#like. its been impossible to get out of bed even though i WANT to get up and draw

[skunkes]

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Five

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

Warnings: training, sparring and weapon use, severe overthinking, longing, brief use of recreational drugs (lovely 'mirthroot')

Word Count: 7.1k

Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Even in the early hours, the heat was suffocating. 

You’d been half-tempted to cancel on Mor, to crawl back under the covers and enjoy the blissful cool of your room. But you knew better. Mor would’ve winnowed straight into your bedroom, dragged you out of bed, and reminded you that you’d made a promise. 

So now, here you were, on the training grounds, sweat already collecting at your brow, watching Azriel and Cassian spar on the far side.

Both of the males were dressed in their usual head-to-toe leathers, though Cassian seemed just as bothered by the weather as you. You’d noticed he’d trained shirtless more often lately, something you attributed to the presence of his mate, but today he was fully covered. It probably had something to do with the steady, focused gaze Az held. Something to be cautious of. Wary. 

Unlike his brother, Azriel’s expression was detached, as if the sun didn’t touch him at all— like he was completely unbothered by the sweltering heat. His wings shifted slightly against the back of his leathers, but that was the extent of his discomfort, if any. 

You’d never visited Illyria in the summer months, never experienced the full brutality of its heat. Perhaps it was there, under that oppressive sun, that Azriel had learned to manage heat in such attire. But, then again, Az was entirely too skilled at masking what he actually felt.

Something about him, now before you, made you want to continue staring—his wings, the way his body moved with the smoothness of a predator, the effortless strength in the curve of his form. Lately, everything about Azriel had been doing that— distracting you. Overwhelming you. Calling to you like a siren song. His voice, his smile, the way he moved.

A laugh from Mor pulled you from your thoughts.

"It’s a shame the healing balm worked so well," Her voice teased from behind you. You turned at the sound, watching as she tossed a sword from one hand to the other with an ease that was almost poetic. "Seeing you turned me into a softie, you know.  All those bruises and that pouty face— I had to go easy because I felt bad for you.”

You snorted, catching the blade she tossed your way. "Oh, so that’s the only reason I beat you last week? Because you were going easy on me?"

Her grin widened. “Yeah. But Runa got too many hits on you. You’re rusty. So maybe I’m not doing you any favors by going easy." She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Cassian’s been going too easy on you, too."

“Or maybe,” you shot back, stepping into the ring, “I was just going easy on a citizen.”

Mor’s laugh was loud and unapologetic as she followed you. "You’re saying that like you didn’t know exactly who she was when you threw the first punch."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you squared up to her. “Okay, can we maybe stop reminiscing over my recent regrettable actions? Please?”

“Never.” She slid into a stance with ease. “But if you beat me, I’ll stop laughing about it for a week.”

“Only a week?”

“That’s all you’ll get, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, lips still curved in a grin. “Fine. Deal.”

And then, without hesitation, Mor lunged. Your blades collided with a sharp ring, the sound vibrating up your arms. You let the adrenaline of the fight pull you out of your thoughts, focusing on the female in front of you.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that before anything else, Morrigan was a warrior. Graceful, clever, and impossibly skilled. The kind of fighter who didn’t rely on brute strength but on speed, precision, and an uncanny ability to read her opponent. Skills she’d learnt to outmaneuver and beat males that may have been twice her size, twice her age. And if you looked hard enough, past her glittering makeup and the plethora of gold jewelry she adorned, you’d notice the scars scattered across her body, small slices from knives and swords that didn’t have enough time to heal during the first war. 

Mor didn’t hold back, her strikes coming faster, sharper, until your muscles burned from the effort of keeping up.

From across the ring, Cassian’s booming laugh carried over, followed by what sounded like a gruff remark from Azriel. You glanced over almost instinctively, your eyes following the movement of Az’s shadows. They twisted around him, stretching into the shaded spaces between Cassian’s body and the ground, curling around the general’s feet in an attempt to constrict his movements.

Mor’s grin widened as she caught your sword mid-swing. “You’re distracted,” she said.

You twisted to break free, stubbornly meeting her gaze. “Am not.”

You tried to return to the rhythm of the fight, but Mor was right. You were distracted. Every glance in Azriel’s direction made your heart race, your mind spiral. Even from across the yard, you could feel the heat of his presence. It threw you off balance. And before you knew it, Mor disarmed you, sending you crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“Like I said,” she hummed, smirking as she extended a hand to help you up. “Distracted.”

“Maybe a bit.” You winced, rolling your shoulders as you stood straight. “I have too much on my mind. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Mor tilted her head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, wiping at the sweat on your brow. “That’s the last thing I want to do, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you before she nodded. “Well, we just got some new weapons last week—I’ve been dying to test them out.”

You raised a brow. “What kind of weapons?”

Mor shrugged. “Not sure. Rhys says they’re lighter. I think you’ll like them.” She grabbed your discarded sword, tossing both it and hers onto the rack with ease. “You’re too cautious for a regular sword anyway. You don’t like getting hit.”

“No one likes getting hit.”

