#it's not a forever goodbye

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[kimdokjas]

though the movie might be cancelled, yuri on ice will live forever in our hearts. thank you yoi fandom, it's been real ♡

[nitw]

there's like no evidence of gravityfallsdotpng ever existing aside from the internet archive but i miss it so much. maybe my sense of humor is beyond saving but some of these still genuinely make me lose it

[yoldels]

Playing through Sdr2 for the first time with some friends! We all agreed that everyone BUT Akane is transgender for the bit LMAO

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th. mattheo - virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART TWO | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

summary: pls read part one first for a lil buildup. also. im laughing at myself bc there was a perfectly good bed…right there…

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, virginity loss, PIV, so much dirty talk, so much patience from mattheo, (more of a realistic virginity loss bc it’s not always easy), praise!!!!, slight degradation, fingering, multiorgasm, handjob, best friends lil sister trope.

Mattheo Riddle was so accustomed to this. The pulse of adrenaline in the dead of night, the quiet hum of anticipation stretching every second longer than it needed to be. You weren't naive to that, not to him, nor the danger he carried so effortlessly in his stride. He wore it like a second skin.

But you—you were not accustomed to it. Not to any of this.

So when you pushed open the door to the room of requirement a little over ten-minutes later, you hadn't been sure what you were expecting to find. Something darker, maybe. More foreboding. But when the room revealed itself before you—silent, draped in soft moonlight that pooled over the bed with a window wide and open, spilling that pale silver fog across the floor—you almost laughed.

Too perfect. Too on the nose, like the castle itself had been watching you both for months and had decided this was the moment it would indulge you.

"You're late." Mattheo's voice cut through the quiet.

His back was to you, suit jacket discarded on an old oak desk against the wall, dark curls falling just above his collar as he stood by the window, eyes fixed on the lake. The moonlight made the ripples dance, just like the tension in the room.

You took a step toward him, silent.

He turned, finally. His eyes met yours and you saw it—the hesitation, the way his gaze moved over you, slow, cautious. He took in the way the light draped itself over your shoulders, moving lower—and it was as if for the first time, he allowed himself to see you fully, all the details he had so tried to ignore, now right in front of him. He drank them in.

You gave him a small, nervous smile, hoping it would ease the weight of his stare. "I didn't realize you were the type to keep track of time."

He moved closer, but not close enough. Not yet. His breath was tight, chest rising and falling too fast. The space between you felt like a chasm, though it was barely there at all.

"You've a lot to learn, little girl," he teased, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it did nothing to mask the conflict in his eyes. It was meant to disarm you, but it only made the air heavier. His jaw tightened. "You're sure about this?"

"Quite sure," you breathed, stepping closer, close enough to admire the sharp line of his jaw, the soft stubble. "You're the one who's hesitating."

"I'm not hesitating," he muttered, though the roughness in his voice betrayed him. He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this with you. His best friend's little sister. He wanted to give you every chance to stop this, to walk away. "Just trying not to rush this—rush you."

You let out a small huff, your hand moving up to find his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Mattheo Riddle was nervous.

"You've been making me wait for months," you whispered. "I don't think a little rushing would hurt."

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on your hand as it trailed over his chest, lower, teasing. Every touch was a flame against his skin, every breath between you a match struck in the dark. He wanted you, more than anything, but the weight of it—the wrongness, the danger—clawed at his conscience.

His hand caught your wrist, intending to stop you, but his fingers lingered against your skin. Frozen.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. "Your first time should be—"

"My choice," you interrupted, pressing closer, your body flush against his, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand slid lower, teasing the edge of his belt. "My virginity is mine to give, Mattheo. And I want to give it to you."

He shuddered, your words settling, sinking into the dark space that held you both captive. His hand found your hip, the other threading through your hair, gently tugging your head back to expose the soft skin of your neck.

"You’re not thinking straight," he rasped. "You'll regret this..."

But even as he said it, his hands tightened, pulling you impossibly closer.

"I'll regret nothing." Your fingers slipped lower, grazing his crotch, moving with nothing but instinct and need. Biting your lip, you felt the outline of him, hard and aching under your palm, and squeezed—he grunted, snapping his hips, and you throbbed. "Shit, Mattheo..."

"You are—fuck..." Mattheo's voice was a ragged breath, the words drawn out like he'd been holding them back for months. "...such a little tease."

