstar @winter-soldier-101 @smokeinherperfume @andreead @amalfoyandariddle @mal-edictions @missusbarnes-rogers-laufeyson @saturnaliatemple @doll1917 @eireduchess @commonintrest

[pleasantanathema]

Levi Ackerman | Little Death

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Light Dom/Sub Dynamics, Authority/Power Play, Hair Pulling, Established Relationship

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read other fanfics I’m writing to celebrate. A huge thank you to @shadowworks​ for helping me as I learned how to characterize Levi, and for being one of the best encouragers in my life. Without her, I wouldn’t still have this passion for writing. 💙

          “Oi, you going deaf?” Levi tapped his hand against your cheek in successive raps, stern but soft, enough to pull you from your fucked out trance. Your head shook no even though you couldn’t remember what words were spoken, the haze of sex and the aftershocks of orgasm clouding over you like thick smoke.

           “Then tell me what I said,” he spoke through gritted teeth, inky tendrils of black hair curling with sweat against his forehead.

           He was well aware it would be hard for you to speak, his cock stuffed so deep inside of you it was nearly bubbling out of your throat. Both of his hands found your thighs, pressing you back farther, wider. Your sweet, abused pussy sucked in around him. He admired the cream that stained his cock, your slick gushing as he gave another brutal push into your depths.

           Levi aired on the side of mercy, for once, electing to remind you of his words instead of listening to whatever nonsense you’d try to babble out for him.

          “Give me another. Feels so good when you cum on my cock.”

          “C-Captain I can’t…”

          His body curled over yours, the weight of his hips pressing between your legs as he cupped your face, thumb slipping past open lips to give you something to suck and focus on.

          “Yes you can, you’re my girl.”

           The way your darling tongue lapped at his thumb made his stomach twist.

           He knew you had more to give, he wouldn’t push you if he thought otherwise. He wanted you to drown in the sin; it’s what you deserved. Always so good, listening to every order, pledging your heart without question. And, for some reason, you’d been willing to dedicate your heart to him, to serve your precious body up on a platter whenever he asked.

           Levi didn’t deserve you, but he’d be damned if your cunt wasn’t his favorite place to bury his stress.

           A coo left your lips, soft and full and muffled by his thumb. He started to roll his hips, bursts of pleasure stemming from where your pussy was spread around him, drifting down his warmed muscles. His thrusts were painfully accurate, the kind that he knew were hitting you in just the right way to have you so full of ecstasy you’d feel like crying.

           You were so pretty like this, spread open, skin flushed, clit swollen and your fists tugging at his sheets. It was maddening, the kind of sight to make a man choke on every inhibition.

           His spit-slick thumb popped out of your mouth, petting across your cheek until your eyes fluttered open, “yeah that’s right, look at me,” he looped an arm around your back, keeping you secure on his cock as he pulled you up into his lap, “atta girl.”

           He buried his face in your tits, grunting as he started to bounce you, your knees still trying to find purchase on the mattress. He kept strong arms around your back, holding you against him, pulling you up and down as he soaked in your breathy moans. Rocking you like this kept the build of pressure in your belly, had the flames smoldering as he prepared to light them high and hot again.

           Grey eyes narrowed as he kissed at your shoulder, suddenly all too aware of the dressing mirror staring at him on the wall. His balls tightened as he watched the beautiful planes of your back move underneath his scarred hands, saw his thick, milky cock disappear into the eden of your body. He stayed mesmerized for a moment, obsessed with observing how you keened, how it looked when he took you.

           “You’re gonna cum for me again, and you’re gonna see just how fucking pretty you look when you do.”

           Levi man-handled you, had you twisting around in his lap until he could push you down on your hands and knees, a hand in your hair lifting your face up to look at him in the mirror. He took a sick delight in trying to decipher the emotions that ran across your features—shock, fear, a twist of pleasure as his cock plunged deeper into your tight pussy from behind.

           The veins in his arms came to life as he kept leverage in your hair, holding your head up to watch him, to make eye contact with him as his balls slapped against the flesh of your ass. His lips were curling, like he was holding back a smile.

          Your thighs were shaking, still wobbly from the orgasms he’d pulled from you earlier. He always claimed he lost count of what he did to you, but he never did. Tonight it was three times already, and the fourth would bring his undoing as well.

           “Look at you,” he growled, a sound that made you shiver, “little whore, my little pet, so good for me.”

           Quick fingers swirled at your clit, your mouth falling open with curses, “fuckfuckfuck, Captain Levi-ii.”

           Your poor clit was so hot and wet under his fingers, belly quivering as he started to draw out your pleasure, ready to feel you unwind and snap and die a little death.

           He pulled you back harder by your hair, had your back arching to his chest so he could put your pussy on display in the reflection. A breath hitched in your throat, he could feel it, the hand in your hair now finding refuge on your neck. His teeth nipped at your ear, side-eyeing the mirror so he could watch his messy cock get lost inside of you over and over again.

           All kinds of praise rattled around in his head. Your tits were perfect, bouncing, sweat dripping down between them. Your cunt was fucking divine, so perfect when stuffed, puffy clit so wet under persistent fingertips. The sounds that left the throat under his hand were like balm, little babbles of the syllables of his name like a cacophony of weakness and power to his ears.

           But he didn’t know how to say any of that shit, didn’t know how to praise you beyond good. So he let his body show you, lips sucking at your neck, fingers working you like a toy he was winding.

           He tipped your head forward, thumb and index fingers pressing into your cheeks and making you focus on yourself in the mirror.

           “Do it,” he sucked the command into your neck, “fucking cum, let me feel it.”

           God, he wished he could paint the picture of your orgasmic bliss into his mind forever. Your eyes were glassy, lips swollen, a long, continuous moan sounding as your cunt clenched tighter than he’d ever felt before. He knew you’d get off on the sight as well, that you’d like to see how his cock pulsed inside of you at the sight of you cumming for him again. Always so responsive, like the devil playing his fiddle.

           Levi held you as you crumpled over from exhaustion, tangling you up in his arms and letting you rest against him in his bed. He kept his cock lodged inside your warmth, not quite ready to leave the home he sculpted. You were still squeezing around him, tightening with every deep breath as you tried to bring your mind back into the world.

           Fingers wandered on their own, his hands skimming over your thighs, up your back. Something comforting, silent tells that he was there, that he had you, that he would always take care of you.

[aparticularbandit]

Happy? Birthday? Claire?

Summary: Claire doesn’t want a birthday party and tells Birdie so.

Rating: T.

“I don’t want a party.”

Claire looks Birdie straight in the eye.  Or.  Not straight in the eye because Birdie is naturally taller than she is even without heels, and Birdie is always in heels.  It’s not that Claire doesn’t also wear heels – she does – but hers are sensible, much likely to be kitten heels than the multiple, multiple inch stilettos that Birdie wears.  So even though Claire’s heels could make up the height, Birdie’s…exaggerate it even more.

Unfortunate.

Which really means that Claire isn’t looking Birdie in the eye (we are not even going to comment on the whole straight bit) but looking up at her, which…also means that Birdie is looking down at her when she meets her eyes with her own green ones.  Sparkling.  With mischief.

“Birdie.  No party.”

“’Course, Claire bear,” Birdie says, running fingers up what would have been a set of buttons if Claire were wearing a button-up shirt (she isn’t).  She taps just at the center of Claire’s collarbone and then tilts her chin up. “I wouldn’t dream of throwing you a birthday party.”

Claire’s eyes narrow.  She hates when Birdie is like this.  (Actually, on a normal day, when they’re in private, she loves when Birdie is like this.  Playful. When Birdie does this sort of thing, asserting her dominance, what she really wants is for to Claire to bite back, to snap at her fingertips, to lock her jaw around Birdie’s throat.  Even now, frustrated as she is, Claire can’t help but let her eyes wander to the smooth, pale flesh of Birdie’s neck.  She resists the urge to lick her lips.)  “You better not.”

Birdie raises one perfectly sculpted brow – everything about Birdie’s appearance is always perfectly sculpted, perfectly meticulous, perfectly perfect; for all that Birdie acts like she doesn’t know anything, she does know this: she knows appearances, and she always knows how to make herself look just the exact way that she wants (whether that’s something anyone – or everyone – else wants is another thing entirely).  It isn’t Claire’s birthday, yet, so she isn’t quite dressed like a present, but she leans down, brow almost touching Claire’s, and whispers, “What happens if I do?”

“Nothing.”  Claire almost – almost smiles as she says it, a sweet sort of thing, an expression she reserves only for playing with Birdie, for toying with her the same way as she is being toyed with.  Then she continues, clarifying herself as she sees the eager grin starting to spread across Birdie’s face, “Birdie, if you throw me a party, I will do nothing to you.  No kisses. No cuddles.  Definitely no—”

“You won’t talk to me?” Birdie interjects, eyes widening, unable to keep the shock out of her voice.  “You wouldn’t do that to me, Claire.  That’s just....”  She crosses her arms, stamps one foot.  “That’s not fair.”

It’s also not what Claire was going to say, certainly not something she was going to suggest, but hey, if it gets the point across.  She gives Birdie a stern look.  “No birthday party, Birdie.”