“True,” she said, laughing slightly as she bumped your shoulder. “But you’re smart about it. Always letting them exhaust themselves first.”

“Go get them,” you nodded to her. “I want to try them out.”

Mor grinned. “Good. Then I can start kicking your ass with them, too.”

She turned to leave, and you watched her go, ready to grab some water. But then, just as you were about to turn, you felt it—a presence behind you. You knew it in your bones, from the soft breeze you swore his shadows danced in, that it was Azriel. Still, when you turned and saw him standing there, you felt unprepared, like something in your chest tightened, hot and sharp, like heartburn. You shoved it down, burying it deeper, just like you had been doing all week.

He raised an eyebrow at you.  “You’re really gonna let her beat you like that?”

You ran a hand over your face, trying to settle your racing pulse. “What can I say, it’s been an off couple of weeks.”

It was hard not to notice how close he stood, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, pushing the air around you in a way that made it harder to breathe.

“Yeah,” Azriel glanced at you, and his expression softened just a fraction. “Are you okay? I mean, now?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just hot. Overwhelmed.”

He studied you, his brow slightly furrowed, but there was something else behind it. Something he wasn’t saying.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable,” you said, gesturing at his leathers. “Aren’t you boiling alive?”

Azriel tilted his head as if considering your question, then replied evenly, “I’m alright.”

“You’re lying,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him. “You have to be.”

That earned you a faint smile, a quick twitch of his lips that you might have missed if you weren’t already watching him too closely.

“You’re welcome to try them on,” he said smoothly. “See how they feel.”

You blinked, a small flutter echoing in your chest at the teasing edge in his voice. You frowned and said to him, “I’m wearing the exact same thing as you.”

“Mine are different.” His smile tugged again. “They’re cooling leathers.”

“Really? That's a thing?”

The look he gave you— a mix of amusement and something else— told you everything you needed to know. You scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re messing with me.”

When your eyes met his again, they were practically glowing in amusement. He shrugged, and his shadows seemed to dance with the motion— still clinging close to him, hiding from the sun, but seemingly content despite it. He gave you a quick, warm smile— as if he were afraid for the rest of the public to see.

“I am,” he replied, leaning closer. “My leathers are, sadly, just as basic as yours.”

The sunlight caught in his hair when he stood like this, painting it with faint golden streaks. Along with your growing frustration at the heat, your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of him. You fanned your face with one hand, trying to ignore the ache building in your chest. You blamed the sun for making it tight. 

You suddenly became aware of your presentation—of the disheveled way you must have looked. Your hair had fallen loose during the sparring with Mor, strands clinging to the sweat at your neck, a messy halo around your face. You reached back, gathering it in both hands, attempting to tighten the hold of your hair tie. As you twisted it around, the elastic snapped, the sharp sting of it flicking against your skin.

“Shit.”

A quiet sigh left you as the broken tie dangled uselessly from your fingers. Of course. As if you didn’t already feel like disaster enough. You pushed your hair back again, fingers combing through the tangled strands, debating whether to leave it down or try to secure it with something else.

You realized, quickly, that perhaps this small inconvenience was a blessing in disguise— a reason to walk away from the conversation, to regain control of your scattered thoughts. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, to say you needed to go put your hair up, but before you could, Azriel spoke.

“Wait.”

You paused, turning back toward him as he reached into one of the hidden pockets of his leathers. When he pulled out a hair tie, your eyebrows shot up.

“What—”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically sheepish as he handed it over. “You always wear the same one. I noticed the band was wearing out. It was only a matter of time before it broke.”

“You… noticed that?”

His shadows shifted around him, curling between you two, and he subtly gestured toward them with his chin. “They did.”

Your fingers closed around the band as you stared at him. “So you’ve been carrying this around just in case?”

He nodded and you blinked at him, unsure if you should laugh or melt into the floor. “That… is very considerate of you.”

Az glanced at you, quiet for a moment, before he replied. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to snap and pick a fight with someone because you're overstimulated with your hair clinging to your skin. I’m just trying to protect the public.”

You rolled your eyes at that, though the thought of your family endlessly reminding you of your actions over the past few weeks made the corners of your mouth twitch. The infamous calm you’d prided yourself on—gone. You’d be hearing about your fight with a citizen for at least the next century.

“Shut up,” you said, but your heart still stuttered painfully. “But, also, thank you,” you added, focusing on twisting your hair into a knot to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Better?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked up once more, meeting his molten gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “Better.”

Azriel nodded, stepping back to give you space again. But you caught the faint curve of his lips, the small, quiet smile that made your chest ache.

You felt some relief as the wind ruffled your now-updo, but your thoughts circled.

Azriel had proven to be a male of his word. He’d spent the past two weeks showing you, in every way he could, that he was sorry. It wasn’t loud or showy—Azriel never was—but his apology seeped into the small, thoughtful things he did. Helping with reports, lighting your room’s fireplace when it got too cold. Nothing demanding, but everything that proved he was trying.

It almost felt normal again, like you and Azriel had fallen back into your usual rhythm. Your routine. 

Almost.