You let go as quickly as you'd squeezed, and he growled against your skin, fingers tightening in your hair. Your hands found his face, pulling him in, crushing your lips to his. You moved with intent, pushing him back until his thighs hit the edge of the desk, and he groaned again—this low, guttural sound that sent a thrill through you.

You smirked into the kiss, tasting his frustration, savouring the way his defences cracked open. When you pulled back, his chest was heaving, lips swollen, eyes dark with want.

"I learned from the best," you whispered, teasing as your fingers slid down, finding the buckle of his belt. He watched you, every breath uneven, as you worked at the latch, pulling the leather free. "You've had months of fun tormenting me," you continued, moving to the button, the zipper. "Kissing me, only to say it was a mistake. Grabbing my ass every chance you could. Talking sweet when my brother wasn't looking..." your smirk deepened, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "...it's my turn now."

His pants sagged around his hips as you undid them and he cursed under his breath—his brain was struggling to catch up, like he couldn't believe the sudden shift, couldn't quite fathom the boldness with which you undid him.

Until—his hands were on you, spinning you around, your back hitting the desk with a thud.

"You think you're in control here?" His fingers slid up your hips, dragging your dress along with them, baring your skin to the cool air. "You think you have any goddamn idea what you're doing?"

You shuddered—you'd never seen him like this before—there was something feral in the way he moved, now, something sharp in the way his hands worked. His thumbs hooked around your panties and in one swift motion, they were gone—torn down your thighs before he urged you back onto the desk, parting your legs with his torso.

You were breathless, chest heaving, pulse thrumming wildly. His presence consumed the room, and for a moment, it was all you could focus on—the intensity of him, the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes.

You stared up at him, mind empty, until—

Smack.

His palm came down on your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of sensation straight to your cunt. Your skin stung from the contact, but that wasn't the part that made you gasp. It was the heat, the way it surged through your veins, flooding your abdomen in a slow, aching pulse. You liked that.

"I asked you a question." His lips brushed against your ear, breath warm as he leaned in. "Two, actually."

You couldn't think, mind swimming—the press of his body, the rough timber of his voice, the weight of his hands as his fingers teased, climbing higher, brushing closer to the ache between your thighs. You sucked in a breath, trying to recall what he'd asked, trying to focus anything but the fire he was lighting in you—

But then, his fingers slipped further, closer, just barely brushing your slit, and your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing that touch.

"No—I don’t—“ the shame in the answer barely mattered. His fingers were so close, so close. "Gods—I just know I want you—"

"That's all you think about, isn't it?" He smirked, lips falling to your neck, tongue tracing the places he knew would wreck you, each soft, wet press making you whimper despite yourself. "You don't care about anything else..." his fingers slipped lower, dipping between your folds—and you cried out, shameless, the sensation unlike any other you'd ever felt. "…not the consequences, not the risk...you just want me…”

Your nails dug into his back and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wetting his fingers in your arousal before gliding back up to your clit and tracing over it.

"Oh—Gods—" you whinged, moaning into his shoulder.

Mattheo’s hands were experienced—that much was certain. Those fingers knew exactly how to move, precisely how to trace light, delicate circles over your clit that made you twitch, squirm— nerves stripped as you took in the new sensation. It wracked every inch of you, and you could feel him savouring your helplessness, drawing out every ounce of tension that had been building between you for months.

“You’re soaked.” You could hear the disbelief in his voice. “...filthy little thing for me, aren't you?"

"Gods, Mattheo, yes—" your eyes rolled, thighs twitching against his hand. "I am—ohh—"

"Yeah?" His tongue traced a slow, wet path up the side of your neck, teeth dragging over your pulse. "You like this?"

His words were enough to make you want to scream, but no sound formed—just a low, broken moan that spilled from your throat, raw and shameless.

"Answer me," he murmured. "You ever orgasm from this before? Hm?"

"No—" your voice choked, trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look at him, something like shame pooling in your stomach. "Oh, fuck—"

"No, what?" His fingers pressed harder, circles growing faster, more insistent, and his voice—Christ, his voice— "I asked you two questions, little slut. Keep up. You wanted this."

"Yes—mmf—I like it—" you whined, the words a desperate spill from your lips, too flustered to form anything coherent. "And no—Gods—you're the first to...to touch me like this..."

He figured as much but the admission tore through him nonetheless, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a groan—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, a bruise, a reminder. His hand dipped lower, a finger pushing inside you without warning, pressing deep into your slick heat, and you cried out, your body tightening, pulsing around him, vision swimming.

"And this?" His voice was a smirk against your skin. "You let anyone else inside you like this?"

