#i had a vision a vision of my man in the kitchen my back arched like a cat my position couldnt stop you were hitting and i shouldnt cry but

[aliceyabusamesoneball]

looks around

[fushitoru]

back to the kittty, cause she's kinda pretty!

pairings ⸺ (SEPERATE) bf!sukuna x reader x toji, masseuse!nanami x reader, bully!suguru x reader, childhood best friend!choso x reader, best friend!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ jjk men as overused p0rn tropes! (part 2) inspired by this awesome post by the cool and super talented @/osamucide! pls check it out and the rest of his work :3

warnings ⸺ SMUT (mdni), sub!satoru supermacy, porn no plot, vaginal sex, doggy, fem reader, "sloppy seconds," pre-established consent for all, reader accidently eats an aphrosidiac for choso's, bullying in suguru's, oral (m and frecieving), fingering, semi-public humiliation, lowk pathetic toji, art by 3aem, nOT EDITED

a/n choso's is my favorite yet again i love a pathetic man that rails me into next tuesday <3

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

KAMO CHOSO ⸺ MY HOT CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND ATE SOME WEIRD CHOCOLATE AND WANTS ME TO DICK HER DOWN!

Your best friend, Choso, was lounging on his couch, flipping through different movie options on Netflix while you were in the kitchen, bending and squinting through the different options. It’s a Friday night, and the both of you opted to stay in for movie night.

“Choso!” You complained, huffing while putting your hands on your hips to shout at him in the living room. “Why do you only have fuckin protein shakes and raw chicken in your fridge?”

All you get is a noncommittal shrug while he pauses on the preview for some shonen anime. “There should be some chocolate.”

Gasping in excitement, you go back to rummaging through his fridge like a raccoon and there you find it—-a pink chocolate box titled “tabs.” Smiling to yourself in excitement, you don’t hesitate before popping on of the bars in your mouth, appreciating the cherry flavor while grabbing another one. With your mouth full, you ask, “Do you want one? These are sooo good, where'd you buy them?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just come over here, you’ve been taking too long.” He sends you a glare and motions for you to sit next to him, to which you set the chocolate back in the fridge and pad your way over to him. “I think Sukuna bought these off the internet and that they were kinda bougie.”

You look at him, slightly alarmed. “Isn’t he going to kill you?”

He looks over at you—a little softly, you note—and ruffles your hair, to your dismay. “It’s okay, I’ll buy it again for him. Gonna blame your big back ass for it being gone.”

“Die.” You stick your tongue out, crossing your arms while settling into his side. 

Choso noted that you were being a bit more cuddly than usual, touching him more as soon as you got onto the couch. He decides to ignore it. “Ok, we’re going with Spider-man, k?”

You nodded into his side—he could tell you were flushed by the way you had continued to grow warmer and warmer, with beads of sweat dotting your temple. He paid it no mind, choosing instead to click on the movie and watch it play.

You were heating up. 

You tried to ignore it, because you hadn’t felt feverish before or done anything in particular to cause you to be sick (your coffee and ramen diet had been fixed after midterms season after Choso got on your ass about it). But about 25 minutes into the movie, you couldn’t bear it anymore, your vision blurring at the edges as you mumbled, “‘ts too hot. Gonna take off my shirt.”

Choso, who had been focused on the movie, tensed and looked at you, eyes slightly widened. “Wh—” Before he could even get a word out, you stood up—eyes slightly unfocused—arching your back while grabbing the bottom hem of your t-shirt and peeling it off, causing Choso to gulp as you uncovered the swell of your breasts in your red lace bra. You went back to borrowing yourself on his side, the softness of your boobs pressing against his arm. 

Choso closed his eyes because there was nooo way he was popping a boner for his best friend. No way. As both of your eyes went back to the movie, Choso focused on reciting the Japanese National Anthem to distract himself from the soft breaths you were letting out near his ears—and the way they tickled them—as well as the rise and press of your chest against his arms as you heaved. 

You, on the other hand, did not feel relieved. At all. There was a stickiness in between your thighs that made you think your period had started, but it had ended a week ago. You were probably just ovulating. Cuddling into Choso further, you put your legs on either side of his torso, burying your face into his neck and taking a deep sniff. At this point, you ignore the movie as you tried the soothe the heat that was going through you.

“What are you doing?” Choso was ram–rod straight and turned to peer down at you incredulously while reciting in his brain, until the tiny pebbles, grow into massive boulders. 

You continued your whiffing—-he just smelled sooo good—and sobbed, “I don’t know, but it hurts.” At this point, the feeling between your thighs was unbearable. You started to subtly grind on the side of his torso, much to Choso’s surprise. “‘M sick, Cho, but I’ve been eating healthy! I promise!” you whined. “Except for the chocolate right now. It hurts!”

At that moment, he knew he fucked up.

These were the tabs chocolates Sukuna was buying for his girlfriend. The ones viral on social media for serving as aphrodisiacs.

“Fuck,” he groaned while you continued to rub yourself onto him, now fully moaning and sighing as you tried to chase relief.  “Fuck! I fucked up.”

“Choso,” you whined loudly, prompting him to leave his state of anguish to look at you worriedly. “I feel so empty.”

Choso snapped.

Bent over, face buried in a pillow on the couch, Choso rams into your creamy, wet pussy, the squelching sounds echoing across the empty apartment. Punctuating his words with a thrust, “is-” plap! “what-” plap! “you-” plap! “wanted?”

“Yes!” you squeal, body bouncing as his rough snaps of his hips jostled you around, “You’re making me feel so good, Cho!”

“Do you know how much of a tease you’ve been?” he growled, balls hitting your ass as he pulled a hand back to spank you, red handprint imprinting itself on your cheeks. He groans at the sight of him leaving his mark on you. “Gonna take my cum, right?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI AND SUKUNA RYOMEN ⸺ I GET MY BEST FRIEND’S SLOPPY SECONDS! (a/n lol im not gonna lie this is just me ovulating and wanting to be creampied by two men)

Whenever Toji was at Sukuna’s place, it was like you, his girlfriend, pretended he wasn’t there. Because why were you always dressed in the tiniest of shorts and a tank top that could barely even hold your tits in and keep them covered? Sometimes, Toji thought it was Sukuna’s play—dangling you in front of him like a piece of meat, reminding him what he couldn’t have. 

Sukuna and Toji did have a bit of a…competitive friendship—one of good nature, of course. Toji, nonchalant as he is, didn’t really care whether he lost or not in the little skirmishes they had, whether it be seeing who can lift the most at the gym or walk somewhere faster. But he’s definitely seen Sukuna eye his groin in a mental competition to see if he was bigger or not.

Safe to say, Sukuna relished in the win. In a sense, he was obsessed with the submission. Not that Toji could care. He didn’t care when he flaunted his girlfriend around, groping you in front of him just to make him feel jealous…right?

Because why was his dick hard, him all hot and bothered as he listens to your moans and the plap! plap! plap! and squelches of Sukuna’s dick drilling in you? You’re both in the room, and Toji’s in the living room, confused as to why the fuck Sukuna asked him to come over when you clearly had a dick appointment with him. 

“Mmm, Sukuna you’re making me feel so good!” You whine, and Toji curses, closing his eyes and cursing whatever god was out there to make him subject to such torture. In his gray sweatpants, his bulge is undeniable as he hears Sukuna pleasure you. 

Then, he hears Sukuna call out to him, jumping as the other man yells, “Yo, Toji. I know you’re out there, man. Come in!” He then laughs meanly, speeding up to silence whatever protests you were making. Toji curses once again and moves to open the door just for his eyes to widen at what he’s seeing.

There is an obscene amount of cum oozing from your hole, it looked battered and swollen from the abuse Sukuna has dealt to it. There are tears in your eyes, a pretty pout on your face as Sukuna continues to use you as your fucktoy. And Toji realizes that Sukuna is looking at him while his hips languidly gyrate into you.

 “‘kuna–” you sob, embarrassed and cheeks heating up even further as you felt Toji’s eyes rove over your form, utterly decimated by Sukuna.

But you’re interrupted out of any potential protests you can make as Sukuna smacks your ass—Toji’s eyes not missing the jiggle—as he abruptly pulls out and motions Toji to come closer. “I’m gonna let him borrow you, okay baby? You see, Toji’s kind of pathetic here. Might as well give him sloppy seconds, right?”

With that, Toji is moaning as he slowly enters you, your pussy sweetly clamping on his dick as he can literally feel Sukuna’s cum every time he thrusts. The utterly debauched feeling of his still-hot come lubricating his every thrust makes his eyes roll back, lost in the feeling of your pussy as you whimper and squeal everytime he hits your g-spot.

“Yo,” and Toji’s attention is temporarily swayed to Sukuna, who’s watching the both of you with darkened eyes, manspread in a chair. “Come inside, okay? It’s my treat.”

NANAMI KENTO ⸺ DIRTY MASSEUSE GIVES HOT BABE A DEEP TISSUE MASSAGE! (WITH A HAPPY ENDING)

Working in corporate was hell.

Sitting in a chair all day slaving away at spreadsheets and emails was definitely not something your younger self imagined you doing, but alas, you were only but a slave to capitalism. Even your hip flexors could feel it—they were tight, and your upper back hurt a lot.

So, here you were, in the waiting room of this bougie massage salon that you decided to treat yourself to. After all, you’ve been a good girl with your savings, making sure not to spend loads on stress-virtual-shopping so you can blow lots of bucks into this 2 hour service. The lobby is neat and glamorous, as you wait while rubbing your back. You’re currently engrossed in watching a compilation of Moo Deng videos until a deep cough interrupts you. “Miss?”

You turn to face the rich, baritone voice that’s said your name, and then suddenly reeling back. In front of you was probably one of the most handsomest men you’ve ever seen, with blond hair and sharp cut facial lines. He’s rubbing his palms together, which seem laden with oil as he looks at you plaintively. “Shall we take it to the massage room?”

“Y–yes. We can do that,” you nervously affirmed, gathering your purse and belongings to tightly follow behind him. 

When you arrive at the room, the stoic man motions for you to get changed. “Please put on a towel. We’re going to be doing a deep tissue massage, so the towel will serve as a protective measure.”

You blush at the thought of this man seeing your body covered in nothing but a towel, but follow his directions regardless, putting your belongings in a corner while you step out of the changing room and into the massage room once again. You try to preserve your modesty as best you can as you go to lie down on the table. The only things you hear from him are the clinks of bottles as he rummages through different oils, uncovering them. The smell hits you dead on, soothing your senses already with the essential oils. 

And then, his rough, big hands are on your back, pressing into your shoulder blades. You jump, like a scared deer, and he lets out a deep chuckle. “My bad. I’ll be doing your back side first.”

“Okay,” you whisper in response, already closing your eyes in bliss with the way he’s roving his thumbs over the planes of your back, pressing in deep as he works out the kinks in your back.

In one particular spot in your lower back and hips—the one that’s been hurting like a bitch because of your endless time sitting in a chair—he presses his thumbs with the exact right pressure, and you moan.

You can’t help it—the chronic back pain has always been there, but he makes it disappear with a languid movement of his fingers over your back. But he pauses slightly as soon as the whimper comes out of your mouth. “Miss, are you alright?” Flushing, you are quick to affirm. “Yes, sorry.” With a lower voice, you say, “That was, um, that was just really relieving.”

He laughs melodically and continues his ministrations, going even lower, but pausing right before putting his hands on your ass. “May I pull the towel up? Direct contact will be helpful in this region for a deep tissue massage.”

“Y-yeah,” you say softly. “You can do that, you’re the professional.” He’s just doing this for massage reasons, right? With your consent, he slowly inches up your towel to uncover your bare ass to him, you clenching your thighs with the fact that he can see everything.

He then puts his hands on the fat of your ass, moving his hands in a circular motion that spreads your ass every time he moves in an outward rotation. Kento’s trying really hard to stay professional, but seeing your glistening wetness makes him groan inwardly. “Miss,” you perk up slightly as he refers to you, “I’ll continue with the deep tissue massage as requested, okay? There’s a spot that I believe really needs my attention.”

Innocently, you nod, and Kento can’t help but feel so aroused that you’re so naively believing him, letting him touch you as if it’s an appropriate part of his job. His hands inch closer and closer, and soon enough he’s fingering you while languidly licking you up.

“Does this feel good, miss?” Kento is out of breath as he nudges his nose deeper into your pussy while you’re squealing at the feeling of his fingers slamming into your g-spot, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he goes in, sucking at your clit just perfectly.

“It’s rude not to answer someone,” your masseuse gives you a slap, and quickly soothes it over. 

“‘M sorry!” you squeal, bucking your hips as soon as you feel like you’re getting closer, “It feels soo good.” With that, he pauses his ministration to give you a gentle kiss on your pussy, and the plush of his lips is enough to set you squirting, riding his face as you drench him in your juices. Safe to say, you were feeling very de-stressed.

GOJO SATORU ⸺ BEST FRIEND CATCHES HIM MASTURBATING, JOINS IN ON THE FUN!

Satoru groans, squeezing his ball at the base to avoid cumming prematurely. What he was originally doing was trying to find some porn to empty his balls to, releasing stress and gaining dopamine from masturbating. But eventually—like he’s been doing a lot these days—his fingers direct him to your Instagram profile. You, his best friend.

 Satoru does this in secret, waiting until he’s alone in his and Suguru’s apartment to go into his room, close the door, and sin by thinking of you in a way friends don’t of each other. So, he’s trying not to bust too early while he zooms in on your tits in the cute bikini picture you posted just last week, the ones he took of you. The pixels of your magnificent breasts zoom in, sweat and water glistening off of them as your bra hugs and makes them sit just right. He groans, throwing his head back as he feels his cockhead pulse again, deciding to end his edging to cum. 

In his focus on stroking his dick—the squelching and whines echoing in his room—he doesn’t notice the sound of the door opening. Nor of the footsteps heading towards his door, because he moves his hand up and down, up and down, up and down until he’s so close to cumm—-

“Satoru! I got us some mochi!” You yell loudly, and Satoru screams in return, albeit for a different reason. As your head whips up to look at him, alarmed at his shout, you register that his cock and balls are out. And that, in his left hand, is a photo of you. 

You blink, and Satoru blinks back, except with a red, throbbing length in his hand. Then, slowly, you ask, “Why is my picture open, Satoru?”

Satoru swallows, already hearing funeral bells and utters out, “I—I—that was a mistake. I meant to be on Pornhub. Haha! I mean,” he continues on rambling, “why would I be looking at your picture? Obviously, my hand slipped while I was jerking off I mean—” he cuts himself off, because in his yapping, he’s failed to notice how you’ve stalked over to his bed, now straddling him while spitting on his cock.

“Fuck,” he curses, as his pupils dilate watching the thicky, frothy mix of your spit ooze down from your pursed lips onto his dick. “W–what are you—” You motion for him to stand up, orienting yourself so that your throat was hanging off the bed and you were on your back on his mattress. 

“Since you’re so desperate,” you give him a deadly sweet smile as he stands, dick above your face. You give his tip a little kiss, and he shivers. “You can fuck my throat.”

Satoru definitely takes you up on that offer.

He can’t even believe that he’s here, you deepthroating his dick so nice. “Thank you, thank you,” he whines, gyrating his hips sloppily into the tight, wet heat of your mouth as your lips suckle on him. “Needed this so, so much.” You’ve even uncovered your tits, them bouncing nicely as Satoru continuously lodges himself in your throat. “Please, please let me cum.”

You gently push against his hips, indicating you want him out of your mouth. Raspily, you wipe the trail of spit that’s left your mouth and laugh meanly and give him a deceptively sweet kiss on his balls. “You have to last at least 10 more minutes, okay?”

And Satoru can do nothing but obey you, driving himself to the hinge of climax but never over, whimpering as your mouth swallows him up. 

GETO SUGURU ⸺ BIG DICKED BULLY FUCKS CUTE ANIME GIRL INTO SUBMISSION!

Your safe haven is your library. There, the man who’s been torturing you for most of your college career, Suguru Geto, doesn’t know where you hide, nor does he frequent the place. You’re focused in on your assignments right now, having fallen behind due to Suguru’s antics of bothering you and disturbing your peace to humiliate you across campus. It’s late at night, and there’s not a lot of people to disturb you. You thought.

You’re wrenched out of your state of focus as someone harshly pulls your chair back, grabbing your chin to meet your eyes with his. Your bully, Suguru.

 You gasp in surprise as he roves his eyes over you and what you’re wearing. A short skirt, one he dare wouldn’t admit made you look cute, and a sweater. Silently, he sits down while you tremble, looking at him with shaky eyes that makes his cock swell in his pants.

He smirks. “You thought you could hide from me?” He then ticks his head towards your textbook. “Whatcha reading? Recite it to me.” 

Even though you were confused as to why he would have you do that, you hurried to do as he said. Meanwhile, his siren eyes roved over your form, choosing to settle in between your thighs.

“Schroedinger’s theory had proved classical physicists wro—-“ You’re interrupted by your own gasp, because Suguru’s laid a hand that’s gently caressing your inner thigh.

“Go on,” he purrs, getting closer and closer to the heat of your pussy.

You swallow and go on. “…had proved classical physicists wrong, showing that unexplained phenomena in spectroscopy and atoms demonstrated discrete—-“

Meanwhile, he’s inched his hand inside of your panties, softly rubbing at your clit in a manner unbecoming of the mean Suguru you know. Before you know it, your orgasm was creeping up on you, and your legs were trembling while Suguru buried his face in your neck, giving you soft kisses. 

“Cmon, you slut,” he whispered, the softness of his voice contrasting with the harshness of his words, “are you too stupid to read?”

You whimper as he delves a finger into your hole, collecting the ooze there and going back to your clit. “…atoms demonstrated discrete properties, referred to as quanta—-“ It’s with a nasty lick to the shell or your ear that you’re cumming, squealing loudly as you cream on his fingers, humiliated at the show you were forced to put on in the library.

Suguru pulls his fingers out and sucks on them languidly, looking you in the eye. “Now slut, you’re going to do that seated on my dick. Got it?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n hiii pookies this was late sorry </3 but ANYWAYS im excited to write (and ride) cowboy geto and spiderman!gojo next! consider joining my kinktober taglist if you're interested <3 part 1 of this here btw

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :p

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits

[ybklix]

stargirl

black hair felix my beloved, just felix my beloved₊˚⊹♡

★ pairing: idol!felix x fem!reader one shoot.