“Good luck,” Azriel said, nodding toward where Mor was returning with the new weapons. He leaned in slowly, his shadows drifting between your shoulders, curling in the pocket of shadow created by your closeness. “And, if you want… we can go flying afterward. To celebrate you beating Mor.”

The idea of being so close to him, of having him hold you to his chest, feeling his heartbeat against yours as he carried you, made your stomach churn, made you feel nauseous. Nervous. But you nodded anyway, smiled like it was just another plan, like old times. It felt tight. Diplomatic. 

“Okay,” you managed to say.

Azriel smiled, and you heard Mor’s voice asking what you were conspiratorially talking about. You didn’t answer, didn’t bother to pay attention if Azriel answered, either. The new, sleek steel weapons she’d returned with felt different in your hands. Lighter, faster. Mor had been right—these suited you better. But it didn’t matter. You were too lost in your head, too tangled in your thoughts.

Even if Mor had kept her eyes closed, she still would’ve won the next fight. You weren’t focused enough to stand a chance. There was a brief, confused look in her eyes when she realized how easily she’d taken you down once again.  But she didn’t press, not even as you yielded for the day and ran home, slipping into a cool bath with the hope that it would clear your mind of everything that tainted it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You stacked the last of the reports on the living room table, smoothing your palm over the top page before grabbing a scrap of parchment.

Rhys—went through the latest proposals and highlighted the ones most viable. Let me know if you need anything else.

You stuck the note on the pile and stepped back, scanning the work you’d spent the past few weeks compiling.

Rhysand would be by later to go over them with Azriel—discussions about Hewn City’s reformation efforts, the best way to bridge the centuries-old divide between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams. You’d done your best to outline a path forward, to present the grievances of its citizens in a way Rhysand could use to negotiate.

Your fingers drummed idly against the edge of the table before you caught sight of your wrist. The small hair tie sat there, snug against your skin. And although it was nothing, just a simple band, it felt as if it were burning. You weren’t sure why you were still wearing it—why it wasn’t in a pocket or left in your room, ready to be summoned when needed. You ran your fingers over it, jaw clenching as frustration rose in you, sudden and sharp.

At what, exactly? You didn’t know.

You did know, however, that it was likely related to Azriel.

You’d been avoiding him since the other day at training. Since he’d given you the small elastic now circling your wrist.

It wasn’t intentional, not really, but you’d been thinking too much. Feeling too much. Uncomfortable in your own skin, hyperaware of yourself and Azriel in ways that made your stomach twist. Like pressing against a tender bruise.

The anger you’d been holding onto—the indignation that had burned hot and bright in the aftermath of your fight—faded much faster than you’d expected. You still wanted to be angry, to hold onto the grudge that felt like armor, but Azriel made it impossible. His kindness had chafed against you, rubbing away at the edges of your resentment till all that was left was an overly aware sense of him. Of his presence, his care. His devotion to something as simple as your forgiveness. 

You’d forgiven him within a week, had taken all of his baked goods with open arms, had expressed appreciation for the times his shadows brought you snacks during your late nights with Rhys and Feyre, going over negotiation plans for the reformation efforts. 

But Azriel was being too nice now. Too thoughtful. Too much. And it was starting to wear you down.

You were noticing him in ways that felt deeper, heavier, and far more dangerous. It was overwhelming, this shift in perspective—like seeing him in a new light that illuminated details you’d never thought to look at before. The slope of his shoulders, the way he always seemed to be aware of you, even when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt blinded, too rushed to adjust to this new, backlit version of Azriel.

It stressed you out— made you want to sit down and create a list, sort through the pros and cons like some sort of strategy meeting. Analyze the feelings bubbling in your chest until you could pin them down and find the most equitable, profitable, and logical path forward. The right direction to take.

Realistically, you should wait it out. Let the feelings settle and fade before they could complicate the beautiful, solid friendship you’d built over centuries. You weren’t even sure what you were feeling. You couldn’t risk something so vital over emotions you didn’t fully understand.

The front door clicked open.

You turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes falling on Azriel’s figure as he stepped inside. His hair was a little mussed, dark strands sticking to his forehead like he’d flown through the midday heat. A faint flush tinted his cheeks, and for a moment, you wondered if the sun was still blazing in the midsky—if the warmth on his face was from exertion or simply the sun pressing down on him.

He took two large strides before his hazel eyes landed on you. His expression shifted, then, brightened, as if he hadn’t expected to find you here. The soft tug at the corners of his mouth, almost a smile but not quite, was enough to send your pulse into a sharp, erratic rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, lightly. “You’re home.”

“That I am.” You smiled and met his eyes. “Hi.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped farther into the room, something small and wrapped in plain paper in his hand.

“I’m glad I caught you. I have something for you,” he said, holding it out to you.

You blinked, glancing between him and the package. “What is it?”

“Some tea,” he said, his gaze flickering to yours before darting away. “For sleep.”

“For sleep?” you repeated, taking the package carefully, his shadows greeting you with a gentle circle around your wrists.

Azriel nodded, his hand falling to his side. “I noticed the other day. When you were sparring with Mor. You were leaning more on your left. You do that when you’re tired.”