Birdie pouts.  “Yes, Governor Debella.”  She tugs her lower lip between her teeth as its corners lift ever so slightly then leans forward, both brows raising.  “What about a birthday present?”

Claire considers this for a moment.  Her gaze flicks down briefly to Birdie’s lips and then returns to her eyes, green and warm as a sunbeam.  “Is it one I’ll get to unwrap?”

“Is that what you want,” Birdie asks, tapping her finger just in the center of Claire’s chest, “governor?”

Yes.

Claire doesn’t let her eyes drop from Birdie’s this time, even as Birdie’s head tilts, as her eyes examine her curiously.  She forces herself to hold her ground.  It’s more fun this way.  “What do you think, Bird?”

“I think,” Birdie brushes her lips against Claire’s, lingers – she’s such a fucking tease – and then continues, “you should get half of your present now and half later.”  Then she pauses, brows furrowing.  “Or…how would that even work?  I can’t just let you strip me now and then wait for the sex; that’s not really fair either, and I would much rather—”

“Shush.”

Claire presses her lips against Birdie’s, fingers itching to the back of her neck to keep her head angled down.  She breaks just enough to murmur, “You always talk too much, Bird.  You need to learn to be—”

This time, Birdie cuts her off, grinning with mischief as she does.  “Take your own advice, Claire bear.”

~

It’s only later, wrapped up together, tangled in Birdie’s silk sheets, that Birdie leans over, kisses Claire’s cheek, and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Claire.”

Claire just sighs.  “It’s not my birthday yet, Bird.”

Birdie just shrugs.  “Right. You haven’t had the party yet.”

“Birdie Jay—”

[milazka]

not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.

warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking

last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.

─── ° • ❀ ───

The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose. 

“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her. 

“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare. 

“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.

“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”

“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins. 

“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched. 

“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.

“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.

“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.

“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget. 

He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance. 

“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious. 

“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.

─── ° • ❀ ───

“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash. 

“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt. 

“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.

Crying is for the weak.

She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.

“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?” 

Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.

“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm. 

“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?” 

“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well. 

“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.

“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?” 

He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.

“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.

“Show me.” 

“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.

“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,” 

“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine. 

“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.

Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.

“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties. 

“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds.  She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.

“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him. 

“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him. 

“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl. 

“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?” 

“Uh no, should I have?” 

“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.

“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?” 

“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question. 

“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.

He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye  before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.

At leats he know where the clit is.

"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.  

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.

He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.

─── ° • ❀ ───

taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist

[zodiakuroo]

copycat

18+, eren jaeger x fem!reader

part two of pierced

inspired by the 'big stick' scene from jawbreaker (iykyk)

wc: 3.7k

contains: mild dubcon, light dom/sub, ball play, choking, dumbification, degradation, spit, creampie

Eren can’t help but admire you from the doorway of your shared bedroom. One would think, that after 30 days of edging, you would learn not to be such a fucking tease. But here you are flitting around the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a frilly pair of lilac panties.

‘Stop being a perv. It’s hot out.’ You don’t have to say it. The ‘you’ in his head is already chastising him for the lascivious nature of his thoughts.

The ‘you’ in his head is also already bent over the granite top counter, panties long discarded, presenting yourself to him, begging ‘Please Eren. Fuck me.’

He can’t help it. Everyday he’s found himself face to face with your cute little pussy, absolutely begging to get filled and not being able to do anything about it. It’s not his fault that when he sees you wearing next to nothing, he just wants to stick his cock in you.

Except it’s entirely his fault.

That’s why even though you can feel the weight of his stare as you move around the kitchen, you don’t even spare a glance in his direction.

If there’s one thing these last few weeks have taught you, its willpower. And thanks to your newfound self-discipline you’re able to resist the urge to pounce on him when your boyfriend pulls your back against the solid wall of his chest. “Baby.” He rasps. “I’m all healed up.”

The statement makes goosebumps appear on your skin despite the sweltering heat but other than that, you show no signs of exactly how pent up you are.

Eren made you swear not to touch yourself whining about how unfair it would be and how he would really appreciate your support in his hour of need. Yes he used those exact words. You kept your promise but not without intending to receive payback. It was only a matter of how. The idea hadn’t come to you yet.

“Really?” You don’t even bother to turn around, pushing past him. Partly as a way to tease him but also because you don’t trust yourself to be able to resist him once you get a good look at him. From his scent alone you can tell he’s fresh from a shower and that’s when he’s the most dangerous. He smells cool and fresh like his shower gel, spicy and warm like his aftershave and fruity and floral like his your shampoo. It’s hypnotic.

The trance is broken when he pulls you even closer to him, grinding his bulge into your backside.

“Stop buying that 2-in-1 shit if you’re gonna use mine all the time anyways.” You grumble.

Right.

Revenge first. Dick second. The voice in your head reminds you.

You wriggle out of his hold, remembering why you came into the kitchen in the first place. You breathe a sigh of relief as you open the freezer door, the cold air providing a brief reprieve from the near suffocating heat of your apartment. Once you’ve obtained your target; a cherry popsicle hidden behind some ice packs and frozen peas, you finally take a look at your tormentor.

“Babe c’mon.” Eren persists.

He looks good. Unfairly good considering the fact that he’s not even trying. Fresh from the shower, he has on a worn out white t-shirt, stretched around the neckline which gives you a mouthwatering look at his perfectly sculpted collarbones and no more than the top of his pecs that peak out above the seam. His grey athletic shorts hang low on his hips and outline his print a little too well so you know he’s not wearing boxers. Eren hasn’t bothered to tie up his long hair leaving the damp tendrils dangling above his shoulders with a few stray strands framing his handsome face. He’s putting up a nonchalant front but the tick in his eyebrow gives his irritated disposition away.

Surely he didn’t believe that you would let him have his way with you that easily.

Except he did. Because under most circumstances he would. But today, your own stubbornness (only marginally) drowns out your desire for your Adonis of a boyfriend so you push past him into the lounge, plopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Later.” You bring the frozen treat to your lips. “It’s so hot.” Again, Eren tries to keep his face expressionless but you easily spot the way he clenches his jaw as his gaze fixes itself onto your mouth.

Bingo

You close your eyes, enjoying the sweet cherry taste and cool sensation that spreads throughout your body.

“On second thought,” You start, as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “There is something else I’d rather have in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Eren dons a matching smirk and stalks his way over to you, sitting down so that you can straddle him. “Tempting but honestly, your mouth isn’t what I had in mind.” His voice trails off, large hands moving down to cup your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure. But before he can take it any further you’re already manoeuvring your way between his knees.

“Oh. You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You pout, resting your head against his thigh, trying your best to sound disappointed.

Eren swallows whatever argument he was about to present when he sees your pretty eyes, shaded by fluttering lashes looking up at him with the tip of the crimson popsicle pressed against your sinful mouth. The same sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for a month.

Fuck.

“Yeah, okay.” He grumbles while you watch him pull his already half hard cock out of his bottoms. It’s so pretty and long, perfectly thick in all the right places, decorated at the tip with a vertical running titanium barbell.

He’s got a hand around his base, waiting for you to replace the sweet treat in your mouth with his aching cock but much to his dismay your attention is drawn a little lower.

The sight of his plush balls all swollen and full of cum proves to be too much for you to resist. He shudders when your cold lips press against the taut skin. You know he’s sensitive from being so backed up. That’s why he starts panting as you leave wet kisses on his sac, leaving your saliva all over it while his shaft grows harder above you.

“Hold this for me.” You pass him your popsicle, that is slowly starting to melt which he takes in his free hand.

“Okay can you just- fuck.” One more kiss, right on the shiny metal of his newly healed piercing, shuts him up quickly.

Your own hands find their place on his thighs. You dip your head down again and take one of his balls in his mouth massaging it with your tongue.

“Christ.” He groans, slowly jerking himself off while you worship his balls.

“Oh poor baby…. so full.” You murmur letting go of the left to suck on the right one, savouring the weight of them.

“Yeah.” His voice is about a whole octave higher than usual. “Hurts.” He scrunches up his face when you let go of his ball with a pop.

“I bet.” You giggle. Eren is now at full mast, veiny shaft resting against his abdomen, dribbling precum which coats the shiny piercing that crowns his angry-red tip. His wrist flicks ever so elegantly as his hand moves languidly up and down, up and down, up and-”

“Princess.” Your boyfriend whines, yanking you out of your daze. “Enough with the teasing. You wanted to suck me off. Do it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, not losing sight of your revenge plot.

“Baby,” You pout. “I really want to but-” It’s so hard to bite back your laugh. “But I don’t remember how.”

“Wait what?” His hand stops right in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s been so long. Can you show me?”

Eren’s expression goes from perplexed to vicious but you don’t budge, blinking up at him with wide innocent eyes.

“How?” He huffs impatiently. It’s funny actually, seeing him struggle to tolerate a fraction of his own bitter medicine.

Your eyes shift to the frozen treat still in his hand that’s starting to drip down his knuckles. “I’m a visual learner.”

He moves like he’s about to stand up but you won’t make it that easy for him. “Please, Rennie? Please teach me how to suck your cock?”