You knew he already knew the answer. You both did. He was reveling in it—the way he had you, trembling, helpless. You'd never heard him like this, never heard him so crass, so unfiltered, and the way he spoke made your whole body flush with heat.

"No." The word was a strangled moan, barely a breath. "Gods—Mattheo—you already knew that—"

He crooked his finger inside you, and your back arched, the stretch unfamiliar yet mindnumbing, his thumb working your clit. You felt teeth nipping at your earlobe, a hum into your eardrum—his body thrumming with the satisfaction of finally, finally letting himself have you where he wanted.

"Perhaps I did." He added another finger, curling them inside you, his teeth scraping along your neck in a smile. The groan that slipped from your lips was desperate, pained in its pleasure, your body reacting to every new inch of him. "Fucking hell—you can barely take two..."

Your head shook, words failing you. "Gods—Mattheo—I...fuck..."

A low grunt rumbled from his chest, his fingers moving quicker, slick with the evidence of your desire. "Feels good?"

"Yes—" you moaned, breath hitching, vision blurring as he pumped his fingers in and out, building something inside you that you couldn't name, something new, something overwhelming. "I feel—oh, gods—something...happening—"

"You feel something?" His voice was mocking, drenched in that innocent, teasing tone that had you falling apart. "Yeah? What's happening, princess?"

You couldn't find breath, couldn't form the words to answer him. The pressure inside you was mounting, intensity unbearable, your body tense and straining toward an edge. You clung to him, breathless, desperate for more, desperate for something, anything—

"I don't—" your voice broke as his fingers curled deeper, wetness flooding between your thighs, his thumb relentless. "Pressure—fuck—so much—"

He nodded. "Yeah? Pressure in that pretty stomach? Feels fucking good, doesn't it?"

"Fuck—yes, yes," your lids fluttered. "S’good—"

"You're so close." He watched you, drunk on your downfall, and smirked as you neared the edge. "You're going to cum for me."

Sanity shattered in your throat—words trapped, swallowed by the tension, leaving only the soft, unbridled whimpers you once might've once found embarrassing. But there was no shame now, not when you were this close, the pressure coiling tighter in your core, ready to burst.

"Ohh—" you managed, lungs sputtering, head tipping back. The sound of your voice, the way you moaned, was foreign, unfamiliar to your own ears. "Gods—oh fuck-"

"I know," he cooed, sweet like sugar. "I know."

You were a mess. Too close, too overwhelmed—everything was him. His scent, the heat of his skin, the feel of his fingers working that magic that had your body convulsing before you could even cry out, before you could process the way your vision blurred with the force of it. The climax hit like a wave crashing over you, and your moans were swallowed by his kiss, his lips on yours the second your body tightened, shaking against his hand.

He was relentless, rough and insistent, kissing you like he wanted to devour you whole—drowning out the world as your body pulsed around his fingers. You’d never felt such an intense sensation, lava coursing, replacing the blood in your veins. His breath stuttered against your mouth, a low groan vibrating through him, the sound making your spine tingle.

"F-fuck," he muttered, pulling his fingers from you, glistening and wet. "Messy little thing."

The words sent a shiver through you, not just from their meaning but from the way he said them, like something perverse, intimate. Your chest tightened with the warmth of them.

"You—" you panted, trying to find your voice. Blinking through the haze of lingering bliss. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" He chuckled your name against your neck, lips brushing a path to your ear. "Because you might fall in love with me?" His teeth grazed the sensitive spot under your lobe, along your jawline. "Oh wait...you already have."

"Shut up," you whispered, stomach flipping at the way he said your name, the way it dripped from his mouth like honey. "Have not."

"I've known for a while, you know," he mused, his voice so low, so quiet. "Don't think I haven't seen it—the way you look at me." He kissed your skin again, working his way up, each press of his lips something sacred, moving closer to your mouth. "The way you can't get enough of me."

You could kill him for it, for the way his words sunk into your bones, making all the feelings you've buried rise to the surface, pulling you under. He just had to go there—had to milk every inch of your composure out of you, because it's not enough for him to have you disarmed physically—sexually—he needed to have you disarmed emotionally, too.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is how right he was. Arrogant bastard.

"Stop talking," your hand drifted down, grazing the bulge in his pants, your fingers slipping under the waistband, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his boxers. It was reckless. You've never done this before, but God, you wanted to. "Stop talking and teach me."

