#just altered the ears a bit

[ssspringroll]

a nice old lady for werewolf wednesday

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[coldshrugs]

s a l i a n c e

loud. brash. has never met a stranger. sal wants to know what's wrong and how they can make it better, preferably with some tasty street food from their solution 9 stall! can they tell you how they invented pizza rolls? please let them tell you.

they're learning what wanderlust feels like now that there's a world beyond this lightning dome. and they have no shortage of bravery; when they're not on the clock, they're helping oblivion try to smuggle folks with roots in etheirys out of alexandria and back to their homeland.

[ribbonbonny]

THEYRE HERE!! AND IVE GOT NOWHERE TO FUCKING PUT EM 🔥🔥🔥

[mantisgodsdomain]

The phrase "modern music recs" has lead us to check our music library and discover that apparently like half of the songs we consider "new" are actually from like ten years ago and we're just skewed in perspective because they were new when we first listened to 'em.

[yaminerua]

With Queen’s debut album being given a new remix recently I decided to listen to the original again for the first time in a while and I still fuckin love it so much

[kalloway]

tossed some v rough colours on a different Faust sketch (that is v rough)

his original appearance he has multi-coloured hair (like a calico cat) and I used those colours here but they're toned down in a way that it makes him look like that ginger/blond-ish middle colour is his hair.... and I don't hate it tbh...

a darker brown colour (that's used in the shading here, just v lightly) is meant to be his 'natural' colour but..... hmm....

[oracleofdiscord]

#holy shit this is like. such a good thing to point out

#bc we NEVER FIXED THE WIZARD PROBLEMS#WE FIXED ADAINES PROBLEM

#SHE GOT RICH AGAIN#BUT WE LEFT THE SYSTEM INTACT!!

(tags via @kipperlillyforpresident)

#i do get the canon though like even though it was supposed to be a bit i think about

#the girls in my hs spanish class who were from DR and spoke spanish every day w each other and at home

#and they weren’t great at spanish class! bc it was hard for them to articulate Why they were saying what they were saying

#it just made sense to them

#so i can definitely see jace being like i Know magic and i know that i’m good at it. but when you ask me to put down on paper how to cast

#a spell i can’t just put it into words. i just Do it

(tags via @t4tozier)

i guess it’s supposed to be canon that jace failed taking levels in wizard because it was too much work or he’s just not smart, which is fine i guess, haha very funny but have we considered the narrative parallels if it was actually because jace was (and still is, on a teacher’s salary? lbr) a broke bitch who couldn’t afford barrels of diamonds much like adaine??? have we considered that jace is a struggling artist turned grade school teacher because he didn’t have the money to invest in higher education? this man took online courses at his local community college and still somehow is buried under student loans. of course he went evil.

[monstersholygrail]

Demon Priest knows you hate to beg, and he’d never be one to make you do so. No, not his blessing. His gift. His everything. He lives to serve you. Whatever you ask for he will acquire without hesitation. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make you admit how badly you need him in other ways.

He bends you over the alter, the church empty. But Demon Priest would worship you in front of the masses if only you’d let him. He rubs his cock along your dripping slit, mixing his precum with your slick. Your pussy throbs, senses tingling. He’s so close to where you need him most.

“Put in—hmm— put it in,” you moan, hips wiggling against his. His cock catches onto your entrance and you suck in a harsh breath. He chuckles lowly in your ear.

“Oh, you want something? Tell me what you want, precious dove,” he rasps, his voice sending sparks that go straight to your core. A long whine leaves you.

“You know what.”

“But I wanna hear you say it, my love. What would you like me to stuff inside you,” he starts, his voice turning into a rough growls as his claws dig into your hips.

A high pitched mewl tears from your throat and echos off the empty church walls. No one but him and God there to witness such a blessed sound.

“Your cock!” You shout in desperation, pussy clenching around the bit of his tip pressed against you.

“How bad you want it?” He asks darkly as he starts to push in.

You let out a long moan, pushing back to help suck in his cock but his claws keep you in your place. You’re stuck going at his pace and he goes as slow as he seems bearable. The warmth of your slick walls proving relief for the stinging pain in his feet.

“S-sooo bad,” you whine, feeling the way your body slowly stretches around his girth, accommodating such a dizzying size. Every vein brushes along your depths and your body pulses with need.

Demon Priest huffs out a growl with every breath as your tightness nearly suffocates him. He leans over you, his frame swallowing your plump body, surrounding you with him and only him. His hot breath fans your ear and you clench around him, only serving to make him snarl at you.

“Now what would you like? You know I live to serve my God,” he says, voice sounding more demonic by the second.

“M-move.”

“Move?” He asks, his voice almost playful as he starts pulling out of you. You immediately whine in protest, core clenching around him to keep him trapped inside. Demon Priest lightly scrapes along your belly to restrain himself, his jaw clenching.

“Fuck me, please!” You cry out and Demon Priest roars, slamming his cock inside you at full force.

A massive claw reaches and brings your head down onto the alter. Keeping you positioned perfectly for him as Demon Priest brutally fucks up into your sopping cunt. From your place on your alter you can only just see his true demonic form and your pussy ripples along his length, making his thrusts grow even rougher as he splits you open on his cock.

“As you so command, little dove,” he says deeply through broken moans.

His eyes flash and you know you’ve unleashed something within him that you can’t contain. At least not until he’s forced a few dozen orgasms out of your ruined pussy.

But it’s alright. There isn’t another service until next Sunday. And Demon Priest is going to take advantage of every second he has alone with you inside this holy sanctum, and yours.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: hybrid au, bullying, harassment

♡ GN reader

A sudden evolutionary change befalls the entire human race, turning everyone into hybrids…

And as your bully comes to terms with how much bulkier he's become, along with his new sharp teeth, stronger jaw, and round furry ears, as well as the little tassel he'd grown for a tail, he's also picturing you—his cute little classmate. 

At first, he caught himself thinking about what you'd look like if you were part bear like him, but then, when mulling over the fact that everyone had altered into some type of animal that seemed to complement characteristics they had already, he began wondering what animal characteristics best suited you, and what your bullyable body now looked like.

If he were to guess before seeing you, he'd think your meek nature must have gifted you with an animal equally as pathetic—like a little mouse.

But no, not exactly, though not far off either. 

There you are, in the classroom before anyone else, bright and early like always, as if you want him to catch you alone.

“Well, well, well… look what we have here,” he announces himself, placing one heavy foot before the other as he saunters over to your desk.

You jump up from your chair in a flurry, spooked by his voice. "Oh–hey," you greet, timidly like usual, maybe even more so, as you take in his new size, eyes widening as you do.

"Tch-" he scoffs, sharp eyes looking down at you, thinking you must have shrunk a whole head before remembering how his growth was probably half to blame. "Of course, the most useless person in the world turns into the most useless animal ever."

Your button nose wriggles, but you don’t dare negate his statement. "And you're a—" you start, but almost instantly regret it as obvious an observation as it is, "Bear."

He sneers, "Guess what they say about bunnies being dumb is true after all."

Your buck teeth peek forth as you bite into your lip, bowing your head. "Was there something you wanted?"

With his hands in his front pockets, he stands there for a moment—in silence that only seemed to increase in deadliness the longer it lasted, before stating his demand, "Show me your tail."

You look up at him at that. "W-why?"

He unpockets his paw and plants it on your desk, leaning in close. A grin spread on his lips—fangs and all. "'Cause I wanna see it. So turn around."

You shake your head pitifully. "N-no, that's embarrassing."

But he doesn’t care much about your refusal, only sighing heavily before grabbing your arm and pulling you forward until your chest met the solid surface of the desk, bent over it oh-so-prettily and ready for inspection.