✦summary: After a fashion event in Paris, Felix decides to visit you at your apartment, you two are best friends, you have kissed before but you don't know how to take the next step even though you both want each other badly.

♡notes: 2022 felix in ysl event outfit.

✭ content - tags - warnings: smut / only 18+ / reader's pov / oral sex / unprotected sex / fingering / masturbation / foreplay / needy reader

word count: 6.1k

one shoot (masterlist)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ I had a vision A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat My position couldn't stop, you were hitting it.

I gently placed my fingers over my lips, removing the crumbs from that cookie bite I had just taken. Followed by several bites, I would occasionally run my tongue, while, standing in front of my kitchen island, I flipped through the pages of my previous month's Vogue magazine... I had to confess that I was a little nervous. My mind was all over the place and my stomach seemed to drop with every passing second... still, the cookie was sweet and delicious, I couldn't stop eating it.

The sudden message notification sound distracted my attempted attention from the magazine. My cellphone was right next to it, and that's when through the screen I managed to read his name, and a message telling me to open the door, that he was outside; once again my stomach dropped with nerves and my breathing was short. This used to happen to me when I really liked someone. I think I really like him.

I didn't bother grabbing my cellphone, I just nervously smoothed down my pajama shorts and ran for the door. I was so nervous, I knew he was coming, but I didn't expect it, inside a part of me was begging for him to say I'm getting tired, I think I'll get some sleep, see you tomorrow.... Only then maybe I would feel calmer.

I didn't take any more time to think and simply opened up, finding his slim complexion dressed all in black, in front of me. He smiled at me. I smiled back and let him in.

His scent reached me in his soft breeze as he passed, every passing second was killing me, I really didn't know how much longer I would have to survive like this.

Disappointed that our greeting was just a shy smile, I followed him with my eyes. I was tired of neither of us making the first move, it's not like we hadn't kissed before... I just felt like he had this thought that there wasn't enough trust yet, or maybe he thought we couldn't cross that line yet. Agh, if only he knew… it was what I was looking forward to the most. We had spent an excellent afternoon, touring the city, I took him to my favorite places, talked like I had never talked before, showed him every useless thing in my apartment, my favorite paintings, my favorite restaurant, I was near him for hours… and still, no little kiss. I closed the door after his entrance, he walked a few steps in the foyer and turned to me, looked me up and down, frowned and said:

“Oh sorry, were you going to sleep already?”

I felt my cheeks burn. Embarrassment took over me; the truth was that after a hot afternoon, I wanted to take a bath and make myself as comfortable as possible, but in a… sexy way, to tell the truth the bare shoulders and perfectly loose pajamas were quite cute, just right, why would I feel embarrassed… a part of me knew exactly what I was doing, however the me of the moment, standing in front of the man I liked, didn't have the slightest idea. In fact, I wanted to give the relaxed appearance, as if I didn't care so much in his presence, when in reality I spent hours fixing my hair knowing he was coming, I used concealer under my eyes and richened my lashes by placing a clear mascara, light liquid blush and my favorite perfume on my neck.

“No, I just wanted to be comfortable, although you know… it is a little late” I answered awkwardly, I didn't know how to keep a conversation and he knew that, “Do you want a drink?” I tried to make him comfortable.

“Sure.”

We went to the kitchen where, in two glasses, I served us wine, because I was nervous and didn't really know what I was doing.

“I drank it quite a lot today”, he said.

I looked at him, surprised that this might not be what he wanted to drink. He was sitting on the other side of the kitchen counter as he watched me pour the drink.

“But it's okay” he hastened to add when he saw my reaction, “Champagne, wine, people, basically it was all like that.”

I opened my mouth in amazement, I was just about to ask him how that designer campaign meeting had gone. I must admit, it was quite attractive to seet him at that kind of event.

“Really? And how did it go?” asked him and took a small sip from my glass. I walked around the table, to approach him and hand him the drink.

“Good. Sit here” he suddenly ordered, pointing to the chair next to him on his left side, then stared at me.

Where had that come from? It was so sudden and so… good, I really liked it. Hearing him order me in that voice, I wasn't at all upset. He knew perfectly well that I would do everything I could to push him away, no matter how much I wanted him to, I just couldn't. So I obeyed, and like a good friend about to overhear a friend's conversation, I sat down next to him. Our knees bumped, and he kept staring at me. Quickly realizing his tone, he cleared his throat and tried to take it back.

“Ahh, to talk more comfortable.” I smiled. I liked him too much, couldn't he see it?

We were facing each other. My breath was starting to hitch again, my heart was racing and it was enough just to see the beauty of his face.

At times like this, I pray for him to go away, only then I could breathe. “So, how was your night?”

I used a soft tone and tilted my head a bit to listen to him, just acting like everything is fine. Felix let out a sigh, frustrated, puffing out his cheeks.

“You know well I was nervous, but I enjoyed it, people were so kind” he laughed softly. “It was fun, a lot of people came to Hyunjin and I, they were nice, the atmosphere was good, I guess.”

“That's good to hear.” I saw him pass his gaze to my lips quickly, then quickly divert to the counter, where he captured the cookies on the container.

“From where?” he pointed them out.

“Oh, from the bakery nearby, didn't you see it when you came here?”

“I think so, it looks nice” he smiled at me.

“Do you want some?” I asked him, to which I hurriedly stretched out my hand to reach for the container.

Felix nodded, and gently stretched his neck, opening his mouth. He waited for me to feed him. I unconsciously smiled like a fool at his action and took a cookie, handing it to his mouth, Felix laughed between mouthfuls and took it. From a sweet and innocent act it went to tension, as I suddenly felt his heavy gaze, fixed on me, as he delicately licked his lips. Felix. Making me go from one emotion to another. Does he know how nervous he makes me? I'm sure he does and I'm so embarrassed.

“Tastes good.”

I smiled at him. With nothing more to say, I thought for a few seconds until he spoke again.

“So you didn't go out today?”

I shook my head.

“I came here and wanted to rest a bit.” Felix let out a light chuckle, then took a sip from his glass. I must admit, I memorized every little detail of something that only lasted three seconds… it was like in slow motion. Him, with his elegant build, dressed in a way he regularly doesn't, his shiny black button-down shirt, his formal black jeans, his hair still perfectly groomed despite hours of a tedious social event… the way his arm came up and the glass came to touch his mouth, gently closing his eyes and stretching his head back. I was absolutely lost. Absorbed. I averted my gaze as fast as I could when I realized he wanted to captivate mine.

“And… Hyunjin… didn't he want to hang out?”

Felix looked down for a second and gave a half smile.

“Not really… he said he wanted to rest. But I did want to come and spend some time.” He looked at me once more. This time I could feel the tension and the incredible magnetism in our flimsy bodies. Under the glowing light of my kitchen. Just the two of us. Was it me or was his breathing getting heavy? I smiled at him. Again, out of words to which he added:

“I wanted to see you.”

I froze, I swear if he touchs me I can turn into a liquid state. Still, I pray for him to do it. Now. I watched his fingers play with the cup, and the seconds seemed eternal. I didn't know what to say.

“Wanna listen some music?” he suddenly interrupted, clearing his throat and putting his hand over his fingers.

He quickly stood up on his seat. I looked at him confused; Felix headed for the turntable in my living room.

I soon realized, he may have felt uncomfortable, unrequited. I should have said something, silly me. Why doesn't he just take me, can't he see that? Why doesn't he just...

“I listen to it a lot for my French class” he said cheerfully, showing me the cover of Edith Piaf's album.

I smiled warmly at him as I approached him. One thing about Felix is that he would act as if nothing had happened a few seconds ago, just like me, one of the few things alike that we shared.

“It's fun to learn with music.”

“True... but I don't feel in the mood for Piaf's...”

“How about…” he turned, searching through the albums until finally showing me one, “Yes.”

My smile widened so suddenly.

“Lana? Really?”

“You say it's always a good time to listen to her.”

I wanted to capture him in that moment. Him holding my favorite album, with a smile, taking it gently.

“And it is.”

Nervously, without thoughts, I sat down on the couch. The first few seconds are a kind of crunching sound emitted by the record player, it's so... satisfying, then the best part started: the guitar of cruel world, the song. I closed my eyes tightly, hiding my excitement.

Opening my eyes I found a smiling Felix, approaching me, then sitting down next to me. If I thought about it, Felix's all black outfit, his dark hair, matched the album aesthetic completely.

“I love that song” I told him.

“I know. You love all of them.”

I looked sideways at him as I blushed. The song with that slight crackle was so special, I hadn't heard it in a while. I'm obsessed again.

“I'd do anything to hear it for the first time. To erase my memory and... experience it again.”

Felix laughed. I was so happy to hear Lana that I unconsciously moved closer and closer to him.

When the song ended, suddenly it caught my attention that he got up from the couch to go get his phone from the counter, where he stayed for a while, apparently just texting. I sighed, and decided to approach him. He was acting strange out of the blue, I thought he liked me back... I have to prove it before I build up any more stupid expectations.

Felix laughed and kept on texting. It was no big deal. He was confirming his schedule with someone on his staff for tomorrow. Or so I read. As I steped back, slowly, I saw his relaxed expression, and his adorable profile. Well, if I didn't do it now he would leave with nothing but a void in me.

I tried to pretend to check my phone too, but nothing was getting my attention.

“Felix” I called for his attention.

He raised his eyebrows, as a sign that he was listening, but he wasn't. His eyes were glued to the phone screen, his fingers typing nimbly. He looked so good doing the tiniest thing, still, I wanted his attention.

“Felix” I called him back, to which he unexpectedly locked his phone, placing it on the table and stared at me.

He folded his arms, looking relaxed. He was leaning on the edge of the table, facing my living room. Good. Now I had his attention. It took me a few seconds, I tried to captivate him, to let him feel the atmosphere, to which, then, feeling the blood rise in my cheeks, I let out a small laugh at the phrase however I dared to tell him:

“Do you want to kiss me already?”

He thought about it the shortest second and the next, finally, he drew a shy smile on his face, moved closer to me... and I felt his lips on mine. I could die right there.

His hands took hold of my waist and pulled him closer to his body. We were pressed together, moving our lips slowly, enjoying ourselves. I tried to stand on my tiptoes, as my arms wrapped around his body as well. We lasted like that for a sweet minute, his right hand ran from my waist to my face, where he placed his hand on. We looked at each other. The glance after the act was always….

I didn't have time to think. He interrupted my thoughts as his lips crashed into mine again, but this time it was more passionate, quick, desperate. I think we had only kissed like this once before, and it ended up leaving me totally craving something more.

I felt the warmth and softness of his fleshy lips brush mine; this time his grip was stronger, and his hands torturously roamed my body, my back, waist, caressed my hair, I felt his hands touch my flimsy silk pajamas, and I noticed the coldness of his shirt buttons and belt sticking to me. I tried to keep up with him, but suddenly his tongue made me open my mouth wider. He was initiating it.

I just wanted a piece of him tonight, before he walked through that door, before I went to sleep sad that I didn't tell him how intensely I felt...that I wanted him. But this felt so intimate, special. I hope he can finish what he's starting, my legs don't respond, I can hold on because of his strong grip and I feel my temperature rising.

Our breaths shorten. We manage to separate, but Felix looks serious, focused. Then the torture continues, he follows with light kisses, at the corner of my lips, around my face, my lips, the tip of my nose, at one point in his actions, our hands intertwine and he continues, teasing me. He knows I'm impulsive and may take his lips in a desperate act; but I didn't feel like doing it now, that little moment felt so right, lovely, warm, perfect.

Slowly, his kisses came down, each brush felt like a prick, it's sharp, startling, pleasurable pain. My breathing was getting faster and faster and I can hear the throbbing in my ears... for a second I thought if he is feeling the same. But I couldn't get a good look at him. He deposited kisses on my jaw all the way down to the neck. So this was how it was going to happen. I thought.

I couldn't help but feel the sudden violent throbbing in my lower part. Shit, this time I was already wet. I was aroused and I was dying to know if he was feeling the same.

His perfume overwhelms me and the brush of his nose kills me. For a second it's not about sex, it's not about the incredible urge I have for him to take me, remove my clothes and have him do with me in sudden frenzied actions of his, to cry and scream... for a second... it's about the art of touching skin to skin. I needed him. To feel him close. So close. To breathe in his scent as I lay my head on his shoulder, making me his. It was almost as if this whole process was so tedious, I wanted to be under his skin already. To feel wanted by him.

I was about to regain my composure until he came to give me kisses on my shoulders. I was just asking over and over again in my inner thoughts and cries, please take off my blouse.

He grabbed my butt and again pulled me into his body. That's when I opened my eyes a little in surprise as I finally felt him and, I realized, we were both aroused.

His cheeks were colored with a slight reddish tinge and his hands traveled from my ass to the inside of my blouse, where he roamed my waist. The cool touch of his rings against my warm skin made me let out a soft moan, one that managed to make Felix smile broadly.

Once again we found ourselves kissing, but now slowly, delicately and passionately. His hands were finally touching my skin, sometimes he would bring his hand up and I felt his thumbs play with my nipples, he would squeeze my breast and, I had to admit, I loved it. But it frustrated me at the same time.

As we parted, in a quick act due to my frustration, I boldly removed my blouse and threw it on the floor, letting Felix see part of my naked body for the first time and, giving him the green light, that is absolutely happening tonight. I wanted it so badly. I wanted him to see it all if it's possible.

He opened his mouth slightly in surprise, I let him watch for a few seconds and before he could make the next move, I stepped forward, giving him another quick, passionate kiss, then I was the one moving down his neck and then to his slight bare chest. As I did so I could hear Felix's heavy breathing close to my ear, followed by sighs of frustration, exasperation and the occasional slight moan in his deep voice, which really turned me on more and made my legs lose the strength to stand there, standing in front of him. My bare breasts brushed against his silky shirt and I felt the pressure of his hands caressing my bare back, occasionally pushing my loose hair away from my face.

Finally I managed to unbutton his shirt, I stretched it a little to get it out of the grip of his belt and left it open; I saw his flat and worked abdomen, stupidly I ran my hands over it, feeling it; Felix let out a chuckle with an arrogant tone, to which I quickly raised my eyes and he stopped laughing, even so, he returned a sweet smile, one that ended up melting me.

Unsure, I started moving down, depositing kisses on his chest then his abdomen... if I kept moving down this would have a consequence, so I hurriedly and nervously, directed my hand to his erection, where I gently touched it on his pants. I looked up to see Felix's reaction, but he was already closing his eyes, letting himself go. I squeezed it some more, massaging it, this time Felix moaned. From one second to the next, I was on my knees. In front of his notorious bulge, about to do what it's excpected.

Felix leaned back agains the table a little, relaxed his body and with his left hand began to gently stroke my hair.

When my breathing was becoming uncontrollable, choppy and irregular I was starting to like it more. Just like now. With trembling hands, from excitement and nerves, I unbuckled first his belt... then the button of his pants, his zipper... before pulling it down, I looked at Felix, who was watching me from above, even at that angle he looked so good. I think I had fantasized about seeing him in this position... me pleasuring him.

“Do it” he said to me, in a frustrated tone, almost in a gasp.

His voice became deeper than normal. He licked his lips and waited to be satisfied.

My knees were losing resistance, and the pulsations in me were getting stronger and stronger. My mouth began to produce more saliva and I felt my cheeks burn intensely.

I finally pulled down his pants where I found his erection on top of his underwear, more prominent.

I wanted to play his same game, and I kissed slowly over the fabric, stuck my tongue out moistening him a little and used my hands. It was soft and hard at the same time. Meanwhile, I heard Felix cursing in a low tone and sighing. But I couldn't resist that little game anymore, so I pulled the elastic of his underwear, and I had to turn my face away, otherwise he was going to slap me. I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them to finally see him. I blushed instantly, perplexed that this was actually all happening, me about to give him a blowjob... and I used to be so shy around Felix.

It was perhaps, better than I had imagined, perfect length —I think even a little bigger than I thought— perfect thickness, color and obviously kept the area clean. Shit, it looked so good.

I directed my left hand to his straight, firm manhood, feeling the texture of his skin, going up and down, stroking his tip with my fingers, until I reached the other end. Meanwhile my best friend lifted his head back in pleasure with muffled moans.

Before I felt it in my mouth, I wanted to feel it on my lips. I wanted every end of me to feel his texture... I was pretty sure this was going to keep me happy for quite some time... and of course, his love and understanding, I hoped.

I kissed it once, then opened my mouth, closed my eyes and ran his length across my lips. His warm, stiff, throbbing sex was finally at my disposal, his pleasure was now up to me and the thought was enough to make me wet again. I could be on my knees, below him, but I still felt that all the power belonged to me now.

Without further ado, I held him with moderate force and began to lick him, moistening and lubricating him... from his glans to his base, tentatively taking his balls from time to time and at last, I was ready to take him into my mouth. Concentrating on not ruining it, I sucked hard, using my tongue and making him rub the softness of the inside of my cheeks. He seemed to love it.

That's when I noticed a weak Felix, surrendered and letting himself go, holding more and more to the kitchen counter with his hand and the other one not letting go of my hair.

I continued my work, in, out, from shallow... to trying deeper, pulling him out, flicking my tongue and when I felt my jaw hurt, I used my hands.

Felix's moans and gasps were getting hotter and hotter. But nothing compared when he moaned my name in his voice, or when he let out little whispers, like this, it feels good, it was the best music to my ears, even better than the one that was playing in the background... it was priceless, the feeling was on another level. I wanted to be his already.

The atmosphere was burning, nothing around us could turn us off, he was totally lost to the pleasurable sensations and desire. His moans were so hot, blending together with the music and the grotesque sounds of his penis in my mouth, it was all too much that I couldn't help but run my hand slowly over my body, traveling over my tits, pressing them, imagining it's him, finally him, until I reached my wet spot. I was dying to be touched, but I had to stop myself. I really wanted it to be him this time.

Felix noticed my groping, bit his lip and, between the incredibly deep look of lust —a dark, piercing, serious yet brilliant look, my new favorite look of his— I noticed his intentions to stop me and take me. To touch me.