The room tilted—the world off its axis. His breath caught, choked in his lungs as he grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his—his kiss wild, his tongue insistent, running along your gums and wrestling with yours for control.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth as you tugged his boxers down, freeing him, your hand wrapping around him. Hot. Hard. "Wrap your fingers around it, princess. Gentle strokes. Just like that."

Your heart stumbled at the sound of his voice, thick, raw and open. You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly, experimentally, and he hissed through his teeth, a groan vibrating through his chest.

"You're so big," you murmured, forehead against his, the words spilling out without thought. "So thick..."

"Fucking minx," he moaned. "Stroking me and telling me how big I am—fuck—you're not as innocent as everyone thinks."

"Only you know this," you whispered, your hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, pulse soaring as he groaned. "Does it feel good, Matty?"

"Fuck—Christ—" his breath was jagged, words ripped from his throat like they barely wanted to come out, hips jerking mindlessly. "Tighter, mm—little tighter—"

Your cunt throbbed—each whispered invocation of a god not his own, of something he didn't believe in, forced a shudder through you. That's how you knew. Knew how lost he was. He’d no mind left at all if he was muttering muggle gods.

"Like that?" Your fingers squeezed around him, your gaze burning into his as you looked up through fluttering lashes.

His face was a storm—flushed, eyes half-shut—but at your voice they opened and flicked down to yours, and for once, there was no arrogance, no mockery in that stare. Just raw, primal need, burning so fiercely it made you ache. His hips rocked, desperate for more. Painfully. A hole in his chest torn wide open for you to see, and he didn't care. Couldn't care.

"Yeah—shit—just like that," he gritted out, grip on your hips bruising, but you welcomed it. Needed it. "Fast learner, aren't you?"

"You're a good teacher," you whimpered, a sound that was barely yours as his fingers slipped between your thighs, finding your slit, teasing you open again. "Oh—"

"You've always been a little teacher's pet," he groaned, thrusting into your hand as he slipped a finger inside you. The stretch made you wince, pleasure and pain blurring into something that sent sparks behind your eyes. He watched you, gaze molten. "Fuck—it’s gonna hurt, you know that, right?"

The ache spread through you, but you didn't flinch. "I know," you whispered as his thumb found your clit, making you gasp. "I trust you."

"I know you do." His voice dropped, eyes dark and soft at once as he pushed another finger inside. "You know you’ve always had me wrapped around your fucking finger. You know I care about you—“

His words were too much, pressing on something fragile inside you, and you pulled him into a kiss to shut him up—deep, desperate, drowning. Your hand tightened on his length, the heat between you flaring, and you moaned against his mouth, shaking with the need for more.

"I want you," you breathed, each syllable shivering on your lips as you clenched around his fingers. "I've wanted you for months—"

Months? No, it had been years. Years of wanting, needing, watching from afar, heart in your throat. Years of avoiding anyone else because no one was him. You knew he’d felt the same and it killed him. It wasn't logical, wasn't supposed to be like this—not with you, not now, not his best friend's little sister, not him whispering sweet, dangerous things while knuckle-deep inside your virgin cunt.

It was as if you both shook those thoughts from your minds at once. You’ll think about the implications later.

"You've got me," he rasped, hips grinding involuntarily against your hand. "Just—fuck—don't hate me after this."

Hate him? The very idea was laughable, absurd. You could never hate him. Not even in those moments you tried, not even when he deserved it.

"I could never hate you," you murmured, drawing him closer, lips trembling against his. "Just—please—"

Something shifted in his eyes, and he knew. Knew what you needed. What you both needed. You were vulnerable, trembling, but you trusted him—completely. You’d been in his life for so long. You knew he’d never hurt you. He could see it your eyes, the trust, the in the way your body bent to his touch.

"Alright," he said softly, a hand running up your body to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Alright."

His fingers slid out of you, leaving you bare and breathless, and you swallowed. This was really about to happen.

"Lay back," his voice cut through your haze. "Legs to your chest."

The command wrapped around you like a vice, tightening the anticipation, and you fell back on your elbows, staring up at him as you raised your legs. Vulnerability crept in, making your thighs tense, but Mattheo was there, spreading you open with firm hands, pressing himself against your slick. His eyes were locked onto yours, all that self-assurance gone, melted into something more human—something raw, unguarded.

You could feel it; the vulnerability of this moment stretched between you both—the distance you'd maintained for so long, the careful walls you'd built, were nothing now. He was in too deep, and so were you.

"Stop me at any time," he whispered, his voice a raw rasp, eyes meeting yours. "Just breathe.”