"Come on, dont be difficult," he growls through a smirk, watching you wiggle a bit until settling down, all too quickly yielding under his mighty grip—a display that makes him lick his teeth before slolwy lifting your shirt, pulling it up your back, watching as the little tuft of fur waiting beneath it springs out of hiding for him to see.

He simpers at the sight, then eagerly goes to feel it. 

You whimper at his handling, but he ignores you. Feeling up the softness between his fingers. "Tch–so fluffy… no different from a stuffed animal."

His eyes pan to your face, looking at it cower, squished against the desk with knitted brows and eyes squeezed shut. You’re really just gonna lie there and let him do this, aren’t yah?

"Lop ears are a sign of domestication, y'know?" he says then, picking one of the floppy things up, giving it a rub that makes your whimpers turn into whines. 

"Yeah… if it wasn't clear enough before…” he chuckles. “You're as submissive as they come.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Reo ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[bbokicidal]

First Times The Charm? | OT8 [SKZ]

Notes : This was a Drabble request someone sent in, so it's short, to the point, and simple. Hope you enjoy! Genre : Smut Warnings : 18+ Content Req : Giving SKZ head for the first time. <- But I altered it so it's not just 'you giving skz head for the first time' and rather, it's 'you giving skz their first head experience EVER.'

Chris :

He's so... so vocal. Constantly groaning, his voice low in his throat and gravely as if he'd just woken up. He's in Heaven, his head tipped back on the office chair he sat in. He's death gripping the poor arms of the chair, knuckles bright red from the flush that had covered his entire body. He, politely, refuses to touch you - partially because he's a little scared to and partially because he doesn't think he can move.

Minho :

In shambles. His body has a habit of trembling each time you take him in your throat and he swears he's never felt anything so good in his life. He's laid back in his bed, one arm draped over his eyes while the other sticks by his side, fingers splayed in your hair; gently pushing your head down each time he needs a little more. You learn very quickly he's a bit of a head pusher.

Changbin :

Stiff as a rock, but also a little tense and unsure. He's so shy seeing you between his fucking thick ass thighs already, his ears bright red and his cheeks warm with excitement. He loves it, he really does, he's just - He's got a bad habit of being a bit jumpy when people touch him. So when you go all the way down on his dick and deep throat him? His thighs snap shut around your head and he nearly suffocates you, not realizing it had happened until you have to slap his stomach and make him let you go. Not that it was that bad of an experience. You'd die happy there.

Hyunjin :

All vocals. Moaning, whining - even chuckling as you slurp on his cock. He's a bit arrogant when it comes to you giving him head. Even though it's his first time getting head from anyone, he's cocky about his size as it bulges in your throat and makes you choke. When he gets closer to release though, he's all breathy and sucking in air, biting his bottom lip as his hand rests atop your head.

Jisung :

So wiggly, so squirmy. Full of the jitter bugs as you go down on him. He's whiney. Very very vocal, very loud - so loud in fact that Minho has to tell him to shut up from the next room over. He gets all embarrassed, sliding his sweater sleeve over his hand and pressing it to his mouth to muffle his whimpers that escape. Also Lowkey fucking up into your mouth because he just can't keep still. Will ask you to eat his ass afterwards.

Felix :

Extremely laid back. The master of acting like he's had it before but you can tell by the blush dusting over his freckles that he's never had it done to him before. (He also told you that, but.) He's lounging back in his gaming chair and he's adoring the sight of you sucking on him like a lollipop. He loves the sounds you make, the soft moans and the wet noises from your tongue dragging on his cock. And he's a bit vocal too - all low moans and huffs of breath escaping his lips. He's very chill about it, but by the time he's coming down your throat his hands are on the back of your neck and he's humping your face.

Seungmin :

Refuses to touch you because he's shaking so much. He's near silent most of the time but he can tell that when you pause to look up at him for a reaction, he'll nod as quick as he can so you know it's perfect. He's falling apart under your touch, lying in his bed and subtly rocking his hips up into your mouth because of how much he loves it.

Jeongin :

Tou.chy. Touchy!! He's all over you, can't keep his hands to himself. At first he's cupping your face, but then he feels like he's in the way of your work so he's just resting them on your shoulders then. But then he feels like he's pushing you, so instead he busies himself with gathering your hair and pulling it back - and he's got big enough hands so it's easy for him. And when he blows, he places a hand around your throat to gently push you away so he can paint your pretty face with his cum.

Perm Taglist: @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

[r1elle]

“no use crying over spilled milk.” —except, there probably is.

a. miya x reader

atsumu knows he’s messed up.

he thinks he may need to leave all that he’s accomplished in his lifetime — all because of a simple, but dire mistake.

“this can’t be happenin..” the blonde murmurs, looking at the monstrosity infront of him.

spilled vegetable smoothie. on three dozens of cooling cookies. that you’ve excitedly made. for your friends and family. as gifts.

atsumu was definitely crying over this ‘spilled milk’.

brushing off the fear of getting divorced on Christmas Eve, atsumu decides to think of how he can remove any remaining evidence.

he thinks that perhaps he can just bake the cookies again, —but argh, he silently curses osamu for taking the culinary skills.

the blonde scrambles around, scurrying to every part of the kitchen to at least try and scrape some of the green-kelpy smoothie bits on your cookies.

the opening of the front door was the only thing that could make him drop whatever he was doing.

“atsumu!~ do you think you can help me with the groceries? i ended up going a little overboard, so i bought some hot coco and chocolate fondue as something to go with the cookies! and—“ you ramble on, however atsumu could only feel the lump forming in his throat, the sweat on his forehead, and the drying of his lips.

he’d rather experience losing a volleyball match right now.

but unfortunately, the sweating of his palms wasn’t going to help him cover his crime scene— with you finally walking up to him with a questionable tone and all.

on some lame attempt to delay your discovery by even a fraction of a second, atsumu lays a cloth on top of your pastries.

“hey, something the matt—……er…?”

you pause in between your words, familiar with atsumu’s current expression. your husband is wearing the exact face he made the last time he realized he’d accidentally mistaken your diy project as trash and threw it out. (valentines almost ended off with him sleeping on the couch.)

his face could only mean one thing, then.

however, distracting you from the overly guilty look on his face was the unusual placement of the rag that you had bought not long ago.

you look at the cookies.

he looks at you.

you look at him.

he looks at the cookies.

you lift the rag.

green, protein-y, vegetable smoothie mix laid on top of your thick, chocolate chipped cookies.

“miya.”

despite the fact that you both now share the same last name— atsumu knows you talk of his last name.

he fears that you may end up going back to your own after this night passes.

“baby please, i— i didn’t…” he rambles, but knows that no excuse can save him from his actions. he pinches the bridge of his nose. “…im…i’m sorry, hon. i’ve got no excuse. i was bein’ careless, and yer’ cookies are all damped because of my stupidity. i’m sorry. what can i do? hm?”

his build envelopes yours, and suddenly you find a man nearing his 30s senselessly murmuring sweet nothings to your ear, hoping that perhaps a single saying can be of the slightest comfort to your disappointment.

the room quiets down, the sound of the ventilation being the only source bearing noise.

the silence only makes atsumu antsy, who begins to lose hope of your anger easing down any time soon.

and so, he decides to call it a night.

“i’ll take the couch tonight, hm? how’s that? i know that it’s nothin’ much…”

a grin.

“…but if it’ll help you in even the slightest way, i’m more than willing to do it—”

a stifle of laughter.

atsumu paused, thinking that the (familiar) sound he’d just heard was some sort of hallucination that his mind had made up on the spot.

“a-anyway, i’ll see what i can do soon, and—“

finally releasing any ounce of self control you had, bursts of laughter start leaving your mouth.