But I didn't want to. I didn't want to stop until I saw him cum. Climax. For me. And only for me. I wanted to see him made a mess just for me. If that included having to hold out a little longer for his touch, I would hold out.

I kept up my work for a while longer, keeping a rhythm, speeding it up, feeling every outstanding vein, his skin texture and fat vibrating cock inside my mouth and sliding down my tongue. Tears were starting to come out of my eyes, my nose was about to get runny… I was so turned on that if he didn't cum, I would at any moment. I swear his moans, the strong grip on my hair, loud sighs and gasps as he called my name were enough for me. I was going crazy.

I could tell how much he loved to be pleasured, the movement of his hips was slight, and his little pushes and pulls on my hair were gentle; just Felix always being so considerate.

Until I felt salty droplets of his pre-seminal fluid coming out of him, lubricating the area more, making it slippery, I knew he was going to cum soon. So I continued, harder.

Felix's moans began to change suddenly his ahh was getting deeper and steadier, his legs were getting weaker and that's when I suddenly felt something warm shot my mouth, followed by a loud exasperated moan from my best friend, fuck, he yelled. He filled my mouth, dripping semen on the edges of it.

I was surprised, but I couldn't help but smile in satisfaction, seeing him fully yielding, with his head back, I was just looking at his bare abdomen, his long neck and marked jaw. I withdrew my mouth and hands slowly, still a mess was made, one that didn't bother me at all, after all it was what I was looking for. His semen fell a little on the floor and there were drops on my chest; I didn't know exactly what to do so I thoughtfully swallowed it. After all Felix was a guy who kept his diet healthy, just someone to trust I guess.

I looked up and found Felix staring down at me from above, at a fucking hot angle, with a cocky grin, he said with a husky voice:

“Did you just swallow it?”

My cheeks burned in embarrassment, I was already hot, and my face already had that pink tinge to it; but for some reason I felt the intensity of the color rise, I didn't know what to say, I was suddenly back to my shy self; was it wrong?

His hands searched my cheeks and lifted my gaze. Quickly, I stood up, never breaking eye contact.

“You're too good. Good girl.”

Still, I was still so horny and wanting so much more. Felix smiled at me, moved dangerously close to me and with his thumb wiped the semen beside my mouth, ran his finger across my lips and made me open my mouth, tasting him one last time. I would never have thought Felix would do something like that, I was surprised and delighted. At the end of the day he was just a little older than me, I guess there is more sex experience in him than I know; I was dying to know.

Without hesitating, he took me by the waist and sat me on the table, the cold, hard marble stone it was made of made me moan. This time Felix had no time to waste, so he pulled hard on my shorts and panties, leaving them lying on the floor and me, completely naked and vulnerable in front of him. I quickly glanced down at my body and then stared at him, his chest still rising and falling from heavy breathing, his gaze turned darker than usual and he still looked focused.

I blushed, he only moved closer to me, separating my legs to accommodate his body and began to kiss me, but now his hand was holding my neck tightly and the other was squeezing and playing with my breasts until he reached my wet pussy, where I put my legs together a little and gave a little jump of surprise when I felt his fingers pass through my area.

I confidently opened up more and more to Felix and wanted to enjoy his touch. I felt two of his slender fingers run up and down, until they found my clitoris, which made me moan in between the kiss, making me shudder, making my nipples hard and, by uncertainty, bringing me closer to his body. Finally he squeezed it and began to make movements, up and down and then circularly. He pulled away from me, but his face was inches from mine. I saw in detail his serious countenance, his pink lips with their perfect heart shape, the freckles scattered across his face and the hair falling a little to his forehead beginning to unkempt, our eyes meeting again.

I held myself with both hands, placed firmly on the table, but I felt small in front of him, I felt like he was now in total control of me. My muscles were contracting, my stomach was enlarging and shrinking from my breaths and constant sighs of excitement… his touch made me swoon. He continued like this, a few painful minutes in which I felt more and more of my climax until he moved down and inserted two of his fingers. It felt so good, with his thumb he kept caressing my clitoris and wet labia; he kept his rhythm, without being rough, it was perfect. I closed my eyes and let myself go, still wanting more of his touch.

“Does it feel good?” he said in my ear in a husky voice.

He smiled broadly. I knew it filled his pride and he liked knowing he was good at what he did, if not the best. At times I was afraid this would happen, Felix can be a bit of a perfectionist, yet he seemed to handle it very well, he cum for me and just now I was watching him masturbating himself. His hand was going up and down and pulling hard his cock, he seemed to be a little rough on himself. He looked so good. I suddenly realized, I wanted him inside me right now.

Felix caught me watching him, removed his fingers from me and began to tease me, rubbing the head of his erect penis over my wet, throbbing lips, pressing and slapping it. I just groaned in frustration.

“Do you have a con…?”

“Do it like this” I interrupted him, aroused.

Felix frowned, confused and unsure of his next move.

“They're in my room. But you can really do it like this” I tried to calm him down and persuade him.

I didn't want to walk to my room for a condom and I didn't want him to come off me right at the best time of night either. Yes, I was thinking stupidly and one little mistake could be forever but those were problems of the future, now I was here, next to him, ready for him to fuck me.

Then, the thing I craved so much, he pushed it into me, slowly until it was all inside. Felix grabbed my waist, pulling me closer to his body, feeling his length deepest in me. I let out a moan. Him inside me felt so good, so right.

And then he started with the non-stop movements, the thrusts. He started slow and when I felt it, I asked for him to do it faster. The sound of our bodies colliding was beutiful. Felix in one swift movement gracefully slid his shirt off, throwing it to the floor, leaned towards me and I couldn't help but touch his naked torso. His arms his back, and his thin silver chain dangling, moving. It felt so good I had forgotten what an incredible dancer he was, he had amazing control in his hips. His thrusts were strong, deep and steady, each one deteriorating me, destroying me, in the best possible way.

My breasts were moving up and down and Felix was moaning and panting freely near my ear. Everything was wonderful. I managed to wrap my legs around his body and stroke his soft hair, I was feeling so full and full that I could predict my climax at any moment. He felt it, my legs trembling, my muscles shrinking, my back arching and my eyes watering with my grip on his back tighter, my inner walls felt so hot, wrapping his hard dick tightly.

So, before I could cum, he kissed me, caught my lips, passionately. And I climaxed, this time moaning louder than the previous times and one more time… calling his name.

Felix didn't cum yet, but he seemed happier for my reaction as a half-smile appeared on his face. He continued inside me but now in a more delicate and slower, almost romantic way, until he pulled his erection out of me, resting it on my belly and came.

I was trying to catch my breath, as was he, for a few seconds we said nothing. Until we looked into each other's eyes and we both burst into laughter. It was bit funny because evidently we both wanted to have each other so badly.

I got off the table, thinking, this doesn’t have to end yet, I feel sticky for the fluids and a little embarrased. Since we were here, there was one more thing I wanted to do, well, hundreds, but right now I was only thinking of one. I want to jump on his dick.

“Let's go to my room”, I said, taking his hands, almost in a plea “Take off your clothes.”

Felix still had his pants and underwear on, only they were both pulled down. Without looking back I walked to my room, almost jumping of happiness. I waited for him, sitting on my bed. I was wet and ready again just thinking about it. Felix came in a few seconds later, shy, blushing and covering his area, as if I hadn't seen it all before. I laughed slowly and he sat down next to me, on the edge of the bed, so with a nod I told him to settle in nicely, with his full body to the bed.

Finally we were both naked, ready to give ourselves completely once again. I spread my legs apart one on each side of him, putting my body in front, and kissed him again. That unique kiss that we loved to give each other so much, passionate, strong and intense. My hands went down from his abs to his already hard cock, playing with it a little. As we parted, I looked at him, and confessed:

“I want to feel all of you again, Felix; is that okay?”

That meant I wanted to feel every raw texture of his hard cock inside me, every inch rubbing all over my guts.

He looked at me, so fucking cute with his big brown cat eyes; he nodded shyly.

I smiled and put it on. Slowly, teasing him. I played a little, rubbing it in my area, rubbing it, just like he did. Letting myself fall gently on his cock, stroking it over my cunt without putting it inside of me yet, moving slowly back and forth, Felix closed his eyes in pleasure, and I couldn't hold back any longer, I was just getting wetter and wetter, my area was was throbbing, ready to ride my best friend's cock.

So I stared at him.

“Now it's my turn” I said.

I had this theory that Felix liked to be slightly dominated and, evidently he liked to have the attention to him and I seriously liked to give, so it was a perfect dynamic. And without further ado, I settled him right into me. Felix moaned and his hands held my waist tightly.

Then I started to do it finally, what I wanted so badly after all. I jumped on him, slowly moving up and down… as I felt his hands run up and down my body, damn it was excellent. My cheeks once again burned and I felt slight sweat break out on me. Felix seemed to love it and that was just what I wanted. I rested my head near his neck for a moment, breathing in his scent and feeling his soft hair on my nose. I had him just the way I wanted, close to me.

Once again, the beautiful, grotesque sound of our skins colliding mixed with our pleasure-filled sighs and moans. Until culminating in my second orgasm and for him, his third. The sensation was so indescribable and more when you’re together with the person you wanted.

We hugged. Felix gave me a tender kiss on the cheek as he stroked my arm and hair. I expected nothing more from sweet Felix than adorable after care; he was just like that.

I think I was going to sleep next to him for the first time. Internally I squealed with excitement and returned the tender kiss on his cheek.

[tonkatsubowl]

refining taste of metal.

▼ boothill x fem!reader

▼ nsfw. mdni. this is a smut ur reading

▼ rough sex, dildo?? thing? eating out and other spicy stuff 🫣

boothill decided to toy around with you—especially with all the unique add-ons he has with his body.

it all started when you were simply bending over to reach towards the cabinet in your kitchen to obtain a few things. you wanted to cook, but boothill definitely had a different plan in mind.

"look at 'ye, princess," you can hear the footsteps of the cyborg approach you from behind, his warm hands (despite the metal surface of his limbs) firmly grasping your rear, "you do the simplest of things and you got me all hot 'n bothered. 'ye sure you ain't doin' this shit on purpose?"

you blinked, your head turned to the side as you felt boothill practically rubbing himself against you. a dry hump, to put it, as he began to breathe heavily.

"doing... what on purpose? just being in the kitchen?" you asked.

"you know..." his voice lowered to a whisper, filled with lust and the desperation to fuck you. "i know i'll be all over 'yer ass tonight. let's take you to bed now."

"wha—"

that was when you immediately found yourself on the mattress, succumbed into wet kisses. his serpent-like tongue trailed against your neck, leaving kisses and nonstop bites of his shark teeth. you were coated between your legs, shivering and shuddering at every touch.

"you're...you're moving so fast," you murmur, wrapping your arms around him.

"and you seem to like it, doll." he responded, flashing his canines at you. "perfect timin', considering i got a few things i got done with my body to make you feel good."

your head perks a bit, cheeks flared and you chest heaving up and down from the intense love session that ensued between the both of you.

"what do you..." you began, before your eyes trail down towards his member. it was metallic, but the nerves and sensations of him feeling good while ramming it inside of you was the same as a human part. modern technology nowadays were definitely something, alright. "...mean?"

the cyborg gave a low chuckle as he leant down, trailing his sharp tongue across your body, before flicking his muscle against your rose buds atop of your chest, groping the soft flesh with the other. "you'll find out, sweetheart."

you breathed, watching him with curious and innocent eyes as he went down towards your legs, spreading your thighs. you held your pillow in desperation, ultimately crowning you to be the pillow princess here. you arch your back and gasp as you felt his warm tongue flicker across your womanhood, coating his own saliva with your wetness, enjoying the taste and flavor of you. he chuckled against your flesh, amused by the sweet, innocent moans that rang his ears like it was music.

you reached down, clutching onto his hair, gently pulling and gripping his mixed strands as you panted. it felt good, too good. he knew how to make you melt with only his tongue, especially when it went inside of you.

"a—ah, 'hill, please, i...!"

you arched your back and clutched your thighs together, squirming with desperation for more as you already had felt yourself reaching your limit.

"i'm already..."

"with just my tongue too, doll. you sure are sensitive..."

he chuckled against you, his tongue repeatedly exploring inside of your walls, and even with your warning, he was prepared for your climax. your juices had released, coating his tongue with your sublime taste. your heart began to race, your chest rising and falling at a fast rate. your vision was blur, woozy, even. you could see stars, and this man wasn't even inside of you yet.

"you came already?" boothill chuckled as he licked his lips, "always love 'yer taste, sweetheart."

he could see that you were already out of it. you were dazed, love strucked to the eyes as your pupils practically formed into hearts.

"so cute." he murmured, leaning down to pepper your face with sweet kisses, "but i ain't done yet, doll."

boothill was quick, yet gentle, to rub his erect member against your womanhood. the juices and slimy wetness of your folds had allowed him to move easier. your breathing began to slow, your eyes filled with admiration as you studied his chiseled frame, and his pristine face that was practically a killer.

"mm, sit still, doll. 'yer in for a surprise..." whispered-he, the tip of his member slowly inserting itself inside of you.

"a-ah...!" you gasped quietly, covering the lower half of your face with the pillow you held, feeling your walls stretch from his girth. and what you didn't expect from him was that his member began to vibrate, akin to an adult toy.

your eyes widen a bit, your brows knitted together as your chest began to release sounds of satisfaction. moans and heavy breaths echoed the bedroom, feeling the vibrational member inside of you grinding against your sensitive walls.

"'hill, 'hill, what is... what is this..." you began. you were already seeing stars, but with only his tongue, he practically had fucked your brains out, allowing you not to think straight. and this was only the beginning of things.

"feels good, don't it?" the ranger asked you, slowly moving his hips as he grinned. "i got different settings on this thing and 'yer 'bout to feel it all, (y/n). be a good girl and take it. just like—" a rougher thrust, earning you a lustful cry, "—that."

he upped his pace as he continued to grind himself against you, placing his hands at your hips as he admired the rest of your frame. he licked his lips, priding himself of the marks he left you against your soft skin.

he continued, your mounds bouncing like a rhythm with the beat of the bed rocking against the wall. you breathed heavily, shutting your eyes as you felt his whole member grinding against you. your eyes immediately shot open when you heard him say, "let's try setting two. if you're a good girl, then i can reward you with the third vibrational setting."

and just like a click, boothill immediately intensified the vibration, causing your back to arch and your head to shoot back against the pillow. your eyes wide, nearly rolling back from the pleasure you felt, your frame shaking and shivering as you tried to focus on the ceiling... but you were feeling too good—and it did not help that you were already in the second dimension the moment he spreaded those legs the first time.

"'hill...!" you gasped, feeling the metallic surface of his body rubbing against you.

"yeah, baby doll?" he whispered, "you're being so good for me. look at you, all cute 'n shit. could jus' eat you right fuckin' here..."

his nonstop compliments were flooding in, turning you on even further as the man practically continued down to pound town, fucking you silly.

your words slur, unable to comprehend the pleasure you were feeling and how he was grinding against your sensitive areas. you arched your back, grunting quietly, murmuring a soft, "i'm... i'm gonna—"

"yeah?"

boothill's movements began to grow rough, your skin clapped and rubbing against his metal surface as he continued to practically fuck your brains out. and it wasn't long until you had released, and you felt completely satisfied. you breathed, panting, as the man removed himself from you.

he did not care about relieving himself, but only for your relief and satisfaction. the male chuckled, turning off the vibrational setting of his member before leaning over to brush his hands over your sweat-covered face, peppering your visage with kisses.

"'atta girl, baby doll. do 'ye need some water?"

"...p-please..."

[wannab-urs]

This Night Has Opened My Eyes

Summary: You’ll do anything to avoid getting arrested. Javi P x f!reader

Warnings: Dubcon with a twist, reader is so very very into it, derogatory language (putita, little whore), bondage (handcuffs), rough sex (no prep). 

A/N: I wrote something! Wild I know. I’ve had this idea in my head for months bc of the “you’re breaking my heart, baby” scene. Hope y’all enjoy <3

A quick shout of “DEA! ¡Abrir la puerta!” is all the warning you get before your apartment door is shoved open and a man storms in. You don’t have anywhere to hide, so you run to your kitchen, putting the counter between you and the officer. You barely have time to take in his dark hair and broad shoulders before he grabs your arm, turns you around, and shoves you against the kitchen counter. 

“Please! Don’t arrest me! They’ll kill me. You don’t understand!” You struggle to get out of the hold of the man behind you. He pulls your arms hard behind your back and slaps a pair of cuffs on your wrists just the wrong side of too tight. “Please, por favor…!” Your voice cracks with desperation. “I’ll do anything!” 

The officer places a hand between your shoulder blades and shoves your body down over the counter. He presses himself up against your now exposed ass and you feel his hard cock in his jeans as he leans over and rumbles in your ear “Anything, hermosa?” 

Your stomach twists with fear and… something else. You turn your head, trying to look him in the eye. “Anything,” your voice comes out in a breathy whisper. The man leans back, kicks your legs apart and rucks your dress up over your hips. 

“No panties? ¿Estás una putita?” 

He grabs your ass roughly and slaps your right ass cheek. You try to jerk your body away, but  he grabs your hair and pulls you back, turning your head to look at him. “Answer me when I ask you a question, baby.” 

You whimper and meet his dark gaze before sucking in a breath through trembling lips “Si. I- I’m a li- little whore.” He smirks and pushes your face back into the counter. You hear the clink of his belt and the sound of his zipper coming down. 

He runs his fingers through your embarrassingly wet folds, grazing your clit and making you keen. “Mi putita, ahora. Entiendes?” He grabs the chain between your wrists and pulls you backwards roughly, splitting you open on his hard cock.

He immediately pulls out and slams into you again and you let out a strangled moan. It feels like he’s breaking you apart from the inside. “Do. You. Understand. Putita?” He punctuates every word of the question with harsh thrusts, hitting deep inside you. 

You press your forehead to the cold surface of the counter and practically scream “Yes JAV- FUCK. Yes sir. Entiendo!” He twists one hand into your hair and keeps the other on your cuffs, using the leverage to impale you on his cock and forcing you to arch your back. You feel him slam into your cervix with every thrust, so hard the sounds leaving your mouth are more like choked sobs than moans.