He leaned down until his lips ghosted over yours, and you kissed him like the world might collapse if you didn't. He guided himself against you, the press of him at your entrance an unbearable ache. He was hot, hard, huge—and despite the wetness slicking down your thighs, your body resisted, too tight, too unsure of this.

You whimpered, instinctively trying to pull away, but he stayed, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, whispering something that sounded like comfort but burned like fire. It hurt more than you expected, more than any of the fantasies you had dared to entertain.

Doubt curled through your chest, what if you couldn't take him? What if—

"M-Mattheo..." his name broke in your throat as you clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. He tried to push in again, but your body resisted. "It—you—you can't fit..."

"Shh," his lips ghosted over yours, his hand slipping through your hair, trying again, moving slow, controlled. "You're just—so goddamn tight—"

The way he said it sent a spark through your veins. It was filthy, shameless, and it lit you up from the inside, despite the pain. No one had ever spoken to you like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears pricking as he tried to work you open.

And then—he was in.

"I-it hurts," you hissed—pain lighting up your spine as he worked his cockhead inside you, pushing against the resistance of your walls. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, each inch a battle. The pressure was unbearable, the sting so sharp it was paralyzing. "Oh, fuck, Mattheo—"

He groaned, a sound from deep within his chest, his head bowing, sweat creeping over his brow.

"Shhh, I know—I know..." he murmured through shredded cords, fighting to maintain control as his hips paused, barely halfway in, just enough to make you feel like you might break. "S'okay...you're doing so good..."

It was overwhelming—the fullness, the ache that felt like it might split you in two. And yet, beneath the pain, something else stirred. His words, soft and rough all at once, made the sensation bearable, turned the hurt into something else. You focused on his voice, on the way he stroked your hair, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Why—mmff—gods..." you could barely speak, the words tangled in your throat. "Why do you have to be so big—"

A strangled laugh escaped him, though his eyes stayed shut tight, his jaw clenched—cock twitching inside you.

"I don't—fuck—know." His fingers brushed your lips, covering your mouth gently. "Don't go talking like that—not right now—"

You might have laughed, too, if your body wasn't so taut, strung tight with tension and pain and something far more profound. He was barely inside you, his words making your insides clench, drawing another groan from his lips at the squeeze.

His hand held your jaw, palm pressing lightly over your mouth, enough to breathe, to speak—

"Why—" you knew what he meant, knew the warning in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself. "—not?"

His breath hitched. "Because—" he swallowed hard, words coming through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening around your jaw, a warning in his grip. "Because—fuck—your mouth will get you in trouble."

Oh. That was what he meant.

"But—oh fuck—you're so...big..." the words slipped out before you could catch them, a disgruntled moan falling from your lips as he sank all the way in, filling you so completely it was dizzying. The pressure, the heat, the sensation of being pried open—it was all too much, and you cried out, unable to stop the sound from spilling out. "Ohhh—so big—"

"I said, fuck," he cursed, hand clamping firm over your mouth now as his body shuddered, as he ground his hips gently into yours. "—don't say that."

It was too late. You didn't need to say anything further. He could feel it—he could feel everything in the way you clenched around him, barely letting him move—so goddamn tight it was almost painful—he could feel it in the look in your eyes, in the trembling of your body beneath his.

"I can feel you thinking it," he grunted as you squirmed beneath him, every movement making him twitch inside you, drawing another choked groan from his throat. "Merlin sakes—"

You knew he wasn't used to this. To slowing down, to drawing out the tension like this, to the maddening slowness of every motion. He wanted to lose himself, to break you open hard and fast, to take and give and take again until both of you shattered into something unrecognizable. But he couldn't—not with the way your eyes glistened, not with the way you gasped and whimpered as he filled you.

"No talking," he sucked in a breath against your neck, his hips rolling into yours in slow, unbearable waves. "Only if you need me to stop."

He was breaking. So were you. Every thrust was an exquisite kind of torture—an ache that twisted and stretched, dulled only by the flick of his fingers against your clit. His lips pressed along your neck, kissed along the line of your jaw, groaning with each deep, patient push, carving his way into you as you clung to him, your mind floating through the fog of pain into something different—something overwhelming.

Your head fell back. “Oh—Oh gods—“

Each gasp felt like it might be your last as that something built deep inside you, tight and unfamiliar, an ache that didn't hurt but begged to be released. And he felt it too—Mattheo felt it, the way your body pulsed beneath his, the way you tightened around him like you couldn't bear to let him go.