“oh— oh, oh my gosh, i…” your unexplained cackling begins to alter the solemn look on your husbands face into one of confusion.

“you just looked so pathetic— it was cute! i’m sorry, i’m sorry..” you manage to hide in a snort, your husbands eyes following every movement you made.

why were you laughing? was he getting divorced?! is this some sick way to break it to him? no…no??! you’ve both been through so much together, you couldn’t possibly—… but then again… he’s probably put you through so much! argh! is this what osamu meant when he said—

atsumu’s disorganized internal thoughts then get interrupted by your pecks, something that’s been able to melt him since your last year of highschool.

“i’m not mad, no.. no,” you smile, a little giggle sneaking out. “i just couldn’t help but see how you’d react if i looked mad! i’m sorry baby, forgive me?” you coo, your head lifting up to meet his eyes as you sway his tall figure.

“but… i.. yer not mad? i completely trashed the cookies, babe. look!—

“i may or may not have accidentally mixed the salt up for sugar.” you say, a playful smile greeting your lips. “haven’t told you about the cookies i just bought from the store.”

as if all his worries had come to an end, atsumu’s shoulders slump down, a sigh coming out of him.

“ya couldn’t just tell me all that in the beginnin’?”

“and miss seeing you all so guilty and pouty? what am i, insane?”

“be happy i love ya’.”

“need i remind you of last valentines, then?”

“why don’t we get set up? also, yer’ lookin’ beautiful in that dress. anyone told you that yet?”

“okay, you can stop that now, miya.”

“yer’ a miya too, ya know.” he grins.

you roll your eyes, however a smile creeps it’s way in, betraying your ‘dismay’ towards the man.

“you’re right. i suppose i am.”

this was from the request of an oomf !

can we just pretend this was posted before Christmas thank u very muchiez

i fear that the pathetic husband atsumu will never become a trope i’ll get tired of

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone !

ps. if you start seeing that i lowkey started to get confused as to how to write that lil accent he has, no u didn’t.

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

Needy Rafayel succumbs to his pent up desires after you trigger his mermaid heat with Your Fragrance.

You were trying your hardest to remove the perfume that ignited all of this. Your wet hand was rubbing on your wrist and neck as you didn’t hear the bathroom door open behind your back. Was it really this fragrance that made Rafayel all dizzy with need for you ? How could you know that such a peculiar scent would make him look at you like you were some kind of goddess that held all the keys to his pleasure ? You blush as you remember how Rafayel couldn’t even let go of your wrist, how he bit the inside of your palm or how he was about to let his mouth wander along your throat barely seconds ago. You apply some water to your reddening cheeks, vainly trying to cool down your face. As you lift your head up to gaze into the mirror, your eyes widen at the sight reflecting in it and your pulse quicken at the feeling of his warm body tightly caging you against the sink. Rafayel was behind you with his hand pressing against the mirror, effortlessly enveloping you with his presence that begged for your attention.

« Gotcha princess. Trying to run away from me, huh ? »

You avert your eyes from the mirror, Rafayel’s gaze was so intense and almost primal that it was hard for you to hold it.

But your lack of response didn’t alter the way his soul and body was aching for you. You as a whole. At this right moment, Rafayel could kill just to have a taste of your lips, to let his fingers dance across your heated skin or to simply hear how your desperate moans would echo his own and reverberate in his fancy bathroom.

To say that Rafayel was needy right now was an understatement to say the least. His cheeks were adorning a pretty shade of pink and his breathing seemed labored as his face started to nuzzle in the crook of your neck. His lips couldn’t contain the little whines, moans and sometimes grunts as he lost himself in the warm embrace of your neck. The sinful sounds he was making just below your ear unconsciously made you tilt your head to the other side to give him a better access to the spot he was now starting to nip at. Nips turn to bites on the right side of your throat, a spot where your perfume still lingers even after you tried to wash it off.

Rafayel didn’t need much time to paint such pretty marks on your neck, as he thought. The feeling of his lips and teeth running on your sensitive skin to occasionally nibble at your neck was driving you insane as you close your eyes at the delicious feeling.

But Rafayel couldn’t control his desire any longer, he was even barely able to control himself at the moment. His hands grabbed hold of your white shirt, amplifying your cleavage even more as his fingers ripped open your blouse, popping all the buttons that fell to the floor in silence. Your eyes barely had time to widen at his actions that Rafayel already started to hold your hips in a tight grip, increasing the volume of your whines as you could perfectly feel how hard he was getting behind you, his cock starting to fervently rub on your clothed ass up and down.

It wasn’t long before you could happily feel his nimble fingers reach for your panties below your dress to slowly pull them down, pressing kisses on the back of your legs while he gets on the floor on one knee behind you to remove your panties from your ankles, one of his hands helping you balance yourself to prevent you from falling.

When Rafayel is back up behind you, you can feel his hard-on pressing against your wet folds, sliding between them at a leisurely pace, teasing you as Rafayel makes sure to press his lips against your ear without even trying to contain his moans of pure pleasure.

When he finally decides to slowly enter you, with his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your hips, and start thrusting into your warm cunt, Rafayel’s mouth whispers everything that comes to his mind, too drunk on the feeling of the tight grip you have on his moving dick. To accentuate the impact of his words, Rafayel makes sure to take your chin between his fingers, pressing your cheeks slightly together in the process, to make you look at him through the mirror. Your mouth now opens with how overwhelmed you feel because of your boyfriend, while you also struggle to keep your eyes open at the sight of Rafayel moaning against your cheek, looking directly at you with eyes that seem to directly see through your soul.

« You’re such a pretty little thing, darling. Oh g-god and the way you’re squeezing me so tight I can barely move inside this sweet pussy. My angel is such a work of art that I should engrave this image into my mind and paint it later… », Rafayel pauses to chuckle softly against your cheek at the depraved thought in his mind and at how you clenched at the idea as well.

« Oh, you would like that, right my love ? Didn’t thought that my miss bodyguard had such a dirty mind… »

Rafayel’s moans and grunts turn to needy whines as his hips thrust into you at a much faster pace, his balls slapping against your intimate parts as his grip on your hips is sure to leave marks later.

Rafayel starts to nibble your ear when he feels close to release deep inside of you.

« Please…can I cum inside ? Please baby say yes…I’m so close…n-need you to cum with me. »

You nod fervently at the mirror while biting your lips. Even without him asking, you were already okay with this…you needed to feel him release in you just as much as him. With a grunt of your name, Rafayel paints your warm pussy with his white cum, taking your chin in his hand to turn your face to him as he kisses you when you reach your climax with him. The kiss is messy as you both moan in the mouth of your beloved…the hungry kiss turning into soft pecks pressed against your panting lips as Rafayel calmly eases you down from your trembling state.

After a few seconds of trying to catch your breath, you could already sense his cum slowly running out of you and along your thighs, while your boyfriend was still pressing kisses on your face in the most intimate and caring way possible.

When Rafayel gets himself back together, he absentmindedly reach to try buttoning up your shirt, making you giggle as he realizes a bit too late that he previously ripped the buttons opened. Rafayel’s face turn red at how rough he remember being a few moments ago. Rafayel silently whispers with a pout an adorable « ‘m sorry » as he exits the bathroom for a few seconds to come back with one of his shirts, much bigger than the one you were wearing. He gently removes your ruined top from your shoulders and then button his own around your body, carefully taking his time between each button as his loving gaze lingers on every patch of your skin he’s covering.