 “Are you going to cum on my cock like a good little whore?” You’re beyond words, but he can feel your walls clenching him tighter and tighter. He drops his hand from your hair only to wrap his long fingers around your throat. The slight loss of blood flow goes straight to your cunt and a wrecked noise falls from your lips. He slams a few more brutal thrusts into you and your vision goes white, cunt squeezing around his cock and a high pitched whine coming from your throat. 

The officer fucks you through it, not missing a beat of his brutal pace. As soon as he feels you go limp, wrung out from your orgasm, he pulls out. He jerks your body up and turns you to face him. He looks into your eyes and strokes your cheek almost tenderly with his thumb.

“On your knees, putita,” he whispers, his face so close to yours he’s almost kissing you. You blink at him, still a bit dazed, before sinking to your knees in front of him. He settles a hand on top of your head and tilts your face to look up at him. “Open, hermosa.” 

He slots the head of his cock between your parted lips and you immediately lean forward, taking him as far into your mouth as you can. He strokes your hair, thrusting shallowly into your mouth as you hollow out your cheeks. In only a few moments, you feel his hand tighten in your hair and his head falls back exposing the long column of his throat as hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat. “Fuck, cariño. Eres increíble.” 

He steps away from you and tucks his softening cock back into his tight jeans. He gently pulls you to your feet and undoes the cuffs, rubbing soothing circles into your wrists before tucking you against his chest. You wrap your arms around his torso and burrow your face into the crook of his neck and he presses his lips to the top of your head.

“Was it everything you wanted, mi amor?” he whispers into your hair. 

“Yes, Javi. Perfect.”

--------------

Translations:  ¡Abrir la puerta!” - open the door! por favor - please Hermosa - beautiful/darling  ¿Estás una putita? - Are you a little whore? Si - yes “Mi putita, ahora. Entiendes? - My little whore, now. Understand? Cariño. Eres increíble - dear/darling. You’re incredible mi amor - my love

----------------

HAHA it was RP all along. They love each other <3

[blackdollette]

STARGIRL INTERLUDE. - clyde

✩♬.ᐟ now playing: stargirl interlude. - lana del rey + the weeknd

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: my back arched like a cat...

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999@josibunn @livingdead-materialgirl @romanroyapoligist@auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @vanlisbon @lankysimp @livingdead-reilly

female!reader x clyde

word count: 535

contents: porn no plot, unprotected p in v, slight praise, a little dacryphilia, creampie

the ceiling light hanging over your head flickered like a shooting star as your bare body pressed against the cold marble counter, soft breasts and erect nipples grazing the smooth material. your moans echoed through the walls of the dark kitchen as you ground your hips against his, desperate to feel him even deeper.

your soft mewls were music to clyde’s ears. he pressed his hand onto your back, using the other to grab a handful of your hair as he hit that gooey bundle of nerves deep inside of you. the dim light highlighted the small beads of sweat on your face, shining like the small stars that gleamed in the sky.

your body began to contort with pleasure, your back arching like a cat as he reached a hand forward and began toying with your puffy clit. his cock twitched inside of you as your juices coated his ring-adorned fingers. he flipped his hair out of his face, not wanting to miss the sight of your melancholic yet erotic expression.

he bit his lip, smiling slightly as he brought his mouth to your ear and spoke in a raspy whisper. “y-yeah, that’s my girl…” his voice dripped with desire, his lustful motions being laced with infatuation. his swollen cock throbbed as your desperate little cunt greedily swallowed him up whole.

tears streamed down your face as the pleasure became overwhelming. he kept up his quick rhythm, wanting you to feel as euphoric as he was. you clawed at the countertop, tilting your head slightly so you could look back at the man who was taking you to infinity and beyond.

his brown locks framed his flushed face as quiet groans slipped from his parted lips, his eyes glued on where your bodies connected. he moved his hand to your hip, squeezing your ass firmly as it bounced from his rough thrusts. you squirmed under his touch, your vision going blurry at the edges.

you began to sense him losing his composure as saccharine curses poured out of his mouth. hot cum dripped down your shaking thighs, choked sobs escaping your spit-coated lips. he reached a hand forward and wiped a tear from your cheek. “g-gonna cum inside you, doll. just wanna see your pretty face when i fill you up.”

with that, a strained moan tore through him as the heat in his gut reached its maximum temperature as cum shot through your hole and filled up your intestines. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you reached a supernova climax, stars appearing in your vision as your body collapsed onto the only surface that could hold you. his nails dug into your flesh and left moon shaped marks in their vestige as he panted like a starved dog, pulling out of your slit and letting a few drops of cum spill from his tip to the floor.

you laid there on the counter, panting as you felt cum pouring out of you. clyde wrapped his arms around your waist, sitting on the counter and placing you on the lap. there, you two closed your eyes as you felt the explosion of your bodies simmer down like two burned-out stars.

author's note: i just had to write a lil fic for this majestic ass song.

[dawneternal]

Just a Favor | pt 5 | Gwynriel

✦ Hopefully the description of the temple makes sense! If not, I'll do a little doodle of it lol I love thinking up places and things that might exist in Velaris

✦ Warnings: all fluff my dudes

✦ Word Count: 1.6k

✦ AO3 Link

✦ Masterlist

Gwyn stood in the training ring, moving through positions with a wooden sword. When she arrived in the ring early and found it empty she had been too nervous to stand still. So she’d kicked off her lovely satin slippers and began practicing any movements that her fancy clothes would allow.

Nesta had leant her a nice dress, a simple teal silhouette with a layer of embroidered gossamer over top. She’d worn her sea-glass earrings and swept her hair back with a matching comb. She knew she looked pretty. But it only served to make her more nervous. Maybe she was overdressed.

But as Azriel appeared at the far edge of the ring, all of those worries dissipated. He had dressed up too, in a black sweater and black pants. Shiny boots not yet worn from training and fighting, and little gold hoops in his ears. His hair was slicked back from his face, and as nice as it looked, she missed his usual messy curls. At least he looked as unsettled as she did, hands shoved in his pockets as he made his way toward her.

“Hi,” She whispered, unsure if he would even hear it.

“Hi,” He said back, a smile spreading over his face, “You look beautiful. You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

“Who said it was for you?” She asked with a smirk, and Gods he wanted to kiss her right there.

“I don’t see anyone else waiting to whisk you away,” He chuckled.

“Are you whisking me away, shadowsinger?” She straightened, eyes glittering with interest.

“If that’s okay. Winnowing or flying?”

“Winnowing,” Gwyn said quickly, swallowing hard, “Definitely winnowing.”

Azriel waited for her to slip her shoes back in and then offered an arm ignoring the humming of the bond in his chest as she tucked her hand into his elbow. He winnowed them away into the heart of Velaris.

When Gwyn’s vision stopped swirling, she found herself standing in front of a tea shop. Fae-light lanterns swung in the breeze, hanging from the faded awning. Potted plants lined the sidewalk in front of the sparkling windows, some she recognized as tea plants. Then Azriel was leading her inside. It was cozy, lovely art covering the walls and mismatched tables and chairs tucked into every corner. A rich and spicy smell filled the air and it made her relax a little.

Azriel nodded to the woman behind the counter, who winked at him as he led her to the back of the building. A few doorways led in different directions, one most likely to the kitchen. The shadow singer opened the middle door, revealing a stone staircase lined with fae-lights.

“What is this?” She asked, peering down the dark stairway.

“Something you’ll like,” He said, placing a hand on the small of her back to urge her forward. She hoped he did not notice her shiver.

Gwyn swallowed her nerves and started down the stairs. As they descended, she realized she could hear the bubbling of water. When they reached the bottom and their destination was revealed, Gwyn paused with a gasp. They were in an alcove cut into a small cliffside above the Sidra. Mossy stone made up the walls and arched ceiling, candles and lanterns hung from above to give them light. Water trickled down in little man-made waterfalls, running through carved swirls in the walls and into little pools in the floor. A carved railing separated them from the churning river below, and a few benches sat before it. Beyond the bank across the river, the city glowed and hummed with life.

“What is this?” She asked again in a whisper.

“It’s a temple,” He answered, smiling at her awe, “To the spirit of the Sidra.”

He turned her around so she could see the mosaic behind them, depicting a river spirit among swirls of fish and water. Then he moved to sit on one of the benches, beckoning her to follow. She sat beside him and gazed down at the river, illuminated by the lights of the city.

“It’s beautiful,��� She murmured.

“I thought you’d like it,” His smile grew to a grin, “You fit right in.”

She smiled up at him and that anxiety returned, filling her stomach with butterflies. His eyes looked as wild as they had that morning, and she swore he took a deep breath. She found herself blushing, though she wasn’t entirely sure what caused it. Maybe his handsome features, carved out of the moonlight and the lights of Velaris. Maybe the fact that they were alone in such an ethereal place. A place meant for telling secrets.

“I’m sorry again for flying away,” Azriel swallowed hard. His smile had faded.

“That’s the third time you’ve apologized,” Gwyn chuckled.

“And it’s still not enough,” He shook his head.

“I think you’ve made up for it, shadowsinger,” She whispered, daring to let her eyes lock on his. She watched his lips part, his breath catch in his throat.

That kiss was worth it all, she thought but didn’t say.

“I have to tell you a story,” Azriel said, his voice low and soft. His fingers twitched, like he had almost reached for her hand and decided not to.

“Tell me,” She gave him an encouraging smile, though she was barely able to hear her own voice over the thundering of her heart. Azriel turned his gaze toward the water and drew in a long breath.

“A few years ago I met a very brave girl. Sometimes, selfishly, I wish that I had met her on a different day. At a different time. So that I wouldn't know what it was like to see such pain in her eyes. But since then, I have watched her claw her way out of the darkness and I have only ever been in awe.”

Gwyn stared at him, lips parted and tears in her eyes. He did not have the courage to look at her yet.

“And then she went into the Blood Rite,” Azriel’s voice broke, pained from the memory, “And I worried I'd never get that chance to tell her how incredible I think she is. But I should've known better because not only did she make it out but she won the whole damn thing.”

He could not help his grin, the beaming pride in his eyes.

“But that made me lose all of my courage completely. I'm not worthy of her. Not in the slightest. So I gave up any idea of telling her how I feel. She is beautiful, and kind, and fierce, and full of so much light and love. And I know I'll never compare. I still live in the darkness. I'll probably stay in the darkness.”

The shadowsinger swallowed, still gazing down at the river. Gwyn watched him speak, the moonlight kissing his features. Her heart was so full she thought it might burst and she wanted to tell him he was wrong. That he was the one who was beautiful and kind and fierce. But he had more to say.

“And then, a few days ago, she asked me to kiss her. And I said yes because I am selfish and I wanted any affection I could get from her. And I never imagined….” He trailed off, a lump growing in his throat.

"I wanted it to be you who kissed me,” Gwyn whispered, “I was never going to ask anyone else. I guess if you said no, I would have eventually. But I always wanted it to be you.”

Azriel finally met her eyes.

“Gwyneth,” He hardly ever said her full name anymore, but she loved the way it sounded on his tongue. Smooth like golden honey.

“Yes?” The world stopped, time frozen as she waited for him to continue.

“I flew away because I was surprised. Because I felt the bond snap.”

Gwyn looked down, heart leaping into her throat. The words she had not let herself imagine. The thing she had hoped for but would not name. Her future had been teetering close to the edge and it had actually fallen the way she wanted it to. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were full of tears.

“I can't comprehend why,” He croaked, "I can't explain why. Part of me wants to apologize and tell you I'm sorry that it's me. And part of me just wants to ask you to accept me anyways, even if I don't deserve it.”

“Azriel,” Gwyn reached for his hands and held them, “You are one of the most incredible people I've ever met. You are the only one who sees yourself as this broken thing. And I am not so whole and complete myself, but I can love you with every piece of me that I have.”

“You could love me?” Azriel's chin wobbled as he stared down at their joined hands.

“I think I already do,” Gwyn whispered.

Azriel pulled his hands from hers and brought them to her face, holding her gently. He studied her for a long while, memorizing the exact moment she had said the most wonderful words he'd ever heard. Gwyn wrapped her hands around his wrists, smiling up at him as she let him digest what she'd said.

“You don't have to accept the bond today,” He said, “When it snaps-”

“I know,” She gave him a shy smile, “I…I think I need to consider whether I'm ready for that. But I want you to know that I will accept it. I will be your mate.”

“I didn't dare hope to hear you say that,” He whispered, pulling her closer, “Ever.”

“I'm full of surprises,” Gwyn grinned at him with eyes full of starlight. Then she leaned in and kissed him.

[drewsbuzzcut]

Haze

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses blurb… read drunk off you before this part!

warnings: slight slight smut, mentions of sex, tattoos, mentions of taking drugs (not actually taking any),

“Holy fuck,” you let out in a half moan. You let a giggle escape at just how high you feel without even having to do any drugs. Your breath is almost nonexistent, your vision is still kind of blurry. Your body is spread out on your bed, you’re covered in sweat and cum, and when you turn your head to look at mat, he’s in the same satiated state.

After your fun sex-capades in your kitchen this morning, mat brought you back to your room where you both took an effective nap. Effective because when the two of you woke up an hour later, you were ready to jump each other’s bones again, and that’s what you both did.

Your bedsheets are a mess, but it’s a mess you’re not bothered to worry about. You just let your body come back down to earth as well as enjoying the little kisses mat leaves in random places. Mat props himself up on his elbow so that he’s sideways but facing you. He lets his fingers travel over the soft lines of your abs and up the valleys of your chest. His contact sends shivers down your spine, slowly making your hips arch up, your pussy searching for his touch. Before you can get too excited, you turn so that you’re laying on your stomach with your arms folded under your head that’s facing towards mat.

“You’re so soft,” mat muses as he traces the curve of your spine so delicately, it’s like a feather brushing against your skin. You only smile in response, you’re kind of shy because this man just saw you naked and you’re finally realizing the seriousness of it all. Mat continues to stroke your skin whether it be on your back, your arms, or your face. He seems to take his time when he lands on your tattoos, wanting to memorize them. His wandering fingers don’t last long. Soon he’s pulling you into him so that you’re almost fully on top of him, legs tangled and your head resting on his chest. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, leaving slow kisses there.

You both are out of the covers- the atmosphere too hot to be covered by anything else besides each other.

“I didn’t notice how many tattoos you had,” mat breaks the silence.

Sometimes you forgot that you had tattoos, and you hadn’t really showed them to mat. The only ones he’s seen are the ones that are in noticeable areas, but today he got to see every single one.

“Mmm yeah. I forget I have some that are hiding,” you murmur.

“What’s your favorite?”

“My cherries,” you guide his attention to the back of your neck by moving your hair away from the area. You feel the tip of his finger follow along the lines of the tattoo. The cherry tattoo wasn’t new to mat, he knew it all too well. Most times he’d kiss the back of your neck, on the tattoo, in greeting or just a simple show of affection.

“Typical,�� mat teases, knowing the love or appreciation you have for cherries. You had a couple cherry decorations in your apartment, an unending stock of cherries in your fridge, and his favorite: multiple cherry themed panties. You give him a light shove and roll your eyes, and the giggle you let out is music to his ears.

“What’s your favorite?” You ask.

“Divine feminine,” he replies with no hesitation. You shiver at the feeling of his hand, once again, tracing each letter of the little phrase tattooed on your back.

Your only response is a kiss on his lips.

“I didn’t know models were allowed to have tattoos.”

“Yeah… it makes it a little harder to land a gig, and the makeup artists have to spend more time covering them up, but I’ve been lucky with everyone I work with in regards to them not having a problem with my ink,” you explain.

“That’s because you’re phenomenal,” he slides from under you so that he lays almost completely over you, leaving you a kiss on your cheek.

“And incredibly beautiful,” another kiss to your cheek.

You turn your head so you can kiss him on the lips, your smile interrupting the lip lock. He moves his lips back to your cheek, leaving kiss after kiss there. You start to feel him lightly sucking on the skin, and it makes you giggle.

“Maty, you better not leave me a hickey on my cheek,” you groan in faux annoyance.

“I’m not,” he swears.

“I love you, barzy,” you tell him, staring deep into his eyes with your hand in his hair, massaging his scalp.

He nuzzled his head into your neck, fully on top of you now, and even though he is heavy, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you. I can’t believe I can finally tell you that- whenever I want. I swear I felt it as soon as I met you, and I know that sounds crazy and maybe weird, but it’s true,” he whispers into your skin.

It wasn’t weird, you felt it too. Now, you’re just glad that you both can express those overwhelming feelings freely. 

[astravv]

one of your girls pt 2 || alhaitham x stripper! reader || multi-part

a/n : sorry this took so long to get out but now it’s finally here!! might be more parts, not entirely positive yet..

-

i pressed the elevator button for my floor. the elevator takes a minute as i stand there awkwardly, in complete silence, constantly scanning my surroundings.

the elevator stops with a squeak, and the doors pull open loudly. no one is inside, so i step in and push my floor number, five. the elevator shuts and starts heading up to my apartment floor. i watch as the elevator reaches each other floors with a loud beep. as soon as i get to floor five, the doors open and i step out. i have tunnel vision on my way back to my apartment. the door is right in front of me, but just out of reach.

then my arm is grabbed, i’m pulled back and i turn around to see the drunken guy behind me, grinning.

“didn’t know you live in these apartments,” he hiccups, “why don’t you say.. i take you back to my place?”

“in your dreams.” i snap back, he digs his nails into my arm as i try to pull it away.

“i’m your customer, don’t you do whatever i want? can’t i have my way with you?” he continues.

“dude, fuck off, i’m not a prostitute!” i yank my arm back but his grip seems to be getting stronger on it, I throw down my bag and try to push his arm off me, but he just grabs the other one.

i try to kick him, but he immediately dodges.

“i took some self defense classes as a kid, your dumb tricks won’t work on me.” he groans. “now come on.”

i cry out as he yanks me across the hallway. all of a sudden the elevator opens and someone comes out and pushes him away from me, completely confusing him.

“get your hands off her.” a familiar voice snaps.

i look up to be met with my boss’ angry facial expression. he starts to beat the shit out of the guy who previously had his hands on me.