As much as Eren has you wrapped around his finger, he’s just as whipped for you. So when you look at him with those sparkly eyes and call him the pet name he swears he hates but brings him to his knees when you use it, you know you have him.

Hook, line and sinker.

You use your thumb and middle finger to make a circle around his base, positioning yourself eye level with his leaking slit.

His tongue peaks out cautiously, eyes trained on yours as he flicks it across the tip, testing the waters. Immediately you follow suit, tasting his precum for the first time in so long. His hips buck off the couch, chasing the gone-too-soon sensation but you dig your nails into his thigh, reminding him who’s in control right now.

You quirk your brow at him, making sure he understands what you want.

How many times have you found yourself in this exact position: sitting between your boyfriend’s thighs while he looks down at you, both of you equally as lust drunk as the other. But this time he’s the one panting and whimpering while you have your turn to torture him.

Eren doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to smack that smug little grin right off your face but instead he pulls at your hair, tugging right at the roots and making you yelp in pain. Now you’re scowling. But it’s hard to look at all intimidating sitting beneath him with your head tilted at such an awkward angle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench together either.

Never breaking eye contact, he uses the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe up the length of the popsicle. You squirm in place, remembering how it feels to have him lick across your cunt exactly like that.

Fine. He’d play along with your little game. But on his own terms.

You lean forward to copy him but the hand holding your head keeps you in place. Without looking away, Eren launches a glob of spit onto the already drippy ice-cream before licking it away. It’s that simple for him to put a crack in your domineering façade and have you whimpering right at his feet as per usual.

The corners of his lips twitch as a silent challenge to you.

Never one to back down, you use your tongue to trace the vein that runs along the underside of his cock, feeling it pulsate. As you get closer to his prince Albert, you can’t hold back from swirling the wet muscle around the cold metal.

A soft whimper escapes his lips as you pull away, keeping your mouth agape, looking up at him expectantly.

It’s silent for a moment before Eren realises what you’re wordlessly pleading for. “Fucking slut.” He mutters, almost amazed before he gathers more of his saliva to drop into your mouth with a loud khwa pto echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

You close your mouth with a satisfied smile, savouring the taste of sweet, tart cherry and a flavour that is uniquely Eren, letting it mingle with your own saliva before spitting it on to his cock. You use your tongue to spread the wetness all along the shaft, leaving it covered in slick sheen.

“So fuckin’ nasty.” He groans, moving his hand from your head to push his own hair out of his face, not wanting anything to obstruct his view of you right now.

You feel the way his thigh twitches under your palm every time you come even close to his puffy cockhead and your tongue brushes across the sensitive piercing. The idea that you have him like this, desperate and whining, after weeks of him toying with you is exhilarating to say the least.

You have to rein yourself in before you end the fun too soon.

Reluctantly, you pull away and patiently await your next command.

You know what he wants next and so does he but Eren can’t help but feel self-conscious.

Of course, he loves the way you look when you’re going down him. His gallery is filled with pictures of you with your eyes filled to the brim with tears and your lips stretched impossibly wide around his girth. When you’re not around he gets off to the videos him fucking your face, relishing in the way you gag while you try to accommodate him in your throat. He doesn’t think he could ever measure up to how sexy you look with your pupils blown, lips all swollen and your spit dripping down your chin.

But just like you, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Ever so slowly, he opens his mouth and latches on to the blunt top of the popsicle. His plump lips form a perfect O-shaped pout, stained beautiful crimson from the fruit juice. Your gaze is transfixed on his face, the sharp lines and edges tinted with an uncharacteristic blush as his cheeks hollow out, to suck it in deeper.

“So pretty baby.” You breathe out.

He shudders as the cool air fans out across his wet skin.

“Yeah? ‘m pretty?” He smirks, using his free hand to drag his cock across your face, smearing his precum on your lips. “Show me how you treat pretty boys. Please?”

And how could you deny him?

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him in. Only the first few inches, get to enjoy the warm, slippery cavern of your mouth while the rest of him has to make do with the soft skin of your hand gliding up, down and around.

“Fucking take it inside. Christ.” He groans, frustration evident as he glares down at you.

You simply shake your head a ‘no’, far too content with the taste and the weight of him in your mouth to stop suckling at his cock. If he wants more, he knows what he has to do.

The frozen treat is back between his lips and far too quickly, with not enough thought he pushes it inside as far as it can go until his gag reflex forces him to abort his mission, sputtering out red-coloured saliva.

You pull off of him as you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Eren takes advantage of the fact that you’re unguarded and in a matter of seconds he has you pinned to the floor. The poor popsicle is left in a sad, melting puddle on your couch while his long, sticky fingers circle around both of your wrists, the other hand keeping a harsh grip on your jaw.

Yeah. Not laughing now, are you?

“Was that funny to you princess?” He questions you, almost daring you to hit back.

Knowing when to quit was never one of your strong points.

“Not funny.” You say despite your giddy smile. “My pretty boy just needs more practice.” You snicker.

You’re pushing his buttons on purpose now. At best, you expect some degrading words fitting of your bratty attitude. At worst, you expect the sting of his palm to come down against the side of your face, reminding you of your place.

What you don’t expect is a wry chuckle before he says, “I forgot how bitchy you get when you don’t get stuffed full of cock enough.”

Eren frees your hands in favour of placing both of his on your knees. He spreads apart your legs as wide as they can go, dragging his coarse palms up and up to rest at the apex of your thighs. He flicks up the hem of your shirt to reveal to him the crotch of your panties that's soaked through with your arousal. He pulls them to the side to expose your cunt to him. Eren barely stops himself from tearing the flimsy fabric right off your body and only because he thinks they're pretty and wants to see you wear them again.

He can smell you. But he suppresses the desire to bury his face between your pillowy thighs for as long as you’ll let him. He knows that’s not what either of you really want.

“This needy pussy been missing me?” He coos, keeping his voice sugary sweet and dripping with condescension. He grinds his pierced tip all along your cunt, dipping under your hood to press right against your clit.

You feel it before you realise what’s happening; the burn of his fat head of his cock prodding at your tiny hole, forcing it to stretch around him.

“Jesus fuck- ‘s tight.” He grits out, managing to pop just the tip in.

Tears gather at your waterline as he impales you further and further on his cock, reintroducing your insides to him and his newest body mod. The bulb of the piercing drags deliciously over every bump and ridge that lines your walls. It just keeps going and going until it’s all too much.

Instinctively, your hand flies to Eren’s abdomen, fingers splaying across his tummy. You want to ask him to stop or wait or at the very least prep you. But you’re just so full.

He’s not even all the way in and you’re full of him everywhere. Did it feel like this before?

He doesn't give you a chance to remember.

“Move. Your fucking. Hand.” He grunts before moving it for you and sheathing his cock fully in your spasming cunt.

“Fuck Eren. ‘s big.” Your voice breaks as you utter that last word right one Eren fills you to the hilt. Your arms fly to his biceps, squeezing the muscle so tight that you’re certain it hurts him but he doesn’t complain.

No one would believe that mere minutes ago Eren was the one under your thumb. Not when he’s so quickly managed to turn you into a blubbering mess.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He mocks you as if he’s doing any better. In reality he’s keeping himself still, with his pressed against yours trying to regain a semblance of control, not wanting this to end so soon.

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against you and little by little you open up around him, offering less and less resistance. Hand on the bible, he swears he can feel your gooey pussy sucking him in every time he pulls back, almost like it’s begging him to never leave again. Hand on the bible, he swears that he won’t.

“Huh?” He taunts. “Where’s the bitch who thought she could fuck with me?” He emphasises his point with one sharp snap of his hips that hits the bull’s eye.

“Eren! Right there!” You cry out as you back arches up into him but he forces you to stay down by pressing his palm firmly against your sternum.

“Right there?” He mimics your voice, with a high pitched, nasal tone. You can’t even cringe at how it sounds because the feeling of the rounded metal hitting that squishy patch deep inside you with pinpoint accuracy is too overwhelming for you to think about anything else.

“You want me to fuck you here?” His thrusts start to pick up pace. You’re finally getting used to him again and the slick juices from your pussy let’s him move as fast as he wants, as deep as he wants so you he can use his cock to abuse all of your sweet spots

You can’t exactly speak; only nod, as you dig your nails into his shoulders and back, leaving a trail of crescent shaped indents in your wake. The coil at the base of your belly twists tighter, tighter and tighter still as all your nerve endings work overtime to register the way he fills you up completely, the way the metal rubs along all the right spots and the way Eren rams into you like a man possessed.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” Now you’re begging. It’s impossible to stop the fear bubbling in your chest. You’ve become well-acquainted with this feeling. Absolutely drowning in pleasure and right on the edge of an unimaginable peak before having it ripped away. It’s not unreasonable to be worried that Eren might leave you high and dry once again.

He halts his movements the moment he notices the doubt behind your eyes.

Your pleas become more and more frantic, already thinking the worst. “Don’t stop Eren! Please don’t stop.” You sob but go silent when his hand rests itself firmly around your throat.

“Told you.” He punctuates the sentence with one, deep thrust.

“Fuck. What did I say?” He growls as he falls back into the same brutal rhythm that had you teetering on the very brink of an orgasm before.