"Bloody fuck—are you—are you going to—" his words were ragged, broken. He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't hold himself together. "Are you—"

“Mattheo—” your voice trembled, a breathless moan as your back arched, pressing into him, your body seeking more. The pain was null now, replaced by an overwhelming pressure, something tight and aching and good—you felt every inch of him inside you, every pulse of his cock as he moved, slow but relentless. “Mattheo—oh gods—”

"Fuck—" he bit down, teeth sinking into your neck as his fingers swirled your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. "You're gonna make me—"

You choked because there was no space for words, no breath for anything but the raw sound of your bodies—moans, gasps, ragged inhales tangled together as you both hurtled towards something inevitable. The light of the moon radiated the man above you and that was all you could register other than the rising crescendo of your climax—something so intense it scared you, almost broke you apart—your body seizing, trembling, as his fingers pressed harder against your clit, as he thrust deeper.

And then, there was only one more blink until you shattered beneath him, the orgasm tearing through you in oceanic motion, muscles clenching around him so tightly he could barely move—and then he was there, too, his body jerking as he groaned into your skin, his release ripped from him in jagged gasps as you milked him without mercy. He slumped on top of you, fingers digging into your skin, the two of you pulsing together in the aftermath, the room spinning, your bodies still trembling from the force of it.

The world was slow to return, the roar of sensations fading into something quieter, softer. The weight of him on top of you was grounding—his forehead pressed against the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Neither of you moved for a long while, just basked in the silence, kind that settled in after something irrevocable had passed between two people.

And then, Mattheo pushed up, enough to meet your eyes. Your chest ached at the softness inside his own.

“Are you—” he swallowed as he drank you in, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the flushed cheeks. His words hung in the air as if he didn’t know how to finish the question.

“I’m okay,” you nodded, voice hoarse. “I’m good.”

Mattheo nodded too but didn’t move, still buried inside you, just taking you in. Then, gently, he shifted, pulling back with a slow, careful movement that made you wince slightly. The second he’d pulled out, you felt different—more aware of the vulnerability you’d just laid bare, more aware of the line you two had just obliterated into absolute shambles.

“You sure?” he asked, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—

You nodded again, the smallest smile pulling at your lips, though your heart was still racing, the enormity of it all sinking in.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”

His jaw tightened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely audible, like he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

Of course he was thinking it too—how could he not? This was no longer something you could pretend didn’t exist, no longer something you could hide behind banter and stolen glances and secret kisses.

“Yeah,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the heat still radiating from his skin. “It does.”

[suuho]

I don't want to be alone, that's all in the past. This world's waited long enough, I've come home at last.

GAVIN CREEL (April 18, 1976 – September 30, 2024)

[raggedy-spaceman]

S02E04 Fun and Games

I'm a mess don't talk to me don't look at me don't touch me. They care. They actually care.

[gunstellations]

serenade

[secretsoftheuniverse1987]

I see a lot of references to the scene in Goodbye Stranger where Dean, on his knees, begs Cas to come back to himself (and to Dean), and I see a lot of reference to Dean referring to praying as begging, but not a lot about how these scenes are literally in back to back episodes? Dean Winchester really said I don't pray because it feels like begging, but I'll pray to you, and then in the literal next episode said fuck it, let's drop the pretense, I am begging. I need you.

[reunitedinterlude]

we all knew it wasn't a hiatus

happy one year since dapg returning <3

[mndvx]

Magneto promised Leech would never be scared again. X-MEN ‘97 — Remember It (S01E05)

[ohsleepie]

The prince and his Physician. A role-reversal au based on a dream I had that I wanted to draw something for. More ramblings under the cut

In this au, there is a kingdom of men where the briar valley once stood. Silver, the heir to this kingdom, has been the only member of the royal family for centuries, the result of a curse that causes him to die before he's old enough to ascend to the throne and reincarnate days after his passing. Silver's immortality was once a symbols for the kingdom's permanence, but the repeated death of their monarch every two decades or so has left the citizens with perpetual, generational sorrow with seemingly no solution as no one besides Silver was alive when the curse was placed.

A few centuries after Silver was born and it was believed the last full-blooded fae in briar valley had either abandoned the land or died, a draconian fae child is found in the brambles. This fae, given the name Malleus, was brought to the kingdom at the request if the prince and raised as part of the royal court with the express purpose of becoming the royal physician/chemist. It is believed that Silver's curse, as everlasting as it seems, was placed on him by a fae with extreme magical prowess and if anyone has a chance of breaking it, it's another fae. The kingdom believes that Malleus will be able to break the death curse and allow Silver to become their immortal king.