“how did you know?” i questioned, getting up and dusting myself off. i watched the man scramble off in fear of my boss.

“boss intuition kicked in.” he lets out a low chuckle. i roll my eyes.

“let me walk you to your door,” he puts his hand on the small of my back and starts pushing me in the direction of where i was going.

“i got it seriously..” i say softly, but he just keeps walking with me until i get to my door safely, which was only a door down. alhaitham scans the area for any other weird creeps as i get my door unlocked.

it takes me longer to find my key, i don’t do good under pressure. i have a million keys on my keychain too, so finding the house key was extra hard. my hands trembled as i slid one of the keys into the lock.

“maybe this was a good thing i walked you to your door, you take so long to find the right key.” alhaitham blurts out.

i let out a anxious laugh and finally manage to open my door. i walk in and turn around to be met with his serious and solemn face.

“do you wanna come in?” i question. not that i want him to come in and have hot tea, but it just seemed rude shutting the door in his face.

“sure.” he answers, walking into my apartment. i shut the door and lock it, turning around to follow alhaitham to the couch. he takes a seat and looks up at me.

“uh, do you want some tea?” i ask.

“please.” he leans back on my couch and gets all comfortable. i give him an awkward smile and walk to the kitchen.

i start the stove and place a tea kettle full of water on top of it. the same thought seems to run through my head. my boss is in my apartment, he followed me to my apartment. in my home, the kitchen has an open arch where the breakfast bar is, so i have a perfect view of the living room, and the skyline of the city. i can’t help but keep looking back from alhaitham on my couch, scrolling on his phone and the teapot on the stove.

i tap my fingers on the countertops, the nails i just got done at a salon a few days ago, sounding perfect as they tap onto the granite countertops.

it feels like this is taking forever.

i grab two teabags from a glass box on my counter as the tea kettle starts to whistle. I pull the kettle carefully off and open it to let the steam out. i grab two mugs and pour the extremely hot water in, i also carefully slide the teabags into both cups and a small stir.

i carefully pick up both mugs and walk over to alhaitham. i set down both mugs and take a seat beside him.

we are silent for a minute while alhaitham grabs his mugs and takes a sip.

“it’s hot.” i murmur.

“yes, i like it boiling hot.” alhaitham replies.

“right.” i look over to my side and just sigh a bit. “so.”

“so what? are we gonna talk about how you almost got assaulted?” alhaitham grumbles, his voice gets louder though, so he seems mad.

“i had that under control, he was just a weirdo, and if you didn’t show up i would’ve actually been able to defend myself. he caught me off guard.” i snap back.

“i don’t want one of my best moneymakers getting kidnapped or dying. that would not be good, at all.” alhaitham’s words are harsh when they come out of his mouth. he just thinks of me as a moneymaker.

“okay. that’s how you see me? a moneymaker? not a real human being with thoughts and feelings?” i shake my head profusely. “all men truly are dogs!”

“that’s.. not true.” alhaitham says, lowering his voice a bit.

“no, get out of my house.” i stand up and look him into his eyes.

“but,” he starts.

“get out of my house!” i scream. he sets his tea down and gets up, heading straight for the door.

“i’ll see you next time you work.” alhaitham mumbles as he opens the door. he exits and shuts the door behind him. i can’t help but kick my couch a few times out of anger.

“or maybe never!” i scream out after him. “fuck you, alhaitham.”

[feraltuxedo]

Joint Honours

My new university AU just started posting!

Joint Honours by FeralTuxedo E, 13 chapters. Summary: PhD student Aziraphale is busy enough with his studies at Tadfield University. But at the start of a new semester, his measured routine gets shaken up by the sudden responsibility of teaching, the arrival of an irresistible new house mate, and a mysteriously flirtatious sausage roll.

Excerpt from chapter 1:

By the time Anathema rang the doorbell, Aziraphale had transformed the contents of his fridge drawer into a passable vegetable stir-fry. They piled up their plates and settled at the large table.

‘What did Gabriel want this time?’ she asked between bites.

Aziraphale, only too happy that the subject of Sausage Roll Man had not been picked up again, told her about the Introduction to Jane Austen seminar that had so suddenly been thrust upon him.

‘Oh.’ She looked surprised. ‘That’s great, isn’t it? Right up your street, and you’ll get paid for it. What’s the catch?’

‘The lecturer is, well, she’s a bit scary.’

Aziraphale looked resolutely down at his plate, but Anathema’s raised eyebrows somehow still made it into his field of vision.

‘Aziraphale soon-to-be-Doctor Fell, don’t you think you’re a little old to be intimidated by—’

Her dressing down was interrupted by the opening of the kitchen door and the entrance of a tall man with windswept red hair and the longest legs Aziraphale had ever had the good fortune to behold.

He quite forgot to be embarrassed about his healthy respect for Dr Celeste, and instead stared at the intruder, who stared right back. Warm brown eyes surrounded by high cheekbones and finely arched brows.

He paused in the doorway, lamplight from the corridor flowing around his skinny frame, dressed from head to toe in black. There was a pair of sunglasses hooked into the neckline of his t-shirt and a squashed packet of cigarettes sticking out of the front pocket of his denims. He looked startlingly out of place here, like he belonged on a sandy beach on the Adriatic coast rather than a run-down student kitchen in Oxfordshire.

Good lord, Aziraphale thought, or possibly whispered.

‘Whoops, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,’ the stranger said after a moment. ‘Just wanted something from the fridge.’

‘Oh, no, not at all,’ Aziraphale was quick to reply.

Then, to his intense mortification, he jumped up from his chair and ripped open the fridge, like a gentleman holding the door for his lady.

The man frowned.

‘Er, cheers.’

He noticed the cold sausage roll on the counter next to the fridge, raising a questioning eyebrow at it.

‘You can have that,’ Aziraphale stammered, picking up the pastry and thrusting it into the man’s hand. ‘If you want, I mean. I don’t need it.’

The stranger’s mouth pulled into an amused smile, and Aziraphale had the sinking feeling that he was making an awful mess of this.

‘Cheers,’ the man said again, holding the sausage roll between two long fingers as he sauntered over to the door and turned around with one hand on the frame.

He gave Aziraphale a slow, lingering look that took in every part of him, starting with his scuffed charity shop brogues and ending, he was certain, with the depths of his very soul. Aziraphale slammed the fridge shut and folded his arms in an unmistakable gesture of defence.

The stranger’s smile widened, all traces of sarcasm replaced by appreciation.

‘I’m Crowley, by the way. Just moved into 4A, right at the top.’ He pointed the sausage roll at the ceiling. ‘See you around.’

The door closed, the click echoing through the vast, high-ceilinged kitchen. A few seconds later, there was the creaking and groaning of the ancient wooden staircase. Aziraphale exhaled heavily and risked a look at Anathema, who sat at the table, chopsticks frozen in the air halfway to her mouth.

‘Anathema, I swear—’

‘Holy fucking shit. Did you see him? Did you actually look at him?’

‘Lord in heaven, I looked.’ Aziraphale sank back into his chair, glancing up to the ceiling, where Crowley was presumably settling into his new room just across the hall from his own. ‘Bet you regret not moving in here now.’

Anathema snorted.

‘Yeah, right. As if I have a chance, way he was staring at you.’

[danpuff-ao3]

You know...I'm very proud of my playlist crafting skills. A playlist just for me and my jam out sessions is one thing, but making them for my fics was a whole other ballgame. Cue my perfectionism. But my love of music and my love of stories has come together pretty well, I think.

Going back through the Contempt playlist recently was such a great experience. It's like living that story all over again through the songs. Maybe that works best for me as the crafter of both story and playlist, but hey...it's magical for me, at least.

"Pressure" by Muse

I'm trying to keep up to speed with you Your lane changing is oscillating me I'm hitting the ground and I'm sprinting I'm falling behind now I'm tuning out

"I Feel Like I'm Drowning" by Two Feet

All my friends think you're vicious And they say you're suspicious You keep dreaming and dark scheming

"Obsession" by Joywave

There's something Lurking in the back of my mind And lately I feel it sliding into the light

"I Hate You So Much" by Alexander 23

I close my eyes but all I see is you I hate that, I love you so much

"Say It" by Maggie Rogers

I cannot fall in love with you I cannot feel this way so soon I cannot be this way with you I cannot fall in love with you

"Do I Wanna Know" by Arctic Monkeys

Maybe I'm too Busy bein' yours To fall for somebody new

"State of Seduction" by Digital Daggers

You keep my heart under the cover of night Could be the devil in a clever disguise Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbye Say you're here on my side Want you here on my side

"Mind Over Matter" by Young the Giant

And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

"Neptune" by Sleeping at Last

Thread by thread, I come apart If brokenness is a work of art Surely this must be my masterpiece

"A Little Death" by the Neighbourhood

Touch me, yeah I want you to touch me there Make me feel like I am breathing Feel like I am human

"Animal Impulses" by IAMX

I'm tired of this human duet No civilizing hides Our animal impulses

"I Don't Mind" by FNKHOUSER

I am not afraid to Let you be who you wanna be Let you do what you do to me Close my eyes but I wanna see

"Stargirl Interlude" by The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey

A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat My position couldn't stop, you were hitting it

"Ride" by Lana Del Rey

I am alone at midnight Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble, but I I've got a war in my mind So, I just ride

"Kiss Me You Animal" by Burn the Ballroom

Kiss me you animal I need to take you in real slow Cause dying on your lips is how I wanna go

"After Dark" by Mr. Kitty

I've been waiting for this moment We're finally alone I turn to ask the question So anxious, my thoughts Your lips were soft like winter In your passion, I was lost

"Bloom" by The Paper Kites

Can I take it to a morning Where the fields are painted gold And the trees are filled with memories Of the feelings never told?

"Don't Let Me Go" by RAIGN

Forever is not enough Let me lay my head down on the shadow by your side Don't let me go Hold me in your beating heart

"Comatose" by Mikky Ekko

In another life we can work it out But we never speak So it's hard to do We don't really want to live this way

"War of Hearts" by Ruelle

I can't help but be wrong in the dark 'Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts I can't help but want oceans to part 'Cause I'm overcome in this war of hearts

"You're the One" by Rev Theory

You are the hurt inside of me And you are the one that makes me weak Shadows that crawl all over me Swallow the light that lets me see

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

Secrets I have held in my heart Are harder to hide than I thought Maybe I just wanna be yours I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

"Unintended" by Muse

I'll be there as soon as I can But I'm busy mending broken Pieces of the life I had before

[another-heroine]

Wip: The Windmill

After the angst in the last chapter, here comes a bit of fluff and childhood sweethearts for Luis and my OC.

Oh good gods, they will suffer so much in the future...

Read the available chapters on ao3 and make a writer happy!

Her knees were hurting as hell, but she couldn’t stop going on. Laura swallowed the tears, holding her precious friend against her chest, and defying the storm.

We are getting close, she repeated to herself, feeling the cold drops slashing against her skin, reaching her under the thick coat. She didn’t mind being raptured by the storm, since her precious Gatito stayed safe and sound and warm.

She knocked on the door, chattering her teeth. Her voice echoed pitched, “ABUELO!”

It felt like an eternity while she was waiting outside, until she heard someone unlocking the door, and the old man’s face appeared through a slit. Abuelo Serra gasped, “Laura! What are you doing here? Dios mío, you are soaking wet. Luis!”

The boy went downstairs immediately, almost jumping the steps. When he saw Laura trembling and dripping at the door, he didn’t ask anything; Luis put more wood into the hearthfire.

“Come in, girl. Jesus, what is going on?”

Laura was breathless. Her lungs were full of invisible needles. She took off the blanket over her arms and begged, “Please, save Gatito!”

The old Serra took a close look and saw the lethargic animal. The white cat was grimy and his breathing was laborious.

“I don't believe that he will survive until papa comes back!” Her eyes were watering, blurring her vision.

The hunter scratched his head. He was tired of explaining to the locals that he wasn’t a miraculous saint or a heathen, his job was hunting and scouting the vicinity of Valdelobos. But how could he deny help in moments like that?

“Alright, niña, but you need to calm down,” he said. “Sit next to the hearth, I will take care of him.”

Laura almost couldn’t let Gatito go. Abuelo managed to convince her to let the animal on the kitchen table. She caressed the cat’s ears and muttered “But I… I want to help”.

“You are already doing it.” Serra touched her shoulder. “Pull yourself together first.”

Laura hesitated, but Luis pulled her gently. “You heard the old man. Come, sit down.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. The grandson led her to the chair in front of the fire. She took off her boots and put her feet into the warm water bowl. That was a relief she didn’t realize she needed before.

Luis touched her shoulders and suggested, “Now let me hang your coat. If you catch a cold, your mother will be furious!”

“I know.” Laura sniffed, slippering from the heavy sleeves. “The storm ambushed me. There was no turning back.”

“I see. But don't worry, everything will be fine. Abuelo always knows what to do,” he stated. 

“Thank you.” Her hands gripped nervously the fabric of her skirt. She was not used to crying before anyone, but her heart was so small inside the chest that she wished to cry out loud.

Gatito was puking blood for a few days, and nobody knew what to do. Although many children and teenagers were afraid of Abuelo Serra, telling stories that he was a wizard in disguise, Laura knew better that the old man was wise and well-versed in many things. A scholar, like her father.

He must know what to do.

Luis crouched and took one of her hands between his. “You are very brave, you know?”

She couldn’t look at him. The girl was feeling embarrassed and she was certain that her appearance was a mess because of the weather. Laura closed her eyes and grunted, “There is a difference between bravery and folly.”

“I'm not sure about it.” He arched his brow. “Many people were judged insane by others, when actually they just had a different point of view.”

Those words were familiar. Laura glanced at him. “Luis... Is it from Don Quixote again?”

He gave a lopsided grin, looking at the fire. “Maybe.”

Laura tried to frown, but giggled nervously.

“See? I made you laugh! Isn't it insane?”

She felt her face warming up, and couldn't tell if that was because of the hearthfire or him. He could be a dork, but at least he was charming.

They heard abuelo whispering something for Gatito, and the cat was replying with weak squeaks. Laura glanced over her shoulder for a while, then muttered to Luis, “That’s why kids here think that he is a wizard”.

“Too bad for them.” Luis got up and released her hand. “Those tontos would never know how he is a genius.”

Laura pondered for a moment. Luis noticed her expression and asked, “What is bothering you? I mean, besides Gatito being sick.”

“Do you think… Oh, nevermind.” She shook her head.

“What? I’m listening!” he insisted, curious.

Laura rubbed her cheeks, and her heart skipped a beat when Luis got too close, staring at her with those gray eyes. He didn’t even blink.

“I will stay here until you say what’s on your mind.”

She competed with him to see who could overcome that staring duel, but her eyes began feeling dry, and Laura gave up. She sighed, frustrated, and confessed, “Do you think he can teach me about the neighborhood animals? I mean, the wild ones.”

Luis tilted his head. He didn’t know how to react.

“Well, you can ask him. But… What about your father?”

The girl shrugged. “He is often too busy. And…” She smiled mischievously. “Don’t you want to lend me your grandpa?”

Luis flustered. “No, not at all! I mean, it would be great if you come by and study with me— us! Our library is very useful, there are many books… like a library should have.”

Laura lowered her head and chuckled. “It sounds great.”

Luis nodded, feeling dumb. And strangely happy.

(tagging: @navstuffs)

[merry-andrews]

Hello! X3 I had a dream about this cute art and I had to write it! hope you'll like it!

He pulled on muzzle’s straps to make sure everything works in order and the strap is tight enough that won’t fall from his face but not too tight that cuts circulation or bruise Billy before lying back on his back, his cape covering his naked half bottom like a big blanket and he playfully tugs on the fabric up until only his thighs are covered with it.

“who’s a good dog? Come on, Billy, come here. Good boy..” he arches his back off of the couch to provoke the bigger man, get him to work faster but Billy keeps fiddling with the muzzle, isn’t happy at all that he has to wear it during their ‘special’ visiting time. He keeps calling their.. whatever it is between them as ‘visiting time’ and John hates it every time he does it.

“how am I suppose’ te eat ye out with this bloody thing on my face?” he sounds unpleased but puts his hands on John’s exposed knees anyway “is it because I bit ya last time? I thought ye liked it, wasn’t me moaning for more, sweetheart”

Homelander hisses at him but moves downward anyway to give more access to him. “it’s about me trying to do something with you, William. Now, can you just shut up and at least pretend you like it now?”

“and then? Ye tryin’ to chain me up to bed next?”

Despite many nights they spent together, Billy still can’t bring himself to trust the supe, seeing their quite eventful history together, John gives him right but sometimes, even while he won’t say it out loud, it hurts that Billy still sees him as Homelander and not his lover. Especially those mornings when John wakes up first, turns around in Billy’s arms and caresses his face until other man blinks his eyes awake and he hides it well but John still feels his muscles tense, like he’s a danger. Or even when he comes over early and Billy’s in the kitchen and actually cooking something for them.. he always has him in his vision field, moves around with eyes still on John but looks away when John turns his head, thinking he can’t notice. Even while he put himself in danger, stealing Compound V from Vought’s lab for him, even while Billy is now as strong as him..

He sighs in frustration “William, if I wanted to do such thing to you without your consent, you’d be dead many days ego. I’ll never hurt you”

He says but still can see the doubt in Billy’s eyes, still hears his accelerating heartbeat when he wraps a leg around his shoulder to pull him closer, but he decides not to comment on it.

Finally Billy relents and they’re back in the mood again, he copies Billy’s sly smirk behind that muzzle when he pushes on the fabric, shivering when cold air hits his bare groin. Glistening and dripping, he humps the air and can say what Billy’s seeing from this angle, his hole closing in on nothing, releasing more slick with every pulse, making a small puddle underneath on the cushion.