Your chest tightened, your fingers curling instinctively around the package. “It was that noticeable?”

“Yeah,” he said. “ To me at least. I thought this might help.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, the simple thoughtfulness of it wrapping around you like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You opened the package carefully, revealing a small tin filled with pouches of tea. You swallowed, staring down at the item in your hands.

“Thank you. This is…” You trailed off, your voice failing you. “This is really sweet, Az.”

“Let me know if it helps,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, his wings twitching behind him. “If you like it, I’ll get more.” He gave a small, almost tentative, smile. “Or maybe I’ll try it myself.”

You nodded, clutching the package tighter. “Okay. Yeah. I will.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. You turned, intending to step away, to put some distance between you and the sudden awkwardness settling in your chest. But as you moved past him, Azriel stepped closer, just enough that the space between you disappeared. For a moment, you were not quite touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

And then his hand caught yours. When you glanced back at him, his expression had softened, a sense of concern flickering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, intimate. Like he was sharing a secret despite you both being the only ones in the room. 

Your breath caught. You could see the faint crease in his brow, the way his gaze searched your face like he was trying to find his answer there, in your features. “Yeah,” you said quietly, even though your heart was pounding.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. His thumb brushed over your skin absentmindedly, as it usually did when he soothed you on bad days. Your breath hitched at how intimate it felt now, how aware it made you of his touch. “Are we okay?”

You blinked, frowning at his words. “Yeah, of course. Why would you ask that?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I just…I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” you replied quickly, but the excuse felt hollow even as you said it. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, but something in his tone made you think he didn’t believe you. After a moment, he added, “Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” you said after a pause, and it was the truth. You weren’t angry at Azriel, not anymore. It had completely faded, morphed into something else entirely.

You felt guilty about how you'd been acting, how you'd resorted to avoiding him in an effort to make yourself feel better. Because, despite you telling him otherwise, you knew Azriel was interpreting your distance as proof that you were still mad. 

Azriel nodded, but his expression didn’t quite relax. His hand tightened slightly around yours. “But you’d tell me, right? If something was wrong?”

“Of course.”

His gaze softened further, his eyes almost pleading. “Because I always want to know,” he said quietly. “If something’s wrong. I want to know.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand was still on yours, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your skin like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You were going to vomit. You were going to be sick. You had to leave. You had to get out of here before you did something reckless, before you said something you couldn’t take back.

“I know, Az. But, I should… I need to go,” you said, stepping back and gently pulling your hand from his. “I have a lot of errands to run.”

Azriel blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Oh. Okay.”

You clutched the package tighter to your chest, avoiding his gaze as you backed toward the door. “Thanks again for this. Really.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then stopped, nodding instead. “Let me know if it helps.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a tight, polite smile before slipping out of the room.

When you made it upstairs, you grabbed a coat, barely paying attention to which one, and were out of the townhouse before you had the chance to run into Azriel again. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it needed to be away from him.

For a strange, fleeting moment, you found yourself wishing you were angry at him again. Wishing he was being stubborn and unfair instead of sweet and thoughtful. It had been easier then, even when it hurt, because at least you’d known how to deal with it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Velaris buzzed with midday energy, alive with movement and the sounds of life. The streets teemed with couples strolling hand in hand, children darting between legs, their laughter woven into the hum of conversation. You wove through it all in a haze, your mind spinning like a top. For a brief moment, you scowled at the love surrounding you—wondering if it had always been this prevalent, this visible, this... everywhere.

You hadn’t come up with a plan since leaving the townhouse, still unsure of where you were going—or if you even wanted to go anywhere at all. All you knew was that you needed to keep moving. Moving meant you were occupied. And being occupied meant you could at least try to ignore the noise—both the loud thoughts and the feelings twisting inside you. But no matter how fast you walked, how hard you tried to lose yourself in the busy streets, the fluttering in your chest wouldn't let you forget.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant, even as you fought with everything you had to deny it. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe Selene had gotten into your head and now you were overthinking everything—reading too much into Azriel’s kindness, his care. You’d seen it before, convincing yourself of something that wasn’t true, spiraling until you couldn’t trust your own judgment.

You didn’t see the person you bumped into until it was too late. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking yourself from your thoughts, but when you looked up—

“Oh,” you said, startled. You blinked at the male before you. “Hello.”

The golden light caught his hair—a rich, burnished brown that framed sharp, handsome features. Made them seem almost celestial.

Adrin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, two small dimples forming at his cheeks. “Y/n. Hello.”

“Adrin,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No harm done,” he said easily. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern as he studied your face. “Are you…doing all right? I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It's a long story. But everything is okay.”

Adrin tilted his head, and although the smile was still there— that warm welcoming smile— his brows drew together slightly. “You seem…bothered. Long day?”

You huffed a small laugh, rubbing absentmindedly at your chest. “Something like that.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I know the feeling. It’s been one of those days for me, too. I was about to try and make it better—clear my head a little.” He hesitated, then added, “You could join me, if you’d like.”