God above as your witness, you try and answer but all that comes out is a pathetic squeak of his name before he cuts you off completely by squeezing your neck tighter.

“S-said I was gonna fuck you stupid. Right?”

You nod as best you can, head spinning from the lack of air and your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Now fuckin’ cum for me so I can keep my promise.”

The second his hand meets your clit, you’re a goner. The calloused pad of his thumb rubs the neglected nub with exactly the right pressure to push you over the edge. Every muscle clenches as that tightening coil finally snaps. The intoxicating pleasure that shoots through your body reaches your head at the same time as the pressure on your throat is released, much needed oxygen flooding your brain and prolonging the high.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as cream around his cock. It’s pointless to hold off his release any longer and with nowhere else to go he spills his load deep in your pussy. The feeling of his hot cum seeping into your pussy has you twitching around him, trying to milk every last drop from him.

You may have blacked for a second, eyes fluttering open as Eren gently taps your cheek. His handsome face, all flushed and sweaty comes into focus. Both of you are wearing equally dopey grins as he asks you, “Did it feel as good as I said?”

[glitchstoxicwaste]

Back to THIS request here~!!

Reminder: you are beautiful, amazing, smart, stupendous, there’s so many words in the dictionary to use to describe how spectacular you all are. You’re not alone, I promise you that, because I won’t let you be alone. I’m here to listen if you need someone to talk to, I will be here to support you, I love you all!! 💚

Also I am SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO DAMN LONG!!! I’m basically Dory from Finding Nemo, if I’m not reminded then I won’t remember… I had so many ideas that went down the drain and I feel so fucking horrible!!!! I only had some Vincent ideas left… fuck man I’m sorry…!!

Painful Reminders

Slashers | Vincent

TW: Self harm, GN Reader

Continue under the cut!

Vincent Sinclair!

He found out about them when you two were in his workroom, he had asked you to help him with a sculpture that was being a little bit more than difficult and so you did. He noticed how you hesitated to roll up your sleeves and how you tried to keep your arms out of Vincent’s sight. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by any means, but he couldn’t help but to worry.

He wasn’t one to force you to show him something, especially since it seemed like it upset you quite a bit, but he draws a line in the sand once he notices that it’s hurting you more now than ever. He saw you, noticed every little detail, was able to identify the differences between your fake and real smiles, and the real one was something he rarely saw anymore. He sees how you hide your arms, covers your legs, how you refuse to wear shorts or t-shirts even in the worst heat waves of Louisiana. He sees you’re insecure about something, he knows what insecurity looks like, and he wants nothing more than to help you feel beautiful.

During one of the rare days there were no visitors in Ambrose, you and Vincent were in his work/bedroom. You were doing your own thing whilst he was sculpting something out of pure wax. hours went by like that, you both enjoying the comfortable silence as you do your own things, basking in the presence of one another. He finished with his work and looked over at you, it’s now or never, he thought. 

The bed you sat on shifted, causing you to lean to the side and bump against the broad arm of Vincent, you looked over at him, where he now sat beside you, and gasped at the sight before you. His mask was off, his long, dark hair that would cover half of his face is tucked behind his ear, exposing the scar left behind.

“Vincent, you’re so handsome!”

You said... well... nearly shouted, with a wide smile plastered on your face. You saw his blush at your words of praise, and tapped your arms, you instantly picked up on his hints and gulped. Hesitantly, you rolled up your sleeves, exposing the scars left behind.

“Sorry... I know they’re ugly...”

You mumbled, he shook his head and grabbed your arms gently, lifting them up to his mouth, and placing gentle kisses to each scar that was seen on your skin, his way of telling you that you are, in fact, beautiful.

Every day when it’s calm and you’re cuddling he will absentmindedly rub his thumb across the scars gently, it became a bit of a habit for him.

At times he will have a bit of a breakdown and will hold you tight and will play with the scars, it grounds him and reminds him that you too have a physical reminder of a hard past, you too have beauty marks, and that you too have survived your mind. It is a reminder to him that you’re real and with him, not a wax creation he had made and not a figment of his imagination. He feels undeserving, like you’re better off without him, but you decided to willingly stay with him in Ambrose, and he will protect you from gaining any more of these divots in your flesh, he will keep you safe from the outside, from yourself, and from what he knows him and his brothers are capable of.

[thefanbasewhore]

The Weeping.

Prompt no. 4 from @wkemeup 's 9k challenge! - Character A is being held hostage. Character B offers to trade themselves in A's place.

master list || tag list

Summary || After you're taken from a mission, Bucky offers himself in order to insure your safety.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word count || 1,660

Warnings || abduction (kidnapping??), violence, gun-fire, mentions dead bodies and blood, angst.

Side note || clear eyes is Bucky and yours way of saying everything is okay and this is shorter then I intended it to be, I didn't have a lot of time to write it, so if it seems rushed, I'm sorry.

The mission was supposed to be simple - a quick in and out, retrieve the information and burn that place to the ground but even that seemed unattainable at the moment.

Bullets whiz through the air, penetrating the barrier of sound that make Bucky's ears ring. To anyone else it is frightening, usually follows screams of terror but it's something he lives for, the only familiar sound to stay with him constantly through the years. Adrenaline makes his body visibly tremble, chest conforming to laboring breath in order to stay quiet. Those crystal blue orbs narrowing, fine wrinkles bunch on the skin of his forehead as he nods towards you, on the opposite side of the room but still in his peripheral vision.

He nods once more - just to ensure that the hallway is clear. His heart is thumping against his chest right along with your own, fingers clenched the butt of your to bring it closer to your chest, raising it as Bucky moves in front of you with his own. The walls are splattered with red, fresh blood as you maneuver through the corpses' that lifelessly scatter the floors and the dark hallway seems almost endless, except the flickering light at the end of it. With every muffled gunshot it turns into darkness only to be unexpectedly brought to life again. "Stay low.." Bucky whispers as he follows your stance - back against the wall and a free hand reaching for the spare knife hidden in both of your boots but not before he extends his arm and fingers grasp the buckle across your chest with a gentle but meaningful pull, "Clear eyes?" "Clear eyes." Bucky nods softly as the cool vibranium finger sculpts the structure of your jaw with twinkling eyes. "Be careful in there, okay? You need anything --." He taps the shell of his ear with two fingers, and you nod in understanding. With one last glance Bucky turns towards the double doors, a hand pressing against the handle as he uses his body weight to push it open with ease and the moment he does more gunfire echoes the walls of the room. A sudden blur of motion catches his attention as his breath hitches as his arms wrap around you as bullets whiz through the air, only inches away from piercing your skin. Bucky uses the other door as cover as metal bullets ricochet. Smaller fingers clench into his flesh arm, forming indentations of small crescent moons as a means to seek cover. Bucky's arms wrap around you pulling you into his chest to shield you from any stray bullets but the heavy door behind his back is a strong enough metal to take the blunt force of the bullets without breaking through. His soothing hands find your hair, breathing heavily as he angles your face to meet his eyes. "Are you okay?" Your throat tightens at his worried expression but nods to confirm you were not hit. Bucky nods back, eyes setting in a hard line as he keeps you between his legs but peers over the threshold of the floor but a warning short from around the corner bounces off the walls. "Fuck." Bucky whispers as he reaches into the pocket of his tactical pants, but you don't need to look to see what he's got. "I'll go up the stairs, you go to the right." He pulls the pin out, rolling it into the room and waits until a thick, white cloud of smoke fills the hall, with one last nod he pulls his glasses down, fingers tapping the side as they click to life. You follow behind, gun raised in the air as you follow through sweeping the rather large room. The smoke is thick - suffocating, throat closing due to the inadequate amounts of oxygen, but you swallow the ball in the back of your throat while trying to maneuver through it, the glasses didn't help much. Footsteps cause you to jump, turning in every direction but the cloud is too thick and they near closer following along with your frantic motions to protect yourself with a mixture of anxiety and fear coarse through your veins. Something is mumbled to your right but it's too late, two rather large hands roughly grab at your hair, pulling it into a tight fist as another set of hands catch your leg - pulling into your fall onto the ground, hitting your head hard enough that dark, round dots cloud your vision. Before you could even manage to move - the cool surface of a blade touches your neck and your raise your hands in surrender as the weight of the man moves to crush your chest, face still veiled behind the white smoke. Without a word he turns you around, pressing your cheek against the floor with a rough hand as he pats down your suit, pulling the knives out with a snarl as his friend picks up your gun. 'Sweetheart, where are you?' Bucky's voice is muffled from the fact that the man's hand presses against it, but it vibrates his skin and it's yanked from your ear and crushed between two fingers. When the smoke dissipates the man brings you