When he’s done dressing you up with one of his shirt, Rafayel puts back your panties, preventing his seed from completely leaving your sweet pussy. Even if Rafayel calmed himself down compared to earlier, he can’t help but let his fingers massage between your now covered pussy folds, relishing in the feeling of the mess he made, that you were his muse and only his. His fingers toy with the mess he made inside of you, making you whine at the never ending teasing and the lewd noises that his fingers make while rubbing you, making you grab his wrist that was starting to overstimulate you.

Rafayel answers with a chuckle and a quick peck on your right cheek.

« You’re gonna keep my cum inside of you for the rest of the evening, right sweetheart ? »

[mojavebluez]

Russian roulette - the salesman x fem!reader (18)

Chapter 1

“Ah, there you are.” He says, a towering shadow standing before you. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

summary - he’d been following you for a while. When you finally find the courage to approach him, you wake up hours later in his apartment, tied up and completely at his mercy. He has one offer: a game of Russian roulette.

tags - gun play, age gap, kidnapping, bdsm, sub!reader, dom!salesman, sadomasochism, fingering, non-con, praise, degradation, forced insertion, no lube

a/n - I’m slightly ashamed but also not. There’s a bit of backstory so sorry to all you freaks that like skipping straight to the action.. I’ll do a part 2 if you guys enjoy it!!

Series masterlist

4.7k words

———————————————————————

You’d seen him before. Many times. This past month you’d noticed nearly 20 encounters. The first was on the subway a while back, when you had looked up to see him staring down at you with blank, empty eyes. An instant chill was sent down your spine. But he wasn’t like the usual subway perverts: he was put-together, well dressed and very, very handsome. He had an air of assurance about him and a strange sort of dominance that forced you to stare down at your feet - just to avoid meeting his eyes.

You’d barely given him another thought until, the next day, you saw him again. This time it was in a cafe. You had felt someone’s eyes on you and glanced around until you landed on him. He was sat across the room, a lonely white teacup in front of him. He had that same soulless look in his eyes, this time paired with a faint smile. It chilled you again. Was he following you? Or was it just coincidence?

It happened again. And again. Across the street, him standing there, or in supermarket aisles, or on subway cars. Always on subway cars. You debated approaching him, asking him why he was following you around. But sometimes, late at night, you would stare at the ceiling and think about him. His perfectly symmetrical features, crisp, laundered suits - you’d gotten lucky in the stalker lottery, that was for sure. The idea was ridiculous, anyway, people like you didn’t get stalkers. You were utterly normal, boring, even. Things like that only happened in movies.

It had finally come to a head when you went out one night with a couple friends. It was the end of the first semester, so you had all decided to go out and celebrate. Turns out, you may have celebrated too hard. You were somewhere between five and ten drinks (who was counting anyway?) when you caught sight of him across the bar. You slide off your stool, the faint protests of your friends drowned out by the thudding club music. You sway on your feet slightly as you approach him, which seemed to amuse him, a smirk playing on his lips.

Once you reach him he pats the stool in front of him with a wide palm. His eyes never leave yours. The drink in your system seems to swirl the features on his face slightly, but it was definitely him. He doesn’t have a glass beside him, but his briefcase is laid on the bar, its glossy surface reflecting the multicoloured club lights.

“I was waiting for you,” he says. His voice is thick and dark. You’d never heard it before. You had imagined what it sounded like, how he might’ve said your name. Or what it would be like if he whispered closely into your ear.

“Who- who are you?” You say clumsily, surprised at the sound of your own voice. It was a different you. Confident. Abrupt.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he replies, smiling faintly. His hand, very large and covered in spidering veins, is spread on his thigh. It’s an inviting gesture. You instinctively lean into him.

“I’ve seen you before,” you say, tilting your head, “on the subway. And in the coffee shop.”

“Correct,” he smirks, altering the symmetry of his features. But the smile never reaches his eyes.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask. You press a hand against the bar to steady yourself. Everything in the room, aside from him, mixes and bleeds into incoherent colours.

“You’re very drunk,” he states, the smile never leaving his face, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m fine,” you wave a floppy hand at his face, but he abruptly catches your wrist in the air, his fingers like a vice. Your breath is caught in your throat at the pressure of his grip, draining all the blood until his fingers leave thick white marks on your skin.

“What are you-“

“Just relax,” he says, his voice a smooth purr in your ears, “I’m going to order us a drink.”

He lowers your hand, never letting go, and calls the bartender over. You can’t quite hear what he orders, but he holds up two fingers before turning back to you. Your head swims with alarm bells. The pain that floods your arm, mixed with the cold look in his eyes and your clear lack of personal autonomy - you’re very close to fight or flight altogether. He can see this. His mouth presses into a tight line and his grip on you, somehow, becomes even more firm.

“Please,” he says, but there is no pleading in his voice, “try to calm down.”

“Let go of me,” you squirm, pulling at his hand in an attempt to free yourself from his hold. He doesn’t even shift. If it came to it, you would be entirely at his mercy once he got his hands on you. The thought makes you freeze in your chair.

“That’s it. Much better. You’re a fast learner,” he loosens his hand and you sigh in relief.

The drinks arrive and he slides one over to you. His glass sits, untouched, as he urges you to take a sip of yours. You aren’t sure why, but something in his eyes makes you obey. Maybe it’s the satisfaction once you do - it fills you with a strange sort of feeling. You quite like pleasing him.

A few moments later, you try to stand up. “I need the bathroom.”

“Hm,” he says, watching you with uncertainty, “I’m not sure. You don’t look very well.”

“Exactly,” you say, stepping away. The floor seems to rise and fall like a wave beneath your feet. You stumble, but he catches you, his fingers spread across your abdomen.

“Let me help you,” he suggests, as though you could even object.

He leads you through the weaving crowds, all dancing and throwing their bodies around like rag dolls. You stare up at him, the curve of his features haloed by the spotlights. He’d picked up his suit case in the process of helping you, and it swung at his side, his other arm looped around your waist. Even in heels he towers over you. When the cold air hits your face, you realise he is not, in fact, leading you to the bathroom. You open your mouth to say something, but find that the words die in your throat. Your face feels entirely numb and your feet begin to drag behind you. He makes a small noise of frustration as he lifts you up, hooking a hand beneath your arm to hold you higher off the ground.

Your vision grows blurrier once he opens a car door and sets you down inside, sliding in beside you. Then, you finally black out.

-

“Ah, there you are.” He says, a towering shadow standing before you. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

You blink your eyes open. Instantly, your head begins to pound and you groan at the pain. Your neck falls back against something solid, and you slowly glance around to find that your limbs are bound to some sort of chair. Your wrists are pulled behind your back as well as your feet, tied to either leg with thick cord. Memories of earlier that night fly past your eyes in an instant as you struggle against the binding. But the more you pull, the more it hurts, and he seems to enjoy this fact. You squint up at him to see his face a mask of utter satisfaction, clearly proud of his handiwork.

His empty, dead eyes, black despite the vibrancy of the lighting. His thick, rough fingers curled around your wrist. You taking a deep swig of whatever drink he had gotten you. And the sound of a car door slamming. Then nothing. He’d kidnapped you. He’d spiked your drink and fucking kidnapped you and now you were going to die here, in this dark apartment and left for dead. You were just another one of those sad murdered girls that die and end up on a podcast a decade later.

“Don’t squirm,” he says, moving to stand before you. You crane your neck to look up at him. Half of his face is shrouded in darkness, the other glowing from the dim red lighting of his apartment. Atmospheric.

“What the-“ you try to get a sense of your surroundings, but the after effects of the alcohol and whatever he had drugged you with made it difficult. Everything feels hazy and undefined. Aside from him. His figure is perfectly distinguishable. You recognise his same suit from earlier: jet black, and he must have fixed his hair, too.