You blinked at him. “Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt your plans—”

“You wouldn’t be.” He was quick to shake his head. “Really. I’d like the company.”

You hesitated. Thought through the idea. You liked Adrin. And while you wanted to run—hide away, retreat into the quiet of your own mind—you knew it would only make your thoughts spiral faster. But being around your family, or anyone who might see through you immediately, made you itch with unease.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. The chance to be with someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who seemed genuine in his invitation.

“Sure, yeah. What are you thinking?”

Adrin’s lips twitched into a small grin. “I might have just the thing we both need.”

An hour later, you found yourself at his apartment, stretched out on his balcony overlooking the city. The air was cooler here, quieter, the noise of the streets below softened into a distant hum. The smell of mirthroot curled in the space between you, something so distinctly warm and earthy.

You breathed it in, already feeling lighter, like you were melting into your chair—but in a good way, not like earlier, when the heat had pressed against you relentlessly.

You took a slow pull from the rolled mirthroot stick Adrin had handed you. For the first time that day, your shoulders eased.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

You exhaled slowly, watching the plume of smoke dissipate into the air. A soft laugh escaped you.  

“Oh yeah. I kind of forgot how much I like mirthroot. This is dangerous.”

Adrin chuckled, and you glanced over at him, watching as his lips curved into a lopsided smile—only one dimple visible now. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

You tilted your head, studying him further. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into this,” you said, gesturing to the rolled stick in your hand.

His brows furrowed. “Why's that?”

You shrugged, still smiling, your face warm—not from embarrassment, but from the pleasant haze settling over you. “I don’t know. You’re from the Dawn Court. You’re a healer. You just seem disciplined. Like, above this.”

Adrin let out a full, rich laugh, the sound making your grin widen. “Please. Let’s go through that again. I come from Dawn. I’m a male healer. A pacifist, even.”

You paused, letting his words replay in your mind before it finally clicked.

“So it makes total sense,” you said, correcting yourself.

Adrin nodded sagely, and another small round of laughter followed, easy and unhurried. You realized how much you liked that about him. That his presence wasn’t demanding. That he let things be light. Maybe that was why it was always easy to converse with him whenever you’d stopped by Madjas. 

You inhaled again, letting yourself sink further into the feeling, into the rare quiet of your thoughts. Even now, though, even floating, something tugged at you. Some part of you that refused to be fully untethered. The rational side of your mind begged for a break from the relentless circling of your thoughts, but you shoved the worst of them away, opting instead to focus on the ones that didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” you said suddenly. “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

“Sure.” Adrin straightened slightly, tossing you a quick glance as he brought his mirthroot to his lips.

You hesitated, but the mirth haze had worked through your nerves, made you bolder, more loose lipped. “Do you have a crush on me?”

He choked on his next inhale, coughing before looking at you, eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“Nevermind. That was weird. Sorry,” you said quickly, looking away, waving it off. “Forget I said anything.”

But he shook his head, smiling faintly as he leaned in slightly. “No, it’s okay. I’ve always appreciated how forward you are. Honest. It’s refreshing.”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Then he paused for a moment, contemplating.  “If you’re asking if I find you attractive, the answer is yes. I think you’re beautiful.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“But,” he continued, “I wouldn’t say I have a crush on you. That feels… shallow. I don’t know you enough to call it that. It would be liking the idea of you. I don’t like doing that.”

His honesty was just as refreshing as he claimed yours to be. It loosened something in your chest—some small guilt that had settled when Mor first suggested you go out with him. Guilt at the idea that someone you’d grown to enjoy might want something from you that you couldn’t give.

If only everyone was this articulate. If only Az—

You shoved the thought away and exhaled slowly. “That’s… a really nice answer.”

Adrin smiled again, but this time, it was smaller, softer. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It doesn’t.”

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I have no expectations here. I enjoy the friendship we’ve built—if you’d call it that.”

“Of course I would,” you said softly. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you raised your rolled mirthroot and nodded toward the one between his fingers. “And if I didn’t consider you a friend before, you’re definitely one now.”

Adrin’s laugh rang out, warm and melodic, filling the space between you. It was soothing, like the sound itself carried the calm of his healing touch.

You settled into a comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of conversation lingering between you as you both watched the city below. But then, without warning, your mind wandered once more.

This time, it drifted toward the upcoming event Rhys was hosting—a formal gathering to show appreciation for allies and those who’d supported him. At his own home, too. A gesture of humility. You could already picture the glittering decorations in the River House, the couples dressed to the nines, gliding together in effortless, practiced harmony.

Usually, those scenes didn’t bother you.

You’d never minded attending events alone, enjoying the freedom to slip in and out of conversations as you pleased. But now, the thought of walking into that hall, of watching so many people in love around you… It grated. And you knew exactly why. Azriel’s words, his reasoning for changing while dating Selene—how everyone was falling in love, moving on—echoed in your mind, and you hated how tightly they clung to you.

They’d made you feel like something was wrong with you for not actively seeking out love. For being content with being single. Alone.

You glanced at Adrin.

“Adrin,” you said, clearing your throat. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“I don’t believe so. Why?”