He can see Billy’s pupils dilated but he does nothing yet

“are you going to stare at it for the whole night? Do something!” he feels his eyes glowing red when Billy looks up at him and finally gives in, big shoulders forcing his thighs more open when the Brit lays over him, rubbing the cold metal of the muzzle over his sensitive skin and that has the supe moaning loudly, bucks up in Billy’s face. The other man reaches a hand up for John to lick on them, getting them well-coated in saliva before letting go of it with a ‘pop’. He places a leg over Billy’s shoulder and throws his head back when the man tugs on his outer lips, plays with him a little and not event inside him yet

“if you don’t put-“

He’s cut middle sentence with a wet sob when Billy suddenly sinks two fingers inside him, one of many things he likes about Billy if not his magical tongue, is his hands.. they’re long and thick and when he curls them inside their calloused surfaces deliciously rub against his inner walls, he can feel himself coming already and they just started, spraying Billy’s face and he can’t stop it once it starts, riding Billy’s fingers, clamping down on him. Somewhere from outside of the cloud around his head he can hear Billy’s comment and while he chuckles after whatever he says but John can feel he’s aroused.

“-just shut up and do that again!” John cuts him, his eyes glowing red when he looks down at the man and his mouth immediately drops open when Billy flicks at his sensitive clit with his thumb, dragging the nail over it without giving a break to his lover because the Cunt asked for it. He moves his arms fast, squelching wet sounds filling the room along with John’s loud moans and his babbling of begging Billy for more and ‘please’ but Billy pulls his hand out when John comes this time.

Homelander slams his head back in the cushion of the armrest, arches his back and can swear it’s his first time ejaculating this violently, thighs trembling, he’s drooling “please.. please.. please..Billy!”

“I got you, I’m here, love. I’m here”

He doesn’t comment when he feels Billy’s mouth on his sensitive area, purrs under his touch, fidgets around to slip down on the couch, thrusts his hips down on Billy’s prodding tongue, opening up for him.

His eyes catches the muzzle on the floor, he sighs “I think it was too much to ask for you to wear it only for one night” he pouts but slips a hand down, petting Billy’s head fondly

“you bring that up and you’ll never get to ride me face ever again, sweetpea” Billy’s husky voice sends a shiver down John’s spine. He smiles down at the man, flashing his sharp canines when the make eye contact and Billy is kissing over his inner thigh, sucking a mark in his skin

“I think I like my man a little feral..”

Full pic

[unknownjpegs]

sire

She pauses in front of the diner because the thing parked horizontally across two spaces — an asshole thing to do, were it not two in the morning — catches her eye.

And then, the person sitting alone at a table within snatches her attention entirely. 

There’s a little bell that jingles as pushes the door open and glides in. Her chunky heeled boots clack arrhythmic on the tile — one of them is hollowed on the bottom.

“Not interested,” he says, sparing not even a passing glance over his mug. “Keep on.”

“That is rude.” Ina slides into the booth across from him, fisting her long fingers together and ignoring the sticky tabletop beneath them. She kicks both feet up, two different color sneakers, to either side of his knees.

“I like your ride.” She says it like, I want it. Give me the key. Give me the key, or I’ll find it myself. I’ll take it.

The man looks at her now, eyes darker than the disgusting looking slop in that mug. No cream, Ina notes. No sugar. 

“Why’s it gotta be mine?” He lifts a shoulder. “Could be anybody’s.” 

Ina’s mouth curls at the word. Anybody. She glances around at the near-empty diner, eyebrows arched condescendingly. The kitchen door swings — the waitress with the sun-leathered skin and crinkled lines framing her mouth has retreated. Perhaps, if she’s intelligent, at the sight of Ina. 

“Hers?” 

He shrugs again. 

“His?” 

Now he turns in the seat, which Ina thinks is… funny. Maybe a little naive — or, maybe, it’s naive of her to assume that of him. Anyway, he turns. It puts her in his peripheral, and her eyes fall to his neck. Dark brown skin, unmarred, smooth. She’s not particularly thirsty; old, grungy trucker had bought her big give me a ride, hitchhiker’s eyes not a moment ago. Hadn’t been smart enough, or lacked the proper low-light vision, to see the crimson of her irises. 

There’s another trucker tucked into the far corner of the diner, arms crossed over a barrel chest and beer gut. He’s got a Gone Fishin’ hat pulled over his eyes. He’s either, Ina thinks, asleep or dead or too drunk to have any semblance of awareness the former states might offer. 

“Fuck no,” the man across from her says with an amused scoff. “‘Sides, dickhead looks like he’d prefer to drive a Harley — ” He snorts. “Right through the front of a Cabela’s, hey?” 

Ina’s mouth curls in a slow, delighted grin. “You are far from home.”

He turns back to her. His stare’s lingering amusement has dampened slightly by a new, careful assessment. “So are you.” 

“I’m longer from home than you think.”

“Longer?” His lips twitch now too. “Not farther. You look young.”

“Would you believe I still get carded?” Ina tilts her head, smile widening. “And you? Where’s your home?

He slides a hand from his jacket pocket. A wooden stake, hand-carved, is placed in the center of the table. 

“Not here, that’s for fuckin’ sure. I’m on my way to see a friend.” 

Ina rumbles a low, chilling laugh. 

He says it like a warning and a promise. Says it as young women often do, when they fear someone knows they are alone and will be for some time. There’s someone waiting on me. Someone that loves me. Someone that is expecting me, so if you hurt me or if you kill me, I won’t just disappear. If you hurt me, you won’t ever get rid of me fully. I’ll make your life worse, even in death, because if I can’t escape, you won’t either. They’ll know, and they’ll come looking for you.

“Will it work, do you think?” She points at the stake.

“Been known to, on occasion.” He volleys back. “You’d be surprised at the problems a little piece of wood can sort out.” He spins it with one finger, eyes on her. “Figure if you try anything, I might as well try anything too.”

“Is that where you’re traveling? To find a herd to cull?” 

He sits up slightly in the booth when she shifts. She hasn’t moved — hasn’t twitched or fidgeted or breathed since placing herself across from him. 

“Still think it’s mine, then?” 

Leather jacket, black t-shirt, several chains of varying weights around his neck, a holster or a harness of some sort crossing his broad chest. Ina’s smile widens. She tosses herself to the side, inky hair spilling over the shiny, squeaky red seat. It catches on a tear in the cheap upholstering as she glances under the table — dotted with decades worth of unscraped gum. 

There is a scrape on the toe of his boot where the leather has worn down. Mark that is specific to a pair of shoes that knocks between the starter, the brake, and the gear shift.

Ina slow lifts up, peering at him from the edge of the table with one glittering red eye. It’s set behind thin, crimson-tinted glasses shaped like flames. 

“Not for long.”

*

It is a battle, and a fucking fierce one at that. Perhaps one of the most wild she can remember as of recent — and that memory stretches centuries. There is a spark there, held tight in his chest and zipping through veins like the red water of life. He puts that spark in his fist and swings it, incensed by the light and heat.

But it is, after all, a fight that can only end in one way. Ina is Ina; he is young and alone, passion and fury aside. At the end, she feels no anger even though she has been hurt. It only makes her prideful. She chose right. Chose well. Yes, she’s torn raggedly by the end, flayed and burned and missing bits — but eventually, quickly, it will all heal into smooth and unmarred flesh. She’ll be made whole again, as she was. As she always has been. 

He is not so fortunate. He will be whole soon, because he’s proven himself, and Ina will let him heal. 

“It may be,” Ina whispers as she withdraws from his throat, wiping the back of her hand delicately over her mouth. “Thou shalt be as we.” 

“Fuck — off.” 

Her other hand softens from its cruel wrench of his head backwards, petting instead over this cheek to cup it.

“Thank you,” Ina says, because thirst quenched is a gift given. She wipes her palm over the punctures and its sluicing blood, offering him a bit of dignity in cleanliness as his arteries pump it to the ground. Although she’s sated, now overfull, Ina licks it from between her fingers. Disrespectful to waste.

He glares up at her, fading and fight long gone; yet, remnants of that fury uglying his face in a callous, bitter sneer. For now, he hates her. 

You’re supposed to say, ‘and ye?’, she thinks as she parts the thin skin of her palm with a fang. It bisects that tattooed moon, rends the image of it into a waning gibbous. There is nothing he can do as she lifts the wound to his mouth, which is mottled wetly red from an injury of his own. There is nothing he can do while she squeezes it onto his tongue.

“Do you know that one, know how it ends? Cain says, and ye? and Lucifer responds: Are everlasting.” She shakes her head, grin sly. “You have got to hand it to them. That’s good stuff, ah? They get some things right. Everlasting… so I give you this, a bagong buhay.”

“Quoting — Byron…and you — “ he gulps wetly, air retreating from lungs that compress for the final time, alveoli that pink with blood for the final time, and bronchi that draw breath out of necessity for the final time. “Call — me — stereotypical? Fuck — you.”

They are the last words that leave his mouth in this life. Ina shrugs and watches closely as it slips from him.

Not all fledglings survive the next part. Physically, of course, none of them do. But Ina has lived long enough to know that most breathing things can survive bodily. There is a certain, rare strength for one to mentally endure. To resist horror. To embrace what comes after. There would be no drink, no eat, no breathe without the mind beckoning the body to do so.

Some don’t have that strength. For as many as Ina has created she has ended perhaps double. She could weep at the number, because she tries to remember each. Some she bestows this gift upon are maddened by the transition. So unmade by the making that it’s a merciful kindness to themselves and others to feed them to a tall, tall fire. 

Anyway, the nature of gifts is not to be received - but to be offered in the first place. 

So, having offered and honored, Ina watches. 

He goes limp. His mouth slackens. When it does, she shuts it gently with fingers beneath his chin. The flesh is cooling, already. It will soon become warm again — not with life, but the burn. His eyes flutter next, then fix cloudily distant to a point over her shoulder. Finding, somewhere, that thing that Ina herself has only seen once before. 

She maintains her gentle touch as she drags that broad, limp body upright. Maneuvers him to her back with her jacket as a swaddle, its sleeves tied tight around her waist.

Ina carries him like she thinks she might have once been carried as a child. She encircles his arms around her shoulders, legs crossed and tucked to her hips. She’s sleight, more than half his weight, but it makes no difference to her strength.

She begins walking. Begins their journey. 

Halfway through, his breathing slows to a rate that would kill him if he were not already going. Already gone. Ina knows this metamorphosis intimately, as she might know a centuries-old lover. The change requires days to take. First this black-void fever, then death without rot. They have time for her to pace and enjoy the scenery as it passes.

Alone and yet companioned, with time to spare, Ina ruminates:

What a sweet thing it is, what a mercy, to taste the end. To continue, even after you’ve been shown your end, cauterized, and allowed to wet the frayed edge and weave more. 

Blood is a life, a life, a life, continued. That is love — that is what Ina gives. A new beginning is not a curse, but a blessing. Go again, and keep on. 

Keep on.

He understands. He’d said that to her in that diner. How could those words have been anything less than a sign? She would drink from anyone, but she would be, as the foolish ones said, damned if she shared this with just anyone. 

Because, circumstances and bureaucratic requirements of this turning aside, she would likely find him worthy to be made new regardless. She saw it in the pulse of veins and thrum of a heartbeat, the unwavering tenacity and instinct in their fight.

He would not be a simple number on paper, nor a diagonal tally upon the wall, nor a body among the rank and file, nor someone’s substitute or plaything or surrogate. She would not allow it.

You, she sneers, are not a replacement. A stand-in. That bitter, wretched thing did not deserve blood in the first place. Monster. Monsters. 

Their destination is a grand old manor, hidden in the countryside. This land, although ravaged with a familiarity that aches in her chest, still has such places. Veiled, secret, ancient ones. Where the inhabitants are fickle, but welcome her nonetheless. 

*

The first words from his new mouth, same mouth, in this new life, same life:

“What have you fucking done?” 

She expects the cold, embittered edge. Would be disappointed if she didn’t hear it tucked within the words, because even in life he’d held that iciness in him up to top of his skull. Overfull with it, as she had been overall with the sweet metallic warmth of blood, of platelets, of cells. Life received, life given in turn. 

Buried deep, below the unforgivingly gruff exterior, is a sense of justice that she respects. Kindness. Most importantly, a mean streak. She likes that best. 

“What else could I have done?” She says. “What more? I gave you eternity.”

Gave herself, gave life, gave power. She explains this from her seat at the end of the grand canopied bed. This room is Ina’s — Jacqueline and her partner keep it empty for her visits and visitors alone. 

She gestures vaguely to the bedside table, where she has stacked a variety of books. Not just Byron, because that’s funny, but more. Rarer. Better. The entire room is full of them, full of knowledge that he will not find elsewhere.

“To pass the time, when you find there’s too much of it.”

“I’ll off myself.” He promises, and then firmly shakes his head. “I’ll kill you. Then I’ll off myself.”

“Ah,” Ina sighs. “Yes, there’s some Kafka in the stack too. I think a first edition!” 

He glares at her with such intensity that a distant pull in her chest beckons her backwards, slightly. But he doesn’t move forward — he falls to the mattress. Weak, unconscious; the brief flash of strength pulled from him to fuel the anger gone. Tears streak down his cheeks and Ina wipes them away.

*

Benji dies at twenty-five. He wakes three weeks later, at twenty-six. 

It’s hard to tell how long she tends to him. The days muddy together in a painful, confusing stretch of hours and thirst and aches. Rebirth is not fucking pretty, as it turns out.

There’s anger, beneath the cloud of it all, and resentment. Each time she makes a sympathetic noise, shares a story that barely makes it through his hunger and the shivery fever, he snarls. Tries to bite at her sometimes, if she comes too close — and even manages to draw blood a few times. 

And still she helps. Still, she presses a comforting hand to his cheek and speaks in an unfamiliar language when the pain is unbearable. Urges him to endure. Accept the adaption.

She sits there and sometimes she sits there and talks and sometimes Benji responds. It’s loneliness, he assures himself. It’s not her sharp wit, or their easy rapport. The strange compulsion he feels to crack her odd, even demeanor into a laugh or flash of anger is nothing more than that — a compulsion. Whatever disgusting magic exists between a sire and their spawn. 

Ew, she sneers at him, when once he tosses that word at her with bitter condescension. You’re my equal, you freak. And I’m not your mother. 

Then what do I call you? He hisses back, eyes slit. Gonna let me come up with somethin’ worse?

Her wide, plush mouth spreads in a charming smile. Ina. You?

…Benji.

*

He plays nice as the new, confused, agreeable fledgling. When Ina disappears one evening (and doesn’t return) he discovers that escape might be difficult. Worse, as he comes into contact with the others, he finds that by the day, leaving is less a necessity and more of a maybe. 

Begrudgingly over the first few months of his new life, he grows attached to the cloistered bunch. Benji’d not call them lonely, or solitary. They have each other, even if they are all a bit unsocial. But they accept him as one of Ina’s. None of them say it with any sort of malice or, and he’s gotta laugh, dehumanization. Not like he belongs to her, but that he is of her. Accepted alongside. 

Well. Mostly accepted. 

Dr. Sullivan isn’t kind, per se, but they let him borrow books. Offer to teach him a language, how to hunt in the city, the countryside. Jacqueline, their spouse, is a French vampire who claims to have drunk from Joan of Arc and found the holy taste bitter. She requests he call her Jack, and she shares with him stories of science and ingenuity that span centuries. And she encourages him to get to know the other manor residents: a trio of flighty, spoiled dhampir.

Benji likes the youngeset the best. Matilda is sarcastic and wild, but sentimental. Sweet, if you catch her at the right time. Isaac is quiet and shy, but the least volatile — he teaches Benji signs for hello and my name is and what’s a vampire’s favorite fruit? Blood orange. Leo, the eldest, Benji thinks might be more mental than even Ina. He latches desperately onto a ghoulish, eerily impenetrable perfection. Grits his jaw, tears too violently into a meal in a way that makes it seem like he’s not hungry for the blood, but the rip. Even still, Benji kisses him three, maybe four times in the decrepit statue garden on the grounds.

And admittedly, he learns a lot —  more than he never wished to know. About this life, about being a vampire and not just how to kill them.

He also learns how to read ancient languages from Dr. Sullivan. How to fight with a rapier, with honor, from Jack. How to fight with dishonor from Matilda, how to make protective trinkets from Isaac, and Leo…how to use his newfound strength.

“Good throw,” the blond says, shaking himself of ancient drywall and cobwebs. He glances back at the hole in the study wall with a wry grin. “Maybe one day soon you’ll win against me for real.”

“Tosser,” Benji scoffs, and fists hands in Leo’s tattered Black Sabbath shirt to pull him down for a biting, bloody kiss.

*

Much later, after his escape from that manor and its occupants, he finds his way back to a small two-bedroom flat. The second he steps foot in the door, clarity washes over him with a chill icier than his death. His lungs burn, but not for air — from the protective sigils Maran had carefully carved into the door-frame. 

This is home — was home. He used to call it home, at least, because Maran was there. He doesn’t know if he ever can call it that, again. Doesn’t know, as he stands there in the shadows, if Maran will let him. And Benji has flitted between so many of them in his short span of years that he can’t place a favored one. His mum’s, couches at various exes, this flat, the manor. Now, nowhere. He thinks, with no small amount of anger, he’s been condemned to seek home for eternity. 

Everlasting.

“Fuck’s sake,” Maran says, jolting from a deep slumber. “Benji?” 

He hasn’t made a sound. The idea that his presence is so palpable, so familiar, that just him standing in that darkened corner is enough to pull his best friend from sleep is — well. It makes him cry once more.

“Maran,” he says, wetly laughing through the tears that slip down his cold cheeks, “We ‘ave got a problem, mate.” 

Maran sits up and rubs his eyes, reaching for the bedside light and turning it on. 

“Oh shit,” Maran hisses. His brown eyes are wide, but not scared, as they meet Benji’s newly crimson ones. “Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ say.”

[indouloureux]

scratching : countertops¡ (stargirl interlude)

"I had a vision A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat, my position couldn't stop you were hitting it And I shouldn't cry, but I love it, Starboy..."

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

summary: peter's been your roommate for years, and you know that the rooms are filled with thrifted furniture and unsolved tension. when you find yourself eating pineapples beside him one night, you don't expect to be bent over the counter with his (sticky, dexterous) hands.

word count: 6,482

warnings: graphic writings of smut (MINORS DNI), mentions of blood, fluff, maybe a little angst (extended warnings below the cut)

a/n: hi. hope you all like this unholy smut. hope we're all forgiven. here's you being peter's pretzel with three holes lol

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

extended warnings: face-fucking, oral (m and fem receiving), ass/anal play. degradation and praise kink. unprotected sex, (don't be silly, wrap your willy), creampie. toy usage (vibrator wand), rough sex, man handling, biting, body-guard/doggy position, cum-dumpster!reader, and poorly written smut :)

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

This was all Harry’s fault.