to your knees, hands wrapped around your wrists with an unforgiving knee digging into your spine. "If you want her alive, come out now." A thick, foreign accent bounces off the walls of the room as the hand tightens, the other goon on your right holds your gun up as a blur moves in the corner of your eyes. Bucky's eyes meet yours in a panic as he rounds the corner, raising his gun to the man that holds your hair which only causes him to say something in a foreign language, digging the knife into your throat until it stings with pain. Every ragged breath the sharpened blade nicks the thickest column of your neck. "Let her go." Bucky hisses through clenched teeth, jaw clenching as seafoam eyes darken like the night sky. The man smiles evilly, a sick grin that reaches his eyes, makes Bucky's stomach drop inside his stomach as he twirls the knife around a dirty, unmanicured finger. "Didn't think we'd recognize you with that haircut, Soldat?" The skin of your neck burns as a yelp of pain fills the room, blood smears his fingers and invades your senses and the words make Bucky's eyes narrow, squeezing them shut at the words. The smell of smoke, gunfire and metallic make your head spin as Bucky lowers the gun to the ground, hands raised in the air. "Take me, let her go." "What use do we have for you now, Soldat? You are no longer our winter soldier; they have rid you of that." The man's sick chuckle causes him to shake his head, eyes wild with paralyzing fear. "That's not true - I feel him, he's still in here." He pauses, guilty eyes flicker to your own and back up the to man's, "Just let her go, don't hurt her." "No, no." You manage to mumble, tears stinging the waterline of your eyes as you grit your teeth in pain, he never lets the pressure of the knife go as you try to suppress a shiver. Bucky lowers his head with shame, in complete defeat as he lowers to his knees and moves the gun further away. "He's still in here. You can get him out. Take me instead of her, please." "Stop, no!" Eyes of guilt refuse to meet your own, the secret you have known all along and Bucky's urge to smother the winter solider completely blinded him from the fact that this could happen someday. It's been years since he's been so called 'freed' but some roots are so deep they can't be removed, the inside of his brain still tainted with the dark soldier who refuses to stop haunting him after all this time. "Bucky don't you fucking do it!" Bucky ignores the calls, squeezing his eyes shut with emotion. It's not fair, all those years spent brainwashed, tucked away inside his own brain just to end up there again. He barely survived the trauma then but now - he would never be able to, not without Steve, without the Wakandian's again. "Walk towards me, slowly." The other man commands as Bucky nods an understanding to stand on his feet but pauses as the knife presses into your skin more, "Let her go first." The instant the knife is gone is relief, hand reaching up to rub the burning skin and smear blood against your gloved hand and along your neck. Roughly the knee against your back pushes you from the position of on your knees to leaning against the man for support as his arm crosses against your chest, hand crushing the windpipe of your neck. "I will count to three and you both will walk, you towards me, her out the door. Got it?" With every number your heart pounds inside your chest, face turning red due to the harsh grasp at the surface of jaw as a cough follows suit, chest greedy for oxygen as he releases. Bucky takes the first step forward, edging you closer with his eyes that leave little room for argument. Close, slow steps until both yours and his arm brush against each other The fat of your bottom lip quivers as he leans forwards, hands still raise obediently in the air to press his forehead against your own. "Buck -." "Promise me, you won't come look for me." It is rushed as the men in front of him yell but inaudible as you shake your head as tears push past eyelashes. "I mean it, forget about me, they'll never stop. Okay? No

matter how much I try, they will never leave me alone." "How could you say -." There's a rough tug on his hand, pushing him forward but he uses the last second, he can spare to press one more heartbreaking kiss against your lips and before you could comprehend what coming next - a burning, red-hot pain radiates at the base of your skull and numbing darkness consumes you.

tags: @sugarpunch-princess, @old-enough-to-know-better73, @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals, @Fajitasandfics, @devilswaldorf, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @grubler, @SodDy030, @agent-catfish-kenobi,@scarletglowss, @abitchforbarnes, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @jewishdelis, @klorpski, @kaitieskidmore1, @peterpstuff, @akaaaaashiiii, @angelsandsorcery, @moony-is-bae, @yliumy, @watermelonsponge, @stolenxkissess, @peakascum, @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme, @crvecem, @likealadygodiva, @harrysthiccthighss, @burnerbitchh, @sergeantjamesbbarnes, @amelia-song-pond

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Lavender Lace (Part 2)

Pairing: Tom Holland x F!Reader

Summary: When Tom calls you mean, you decide to show him what mean really looks like. (Part 2 to Lavender Lace) 

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (Edging, Ruined Orgasm, Dom!Reader, Sub!Tom, Oral - m and f receiving, smidge of somnophilia, smidge of exhibitionism), Cursing, Honestly, the dom! is pretty soft 

Word Count: 4400

Requested by @hollandlover19​ 

_______________________

It was a rare occasion that you and Tom both had the same day off but when such an occasion arose, the two of you made sure to take full advantage of it. And, oh boy, were you two making today a special occasion. 

You’d woken up before Tom on this particular morning to find the sunlight already streaming in through the thin curtains and your beautiful boyfriend lying beside you looking as if he was sculpted from fucking marble. His brown curls were barely curls in the morning, more just a messy pile of once twisted tendrils that now just stuck up all unruly against the pillow. His eyes were still shut, his bare chest falling and rising with each heavy breath. The blankets covered most of his torso but the covers didn’t do much to hide the unintentional issue that all men had to deal with from time to time. 

A smirk spread across your face as you looked down at the tent beneath the sheets and then back at your boyfriend still deep asleep when an idea occurred to you. You shifted up onto your elbow and shifted a little closer to him, before kissing his bare chest, marking each freckle with your lips as you made your way up his neck and then eventually along his jawline. 

Tom shifted slightly when your finger lightly traced their way down his abs that weren’t as defined as they were when he was actively filming but you didn’t care. This man could never stop being handsome in your eyes. Your fingers reached the hem of his boxers, already straining with the pressure of his morning wood. With featherlight touches, you traced the length of his erection with your finger tips, over the head, and then back down along the underside of his shaft. 

The quietest little moan fell from his lips and you looked back up at him, biting your lip and determined to hear more of that sweet sound. You brought your hand back up to your mouth and spit into your palm before snaking it back down under the covers and beneath the elastic of the waistband. Your hand moved smoothly along his length and while you did so, your lips returned to his body. Tom's chest shook when his breathing hitched, clearly getting flustered, even in his sleep. 

You increased the pressure ever so slightly on his length, twisting your wrist around the head, when you kiss his jaw line. Another small breathy moan tumbles from his perfect lips and press yours against his gently, swallowing the sound. When you pulled away, kissing back down his neck, you heard a hoarse chuckle, “G’morning, love.” 

You smiled against his smooth neck, breathing him in. “Good morning, Tommy.” 

“Starting the day off well, I see?” He asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes but finding it difficult to keep them open through the pleasure. He sighs out in bliss when you focus more attention on the head. 

A chuckle leaves your lips when you go to kiss him yet again. “Thought you could use some TLC on your day off.” You sped up your pace and you could tell by the groans he was making that he was getting close already, “Is this okay?” 

“Oh, it’s more than okay, darling.” He grunted out with a smile, “‘M already so close.” 

“Yeah? Tell me when…” You cooed into his ear, biting the soft flesh. 

The pace you had set on his length was not fast but the pressure was enough to make him fall apart quickly. Partners were like bombs, you realized, and much of a relationship was learning what made them tick and what made them blow. Tom had a few triggers for each that you had every intention of taking full advantage of today, should he be willing to play along with your little game. 

He twitched in your hand and his fingers knotted themselves into the pillow beside his head. “Shit… I’m gonna-” 

Then your hand was gone. Tom groaned, his hips bucking up into sheets, chasing your touch. “Fucking hell!” He whined, head falling back harshly into the pillow, “You’re not usually this mean first thing in the morning.”

A single testing eyebrow raised when you leaned back, “‘Mean?’ Tread lightly, love. I had an idea for today, if you’re up for it, but I could always make it more torturous if you’re going to keep that tone.” 

The dominance in your voice was clear to Tom and gosh was it turning him on. “Heard we had a day off together and already had something planned?” He teased you, moving to sit up a little higher on the pillows. You crawled over his body until you were straddling his hips, his hard cock rubbing against your thin flannel pajama bottoms. He hissed when your hips rolled teasingly, one of his hands gripping your hip to keep you from moving - he was still trying to calm down - and the other bending to cradle his own head. You put your hands on the bed on either side of his body, trapping him in a trap he had no yearning to escape. “What did you have in mind, love?” 

You chewed your lip and looked up at him through long lashes, giving him a sultry dark look, “Ohhh, well I was thinking trying to beat your record and edge you fifteen times but since you were calling me names earlier, I think I’ll make it twenty.” 

“What?! I barely made it to ten last time!” Tom’s eyes were wide with panic but he quickly remembered his place when you gave him a sharp look. 

“What was that? Twenty-five for talking back?” You asked, almost in the tone a teacher would chide a student with. 

Tom’s whole body tensed up and he moved to embrace you in a panicked show of affection to remedy his misstep, “No! I’m sorry! Twenty is fine. I’ll make it to twenty!” 

You allowed him to pull your body down towards his just enough so your chest rested against his but you still looked up so you were eye to eye with the man, “That’s what I thought. Now don’t worry, I’m not totally… What did you call me? Mean? I won’t make you do all twenty at once. I’ll stretch them throughout the day. But a few rules: One, no touching yourself unless I say you can. Two, you must touch yourself when I tell you to. Three, no cumming before I say you can. Failure to follow these rules will result in punishment. Understand?” 