“There’s an event—Rhysand is hosting. It’s an appreciation for those who help him. I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. Considering everything you’ve done to help Madja… and us.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his expression before he smiled. “Really?”

You nodded, waiting and watching him as he thought through his answer.

“The company of a friend is always nice for events,” he said finally.

Your heart stilled at his use of the word "friend.” It felt reassuring. Safe. A reminder that he truly didn’t hold any expectations, just as he’d said only a few minutes prior.

“Yes,” you replied softly, a small smile curling your lips. “It always is.”

“I’d be honored to go. Thank you for the invite, Y/n. I’ve never been to big events like that.”

You laughed lightly. “If you keep letting me smoke your mirthroot, you can come to every event with me forever.”

He grinned, shaking his head, his hair falling across his forehead in an effortlessly charming way. “Is that what I’ve become now? A drug dealer and a friend in one?”

“Yes,” you teased. “A breath of fresh air, really.”

You both fell into another comfortable pause, settling into the easy rhythm of each other’s presence. You wondered what was going on inside Adrin’s mind. His eyes had grown distant, like he was retreating into his thoughts. He had mentioned having a long day too. You hoped he was feeling better now, just as you were, that perhaps your company had offered him what his had offered you—a reprieve.

Adrin reminded you of someone else in your life. Someone with teal eyes and the same easy, friendly humor. You smiled at the fleeting thought that crossed your mind, something quick and bright, like a shooting star.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s meeting with Rhysand had taken longer than expected, forcing both males to venture to the Hewn City itself. By the time he returned home, the city of Velaris was already asleep.

Azriel felt conflicted as he passed by your door, his shadows lingering just long enough to confirm that you were safe and asleep in bed. He was relieved, glad that you were finally getting the rest you needed, but a deep, quiet disappointment gnawed at him.

He was planning to catch you one last time today—to talk, even for a moment. To tell you about the meeting with Rhys and how brilliant your plans were, how he was praising them despite you not being there to bask in the compliments. He knew you loved the feedback, knew you loved hearing how your hard work paid off. It always did.

But Azriel knew, even then, the conversation would feel off.

Things had felt off since the night he apologized—and even his shadows had confirmed it wasn’t just in his mind. That he wasn’t simply overthinking.

You’d said you weren’t mad anymore, that you two were okay. But Azriel still felt, still knew, that something was wrong. 

Things weren’t normal. They weren’t hostile, and Azriel was beyond thankful for that, but it wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. You seemed to be hesitating around him. It gutted him to think that he had made you wary, made you overthink how you acted around him. He’d stripped himself of his own comfort.

Azriel stepped into his room slowly, feeling the weight of the day begin to catch up with him the moment he crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the frame as he let the quiet settle around him.

The familiar emptiness of the room greeted him. His dresser was bare, the surface wiped clean once again. Mor had, strangely excitedly, offered to clear it out for him when she first learned about Selene’s betrayal. Despite the anger simmering inside him, Azriel had made her promise not to take any drastic measures—he didn’t want her to engage with Selene at all. Mor had reluctantly agreed.

Azriel took a few more steps into the room, and with each movement, the exhaustion that had been nagging him all day seemed to settle more heavily on his shoulders—his body was sore, his mind buzzing with a thousand half-thoughts.

His shoulders slumped as he sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands moving to rub his face, fingers dragging through the mess of his hair.

Azriel hadn’t placed all the items Selene moved, the minimal decorations he owned, back where they belonged yet. But he opened his bedside table and grabbed the one thing he was thinking about—the strange clay creation of him you’d made.

His mind wandered to the night he cleaned your wounds and apologized.

He’d traced the change back to that moment.

Azriel didn’t know why he felt disappointed, why he had expected something different from that interaction. He’d apologized, finally, as he’d intended to—though too late, he told himself, because you’d gotten hurt. But you had accepted it, had looked at him with that same softness he’d come to admire, and accepted it. You’d cracked a joke. You both laughed. It had felt simple again, natural, like Azriel had finally found his way back to himself. But something in him sank when he’d said that one line—when he said he didn’t know why he’d entertained the idea that you’d ever have feelings for him.

He wasn’t sure why, but it tasted so wrong—sour, like something rotten.

He let himself sink further into his thoughts.

Azriel had never seen himself as lovable. At least, not in the way everyone else was. 

From the moment he was thrown into that dungeon as a boy, he’d believed he deserved every punishment, every scar, every moment of suffering. The people who should have loved him—the people who were supposed to care—had only taught him he was a burden, something broken and unwanted.

When he left that darkness behind, it followed him, reshaping him into something sharp and unrelenting. A weapon. He became what was needed, what a High Lord required, committing acts that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wore those deeds like armor, each one another layer of the male he thought he had to be.

Love, he assumed, had to be just as hard. How could it not be? He was unworthy of the softness others found so easily. While Rhysand, Cassian, Amren, and Mor managed to find it, to hold onto it despite their own sins, Azriel had only ever known heartbreak.