“You’re quite small,” he says, watching you, amused, “I probably gave you too much. Took you a long while to wake up.”

You try to scream. Your voice wavers, a pathetic noise escaping. He chuckles darkly at your weak attempt.

“There’s really no point. No one can hear you.” His black eyes glitter as he says it. God. You’ve been kidnapped by a fucking sadist.

You try again but exhaustion overwhelms you. Your eyes fall to the window, which spans from floor to ceiling. The nighttime Seoul skyline stretches across - you’re in a high rise, presumably a penthouse. Is it his apartment? The air feels hot and close, even more so when you meet his eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” he says. Your head whips around at the statement. A game?He doesn’t even have the mercy to make it quick.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” he lifts his briefcase onto the low table before you, then clicks the latches and opens it slowly, as though savouring the moment. His every movement makes your skin prickle with uncertainty - everything about him is unpredictable. Bile rises in your throat once you see what sits inside the case. A gun.

“Russian roulette,” he takes it out carefully with two hands, the same way you would hold a precious gemstone. The steel barrel glints in the light like a winking eye.

“Oh god,” you whisper beneath your breath.

“You have heard of it. Good,” he smiles at you emptily, curling his fingers around the grip.

“Of course I have,” you say quietly.

“Then you know the rules,” he moves to sit in a chair opposite you, neatly two feet away. The table separates you, but it is low enough that he’s able to get a full view of you. His eyes rake you from head to toe, landing on the hem of your dress. It rides up slightly, but you’re unable to fix it with your hands bound. You try your best to squeeze your legs together and hide yourself.

He turns the case and lifts out a single bullet, slotting it into the barrel. Your gut twists with fear as he spins the barrel and clicks it in with a flourish that is sickeningly attractive. Everything about him is a juxtaposition. His clean suits that fit his frame perfectly, yet are eerily formal for every occasion. His hollow eyes that chill your bones but also draw you in with an odd curiosity you can’t resist. Every aspect of him leaves you wanting more. But you can’t think this way about him, can you? Not when he is so clearly dying to hurt you.

He leans forward, the gun hanging from his hand. “Your odds of survival are five in six. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to- are you some sort of serial killer?” You gasp helplessly.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m a man of business.”

“And your business is murder?” You add sarcastically, watching his face closely.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re different. Most people would be begging for their life by now.”

“I’m obviously going to die here. What’s the point in begging?” The words are empty as you say them. You’d already accepted your fate by this point.

His eyes glitter. “Maybe you should beg.”

You press your lips together. The prospect is tempting. “Did you still kill those other people? Even though they begged?”

“Now, now,” he twists the gun, watching his own reflection in the metal, “that would spoil the surprise.”

You don’t respond.

“Besides,” his teeth flash as he speaks, perfectly straight, “as I said, five in six. It’s more of a chance than I gave the ‘others’.”

The high odds must mean he’s holding out for you beg. For him. For your life. You watch, sickened, as he sets the gun on the table and places a large hand over it. “Now to decide who goes first.”

Your throat tightens when he grips the barrel and spins the gun on the table like a children’s toy. The sound of the metal on the glass surface sends needles over your skin. The sound of death being delivered. Round and round. Round and round. He watches it with a terrifying anticipation. The corners of his mouth curl upward, the smile finally reaching his eyes, which sparkle manically, following the gun’s movement. It slows to a halt. And It’s facing you.

You slump in your chair. He slowly looks up at you, unmistakably eager to see you squirm. But you don’t. You watch him with a steely gaze as he picks it up and points the barrel to your forehead.

“You first,” his voice sounds different. Finally, the reality of his nature seeps through. This is the real him.

“Just do it,” you mumbled, looking at your feet.

He leans towards you across the table. You glance up to watch the movement, then freeze. Utter terror jolts through you. Then something else. This is a different man.

“Are you scared?” He says so quietly you almost don’t hear it. He leans closer. And closer. The gun forms a barrier between the two of you, and you watch it steadily until it is barely millimetres from your forehead.

“I said,” you wince as you feel the heat of his breath on your face, “are you scared?”

The truth? Or not? “Yes,” you whisper, meeting his eyes. Something you can only describe as lust shines in them. God.

“You’re crying,” he says breathily. You flinch as he moves the tip of the gun, flicking away a tear on your cheekbone with it. You shiver when the cold metal meets your skin.

“Are you going to do it, or what?” You say distantly.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” his voice is almost a growl.

You debate satisfying his clear desire. Would he be merciful if you did? “Scared.” You whisper breathlessly.

He nods once. “Carry on.”

“I don’t-“

“Scared of me? Or this,” he traces the muzzle of the gun across your face, making you twitch with every movement. Tears begin to fall, thicker this time, and you fight back sobs that threaten to escape.

“Of you,” you say breathlessly. He exhales at the words, his mouth opening slightly.

“Really?” His eyes shimmer, then he pauses, bringing the gun to the center of your forehead once again.

You hold your breath, anticipating his finger pulling the trigger. Would you feel anything if it fired? He presses it down as slowly as possible, then - click. Nothing. You collapse back into your chair, chest heaving with the release of your bated breath. He leans back again, clearing his throat and adjusting himself in his chair. You don’t watch him, but you hear the click of the chamber and know that it’s his turn.

“See? Nothing to be scared of,” he says it with a cat-like smile, though you know the words hold no sympathy for you. He brings the gun to the side of his temple, his eyes never leaving yours. A strand of hair has escaped and hangs over his terrifyingly handsome features. A part of you wants to play into this fantasy - squirm around and scream for him. That part almost takes over when you see his mouth curve into a smirk as he presses the trigger down. And nothing. His self-assurance is painfully appealing.

“This is going well, isn’t it?” He stands up this time, stepping around the table and towards you.

“Please,” you can’t help the tears from falling this time, “no more, I’ll do anything. Anything.”

He tilts his head, pouting at you. “Now you decide to beg? It’s too late for that I’m afraid, sweetheart.”

The muzzle grazes the edge of your lips, cool but strangely relieving. At least it isn’t his lips. Kissing him would feel like sealing your fate.

Your eyes widen when you realise. “But you didn’t spin the barrel!”

He doesn’t stir at your realisation. “Makes the game more interesting, don’t you think?”

You tug against the cable at your wrists, not even caring about the pain of it scraping your skin. You feel small and pitiable beneath him, but you still struggle in your seat despite the futility. He just watches you squirm, the gun dangling from his hand, not even a smile on his face. You strain your voice to scream, and this time the noise carries. He tilts his head at you.

“Scream like that again and I might have to cover your mouth,” he bends down to be level with your eyes.

You open your mouth again to scream, but he grabs your chin, forcing it to stay open. You gasp at the forcefulness of his grip, and he parts his own lips. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly as the gun enters your line of sight. Teasingly, he brings it closer to your face, then slips it into your mouth. Your breath catches at how cold it feels against your tongue.

“Hmm,” he watches you curl the tip of your tongue over the muzzle, his fingers pressing tighter against your skin.

Something compels you to move, so you do. You lean forward, taking it deeper into your mouth until you feel the muzzle graze the back of your throat. You fight the urge to choke. A single tear falls from your eye, left over from your last outburst, and lands on his hand. His smile suddenly falls and something dark descends over him. He presses the trigger with no warning.

You cry out and he pulls the gun swiftly from your mouth, a string of saliva still connected. He examines the dampness that your mouth has left on the steel and inhales deeply, as if composing himself.

“That’s not fair,” you gasp, your hair falling around you as you lean forward.

He grabs a fistful of the hair at the back of your head, forcing you to look at him. He bends down to meet your eyes as he pulls your hair harder, making you yelp. “What isn’t fair, hm?” He prompts you to speak, though your heart beats so erratically you aren’t sure you can respond.