“Yes.” His voice was nearly a whimper. The way you made this boy fall apart should have made him embarrassed but he would trade all his pride if it meant he got to keep you for the rest of his life. The man was utterly in love with you and you were incandescently in love with him as well. 

You gave him a satisfied smile, “Good. That’s one down.” You rolled out of bed and stretched as if you hadn’t just promised him a day of sexual torture, “What do you want for breakfast? I’m starving.” 

**

Tom knew from the start he was going to have a hard time with this but he was hoping spreading out the twenty edges over the day would make it bearable. How wrong he was. You either allowed him to touch himself or touched him yourself about every half hour, just to make sure he stayed achingly hard, just the way you wanted him. It was in those gaps, though, that he’d hoped to find solace, only for you to “accidentally” bump into his member with your perfect ass, which was barely concealed in the short lounge shorts you’d decided to hang around the house in today. 

The first few times were easy. Obviously, the first edge was when you had woken him up with your hand pumping him almost to completion. The second was when you let him jerk himself off in the shower just after breakfast while you ran your hands over every inch of his body. You gave him a handjob when the pair of you were fresh out of the shower before he even had a chance to put his joggers on. The next seven were a combination of you touching him and you allowing him to touch himself over the next few hours. 

On the eleventh, you had decided to up the ante and have a little more fun with it. He sat on the couch, playing Call of Duty with Harry, Sam, and Haz all on the same server, speaking to him through his headset. Video games were Tom’s desperate attempt at distracting himself from the painful ache in his trousers but you weren’t going to let him get off that easy (no pun intended). 

When you came into the living room, standing just to the side of the television so he could still see the game but also see you, his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the screen, trying to ensure you knew he was acknowledging you while also not losing his lead on his brothers. His face fell when you didn’t say anything, only had that look in your eye again. With pleading eyes, he gestured to the controller in his hand. 

“Keep playing. Don’t mind me.” You whispered, waving towards the controller in his head nonchalantly. Tom gave you a skeptical look, knowing you were up to something but he resumed the game as you said he could. 

Staying in your same spot, just beside the television, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it up and over your head, revealing your bare breasts. Tom’s mouth fell open, having a hard time concentrating on the shouts and gunfire coming from the game when a literal goddess was stripping for him in his living room. “Keep playing. Don’t want to leave your brothers hanging.” You urged, nodding towards the TV. 

Hesitantly, Tom returned to the game, not nearly as invested in the stats on the screen as he was a few moments ago. He watched out of the corner of his eye as your shorts and panties slid down your legs in one motion, leaving you completely bare before him. You padded towards him, putting your knees on the couch to either side of his hips, straddling him. 

Tom leaned back and gave you a look of panic when you reached down to gently pull his hard length from his joggers. His hands pulled back, the game forgotten but you released him, his hard length practically sticking straight up against his stomach. You reached for his hands and laced them behind your back, leaning forward so you were mostly positioned against his chest. Tom could still see the screen over your shoulder, both hands resting on the controller but he was no longer aggressively slamming the buttons. 

When your hands returned to guide his cock to your soaked entrance, his eyes blew wide and he pointed to the headset with pleading eyes. Your mouth fell open as you sank down on his length, a choked sound falling from Tom’s lips at the sudden warmth. This was the first time he’d been inside you all day and he was already so sensitive that it drove him crazy. 

After you had a moment to compose yourself, you pulled aside one of the ear pads and allowed your lips to brush his ear, “Better not let them hear you, Tommy. Imagine what they’d say if they found out you liked this… being brought to the brink of tears, being absolutely ruined.” 

Tom’s mouth fell open when you began to move agonizingly slow up and down on him, your walls squeezing around his length every time you moved up. Tom was usually a fairly vocal guy in bed, almost always making a sound, whether it be begging you, praising you, telling you how much he loved you, or just little moans and groans. This was torture for him and you knew it. 

You swivelled your hips, having to bite back your own moan when you managed to hit that spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Having finally found that spot within yourself, you made sure to keep repeating that same motion until your toes were curling. Your breasts rubbed deliciously against Tom’s chest and you found your own high approaching rapidly. 

You pulled one of Tom’s ear pads aside again and breathed out, “I’m gonna cum, Tommy.” It wasn’t a whine of desperation, it was a declaration of power. A statement of what you were able to do and he wasn’t. 

The muscles in his neck flexed as he swallowed hard, finding himself close as well. He had been so hard this entire time, he was surprised he had managed to go this long without nearing that edge but it was catching up to him rapidly. After only a few more bounces on him, you unravelled around him, clutching onto his shoulders tightly. 

You pulsed around him, riding out your high with a silent scream, hating that you were also punishing yourself with having to stay silent to keep the boys from knowing what you were doing as well. Tom let out a strangled groan when he felt himself about to fall over that edge. He let go of the controller and tapped your ass repeatedly, trying to pry you off of him so he wouldn’t cum without your permission. Broken sounds fell from his lips so quiet you could barely hear it but you raised your brow, clamping your hand over his mouth so he would stay quiet. Finally, you slowed to a stop, telling by the intensity with which he tried to pull you off of his length that was going to fall over that edge if you continued. 

“‘Ey, Tom? You good mate?” You could hear Haz’s voice ask with a chuckle through the headset, followed by a few exclamations of frustration as you assumed he was shot in the game. 

Slowly, you removed your hand from Tom’s mouth and allowed him to answer, “Yeah, erm, yeah. I’m good.” His first attempt at speaking had come out almost more as the squeak of a thirteen year old boy but he cleared his throat and was able to sound more convincing. 

** 

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you...” 

“F-fourteen! I said fourteen.” Tom gritted out, body covered in sweat as his back arched off the bed. 

You sat off to one side of him but leaned over his legs, your free hand running up and down his thighs that were tensing beneath your touch. “Only six more, Tommy. You’re doing so good.” 

He shook his head, “I’m not gonna make it to twenty.” He was nearly in tears, cock moving on its own free will at this point, flexing against his abs. 

You cooed, “Ohhh but you’re gonna have to.” Tom’s biceps flexed as he pulled against the handcuffs you had him restrained to the headboard with. “I’ll make them quick,” You reassured with a smile, a smile that Tom found anything but reassuring. 

You leaned down and took him into your mouth, humming with satisfaction at the cry he let out, only making him struggle more. You hollowed your cheeks and swirled your tongue around his head, tasting the sweet yet salty precum that had beaded up there. 

“Ah, shit-” Tom struggled, biting into the back of the fleshy bit of his hand to try and ground himself. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He had warned you this morning that twenty was most likely an impossible goal but you just wouldn’t listen. Tom found himself desperately on the edge within less than a minute of you touching him. Maybe if he just didn’t say anything, you would keep going until he came. He could deal with whatever punishment you had in store but he just needed a release. 

You watched from beneath hooded lashes at the way his eyes were screwed shut and felt the way his hips bucked up involuntarily, pushing him down your throat. His cock twitched in your mouth, the way it always did just before he-

“You naughty thing! You were going to cum weren’t you?” You sat up off of him as soon as you noticed that tell-tale sign of his. 

Tom let out a literal sob and you noticed the tears falling from the corners of his eyes. “‘M sorry! I just need to cum so bad! Please!” 

The tears that fell down his face did actually make you feel a little guilty but you had to remind yourself that if it really was too much for him, he knew the safe word that would make the whole act go away. Knowing yourself, if he tapped out because it got to be too much, you’d let him cum right now. Both of you knew this was really just for the fun of exploring yourselves and each other and the last thing either of you wanted was for either one of you to not be enjoying what was going on. And yet, Tom still had yet to actually say the safe word. That didn’t mean you couldn’t be a little soft on him though.

You leaned up and kissed his lips softly, fingers brushing through his messy locks, “Oh, darling, I know. There’s only five more.” Tom groaned as if five were a hundred. Suddenly, your fingers knotted in his hair just tight enough to get his attention and, just like that, your soft tone was gone and your dangerous glare was back, “But if you ever try to pull one over me like that again, I’ll make sure you won’t cum for much, much longer than I did today.” 

Tom didn’t need to respond. It was written all over his face that the message had been received loud and clear. You crawled your way back down his body and began pumping his shaft again, swiping your thumb over his head to spread the liquid there along his length. You shifted yet again, moving to the position where you could roll his balls in your other hand. 

“You better tell me this time.” You threatened, already seeing the signs. Besides, Tom had been so close for so long, he was at the point where any touch practically brought him to the edge. 

“I’m gonna cum!” 

You kept working him until his legs were squirming beneath you, only stopping when you saw he was within a second from falling over the edge. “Sixteen. Awe, you barely let me touch you that time.” 

“‘M so close,” His head shook side to side, “So fuckin’ close.” With one finger, you drew small feather-light lines up and down the underside of his shaft and he was bucking his hips away from you. “No, no, no! Wait!” He begged you to stop, not calmed down enough to be able to withstand another round yet. If you kept touching him, he would surely bust in a second. 

Giving him a bit of mercy, you stopped touching his length but switched to rolling his balls in your hand, stimulating him just enough without making him cum. Your own fingers trailed down between your folds and you spread the slick that had accumulated there over your hand, “See what you do to me, Tommy? You make me so so wet.” 