So he told himself that love—for him—would never be simple. It would require blood, pain, sacrifice, and suffering. He thought love needed to ache in his chest, leaving him hollow and desperate, clawing for scraps of something he couldn’t quite hold. That it had to be fought for with every ounce of strength he had. And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.

Something had changed, though, regarding how he thought about love. 

His fingers brushed the rough edges of the clay figure in his palm. It was uneven and messy, painted in smudges that bled into each other. The proportions were laughably off—the wings crooked, the body too long—but it fit perfectly in his hand nonetheless.

He held it carefully, turning it over as his chest tightened. You’d made this for him, drunk off your ass and laughing with the others, your hands coated in clay. You’d sculpted a miniature version of him without a second thought.

And though it wasn’t a gift, though you hadn’t even mentioned it after that night, Azriel kept it. Kept it somewhere safe, somewhere he could easily grab it and remind himself that if someone as kind as you could love him, care for him the way you did, then he must not be as awful as his mind often tried to convince him he was.

You’d seen the worst of him—all the jagged edges and dark, unspoken parts. He was the softest with you, a side of himself he never showed anyone else, but somehow also the worst. You’d heard the things he’d done, seen him caked in blood that wasn’t his, and still, you had sculpted him. Still, you thought of him when you were having fun.

Azriel had begun to realize that, in reality, love seemed to be… patient. Gentle.

The love his family had found was hard at times, yes, and needed to be fought for, like everything important. But it was kind. Natural.

And so Azriel thought long and hard, the clay figure resting warm in his hand, his shadows curling and twisting softly around him. They whispered your name, over and over, like a quiet, delicate prayer.

And that was when everything clicked into place.

That deep longing he felt to see you, that comfort he found in your presence, the ability to be open, bare, seen, and unafraid—

That feeling was love.

He was in love with you.

And he suddenly couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: hey yall.... how we feeling?????

so like im invested. and also i kinda love Adrin like yesss gimme a stoner healer man who respects a persons boundaries and doesnt crush on the idea of them before knowing them!!!

and yesss for azriel being in love!!! hes gonna be struggling with this new realization, fighting the Voices in the corner of his room and being jealous over things he doesn’t need to be jealous over. mmmmmm delicious

i do believe….there may only be one (1) part left 🫢

as always— thank you for reading 🫶🏻

and don’t forget your daily clicks for palestine !

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[cherry-coloureddfunk]

IMAGINE BEING LOVED BY ME, bfd!joel miller

summary, no matter what you'd always end up in the bed of your boyfriend's father

warnings, p in v, cheating (duh not cool but when joel miller tempts u it is!), daddy kink if you squint, a teensy bit of fingering, fat age gap between joel and reader, keeping up with the canon that joel's son is named jack but hes a dick in this sorry, not proof read

wc, 2k

note, joel miller is the type of fine that physically pains me to think about... i was thinking about making this a series because i love these two so much but we'll see :)

Joel Miller hated nights.

 He hated how he could never seem to fall asleep no matter how hard he tried. He hated the sliver of moonlight that seeped in through the blinds of his bedroom, almost taunting him with the agonizingly slow routine of the moon when all he wanted was for the sun to make its return. He hated the silence too– though it wasn’t the silence he appreciated during slow mundane mornings; it was the kind that was almost suffocating forcing him to confront every thought he tried burying during the day. 

The blur of all the restless nights he’d spent alone bled into one another as he found your warmth replacing the cool, bare sheets of his king. 

He was fucked up, and he knew that. 

No matter which angle he approached it with, he knew. There wasn't any justification for his actions— not that he ever tried. As someone who gave and gave time after time again you’d think he would be able to cut himself some slack. 

Not when it came to the privilege of a pretty thing like you waiting to sneak in between his sheets– with the moon only as witness after his son would fall asleep. 

“Missed ya.” Is all he says as he nuzzles his face into the dip of your neck. He breathes every ounce of you in, and when he exhales, you giggle softly at the light air that tickles your skin. His hand that had been resting in between your thighs drifts upward to slip under your shirt. His hands grazed your nipple lightly, and he stifled a groan. 

“I have to close the door.” You remind him, though it comes out as a whisper when you feel him start to grope your breasts. 

He shakes his head, “Don’t.” He guides your steps until your back hits his bed. His mouth ghosts over your neck, peppering feather-light kisses on your skin. 

“Joel, what if he hears?” You whisper so quietly you aren’t even sure you’d said it aloud– but you must’ve since he answers. 

“Guess you’ll just hafta be quiet then.” His closed-mouth kisses turn into open-mouthed ones, conscious enough not to leave any visible marks, just saliva in their wake. He places a wet kiss on your Adam's apple, trailing upwards to the underside of your jaw until he gets to your lips. One of his hands moves the hair out of your eyes so you can see him as he places his lips against yours. It’s a silent admission, and he doesn’t have to say anything for you to understand. This is how it’s supposed to be. This. You, here. With me. 

His chapped lips rub against your own;  a sloppy semblance of a dance. Opening up a bit, you let him slot his tongue into your mouth. He tastes of faint mint toothpaste as he spreads the artificial flavor in your mouth. Your hand twines in his curly hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer to yourself. No matter how close he’d get, it would never be enough. You’d always want more. 