However, Silver has other plans for his chemist. From an early age, Silver requested that Malleus use his talents to find a different kind of solution to his curse that he can never tell anyone. He wants Malleus to find a way to stop his reincarnations entirely and let him unburden his people with the monarchy. Whether to fulfill the request of the kingdom he calls home, or the prince that took him in is in Malleus' hands.

[mrsaltieri-real]

The Next Stop (Ethan Landry x AFAB!Reader)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: slight langauge, AFAB!Reader, (no pronouns specified) vaginal fingering, clit rubbing, smut, public smut, slight dub-con, strangers, slight exhibitionist/voyeurism kink, shame kink, masturbation, (vibrator) mentions of Ethan being Ghostface and the killings.

A/N: I’ve been thinking about the gif below a LOT as of late, he looks so fucking hot and this just sprang to mind last night and I whacked it all together. It’s hot, I think. Getting fingered by Ethan on a train but you have no idea who the fuck he is??? Uhhh yeah, this plays into my exhibitionist kink nicely.

The subway was oddly quiet, granted it was coming up to three in the morning, but still. You’d stayed at college late, cramming for your upcoming finals until you’d noticed just how late it really was and decided it was time to race home, get a few hours of nyquil induced sleep before having to relive the same day again tomorrow. You could say you were a bit of an overachiever. You texted your roommate quickly once you flopped down in a free seat, utterly exhausted, telling her you were on the way home but didn’t receive a response.

You sighed, leaning your head back against your seat and mindlessly played around on your phone, flipping from app to app absently when you suddenly felt the uneasy feeling that somebody was watching you.

The subway car only had about fourteen people inside, some were asleep, others were hunched over their own devices, working from a laptop or texting from their cell as you had been. Everyone except a tall, lean curly haired guy who stood with his hand gripping the pole beside him so tightly his knuckles were completely white, his dark brown eyes shamelessly staring at you with an endearingly intense glint shining in them.

You cleared your throat, tearing your eyes away from his fervid and observing gaze, focusing your consciousness back onto your phone. He was pretty, no doubt about that, the way he was staring at you made a dull flutter cascade through your core and inflame your stomach. The coach came to an abrupt stop, your hand flying out to catch yourself on the pole beside you to stop yourself falling out of the seat and the automated woman on the speaker announced that you were two stops away from your destination. Your phone buzzed in your hand and you glanced down, seeing your roommate text you back that she was heading to bed and for you to make sure you get home safe.

As you were about to respond, you were suddenly aware that someone had sat down carefully beside you. You glanced up for a moment, noticing the curly haired boy had settled in the seat next to you, eyes now set forward at the doors of the train. The smell of his cologne filled your nose, the scent subtle yet having an unprecedented effect on you, thighs tensing and your cunt clenching. You looked away quickly, sending a quick reply to your roommate and wishing her a good night before placing your phone into your jacket pocket, choosing to settle your gaze on the window, watching as New York passed you by, trying to ignore the boy sitting beside you.

His knee was touching yours, the rough material of his jeans rubbing against your bare skin at every jostle of the train. His hand resting on his thigh deftly dropped between the small gap separating the two of you, his bare fingers making contact with your soft skin casually. Your eyes instinctively darted down, watching as his fingertips began to faintly stroke your skin, grazing over the hem of your skirt.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at his pretty face and noticed he looked almost bored, completely uninterested and still not looking at you at all. You felt his fingers glide over your thigh, stopping abruptly as he reached the middle, a soft tap of his fingers as if he was ordering you to open your legs for him.

You couldn’t do this, let some random fucking guy you’d never met start touching your pussy on the middle of the subway.

Just from the limited contact alone, you were already pathetically wet. It was like your body and mind had completely separated from one another as you lightly inched your legs apart, allowing him to slide his hand between them, his fingers grazing at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up, stopping just before he made direct contact for a few seconds, as if he were making a decision about how he wanted to touch you before the rough pads of his fingers brushed over your strained clit through your panties softly, the touch so faint it shouldn’t have even had that much of an effect on you, but alas, it did.

Your breathing hitched and from the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you’d seen his lips twitch up into a small smile but you didn’t bother to look, worried it would snap you out of whatever the fuck had gotten into you.