I hope Oscorp burns to the ground and you lose all your money so you’re forced to live with me, you bastard.

Rationally, Harry had offered to help Peter pay for the apartment (without malice; he knows Peter’s not that poor). But ever the independent, he refused. So he couldn’t possibly understand why he was so upset that his friend was leaving to get his own apartment that he found was better than the one they used to live in.

Guaranteed, it wasn’t the type Osborn had grown into – waking up right to ruckus outside the building, bird shit sometimes reeking from the fire escape, a slim shower rather than a tub – and Peter was forever thankful Harry never complained and had adjusted to the type of lifestyle Peter grew up into.

But he wanted to move out. Move into an apartment near Oscorp and campus. Because he’s not the one swinging there within three minutes.

(Peter had offered swinging together with Harry. He refused. Says he’s afraid of heights and makes him…question. Peter doesn’t know what he means. Unless-)

So now here he was, on the internet lately advertising on some dodgy website that he's seeking for a new roommate. He doesn’t mind, though. If he ends up with a murderer, they’ll most likely be in jail the second they step in.

But he’s set up some rules. Peter liked boundaries, and he most certainly liked people who knows how to properly clean the bathroom, remembers their keys, doesn’t bring random people in without permission, doesn’t put marijuana in brownies when baking, and doesn’t produce the nastiest smell around the apartment.

He hesitates on the brownies portion. While he certainly relishes eating chocolate-flavored cannabis, Harry is the only one he knows how to prepare the baked confection. So Peter wouldn’t mind if his new roommate knew how to make them, as well.

Behind him, Harry grunts as he places the last box on the coffee table. It’s labeled ‘The Den equipment’ in a deep red marker written on top of masking tape. He frowns because it’s not the cardboard type, but rather a black box with stripes of metal on its corners. It rattles when Harry places the box on the table, like something heavy fills the chest.

“What’s that?” Peter points at the black chest, his arm resting on the wooden back of his chair. His other hand taps on the keys of his keyboard, but never pressing out to type a letter. “That’s new.”

“It’s not,” Harry chuckles, running a hand through his thin hair. Peter thinks his hairline’s receding due to the lack of thickness in Harry’s hair, other than the fact that Norman Osborn’s on the verge of balding. “I’ve had this since freshman year.”

“High school?”

“College,” snorting, he unlatches the black chest, the soft clicking reverberating in Peter’s ears. “Can you imagine high school me with these things? I’d be an absolute klutz with these things.”

Peter pushes his chair out, sauntering his way towards his friend. He curiously peeks over Harry’s head, seeing folded silk at the upper left corner, followed by a cluster of pink, purple, and black items in weird shapes and curves that hits familiarity in the deep depths of his risqué mind.

That’s when he realizes that they’re “Vibrators,” Peter says out loud, blushing. Though, given the few women he's been with, he can ensure that he's no stranger to such titillating forms of intimacy. His expertise is kept entombed; locked away not out of shame, but the key’s saved for someone he desires to show the doors to.

“Not just vibrators,” Harry’s tongue makes an amused click, his finger tracing the lid. “I’ve got a whole lot of shit here. Bought it all when I turned twenty-one, remember?”

“I don’t think I do,”

“Of course you didn’t. We were drunk out of our minds,” he pats Peter’s back, looking up at him. His smile is proud, like he’s feeling triumphant about the fact he’s being all Christian Grey at the age of twenty-one. “Explored so much with this, I’m proud to say I orgasmed at the fuckin’ Bermuda Triangle.”

Peter shakes his head, a boyish laugh leaving him. “That’s a lie.”

“Obviously,” he turns to look back at the hedonistic pursuits that fills the chest. Harry’s hand digs deep between the vibrant toys, and Peter wonders how unsanitary that must be, regardless if Harry’s ever cleaned them. He pulls out something Peter’s familiar on:

The wand’s body was a rich shade of crimson, similar to the one on his suit. However, its bulbous head dons itself in black rather than blue that matches his renowned attire. The colors match, nonetheless, and he does see that the buttons are round in baby blue.

“Tell you what,” Harry places the wand in Peter’s palm, and god does he hope it’s cleaned. “Take this as an apology. For leaving you. And a gift, because you deserve it.”

With burning cheeks, Peter scratches the back of his ear with his vacant hand. “I always thought this stuff happens in older women’s birthdays.”

“Vibrators are for all!” He roars, pleased with his erotic manifesto.. “Nothing wrong with wanting something to make you squirt, am I right?”

“Now that I think about it, I think I’m pretty glad you’re moving out,”

“Now now, brother. It’s time you face independency,” Harry smacks the chest shut, securing the latch before carrying it in his enormous palm, followed by the quiet jingle of his keys from his pockets.. “I’ll miss you, my best friend.”

He walks Harry out with an arm around his friend’s shoulders, opening the door for him. Peter rolls his eyes at the dramatic pout he gives him. “You’re only ten minutes away.”

Peter hears a small ping in his laptop when Harry leaves. With his receding footsteps, Peter sits back at the chair in front of his old laptop, seeing a message had popped up out of the corner of the screen. The circular icon is accompanied with a red dot on the side, and a blurry picture of a girl with their dog.

Hi! Heard you were looking for a new flat mate?

⋆

This was all Harry’s fault.

Peter can feel his heartbeat in every part of his body: his legs, his ears, his eyes, his hands, and his fucking dick. It's making him feel unsettled, perhaps moreso than Harry's expedition yesterday. Overstimulation is something he was never grateful for when he got bitten, and it had picked out the worst times to throw a tantrum.

You’re expected to be arriving in a few minutes, and he looks like a wreck. His jeans now have a damp spot on his thighs from constantly wiping his sweaty palms. Neophyte limbs forgetting their decorum, Peter walks around his apartment like a lost child, tugging on his unruly hair. His nerves are forming a connivance against its paladin, spasmodic nervousness ticking him off every minute that passes by.

Anamnesis, you weren’t the first to text Peter about the vacant room adjacent to his. Between your icon were two other guys – a man, seemingly in his 40’s with a beard like Seneca Crane’s with a fashion style like a hiker’s, and a guy his age with a badly bleached blonde hair and the mustiest mustache he’s ever seen. It was obvious his choice was you: not because of the ambiance he’s felt from the two other guys, or the fact that you’re a girl, but because…well…

He’s just about to find out.

Think of the stars. Count them in the darkness from the back of your eyes. There’s Alpha caeli, zeta arae, gamma camelopardalis –

The stars are far from their constellations. Peter panics at the fragmented dulcification, clenches and unclenches his trembling fists. Forsooth he blames the sudden overstimulation. And for the third time that week, he curses the radioactive spider.

Peter jumps when he hears the doorbell ring, louder than it should have. He shakes his head to push the erratic beating away from his eyes, walking careful steps to the door that further awaits being opened.

The door opens, and you look at him with an innocent smile.

Like a beautiful, tragic calamity, the star in his heart bursts into a supernova. Galactical seas of purple, blue, and yellow mercurially imbue him before it’s overtaken by the destructive inferno of the ultraviolet star. It swells his throbbing organ, embers withering off into the galaxy.

“Hi,” your voice blows the supernova away, and he returns back to earth where he’s physically in. Peter blinks, patting his hands on the back of his thighs before he remembers he looks like absolute shit. But you don’t seem to mind.

“Um.”

“I’m (y/n),” you don’t give him your hand to shake, but the nervous smile on your face indicates you’ve got the same sweaty hands as he does. “I’m here for-…for the interview?”

Peter nods, too rapid that he shakes his brain. He steps aside with a smile that mimics yours as you gladly step in after you wipe your shoes on the rug.

You take in the apartment well. It’s cleaned – the lack of dust shows he might have cleaned before you arrived. The three-seater couch fits well in the living room, the TV large enough to not strain your eyes. The décor contrasts well to the alabaster walls, and the fact that Peter had decorated this himself seemed surprising because you should definitely see his room back at Aunt May’s.

The whole apartment smells nice. Like freshly baked cookies that makes your mouth water. You don’t realize Peter’s still got his eyes on you until you sit down on the chair placed randomly in front of the couch.

“So,” he speaks out, a waver in his voice as he sits on the couch. He forgets to tell you he’s supposed to be the one on the chair, but all his thoughts dissipate into a blubbering mess. You don’t mind the chair, anyway. “Why are you looking for an apartment?”

That was not the first question.

You answer him, either way. “I wanted to move out of the dorm I stay in at campus,” he can hear the sound your nail makes when you chip them. “I guess, out of some sudden urge to move deeper into independence?”

“Okay,” he drags out his ‘y’, remembering the next question. “How are you with bathrooms?”

It’s obvious his question confuses you, because it confuses him too. “Hm?”

“I’ve never done a good job cleaning the bathroom. So I was wondering if you’re…any good…at cleaning them?” he feels stupid, like he’d asked a sexist question. Peter’s unsure if he did, because your expression is unreadable.

(“Is this guy serious?”)

“I do good, I guess. I’ve never been a fan of dirty bathrooms so I’m very fastidious when it comes to cleaning them.”

He nods. “And smoking?”

“I smoke.” You smile a little. “A lot. Like, my friends had to make an intervention for me with a big poster that had two versions of lungs, the other was what my lungs were going to look like if I didn’t stop smoking. I- sorry. I talk too much.”

“’s all right,” he chuckles. “I smoke a lot too.”

Your shirt exemplifies the contours of your breasts while emphasizing their size. He attempts to pull his gaze away, but instead finds himself tracking his gaze down to the button of your jeans to your thighs, calves swinging and almost brushing his. Peter swallows deeply.

“Do you, uh, not mind living with a guy?”

Incredulous, you let out an angelic laugh. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Look…Peter-” you remember his name from the ad; remember how you repeat his name in your head like a mantra. “- I don’t mind if you take home girls, or guys. I just need a place to stay. I can’t promise I’ll pick up dirty laundry all the time, and I can’t cook for shit nor can I make this place squeaky clean. But I can give you a hell of a good time—God, that sounded prostitute-y.”

Your nervousness sedates him tremendously, and he laughs heartily at your ramble. Peter shakes his head, sitting back to sink into the couch with crossed arms and an endearing smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Not prostitute-y, just...a twinge of an innuendo,” he reassures. “Well. I’ve got a few flaws myself. Like, I can’t explain why I have sudden bruises in my face.”

“What? Are you like, in a mob or something?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not,” Peter blushes when you laugh. “I can’t promise you I’ll be clean. This apartment you’re seeing? This is only to persuade you. And you don’t need to worry, I know how to cook, and I don’t bring home random people at night.”

“Just random people’s blood?”

A violent question that he founds oh-so-funny. “Yes. Not dead people’s blood. So you don’t have to worry about that.” Peter watches you sink onto the wooden chair. You pick at the lpse thread of your jeans, twirling it around your fingers before you pull it off.

“As long as I don’t hear loud moaning, I’m fine.”

Your smile is teasing, curved like the Eastern Veil Nebula that’s vibrant and pretty. Dimples apodictic like Peter’s deep laugh that bequeaths you happily silly.

Peter’s unbridled with scrawny handsomeness. His half-lidded gaze has your cheeks burning like the sun, hot enough to render you queasy and yet again nervous. But when he wipes his hands on his thighs and stands up with his hand raised for you to shake, your nervousness ebbs away.

“Feel free to move in whenever you like.”

⋆

899 days pass.

This was all Harry’s fault.

Peter stands outside your open, desolated bedroom. Your bed is made, the LED's on your vanity are switched off, and your make-up is adroitly piled on the edge. It's sanguinely clean, in contrast to his bedroom, which has his filthy clothing placed on top of a chair that has yet to be cleaned.

He likes that even if you’re gone, your room still smells like you – tobacco, vanilla, and the faint scent of wet leaves from the plants by your window. Peter did you a favor and watered them, after being dry for almost three days because you were in too deep into your school works.

He takes one final glance, particularly at the frame mounted beside the window: it was you and Peter at some Halloween party around a year ago. And while you were clad in a skin-tight black outfit with cat ears, he came as Spider-Man (oh, the irony). He donned a store-bought suit, but had pondered wearing his authentic suit since everyone would be too drunk to notice.

With Harry at the far left in a police costume and a fake mustache (and his chest sweaty and exposed), Peter has his arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly to his chest with his mask in his hand, smiling drunkenly. You held a cup in your hand, nails long and lithe, head on his shoulder with a scrunched nose and an inebriated, slanted grin.

Pallid at the longing for you, he finally descends your bedroom and closes the door behind him. Peter sighs, scratching the spot behind his ear, half-expecting for his phone to ping at any sign of you.

He's bored out of his mind and decides to have a look about. The flat has altered; it no longer exhibits Harry's bachelor nature, but rather an amalgamation of things you both adore that fit together like a constellation, with furnishings thrifted and adapted to meet the selected ethos.

It's pretty and optimistic, much like you. Peter enjoys being immersed by you, yet he still can't get enough and craves more.

Living with you was easier. You never brought home people, and if you were with one, you’d be gone ‘till the next day, respecting Peter. He’d do the same, however his dates had become a once in a blue moon; something felt missing and it just wasn’t it.

He likes how caring and pristine you are, how you’re comfortable with being a mess around him. And he likes how he feels around you, too. Peter doesn’t need to worry about going home late at night because, tl;dr, you already knew, and you didn’t mind patching him up ever-so often with all your dexterity.

You don’t mind his nightly throes, you don’t mind his blood between your fingers that he washes away, you don’t mind his cheeky smile, or his flirty jokes, or his past, or who he is.

And Peter likes that.

(He also likes the fact that you’re so fucking hot he feels like he’s floating happily in space when you wear those tight mid-riffs and above the knee skirts. Even when your shirt is stained with your agitated tears and your loose sweatpants.)

Startling him, his phone pings loudly in his pockets. Peter groans when he reaches for it, fingers still trembling from the tremendous ache he still feels from the previous night. Clumsily, he pulls his battered phone out, seeing a text from you.

(y/n): coming home in ten xx

Peter smiles in excitement, maybe even almost jumping in his place like a giddy little child. He takes on the liberty to fix the place a bit, and patiently waits for you on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

You arrive in less than 10 minutes. The rush in your footfall, which he could hear from distance, gave the impression that you were eager to see him, and your quick heartbeat indicated your excitement. You open the door with a tired smile, your outfit a little askew and your purse half-zipped.

Then he remembers you just came from a date and he probably wasn’t the reason behind your smile.

“Hey doll,” your heartbeat quickens at the sobriquet. “How was your date?”

Peter ignores the ache in his heart that his words gave; tries to hide the jealousy his question bore as you answer him. “Fucking sucked. He’s like Harry, but with little to no respect.”

“Harry’s not that bad,” he chuckles, standing up abruptly. His wounds open a little, and Peter tries to hide the discomfort through his smile, not wanting to worry you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. He just really sucked,” you throw your purse on the couch with a sigh. “Bet you heard how fast my footsteps were, though. Couldn’t wait to get home.”

Smiling, he teases you. “I’m flattered, (y/n).”

“Yeah yeah,” you smack his chest lightly with the back of your hand. He follows you to the kitchen, watching you remove your shoes as you walk through, throwing it aside and decided to clean it later, maybe the next day.

The floor is cold beneath your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. Your dress shines beneath the dim luminescence of the kitchen light, a star desolated in the middle of the galaxy that Peter’s got his eye on. The white glow of the refrigerator light reflects on your face, bending over to take out a bowl of pineapples.

Even still, Peter follows you as you take a seat on the countertop, swinging your feet as you take the cling wrap off the glass bowl and take the fruit between your fingers, taking a bite.

Peter takes one too, standing in front of you with his back resting against the wall adjacent to you. “Tell me about the date,”

You look at Peter. There’s a side of you that hopes he can show just how jealous he is through his curious gaze, and the other aching for you to just call him out. “Like I said, it was bad,” you shrug, chewing on the fruit. “First, he was ten minutes late.”

He makes a hiss out of judgement. “One point taken.”

“Then he wore the most absurd thing ever. Well, not absurd, but he made me look like I was too overdressed. He wore short khakis, Peter,” your eyes widen. “Short khakis. And, I don’t know, a nyan cat shirt.”

“A nyan cat?”

Peter reaches out for another pineapple, and you hand him the bowl. “A fucking nyan cat. Who wears that to a date?”

He chuckles at your agitation despite the fact that he shouldn't. When Peter says he's thrilled about how poorly your date went, it sounds awful. He doesn't love the sadness, but he does appreciate the fact that you're still open.

He hopes you know what he means.

“I’m sorry your date went bad, (y/n),” his heel kicks him off the wall, his vacant hand reaching out to rub the tense muscle on your right shoulder. Peter smiles when he sees you visibly relax beneath his touch.

“No you’re not,” you smirk, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re not sorry.”

“You’re right,” he pulls his hand back. “I’m not.”

A meteor of unforeseen confidence, Peter steps closer and stands between your legs. Your dress rides up, set halfway on your thigh. He still chews on his pineapple, his eyes on yours as you gradually peel your eyes open.

Irises like Ara, his knees weaken at your unsanctified eyes. You know the place is filled with thrifted furniture and unresolved, salacious tension that fills your head with ribald imaginations you think will Peter never let you go for. It’s wrong to imagine him take you anywhere in your shared apartment, bending you over and take you from behind, spitting out such unholy things that get you wetter and sweeter at each dulcet word he releases in your ear.

“Why’d you go on that date, anyway?” he murmurs, lips wet from his tongue that licks the delectable taste of pineapple.

You pop the last piece in your mouth. “Thought I could find a good fuck,” Peter’s unsurprised by your bawdy confession, getting used to conversations like these. “It’s been a month and I need to release my stress.”

The bowl is behind you. Peter reaches for the dish, his chest meeting yours and his nose just by your eyes. You smell him – cigarettes, faint blood, cinnamon; it brings a hot pool between your legs, and you clench your thighs together.

You shouldn’t be that horny. It’s just cinnamon. And cigarettes. And blood.