“Don’t feel like talking? That’s alright,” he brings the gun back into your eye line, but you squeeze your eyes shut, rejecting him.

He makes a frustrated noise in his throat. Then, suddenly, he forces you back against your chair, taking a hold of your throat. You choke as he presses tighter against your windpipe, forcing the air out of you until tears stream from your eyes. He takes the tears as an indication to loosen his grip, and you take in lungfuls of air when he does. He never lets go, though, keeping you flat against the chair and completely in control.

Your chest is open for him as he traces the muzzle from your neck to collarbone, ghosting over the protruding bones. You whimper slightly as he moves it even lower, the icy metal a shock against the curve of your breast. The dress you decided to wear earlier feels like a foolish decision now. The thin material is the only barrier that holds your dignity in place.

You are acutely aware of his movements. He watches the muzzle slide against your skin, making a noise almost like a purr when you react. He swallows when it runs over the bump of your nipple and you arch your back in response.

“You seemed so innocent back in that bar,” he says huskily, eyes flicking up to watch you. He continues running the gun over your nipple, the movements slow and torturous. “But you’re not anymore, are you?”

You don’t respond, too focused on the things that he is doing to you. This is his torture. He makes it so you can barely find the words to speak, then punishes you when you don’t.

He draws a cool, straight line to the flat of your lower stomach, then toward the hem of your dress. He lifts it ever so slightly with the tip of the muzzle and looks up at you. “If you’re going to beg, do it now.” The words are commanding, barely a suggestion. You watch as he pulls off his blazer, revealing his shirt which strains over his chest. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, and you catch sight of roping veins bulging from his skin. Your skin prickles with anticipation.

“Please,” you gasp, barely registering the words, “please don’t. Please. I’m begging you. I’m begging.”

You nearly scream when he bends down and pulls your legs open with one hand. You struggle more against your bindings, rejecting his advances. He doesn’t stop. You whimper as he rips your underwear down to your ankles. Then, abruptly, he forces the gun inside you. You let out a strangled noise.

“Look at that,” he says, voice deeply amused, “already wet. Who would’ve guessed you were such a whore?”

You cry out at the feeling of the gun stretching you uncomfortably wide. He tuts arrogantly, pushing it in deeper until you arch against it. Then, he pulls it out and stands up, letting go of your throat. You gasp with relief, chest heaving, and he examines the gun in the low light. Your arousal paints it, making the metal glisten.

He moves closer to you, the plane of his hips obstructing your vision. A clear boner strains against the fabric of his trousers. You collapse in your chair hopelessly, the shock of the gun entering you still present in your mind. He grabs your jaw again, pulling your mouth open.

“Taste it,” his voice is empty. Lust clouds his eyes, a dark mist. More hair has escaped, hanging over his forehead, and sweat glistens on his brow. His dress shirt has been disturbed in all his vigorous movement. His tie lays off centre and slightly looser than before.

Obediently, you stick out your tongue, running it over the barrel. But you barely taste anything. The room spins around you like a carousel and your head feels light. It must be the adrenaline.

“Good girl,” his voice is deep and breathy. His chin inclines as he observes your tongue taking in your own arousal.

You hardly register it as he bends back down to one knee. Then, all at once, your senses return to you. He ghosts the gun over the hard bump of your clit, forcing a strangled noise to escape from your throat.

“There you are,” he hums, satisfied.

You can feel the wetness practically dripping out of you. He slips his index finger inside, almost experimentally, curling his finger. It enters too easily, so he pushes in his middle finger, and you gasp at the intrusion. He’s stretching you wider than the gun now - and he knows it. You’re still aware of the gun pressed against your clit, a cold, hard pressure that raises goosebumps on your skin.

Floaters dance past your vision. You let your neck fall back over the chair, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling. Your heart hammers harder with every pull of his fingers. You hear him make small satisfied hums at the wet sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and uncurling. You feel heat pool in your stomach. You’re close, but he shows no mercy, still fingering you with ever-mounting speed. Then, he pulls out his fingers once more and swiftly replaces them with the gun.

“We’re two shots down,” he says feverishly, “what if I pulled the trigger now?”

He looks up at you to watch your expression. You open your mouth to beg for your life, but find that the words die in your mouth. He picks up speed, the gun reaching a spot inside you that makes your toes curl. The possibility that he could easily kill you now seems to make your orgasm arrive even more intensely. You hear him grunt as he pulses in and out, faster, faster-

You collapse in your chair. The release is gratifying, yet humbling. The reality of your situation dawns on you as the pressure leaves your gut, and he pulls the gun out. He stands to his full height, the shadow of his figure being cast over you. His boner strains even harder against his trousers, a clear outline now. He sets the gun on the table behind him and adjusts himself, clearing his throat and wiping his hands on his thighs.

You aren’t sure if you have an ounce of self preservation left inside you. He knows this, and revels in it. The room stops spinning, coming to a still and finally grounding you. The light reveals his whole face as he leans over you and tucks the hair behind your ears with both hands. The gesture is almost too affectionate that it feels pretend. You aren’t sure that he is capable of aftercare.

“Well done,” he says, though you don’t feel like you’ve done a good job at all. He used you, and somehow, you let him.

You can’t find any words to reply with. He leans closer, eyes on your lips, his mouth parted slightly. His breath warms your face. You suck in air as he grazes two fingers over the wetness between your legs in a final gesture. He slowly pulls your underwear back over you in a strangely gentlemanly manner. You frantically search his face as the realisation that you didn’t actually die descends over you. He let you live. Why?

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” he chuckles, lips still millimetres from yours. He presses his middle and ring finger to your mouth and you taste the saltiness of his skin. Then he pulls away. Strangely, you lean forward, wanting more of him. But he doesn’t fulfill your wish. He turns his back to you and leans over the case, which is still open on the table. You crane your neck to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s doing but his back is too wide for you to see.

Then he turns to you, his previous empty smile back on his face. The pleasure you just felt is quickly replaced by fear. He stands over you once again and slips a square of card inside your dress and into the cup of your bra. You make a curious noise, attempting to move your arm and then stopping when you remember that you’re still bound to the chair. Finally, he makes an apologetic face, before slipping the needle into your skin.

Oh.

—

You wake up in your bedroom, curled up on your bed wearing last night’s clothes. The strap of your dress hangs off your shoulder, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder. You shiver. Was it really all a dream? How much did you drink last night? You have no memory of coming back to your flat. No memory of falling asleep. Only the memory of him - his perfect face, glistening with sweat and his fingers wet with your arousal. You feel sickened with yourself that you could conjure up such a dream.

Then, you sit up. Something falls from the front of your dress and flutters onto the bedding. A square of brown card. You pick it up, squinting closely to examine it. A number, written in thick black type. Your heart skips. It couldn’t have been a dream. It couldn’t. You remembered him slipping a piece of card into your bra. Where else would you have gotten this from?

Something compels you to pick up your phone. Something wrong. Something not like yourself at all. That night, what he did to you, flipped a switch inside you. That same part of you types in the number. Presses dial. Waits to hear it ring. Once. Twice.

“Hello?” You say, too eagerly. The line is silent.

Then, a voice. Painfully familiar. He pauses, then speaks: “This Friday. Ten. Be ready.”

He hangs up. You were ready before he picked up the phone.

[ghostarii]

I INVENTED SEX, JING YUAN

ʚɞ it’s about time you’ve met your maker: the beginning and the end of everything good.

WARNINGS ݈݇- fem!reader, praise, established relationship, dickmatized!reader, jing yuan has magic peen, lots of flowery imagery, dirty talk, dumbification, tears, spit, manhandling, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking of multiple varieties, pussy pronouns, creampie!!!, no plot just vibes, minors do not interact.