This wasn’t you, you weren’t even the kind of person to interact with a stranger unless it was entirely necessary, but here you were, at three o’clock in the morning with your legs open and dying to let this random guy touch your pussy in a public space, practically gagging for it.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly through your damp panties before, without warning, they were pushed aside, the hot pads of his fingers finally making direct contact with your strained, aching clit.

Your hand wrapped around the cold pole next to you again, this time to stop yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he began to play with your clit, his fingers skillful as he rubbed in small circular motions, his eyes still fixed ahead of him as though he wasn’t doing anything, as though this was an completely normal interaction. Perhaps it was for him, but at that moment you couldn’t care less. You didn’t care that the subway car was littered with strangers that could very well be watching this guy touch you so intimately, making you push yourself against his fingers like a needy whore with your head tilted back, eyes screwed up as you focused on just how good he was making you feel.

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly plunging them inside and curling upward, pressing firmly against the spongy tissue and making you let out a soft whimper, looking down to see this strangers fingers gently pumping in and out of your cunt. Your legs were so wide from him now, your knee was practically resting against his thigh.

He removed his fingers before moving his fingers back up, using your juices coating his fingers to carry on playing with your exposed clit. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually, still not looking at you. Soft moans and gasps escaped you and you sunk your teeth harshly into your bottom lip and bit the inside of your cheeks so hard you could almost taste blood, trying desperately to be as quiet as you could manage as you clenched around nothing, feeling the fire in your stomach build and burn hotter and hotter with each expert glide of his slick fingers, your legs opening wider and wider for him which seemed to please him judging by how fast his fingers began to work your clit.

The pressure was perfect, the speed of his strong fingers was making your impending orgasm loom dangerously close as your back arched from your seat, pushing yourself against his long fingers before your eyes flew open and you came with a soft gasp on this tips of this stranger's fingers, hand gripping the cold metal of the pole so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t bend. Your eyes flew open as you reached your peak, meeting a man’s shocked and wide eyed gaze as he stared at you, mouth agape as he watched you cum, body shivering and writhing as you pushed your hips down against the strangers fingers, feeling them slide from your clit and into your soaked hole with every movement of your body.

The train stopped as you felt the warmth of his fingers abandon you. He cleared his throat a little, still not looking at you as he stood up, grabbing his bag from the ground and walked toward the doors. You finally moved your gaze onto him, watching as he left the train car, walked onto the platform without even looking back and disappeared up the steps of the station and vanished out of sight.

You felt suddenly self-conscious as your eyes met an older woman’s, her expression nothing short of disgusted, and the man that had watched you cum, his eyes still as wide as dinner plates as he stumbled up from his seat and adjusted himself in his pants, leaving the train looking completely dazed, as though this was the highlight of his month. Maybe it was. You shifted in your seat, feeling your wetness covering your thighs and no doubt staining the seat beneath you as you quickly closed your legs, crossing one over the other and pulled at the hem of your skirt, eyes quickly moving away from the woman and back through the window, beginning to bite at your nails, feeling satisfied yet extremely vulnerable and disgusting.

Did that really just fucking happen?

Despite the disgust you felt in yourself, it only added to your satisfaction. It felt new, different and exciting. You couldn't lie, you absolutely loved the combination of the mixed feelings.

Needless to say you never saw him again, you’d never really expected to. You thought about him a lot though, pressing your vibrator against your clit while you were alone in your bedroom, imagining the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his fingers as they expertly touched you, and just how fucking pretty he was and how hard he’d made you cum and just how easy it was for him to touch you, as if it was completely normal.

That was, until a few weeks later. You were at home, working on your thesis for class when the news grabbed your attention.

“Ghostface killers finally come to a grisly end. The family of killers, Detective Wayne Bailey and his children and resident Blackmore University students Quinn Bailey and Ethan Bailey, formally known as Landry, all brutally murdered after targeting previous survivors of the 2022 Woodsboro massacre, Samantha and Tara Carpenter, Chad and Mindy Meeks, and celebrity Gale Weathers.”

Your eyes widened as soon as you saw “Ethan’s” picture lighting up your screen, recognition hitting immediately. That was him, the stranger from the subway you'd all too willingly opened your legs for. Then your blood ran cold when the realisation that you’d let a murderer get you off and make you cum on a fucking train hit you like a ton of bricks.

[ricky-mortis]

Mariah Rose Faith Casillas, the woman you are.

[splatloafbud]

THANK YOU SPLATOON 1 FOR CHANGING MY LIFE ❤️

[aura-maybe]