He pulls back with a pineapple between his lips. Peter bites, chews and swallows, and says, “Couldn’t you have approached me?”

Well, cat’s out of the bag. No take backs.

Peter perceives you fluster beneath his gaze from the Freudian slip, an abdication between bravado and modesty. Your body tries to acclimate at his raunchy reply, uncertain of how to react. When you opt to unwind and shrug, drawing closer, the tension crescendos into a pinnacle.

“Wouldn’t have been appropriate,”

“How so?”

“Well, we’re flat mates,” you take a bite. “We live together. We’re practically like siblings.”

He deflates, a wave of un-comfort and humor. “Please don’t say that. It’s gross.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckle, placing a hand on his bicep. You feel his scar through the thin fabric of his shirt, puzzling in just right on your palm. “I’m saying, flat mates don’t fuck.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Says who?”

“The principles of sex and love,”

“And who made that?”

“I did,” you smile up at him, cheeky. “I made it ever since I hooked up with my roommate back at campus.”

“Is that why you moved out?”

Hesitance halters your words, but you give in a second later. “Yes. Because I wanted to be with her and she didn’t. And I made it awkward and I couldn’t handle it so I moved out.”

Your finger traces the crevices of his biceps, dipping in the curves of his scars of heroism. Peter’s eyes never leave your curious face. “Do these principles count to a guy?”

A shrug. “I don’t know,” you murmur.

The boy is enamored by the taunting, tempting glance you give him. You're a sui generis edgier force in your own right. A burgeoning stargirl in the creation. A woman who is eclectically spurred by autonomy and utilizes confidence as your new power. You're valiant, and your origins are vast.

“You want to try it out?”

You take a bite of your pineapple, and release the sweet fruit with the gentle sound of your suckle. Peter's sense of sight dials up even higher, watching the visual that makes him lick his lips unconsciously.

(And to you, the sight of the thick muscle escaping his unholy mouth sends heat to the altar between your legs, kneeling before you with a mouth that begs atonement; a mouth that aches to taste you.)

Peter wipes the juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb, then raises it to his mouth and sucks the exquisite ambrosia from his skin, and he swears he can taste you. You all but moan, biting your lip. “You fucking drive me insane," he murmurs as he traces your wet lips with his thumb. Your mouth ajar, following his movements before he presses his thumb onto the pad of your tongue.

You suddenly forget the stupid principle in your head, too driven by the arousal that agitates your skin. Peter pushes his thumb deeper until you gag around him, and he pulls his thumb out when you look up at him lustfully.

Leaning in to graze your lips on the lobe of his right ear, you card your fingers through his thick hair, tugging slightly. You smirk when he moans quietly. “Fuck me good then maybe I’ll change my mind.”

The mood switches. Like the warm light turns scarlet red, darkening the dusk in your physiques, Peter plants a hard kiss on your lips. The flavor of pineapple exchanged through heavy breaths and explored tongues, probing his muscle in your mouth. His hands wander up to hold you small face in his large palms, yours pulling on his neck.

His lips are soft in juxtaposition to his rough handling, pulling you closer to his chest. Peter’s hands pull on the zipper at the back of your dress, almost ripping it off out of eagerness. You gasp when he does so, calloused skin caressing your soft back.

“Taste so fucking good,” he growls against your lips. “Had to wait two years for this. Why’d you make me wait, princess?”

Your clothed crotch grinds on the prominent bulge aching to pop out, smirking when he moans again. “Mm, but you liked it, right? Thought you liked waiting? The tension?”

“Fucking tease,” he chuckles, biting your bottom lip. “You feel that baby? Feel how hard you made me? Got me feelin’ like a fuckin’ virgin; like I’ve got a goddamn rock inside my sweats. I’m aching for you."

Hungry hands palm him, pumping him through his sweatpanrs. “I can fucking feel it,” you purr. You feel it go slightly damp, and when he feels it, too, Peter tugs your hand away. His other hand pulls on your hair, a moan escaping your lips when he does so. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s wet.”

Peter’s eyes darken, his supernova turns into a black hole of lust and starvation. His hands roughly palm your right breast, rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple through your dress. Finally, he pulls the strap down your shoulder, leaning in to bite on your collarbone.

“You want a taste?” he taunts you as you pull on the strings of his sweats. “Get on your knees, then.”

It’s amusing how quick you obliged, letting your dress fall down to the ground. Peter’s eyes land on your exposed chest, lips wanting to wrap themselves on your pebbled buds, but unable to because you sink to the ground, your knees holding you up.

Peter pulls his sweats down, followed by his shirt, smelling the arousal that ruins your underwear. You gasp quietly at the lack of briefs he’s wearing, cock springing up to slap on his stomach.

He is achingly hard, with the tip swell and red, leaking of pre cum. You lick your lips, nails scraping against his thighs before you boldly lick a stripe from his shaft to the tip, sucking on the head.

Effervescently, Peter lets out a sound between a groan and a whimper, the sound ricocheting between the kitchen walls and the marble countertop. You sink your mouth deeper, tongue beneath his cock and his tip hitting the back of your throat when your nose hits his pelvis.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re taking me so good.”

His girth is almost unbearable in your mouth when you drag up, enclosing your cheeks around his cock before you sink down in a swift motion. You gag around him, tears swelling your eyes.

Peter thinks the mascara down your cheeks is a masterpiece, beautiful like Andromeda in the sky. You look up at him, eyes wide, wild, sultry yet innocent at the same time. Like the fucking tease you were, your lips wrap around his tip before sinking down halfway, pumping the bottom with your right hand, the left fondling with his balls beneath.

You pull out, pumping him still. “Want to fuck my face, Pete?”

He groans, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You don’t need his confirmation, because soon his hips are thrusting in your mouth, rougher than you expected but you don’t care. Peter’s cock disappears in your mouth, whimpering when you gag around him.

“That’s it,” a hearty groan. “Fuck. Bet you love this, don’t you? On your knees?” you hum around his shaft, pulling out to kitten-lick his tip before sinking back in. Both his hands are on the back of your head, fucking your face like he’s always wanted to do. Your mouth is full of him, your scent is full of him, and your eyesight is full of him; nonetheless you don’t complain, because being on your knees for him gets you cock drunk enough.

He goes deeper, his cock almost right at your throat. You breathe through your nose, exhaling heavily. “That’s it. Take it like a good fucking girl. Ah – fuck.”

Merciless. His muscles retract at every thrust, and your eyes water at every gag. Peter cries out when your hands squeeze a little around his cock, feeling him get closer on edge at every push. You squeeze at his balls before you twist your hands around his shaft, following his thrusts.

You moan around him, vibrating his dick that draws out a loud groan from the man above you. You can feel his bulging veins against your tongue, saliva and arousal dripping down your chin to your exposed breasts.

Finally, he cums harder than he ever has before, voice loud and vocally thankful of your service. With a loud, scandalous groan, he releases his seed into the back of your throat. The luscious rye gets you inebriated on the delectable wine that tastes of sweet and salty.

Peter pulls you up to your feet, gathering up the spit you made and pushing it back into your mouth with his thumb, popping it out with a smile. “Fucking amazing, doll. Did so good for me.”

He kisses you like it’s the last time, your hands scraping on his chest, feeling the sweat stick to your palm. Peter moves down to bite your neck, doesn’t stop until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. He lifts you up until you sit on the counter, bare ass meeting the cold marble.

“Think you can return the favor?” you pant, tugging on the roots of his hair. “My mind’s still isn’t changed, Pete.”

Peter kisses his way down – leaving generous sucks to your breasts and pleasurable bites on your pebbled buds, licking down to your pelvis that he bites petulantly. His fingers trail up to your calves until they trace the lace of your underwear, hooking them around his fingers before ever so slowly pulling them down to your ankles.

You’re leaking onto the countertop, and he wastes no time in pushing you backwards so that he’s got a better view of your exposed cunt. Peter grows hard again, looking up at your begging eyes before he gives you what you want.

From your ass to your clit, his tongue journeys up to your bud, sucking at the engorged clit before he laps up your sweetness through your folds, going down to teasingly prod his tongue at your puckered hole before going up to your clit again.

“Shit, Peter,” you throw your head back, hands on his brown locks. Honey-brown eyes meet yours between your legs, and you can feel his smirk against you when you moan loudly as his fingers sink inside you, clenching around his limbs. “Fuck,”

“That’s it,” he feels the spongey spot inside you, finding out it’s your g-spot when you cry out loud, biting your lip out of embarrassment. “Take it baby.” His other hand goes up to pull your bottom lip off your teeth, tugging it down. "What? Don't go shy on me now. You don't think I hear you? You're pretty loud, especially when you use your toy. Rubbing that thing up your greedy fucking pussy. God, you don't even know how hard I get when I hear you moan my name."

You chuckle at his confession. “These walls aren’t paper thin, Peter. If you think you heard those by accident, you’re so fucking wrong.”

He continues to suck on your clit, continues to fuck you with his fingers, continues teasing both your clenching holes. Because Peter enjoys watching your cunt spasm at his touch. He lets his tongue fuck you, moaning when you clench tightly around his thick muscle.

“I’m close,” you breathe out. “I’m so fucking wet Peter. I’m already close.”

Capriciously, Peter stops. You whimper as he stands up, and he’s unpleased by your reaction as a frown settles between his eyebrows. He slaps the tip of his cock on your clit. “Why’re you whining, (y/n). Greedy girl. Wait here for a bit, will you?”

He’s quick to his feet when he disappears into the bedroom. Waiting for at least ten seconds, he reappears with his webshooter on his left hand, and a toy in his right– scarlet head, black body, blue buttons. The wand makes your mouth water, and he places it beside you as Peter gives you a hungry kiss.

In a swift motion, he turns you around. Peter places the wand in front of where your clit is, webs the toy on the countertop before he bends you over, the head hitting your clit as he calculated. You moan at his handling, his hand on the back of your neck.

“You still on the pill?” Peter whispers in her ear. “You feel too fucking good for me to just wear a condom, doll.”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes closing when his nose rubs on your cheek. Peter holds his cock in his hand, penetrating your hole with his tip before finally pushing in.

Divine. Like angels had come down and taken you with them, but your soul falls down into the deep depths of hell from the unholy act of his bare cock pushing in your tight walls. His hands grasp tightly at your waist, moaning loudly together the neighbors would file a complaint the next day.

It's not his powers healing him - it's you. It's your touch that mends his soul with the mere act of immorality. Your runes mending his skin as it burns itself on his pearlescent body. “So tight, baby,” he breathes out. “So amazing. Feel so amazing. Gonna let me fuck you hard like the whore you are?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Give it to me.”

Ever the obedient, Peter slams himself onto you. His other hand turns the vibrator on, and you practically scream with the intense pleasure. Peter fucks you into oblivion, slamming at a pace unrecoverable.

A feeling that takes him to Caelum; your eyes as round and beautiful as Callisto, bright like the moon. His skin on yours is euphorically amorous; mind nebulous. “You’re such a good cocksleeve, doll. So fucking amazing. My whore, getting what she wants, making me prove her stupid principles wrong.”

You meretriciously reach behind you to grasp at his forearm, hand choking you from behind. His cock opens you up, stretches you out as Peter continues to pound from behind you. You feel his cold spit dribble down your neglected hole, his thumb tracing before pushing it inside your ass.

It’s painful but bearable, because you like the pain that he gives you. Greedily taking all that he gives as his cock goes deep that his tip bulges out your pelvis. The vibrator never hinders down, abusing your swollen clit while his thumb fucks your ass. And you’re scratching: countertops. Your back arched like a cat as his position lets him keep on hitting it, crying because you love him the feeling of his cock too much.

Peter lets go of your neck, hands caressing your back in an act of care. It’s what alleviates the heavy feeling of abhorrent fornication. His scandalous words are gloriously poisonous, but with mithridatism in your veins, you handle the sweet hemlock. Then he pulls your back to his chest leaving the vibrator buzzing and coated with your arousal, bodies paralleled as he fucks you into another universe by a force unfathomably powerful.

But he pulls the vibrator off the counter, despite the sticky webbing. With his balls slamming on yours from behind, with his thumb leaving your hole, he puts the vibrator against your clit, overstimulating you more.

“That’s it,” he moans when he hits your spot, squeezing him. “I’m close. You close baby?”

Lost of words, you nod. He slams with a couple of more thrusts, before he shoots his warm cum inside you. You follow obediently, cumming on his cock. He doesn’t pull out yet, slowly fucking you still.

Peter is as magnificent as the veil nebula in the constellation Cygnus. You soar in cosmos, admiring Peter's blue and purple glories being as the remnant of the beautiful catastrophe of a supernova. You admire the glacial haze, too infatuated with his splendor.

⋆

Peter wipes the drag on the mess between your legs, apologizing when he touches your stinging cunt from the stimulation. He plants a small kiss on your naked collarbone, then a sweet kiss on your tired, puffy lips.

“Are your principles changed?” he murmurs against your lips, looking at you. Peter thinks you’re the most beautiful star in all galaxies, beaming boldly beneath him.

You giggle, finger tracing his jawline. “I guess.”

You hide your face in his chest, Peter plants a soft kiss on your forehead. The fucking wore him out, resting his head on top of yours. And you’re still naked on the countertop.

This was definitely all Harry’s fault.

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

[aquidragon]

Mrs. Kennedy [Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Leon Kennedy x Reader Rating: E (MINORS!! DNI!!! OR ELSE)  CW(s): NSFW content inbound, praise kink, bad writing (tell me if I should add more cws)  Word Count: 922

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“Does that feel good?” 

You let out a whimper in response, your elbows digging into the cold, granite surface of the countertop. Black cocktail dress hiked up, bunched around your hips, bent over in your kitchen. The firm chest of your fiancé heavy on your back, his muscles straining against the buttons of his soft sky-blue dress shirt. 

“Yes,” you breathed, manicured nails digging into the smooth marble. Pressure built within your very core, as Leon’s thick cock buried its way inside your tight walls. His lips nip against your neck, over the hickies that were finally starting to fade. 

His hands were tight against your hips, calloused fingers gripping as might skin as they could. The blonde’s slender digits was still slick with your juices, which were smeared all over your inner thighs. Glistening in the dimmed stove lights, barely illuminating the room. 

“God,” Leon grunts, teeth grazing your skin. “I fucking love you, I love your pussy. It’s mine, all mine.” His breath is heavy against your burning flesh, sending electricity down across your nerves. 

His hands begin to trail up your torso, heading towards your clothed breasts, cupping them in his large palms. The shift in position made his cockhead thrust deeper inside you, elating a moan from your plump lips. 

Your back arched slightly more, into a perfect curve, as you desperately try to take in more of his length. The agent chuckles darkly, pressing his mouth to your temple, kneading your boobs. “Such a desperate little whore, my little whore.” 

Leon’s thrusts quicken, as his right hand, dips down, toying with your neglected clit. “Such a good girl.” He purred, wet tongue dragging down the side of your neck, over the purple bitemarks that he had left. 

“Please, Leon, touch me.” You beg, tears budding in your eyes, feeling his dick nudge against your cervix. “I need to cum.” 

Two nimble fingers rub circles around your throbbing clit, as sparks ignite from your sensitive nerves. You throw your head back with a strangled moan, over his shoulder, mouth agape. 

“Shit, Y/N, you’re so perfect.” Your fiancé grunts against you, his own moans loud against your ear. “I’m gonna make you see the stars.” He yanked down the top of your dress, freeing your perky breasts from their confines. “Even God himself will know that you’re mine, forever.” 

You whimper in acknowledgment as Leon’s thrusts grow rougher, his free arm moving to pick up one of your legs, hooking his elbow with the inside of your knee. Giving him more access to your dripping cunt. He lets out a heavy moan, blue eyes rolling back slightly, basking in your hot tightness. 

“I’m the luckiest man alive.” He groaned into the crux of your shoulder. “My perfect, future wife.” The sound of slapping skin, and combined moans fueled his hips. You swear that you can see the light of Heaven itself, dancing in your vision as your fiancé continues to pound your well-used hole. “You were made for me.” He growled, nipping at your earlobe. 

Your body feels like it’s been lit on fire as Leon presses harder on your clit, as he slowly pulls himself out, just to bottom out inside you. Slamming his pelvis into your ass, with a force that might have hurt him. 

“Fuck!” You squealed out, hot tears streaking down your cheeks, alongside your mascara. “Leon, right there! Fuck!” 

Wordlessly, the blonde follows your command. Dick rubbing against your sweet spot, as his fingers continue their continuous assault on your swollen bud. “I gotcha, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll make you cum for me.” He groans, struggling to maintain control of his thrusts. 

You nod your head dumbly, your clammy hands squeaking against the smooth counter, as you struggle to hold onto something solid. A familiar tightness begins to wrap around your core, coiling around like a snake. 

“A-Ah, Leon, I’m gonna-” you gasp out, eyes rolling back to your skull. Waves of pure, untainted pleasure crashed against your nerves, overwhelming your senses. The spicy scent of his perfume, the burning sensation of his fingers against your skin, the taste of the whiskey you had just shared, Leon. Leon. Leon. 

“Go on, honey. Cum for me. Cum for your husband.” Your fiancé growls against your ear, struggling to get the words out between his own desperate moans. 

That was it. The deep, rumbly voice of Leon Scott Kennedy floods your ears. His voice sent vibrations down your body, snapping the coil that was tightening deep within your stomach. Your head presses against the cold marble, as you scream out his name, not caring if your neighbors heard. 

The agent lets out a low grunt, lips heavy against your naked shoulder, as he buries himself deep inside you. His cum shoots against your cervix, the hot liquid blending with your own juices as he empties himself out. 

“Mrs. Kennedy.” He mumbles against your skin, slowly pulling his cock out of you. You shiver as you feel his warm semen drip from your abused cunt, dribbling down your thighs. 

You breathe out a laugh, slowly settling from your orgasmic high. “I’m not your wife yet.” 

Leon scoffed, stepping away to grab a paper towel from its roll. “Legally.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your buttock as he begins to wipe your legs clean of your combined juices. “You’re my wife, right now.” 

You shiver at the feeling of the damp towel against your sensitive skin, a playful smile across your smudged, red-painted lips. “Alright, Mr. Kennedy.”