NOTE ݈݇- this is a nonsense drabble n i lost the plot halfway thru ngl but i just wanted to write 😞 missed u guys <3 i’m trying to be more active n consistent for yall but idk smut writing is so hard now!!! anyway pls comment n reblog it rly warms me littl heart c:

WORD COUNT ݈݇- 2.8k+

STARS GLEAM UPON A blinding white surface, swirling into a hypnotizing galaxy. The heat of the stars spark under the layers of your flesh, burning you from the inside out in an unforgiving barrage of passion—that’s what passion feels like; a searing, insatiable heat that creeps through your veins and shows you the light.

You drown beneath the light, choking out garbled pleas and broken whines, feeling every bit of cohesion slip from your grasp. They can no longer keep you steady, and you're using those weakened fists to grab onto something—anything—to keep you afloat. He adjusts the placement of your legs around his waist, slithering his arms beneath your back and anchoring you off the mattress. You hang limply in his arms, melting off your stabilization, and feel utterly weightless. A haze overcomes you: drunken and blissful, it is, and it nulls every thought. Nothing remains but the sticky feeling of your bodies combining, the moans he rasps into your ears, and the sensation of your entire existence being dug out of you.

This is what pure ecstasy feels like: it’s electric, it's nasty, and it's life-altering—nothing in you has an ounce of normalcy anymore and you no longer want it to. He has killed you and resurrected you in the wake of exceptional ecstasy. You can't remember what life felt like before you laid down in this bed, but you know what it feels like now: fucking phenomenal.

It shows all in the sloppy grin you wear. You’re somewhere beyond mortal comprehension, where your eyes can cross stupidly and you pant like a thirsty mutt. In all of your messy debauchery, the only thing you can do is smile. Smile in his arms as he bullies his cock deep into your guts, smile as he pulls your head up and cradles the back of your neck, and smile as he presses your foreheads together, huffing out the age-old question: “You like that?”

His voice is carved out of raw carnality. It’s rough and guttural, and reverberating through your empty head like a sick mantra. Of course I fucking like it, you want to say, but your tongue can't untwist out of its debilitating twirl and you can only weakly whimper out an Mhm!

“I bet,” he laughs, almost chastising. “You should see the look on your face…mnh, yeeaahh, that good, huh?”

You nod vigorously but your confirmation is not what he is in search of. What Yuan is looking for is you: the raw, unfiltered, real version of you that rests inside. To pull that out and bare it in your sacred space—to let him cherish it and understand it in ways you have yet to experience—that is intimacy. What he’s looking for is real intimacy…and you, you are it.

Sweltering heat washes over you in a fiery wave, pulling the final loop through your stomach and knotting it up. That’s it, right there, you try to say, but your mouth only hangs agape, squeaking out choppy cries. Yuan takes the opportunity to angle himself and lick into your mouth, catching your whimper on his tongue and following the pout of your lips into a kiss.

His hand on your neck slowly returns to the other, each grabbing your ass and spreading the cheeks apart. The splat sounds have more space to escape, and they dance along the walls, echoing in a deafening repetition that resounds for miles. It’s so nasty, so unashamed—but it’s so intimate, and it’s all his.

As he kisses deeper into your mouth, his hands are guiding you up and down his cock. Going incredibly slow, sure to bottom out each slide, Yuan creates the perfect circumstance to provoke the bubble in your gut. Prodding and prodding until he feels the tight constriction of you sucking him in, and the hollow pop! that blows when your floodgates burst, and every inkling of pleasure culminates into a divine orgasm.

That weightless feeling leaves your body and is replaced with a sinking heft. It centers in the heat of your core as your orgasm creeps out of you—weighing down your limbs until they contort stiffly and your head until it feels like it's about to roll off of your neck.

He lets you fall back onto the mattress, rocking his hips slowly out of you, making way for your cum to spill out of you. It drips in milky, sticky streams, pooling right under your ass and smearing your skin. Under the dim lighting of your shared bedroom, you look nothing short of heavenly. Every fucked up strand of hair, dried tear streak—merely reminders of how much he loves you.

What really matters is the way in which you look up at him: a sick hunger dwelling in the sparkle of your glossy eyes just begging him to give you more. Your body is his language, he is fluent in you, and he needs not a single word to be of service to you. A flash passes by and he’s kneeling over you, cradling the sides of your face with the utmost delicacy to lean into a tender kiss.

He is much more mindful of the swell in your lips and lets you take control, remembering the pressure you apply and the tongue you use…following in your lead back down the sticky path of ecstasy. It heats up almost immediately, and that buzz that once surrounded you returns.

When you part, he anchors above you, letting his hair fall out of the toppling ponytail and swing over his shoulders. The locks act as makeshift curtains and encase you in white darkness—but even in it, your beauty does not dissipate. Never will he tire of admiring you, nor will he tire of you, period. Not your look, nor your taste, nor your feeling, nor your love.

Jing Yuan will never stop loving you. He will keep making love with you, not to you, because there is so much to be had. Too much to be said in ways he cannot verbalize, but his body can.

So, even though he feels fatigue, he still dives into you with care: gently peeling your legs apart and slotting his head between your head and shoulder. “Tell me something,” he whispers against your skin, laying his body on top of you. “Tell me something you want.”

“…You. This.” You grab his face, finding his sunny eyes through the dark. “I want this to never end. Don't stop.”

Your voice is soft and worn, yet your words are heavy. Weighted with desire and ardor far beyond his imagination, and with his strength finding its way back to him, your wish is his command.

“I hear you, baby.” His fingers swim through your puffy folds, strumming along with a featherlight touch that has you gasping. The sound is visceral: a wet, slopping sound eliciting as he stirs around your clit. Your pussy weeps for him, dripping more arousal, and wails in sticky clicks, instantly rebirthing that carnivorous hunger you share. You can hear the smug smirk he cracks as he reignites your flame, kissing your shoulder while his fingers tiptoe across your entrance. “I hear you loud and clear.”

Sparks flare in your space as he presses the tip of his middle finger in—only giving you an inch in hopes of making you beg for a mile. His open-mouthed kisses across your skin leave fuzzy feelings across your body; “Hmmpphh- Yuan…” leaving your mouth in succession, not up for his teasing.

He, ever the jest, finds humor in your drawl, cracking out a dry chuckle as he nuzzles against your neck. “Mmh, love it when you beg. Do it again.”

Bucking your hips into the air, chasing the length of his finger, you whine temperamentally, “Don’t tease—”

“Aht aht—” he coos, lightly spanking your cunt. The action forces your body to jolt at the feeling, whimpering in sensitivity. “I'm in control. Beg.”

“You’re mean.” You whine, hiding your embarrassed face in the bundle of his curls. He laughs, finding humor in your humility. He further pushes your limits, pinching your clit and laughing harder at your cracking squeaks.

“I am, aren't I?”

God, he’s so infuriating, but it's hard to stay mad at him when you look at him..body like a God and a face like a nymph—he is divinely beautiful and with the sheen of perspiration casting a delectable glow on him, you're entranced. He knows what he does to you, he can see the shift in your eyes when your eyes lay upon him and he can't help but smirk…he really is so mean.

“Don’t you want me to make you feel good, babe?” He asks, trailing his finger down your leg and around to the back. His hand grips the back of your leg, hiking it onto his lap. “Have you going dumb, coming all over my cock—”

“Fuck—yes. Yes, I do,” you speak hardly above a whisper. He pulls you onto his lap, immediately reclaiming his favorite spot in the crook of your neck to nuzzle in.