Using your wetness as lube, you began stroking his shaft again without much warning. Tom was bucking into your hand without realizing it but you shifted your weight to sit on top of his thighs, removing his leverage to continue. “Nuh-uh,” you chided, “You made sure I couldn’t trust you earlier.” 

Tom pulled hard against the handcuffs, his muscles flexing as if he was a Greek god. Your free hand went back between your legs and you rubbed yourself in slow, small circles to warm yourself up for when you’d allow yourself to cum with him as well. The tears in Tom’s eyes had since dried but his eyes were shut tight and his teeth were grit together. “I’m gonna-” 

“Hold it.” You demanded, increasing the pressure slightly. 

Tom shook his head, “I can’t! Shit- Fuck!” He cried as he finally came hard. A massive wave of pleasure like he’d never felt washed over him but it was quickly ruined when your hand stopped stroking him the moment you noticed him cumming. 

By the time the first ribbon of white came to paint his abs, you removed your hand and watched as he tried desperately to get some sort of friction to work him through his ruined orgasm. He was crying again, an entire day’s worth of edging now ruined in an agonizingly unsatisfying orgasm. That first glimpse was an Earth-shattering orgasm that was lost as soon as your hand stopped stimulating him. 

You watched with an amazement you’d only allow to show on your face when his eyes were shut as he just kept cumming and cumming. It was clear by the way his cock twitched that it was aching for more stimulation but you refused to give it to him. 

“Tommy,” your voice was soft but it was laced with disappointment, “I told you you’d be punished if you couldn’t follow directions.” 

“I’m sorry! I just couldn’t get the words out in time.” His chest was heaving and his voice was still whiny.

You nodded sympathetically, “I know, I know. But rules are rules, love. Maybe next time you can cum for real when you can follow instructions.” You crawled over him and clicked the release trigger on the handcuffs, slipping them off his wrists and kissing the angry red lines on them from where he’d been pulling on them. He brought his arms down, blood rushing back into the appendages.

“Now, you get to watch me get off and I don’t care if you get hard again. There’s no touching for the rest of the night.” You rolled off of him to lie on the bed beside him, your legs spreading wide and you hooked the left one over his leg. Your fingers swiped across your bundle of nerves and you clenched around nothing as you set the pace that would get you there quickly. 

Tom sat up a little straighter, eyes glued to where your hand disappeared between your legs, “Can I touch you?” He asked, looking back over to your eyes. 

“Why should I let you?” 

“To show you just how sorry I am.” His hand came to rub your thigh in a testing show of affection. Your eyes glanced down to where his hand met your skin and then back up with a quirked brow to show him that you saw straight through his coy attempts. Just because you noticed them didn’t mean you were objected to them though and after an entire day of dripping over Tom, you thought it was only fair if you got a little something in return. 

“Alright, fine. Since you asked so nicely.” Your dominating persona cracked a little when you laughed at the way he nearly pounced on you, lips aching to touch every square inch of your perfect body. First, he started at your lips, attacking them until they were plump and swollen. He worked his way down your neck and then your body, knowing every spot, every button to push just like you knew his. 

By the time his mouth reached your core, your heart was already racing with arousal. His hot breath fanned over you as he took a moment to admire you, “You’re so fucking beautiful, even when you’re being mean.” He looked up from between your thighs with a cheeky grin and you reached down to playfully smack the side of his head. 

“Somebody just can’t learn their lesson,” You chuckled, having dropped the dominant act. It was hard to keep up when Tom snapped out of his submissive one and turned into your cute puppy dog of a boyfriend. 

The shit eating grin on his face disappeared a little lower once again and his tongue ran a long stripe up your folds. You moaned out, toying with your nipples, “Oh God….” Tom smirked against your sex, licking you again, only this time, letting the tip of his tongue slip inside of you just enough to tease. His arms wrapped around thighs when they moved against your will and he held them down. Finally, his tongue flicked at that sensitive bud you needed him to touch so badly and you let out a shaky breath when he finally found it. 

“Shit,” You let out a breathless chuckle, hands threading in his hair and tugging slightly when his lips around you completely, sucking harshly on your clit. “Holy fuck!” Tom continued to do that while gently slipping a single finger inside your entrance, pumping slowly at first to warm you up. With how insanely wet you’d been all day, though, it was a warm up that was unneeded. A second finger soon joined it and he curled them up just right to hit that spot inside you that made you see sparks. 

“Oh my gosh, Tom. Right there!” You whined out, one hand pulling your nipple with one hand and his hair with the other. With the arm he had wrapped around your thigh, he pressed his palm flat against the skin just above your pubic bone, making the pressure against your g-spot that much more intense. 

“I’m gonna cum!” You moaned, sitting up on your elbows to watch Tom work you to your orgasm. That band in your stomach snapped and you fell back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure as Tom slowed down until you finished squeezing around his fingers. 

Tom pulled his fingers out of you and rubbed your core gently, still feeling the pulsing, radiating heat coming from it. “Are you okay?” He asked, chuckling a little at your absolutely fucked out expression. 

“Where did you learn to do that?” You questioned, never having had him try pressing on you from the outside while fingering you while eating you out. It was explosive. 

Tom’s cheeks were still red from earlier as he looked at you with a cautiously proud expression, “Haz had told me about it.” 

You rolled your eyes and laughed, “Of course, he did.” 

Tom crawled back up to kiss you on the lips, “Am I forgiven?” 

You feigned a look of deep thought before sighing in “defeat”, which really just fade into a giggly kiss, “I guess so.” 

[ticklefits]

AO3 LINK! | tickletober 2021 day 1: CHASE.

voltron: legendary defender | klance | words : 2572

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Keep singing.” With a tone much too amused and muscular figure leaned against the door frame, Keith’s eyes have locked on his boyfriend who’s settled at the countertop, chopping up onions for their lunch. His ears were previously graced with the melodic & upbeat notes of Lance’s singing before he halted as soon as he noticed Keith’s presence, cheeks dusting over in a soft shade of cherry at having been caught. 

"You snuck up on me! Y'know, all that Blade of Marmora training has made you seriously light on your feet, you're too quiet when you walk up on people--" Lance complains, obviously trying to shift the attention off of his virtuoso vocals, but Keith isn't falling for the trick. He merely grants the other a shrug, stepping further into the kitchen to peer down at the meal he was preparing before the interruption. It was a newer dish, something that Lance had talked about trying to cook before and though Keith rarely indulged in foreign grounds when it came to what he ate, Lance was a decent cook and he's willing to try anything for him. After a once-over of the food, he twists to match his gaze with Lance with Lance again, a small smirk now presented half-cocked upon his lips. 

"Being quiet has its advantages," is his rebuttal, arms crossing along the width of his chest as he gently knocks a shoulder against his love's. "You can keep complaining about it if you do it in song."

A silent curse leaks out with the sensation of heat that strengthens on the surface of Lance's cheeks, half-tempted to run into the next room and half-tempted to actually take Keith up on his offer. Complaining while singing truthfully sounds sort of hilarious and maybe Lance might've considered it had he not been ambushed by the other, but the abashment that's welled up in the center of his stomach has stolen the reigns from his usual confidence and is keeping his vocal chords locked and twisted. At this point, he's temporarily canceled prepping lunch and his new focus lies on a getaway. Sapphire sight slowly inches from where Keith stands to the archway that connects into the living room, calculating the distance to it from his own feet and weighing the risks. Keith, however, is a warrior, and a highly trained one at that, so as soon as he notices Lance's fixed stare towards the living room, his smirk widens and his own stance alters.

"C'mon loverboy, don't make me chase you down. You know I'm faster than you." There it is. A challenge. A challenge to his Leo boyfriend, who's neatly sculpted eyebrows perk and furrow and his lips twitch at the corners. 

"You're funny, Keith. The only one way you'd be faster than me, is if you tap into that cat-like Galran side of you and get on all fours. Stronger than me? Sure, maybe -- but not faster." Lance knows he just spit some fighting words, and judging by the slightly surprised, oh no he did not just say what I think he said look, Keith was about to square up. It was silent for a moment that dragged on like an hour, until Keith cements a stare at Lance and for a split second, Lance could swear he saw his pupils slit just like a feline. 

"You get five seconds."

"Wha--"

"Run."

Lance did not need to be told twice. As soon as he heard that single word practically growled from his boyfriend, he sprang into a nearly full sprint into the living room. Keith kept his words and after 5 seconds, rocketed off after Lance. By the time he had an open view of the room, Lance was nowhere to be seen. He paused, rummaging through his thoughts to figure out where Lance might have escaped to next. He figures their bedroom would be a good place to start, plenty of the places to try and hide in there; try, being the operative word there. He enters the shared sleeping space and, just to tease Lance thoroughly in case he was hiding in there, starts to tap his nails on the walls and other hard surfaces, knowing damn well the clicks and clacks will echo.

"Oh, Laaance.." the swordsman practically coos, feigning an innocent tonality all the while checking under the bed and in their closet for his prey. "You know I'm not gonna hurt you. I wouldn't ever hurt you. But you do need to be punished for what you said."

Lance can hear him. He can hear him and Keith knows that he can. Their apartment isn't very generous with running room and hiding spaces, so he's taken refuge in their master bathroom. He nearly scoffs at Keith's statements; he knows Keith wouldn't hurt him, not intentionally, but that's not what he's worried about. He knows what those clickity clacks mean. The surface of his skin is already tingling and he's biting back a grin, hands smoothing over the goosebumps popping up along his arms. He could speak lies and say he hates when Keith does this, but they both know the truth: Lance thrives on it. Every tap of his nails drives Lance insane and he can feel his body trying to gravitate towards the sound, but he refuses to give in and admit defeat. Keith challenged him, so it's on. 

He's dragging his nails now, goddammit, and he's getting closer. Those silent steps aren't so silent anymore and Keith's doing that on purpose. He wants Lance to hear him coming; it's all part of the chase. Thankfully though, their bathroom contains a door that opens up to the hallway, so if he times it right, he can get past without him hopefully noticing. Slowly, nearly holding his breath, Lance scoots to the second door and ever so gently turns the handle to minimize any sound and opens the door. A quick peek tells him that it's safe, but as soon as he fully exits the bathroom and begins his quiet tread through the hall, Keith appears behind him from their bathroom, running towards him. Lance yelps and his reaction is immediate, making a break for the living room once again. He jumps onto the couch and grabs a pillow, deciding to fend off his hunter with a weapon instead of continuing to run.

"En guard!" Comes his battle cry as Keith reaches him and narrowly misses the swing of a cushion at his head.

"That's a dirty play, McClain!" He manages to say before he gets uppercut with a cushion and it's as if the world goes into absolute silence. Lance hadn't really meant to smack him like that, but the damage has already transpired, so all he can do is gently place the couch cushions back to their proper home, all the while observing with fright behind his eyes as Keith's visage lowers back down to look at him. He says nothing, amethyst sight blank, but he does start to move towards Lance, which has the taller scooting backwards on the couch, palm outstretched as if that were to quell Keith's wrath any. 

"Keith -- Keith, babe, baby, look at me -- you know I didn't mean to do that, I swear--!" But Keith still doesn't utter a single syllable, even as he climbs atop and straddles Lance's hips. He then moves to grab some of the mini pillow cushions nearest Lance's head, one in each hand, and Lance's eyes widen, remembering a time when Pidge pulled this on him herself, except she used vinyl, elbow - length gloves. Keith's method is unorthodox, but Lance is sure it's gonna tire him out all the same. 

"Keith! No! No, no, no, no--!" But his pleas are no use. Raising the small pillows into the air, it isn't a second later that Keith starts to rapidly smack Lance's upper body with them. It's a furious barrage, one arm raining down a strike right after it's counterpart. If this was an action movie, and pillows were bullets shot out of a gun, this would be absolutely brutal. Fortunately for Lance, these soft, fluffy pillows don't hurt anywhere near a bullet wound. In fact, he's grinning all the while, limbs held askew above his head as a shield. 

"Now this is a dirty play, Kogane! Fight me like a real man!" And Lance is about to regret those words, because as soon as Keith hears him, he halts his assault and tosses the pillows to the side, eyes glinting dangerously. 

"Oh, I'm just getting started." Now unoccupied hands shift to settle on Lance's sides and instantaneously, Lance knew he was fucked. 

"Woahwoahwoah, no! No, now this is really foul--!"

"Sucks to suck."

"FIRST of all, I'm the one who taught you that saAAhahah--!" Keith's heard enough prattling out of Lance, it's time to hear some of that sweet, hilarious laughter now. Fingers scribble over the clothed flesh of his sides and waist and that already gets him into giggling hysterics. Keith will always be pleasantly surprised at just how ticklish Lance is. Nearly every inch of him is sensitive to something and it never fails to gift him with serotonin when he's got Lance beneath him, rosy cheeked, squirming around, and laughing his heart out - much like he is now. 

"Nohohohoho! Keh--Keheheheith! Stahahahahap!" His pleas are broken apart by giggles that are only raising in volume the more his sides are attacked and he's only growing further sensitive by the second. Lance knows his religiously vigorous skin care routine is partly to blame for how ticklish he is, but can you blame him for wanting soft, youthful skin? And it isn't like Keith's complaining about it either. 

"Nah, I don't think I can. My fingers are under some sort of spell." Such a blatant lie from the older pilot and the grin he dons is unmistakably teasing. 

"Yo--you're suhuhuch a lihahahahahar!" 

"What? I'm offended. I'm not lying at all. In fact, I'll tell you an easy way to break the spell and get me to the stop." 

"Gohohohohohod! Fiiiiihihihine, OKAY, okahahahy!" Lance is really beginning to struggle, squeals forcing themselves free as Keith migrates from waist, to stomach, and then to his ribs, poking & scritching between each one in an agonizing manner. "Aaahahahahaha! Tell---tell mehehehehe alreadyyyy!"

"You really wanna know?"

Lance's strength is sapping quicker than he'd like it to, but he still possesses enough of it to gently smack at Keith's arm, his giggles evolving into full blown laughter once those dastardly fingers begin reaching towards his armpits in retaliation. 

"All you gotta do is sing. Like, that one red-headed princess, to break a spell that was on her, or whatever." The fact that Keith really provided a Disney comparison to Lance's current predicament is hilarious all on its own, but Lance wasn't about to give into this torture, and deliver what Keith desired so easily. 

"Hohohohow is -- i-is ticklihihihing me suhuhpposed to make me wahahahant to SING?? B-Besides, a kihihihihiss broke Ahahariel's spell, not -- not singihihihihihing!" Poor Lance, with his cracking voice and breathy, hollow words that could scarcely be understood through all of his laughter. Keith understood the gist of it though and contemplated his conditions. He still wanted Lance to sing to him, but a kiss sounded pretty nice too. However, he isn’t quite finished with his boyfriend’s torture; there’s still one last area he very much wants to explore before he allows Lance free. Spidering digits cease their actions, smoothing up and then down the expanse of Lance’s toned torso, granting him a desperately needed, albeit quick rest. Lance doesn’t speak, merely taking this opportunity in stride to gulp down as much air as he can, because a minute part of him knows Keith isn’t done and that something wicked this way comes.

Something wicked indeed. After some very short-lived moments of repose, without skipping a beat, Keith breaks into full force tickling all over the surface of Lance’s soft thighs. The first and last thing to run through Lance’s mind is a sharp curse to himself for deciding that today was a good day to wear shorts. Keith has an all access pass to one of his death spots and he is allowing no mercy. They’re certainly going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors ( not that Keith cares ), because the inhumane screech that burst from the tunnel of Lance’s throat could probably be heard blocks away. 

“K---KEEEHEHEHEHEHITH!! NO! NOHOHO, NOT RIGHT THEHEHEHEHRE! PLEHEHEHEASE, AHAAAHAHAHAHNYTHING BUT THERRRRE--!” the couch has been shaved of all of its cushions by flailing, lengthy limbs and even Keith is having trouble keeping atop of Lance, what with all of his wriggling and buckling. 

“Geez, Lance, you almost sound like I’m killin’ you.” Keith’s grin is now from ear to ear, more than enjoying himself, the view, and his love’s ridiculously adorable laughter. 

“YOU AHAHAHAHARRRRE!! PLEEEEHEHEHEHASE!” But it’s only when Lance deflates into silent laughter, arms going limp against the couch underneath him, that Keith finally concludes his torture. Calloused hands remove themselves from the slender frame and he completely slides off of Lance, disappearing into the kitchen. Unbothered by Keith’s abrupt departure, Lance soaks up every single second of relaxation he can, until he glances up once he hears footsteps, and sees the water bottle Keith’s offering. Smiling a little weakly, Lance sits up, releasing a few lingering giggles as the movement of his still hyper - sensitive upper body brings forth some ghost touches. 

“Alright, time to break your spell.” Keith’s statement is oh so cheeky and as he leans forward, waiting for Lance to close the distance, he half expects Lance to do anything but kiss him. A pleasant surprise is given to him when he feels those familiar, supple lips intertwining with his own, and he smiles into it. The kiss lasts for a couple of seconds before Lance pulls away and eyes Keith, brow rising along his temple. 

“Guess whose job it is to prepare lunch now?”

A roll of lavender eyes, but he holds out his hand nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah. I tired you out, so I guess it’s mine. I don’t know how to make what you were making though.”

Lance takes the hand that’s offered and ascends from the couch, bending to start picking up the collapsed couch cushions. “Go on into the kitchen, I’ll be right behind you to boss you around.” Keith snorts a quickle chuckle, but does as instructed, making his way back into the kitchen. He nearly stops as something catches his ears, a heavy warmth blooming in his chest. Lance sings more than loud enough for Keith to hear him, even as he’s waiting in the kitchen. He continues singing, once all of the cushions are placed back in their proper place, and as he finally enters the kitchen. He saunters up to Keith, sight locked with sight, a hand on his chest, happiness brimming in the way he sings. 

“♪ Maybe this love is mad, you're filling every thought I have. Now I've stayed too long, and there's no turning back. Might as well dance.~ ♪” As if on cue, Keith takes his hand and spins him, earning an even more brilliant smile from Lance, and he lands softly against Keith, arms coiling around his neck to bring him back in for another kiss. Suddenly, lunch doesn’t matter so much anymore.