His hands find their way to your waist, guiding slow gyrations over his length. You can feel the stir that you cause, and you suck in a breath, knitting your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Your hips move with more fire than he allows, rocking into a needy pace atop his cock in search of more friction. “C’mon..please,”

“Please what?” He asks coyly.

Your hands knotted in his hair yank his head back, pressing your lips to his, “Fuck me,” you breathe out against his lips, grinding on top of him with increased need.

“M-make me feel good, Yuan, fill me up—”

“Shit. Don’t say what you don't mean…”

“I mean it.” You blurt, using your left hand to creep under your ass and wrap around his dick. He winces at the contact and you gape your mouth against him, mimicking the silent pleasure he expresses. “Fill me up. Claim me. Ruin me for anybody else—fuck me up, please.”

Patheticness laces itself in your voice and good Lord is it hot. He’s never seen you so desperate: taking matters into your own hands and sliding down on his cock, gasping out tearily as the new angle introduces you to a new feeling of his dick. If he was stretching you before, he's ripping you open now—yet, it's the most delicious feeling you've ever felt thus far.

This needy, insatiable side of you is so fucking sexy. He can't help but encouragingly slap your ass—one, two, three harsh spanks that sting the dewy skin raw. In this moment, you are nothing less than perfect: perfectly needy, perfectly wet, perfectly gorgeous, perfectly tight, perfectly filled to the brim with thick, throbbing cock, and perfectly ready to be filled until your brain matter is replaced with his cum.

He’s going to fuck the shit out of you. You're just asking for it, throwing your head back and putting your hands on your ankles…you want to be fucked stupid. And, well, who is he to deny you?

He experimentally thrusts up into you, keen to your shrill inhale and taking note that you're still so sensitive; but you can take it, he knows you can. His dick is fat, burning a wide path through you as he crams himself deep inside you, nestling the mushroom head of his cock snug against your gummy, contracting walls.

“O-oh, God,” you whisper out, moving your hands from your ankles to his flexed abs. “S-so deep..fuck.”

“You can take it,” his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you slowly up his lengthy dick, “Know you can. This pussy was made to take me…she’s already doin' soo good f’me.” Splat. He slams you back flush against his lap, and your eyes bulge wide, the painfully pleasurable feeling pooling in your cunt racing through your veins.

You can only blurt out a choppy Fu-uck!, feeling every ounce of cognitive consciousness leak out of your pussy…your back again slumps over the hold of his arms, and you're turning into a limp fuck-doll, giving him full reign of your pace—and, oh, what a silly mistake. Yuan is unrelenting, immediately fixing a pace of mercilessly agonizing thrusts that go so slow, ensuring that every inch is felt moving inside of you. He’s become addicted to the sight of your pussy sucking around him, drinking up his width and leaving glossy streaks to pool against his pelvis.

“Nasty girl,” he chuckles. Using one hand to bring your head up, he locks eyes with your blown eyes, “Look at how good you are…takin’ allll ‘f me,” he drawls in unison with the drag of your hips.

“Pussy swallowing my dick whole..she’s a greedy little thing, isn't she?” His words are mocking and you can only whine in protest, shaking your head no.

You follow in his lead, rolling your hips in sloppy figure eights as he pulls you up and down, up and down.

“Yeeesss she is—” His breath hitches as you tighten around him. That’s the spot, that’s where you clench and guard because it’s so sensitive. But Jing Yuan’s a bully: a mean, nasty-spirited bully who gets off on seeing you cry and fall apart at his hand, so, it becomes his goal to attack your sweet spot brutishly, intensifying the power of your mutual thrusts and impaling you on his dick. “Look at ‘er, d-drooling ‘round me…”

A creamy white ring starts to wrap around the base of his cock as he digs out your foamy arousal, bringing you to the peak of pleasure. His cock swims through your hole with expertise, dragging out every semblance of sense in addition. Your mouth only senselessly dangles open, your tongue slopping out the corner and dripping drool down your chin and onto your chest…a dizzy, stupid mess that can only pant and huff out moans you have become.

Cross-eyed and limp—that’s how he’s rendered you in record time, but it doesn't even begin to express how you truly feel.

You feel like a firework: hot and excited, shaking in anticipation of the fire beneath your ass to reach its apex and explode you to the stars. You’ll paint the world in a pretty, pearlescent white that’ll take the shape of stars and hearts, mimicking the patterns that seem to rush through your veins. It's right there, building up deep and confined in your gut, and Yuan has found it, thrusts desperate to set it free.

Every word you try to speak dies in your throat, only coming out as incomplete croaks that bring a smug smile to Yuan’s lips. You dumb little thing, so lost for words…His heavy eyes say the words his mouth no longer has the capacity for, mimicking your dumbfoundedness and finding gruff moans to be his language.

It's a room of hot, unspoken quiet, only filled with the wet squelching of your pussy and the colorful sound of him churning your guts.

It's a room where the fruits of pleasure splash around, drowning the two of you in inexplicable goodness. Because it all really is just too good, it’s beyond words.

The bullying of your pathetic sweet spot is coming to a head; a grandiose culmination of every beat of pleasure swirls in your stomach and he only eggs it on, using his thumb to flick at your neglected clit. “Cum—” he can only grunt out, amplifying every movement of his tenfold. “Cum..with me—fuck!”

This is it, the light to your fuse that quickly singes the fabric of your being, running up through you to find that seedy pit that bulges in necessity to burst. The familiar feeling of your orgasm rests in your stomach and he coaxes it out, applying an abundance of pleasure to make you cum in unison.

Oh, you need it. You babble out meek please’s and needy iterations of the word cum, creating a fragmented sentence. You're so cute when you're dick-dumb; shaking and twitching as your vocabulary refuses to extend beyond single-syllable phrases, inching closer and closer to that ardent explosion.

He can feel it, too. Drive along the sloppy road of lust and crash the course, torching the land in furious flames. Cum. Cum. Cum!!

“Oh- fuck!!!” Everything blurs together—your vision slips under a cast of white hotness, the devouring void in your gut succeeding and pouring out of you, painting the surface of his tightened abdomen in an iridescent glimmer. It feels like ten tons have been lifted out of your body and you can do nothing but quake in its exit, falling limp and weak. Your body has exhausted its limit and your mind circles around a boundless void…you orgasmed your fucking brains out.

Jing Yuan huffs out weighted breaths, undergoing similar after-effects. He’s still able to think—and when his eyes catch a glimpse of his thick load bubbling from between your puffy folds, all he can think is one more time.

[entwt7]

𝗝 𝗔 𝗞 𝗘 𝐴𝑢𝑑𝑖𝑜 ── 1

riding jake and being his personal cockslut ?? While he praises you because you deserve it ... Hell YESSSS------ ; a bit smut work cuz why not !!?? Plus I missed being here guysss hope you'd like this one .

“a-ain’t ya a good girl, hm?” the praise just keeps coming out of jake’s mouth while his thrust slows down as he grinds his cock into you as his tip hit against your g-spot. “you’re just too— fuuck! too perfect love ” jake whimpers, arms wrapped tightly around your frail body to keep you steady while you mewled on his chest .

“good. fucking. girl,” he grunted in your ear, occassionally hisses at the way you clench around him, the way your pussy seems to flutter, “you * like * that * huh? ” The base of his fat tip cock meets your pussy , “ you feeling how your pussy gripping my cock ? It's practically stuffed ”

“that’s it . .” jake says shakily as he continues to ram into you , helping you while you ride him to your heart's want “ my girl ... that’s my good girl.” by now, you’re reduced to nothing but a fucktoy for your boyfriend who chases his own high, thanks to the sensation of your tight walls and the slickness of your pussy ....

© @entwt7 ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.