He presses himself into you, feeling his hardened length through his boxers. He moves against you slowly, his eyes open, watching every scrunch of your nose, the furrow of your brow, and the ‘O’ shape you make with your mouth. You moan into him. The friction of his movements against your clit causes you to move your face to the side and voice your pleasure. His hand darts to cover your mouth, not giving up his agonizing ruts against your center. 

“Gotta be quiet, babygirl.” He reminds you with a tone that’s in between gentle and stern. You nod, and his hand moves from your mouth, drifting between your bodies. He slips past your panties, using his index finger to drag past your folds and collect your slick. His finger glistens under the moonlight that slips in past the window blinds. He holds it out in front of himself, eyes trained on yours as he brings it to his mouth. He let out a shameless groan against his finger, working his tongue to ensure none had gone to waste, “You have no idea how sweet this pussy is, y’wanna taste, baby?” 

You stare at him with big eyes and without a second thought you nodded, unable to speak even if you wanted to. The corners of his mouth tugged into a crooked smile. He brought the finger that had previously been in his mouth to your lips. The pad of his finger traced your bottom lip, feeling the groves that made up the skin there. You opened up a bit, trying your best to capture his finger in your mouth. Your efforts fell short as he dragged his finger to catch the inside of your bottom lip. He was doing this on purpose. You felt incredibly hot– his heavy breathing on your skin seemed to be the only thing to cool you down. Finally, he leaned in, catching his lips with yours once more. He shoved his tongue in slowly, causing you to moan at the taste of yourself in his mouth. 

“Perfect.” He pulled away whispering against your lips, like it was a secret just between the two of you, the way you melted in his arms made his head rush, “Every inch.”

You sighed, letting your head rest on his neck as you tried to catch your breath, “M’sorry I didn't come yesterday, he stayed up all night playing with his friends but I swear I thought about you every–”

“Don’t you ever be sorry about somethin’ like that. S’not your fault baby.” He stops you by bringing his large hand up from between your bodies to cup the side of your face, it’s almost comical how it almost covers the entire surface, “Just want some attention, hm? My sweet girl always thinkin’ of me.” 

A part of him worried about the nights you never showed up but he would never tell you that. You weren't his and you weren't able to sneak off as much as he wanted you to. The nights you were a no show always left Joel with that nagging voice in the back of his head that probed at him taunting, you didn’t want this anymore. Of course he’d respect your decision if it ever came down to that. He was older than you, lived more than enough of his life, and a wife that up and left as soon as she’d brought their son into this world to show for it. 

You made it easy to forget all of that, and if it were up to him you’d both stay in his bed for as long as you’d have him. 

His lips brushed the top of your head, “You’re here with me now s’all that matters.” 

You lifted your head up to see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he held you tight like this was just some sick dream and he was a perverted old man for lusting over his own son’s girlfriend. But he wasn’t because you were real and you were here and fuck you were perfect.

Joel stood up, his hands finding your ankles and you let out a soft giggle as he pulled you toward him allowing your legs to dangle off the side of his king. He smiled softly standing in between your thighs, allowing his hand to run up and down the inside of them. 

“Joel.” You sigh, reaching out for him always hating any purposeful distance between the both of you. You wanted all of him, “Can you kiss me?”

He caves like he always does for you. Bending down one hand on the inside of your thigh as the other travels up to rest his palm against your face as he leans in for another kiss. He kisses with fervor it’s slow as he takes his time with his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, gently nibbling down on your bottom lip when he pulls away, “Wanna make you cum for me babygirl.”

“Y’gonna let me do that for you?” He asks breathlessly, hand slipping past your pajama shorts and over your panties.  

You nod your eyes wide, the contact causing you to buck into his hand. 

“Needy little thing… S’what you are huh?” He ran his fingers over your wetness and let out a groan at the feeling of your warmth before pulling his hand back entirely, “Tell me what y’want sweet girl.”

“Want you inside me Joel.” You didn’t care how desperate you sounded. When it came to Joel Miller you had zero shame, “Wanna feel you here.” 

His eyes darkened, following the hand that pressed just above your lower stomach. He replaced yours with his own, pressing down gently with a groan. His other hand pulled down your pajama shorts along with your panties down just enough so he could see your core. 

“Fuck.” He mumbled, “S’what my sweet girl wants?’

You nodded at his words, eyes focused on his face alone. You hadn’t even registered that he had pulled his boxers down; the hand that had previously been inside of you along with your juices was now around his cock. He lazily stroked it peering down at you with a crooked smile. 

“Gonna fuck you baby– Gonna– Fuck– Gonna feel me so deep.” He gripped his length as he rested the tip at your entrance, gently running the tip along your opening, collecting the juices there, “S’that what you need? T’feel daddy deep inside you?”

You nodded.

“Tell me.” His tone took on a desperate one, “Tell me you need it baby.” 

“Always need you Daddy– Need it inside me. Wanna feel it deep inside.” You whined at the feeling of him rubbing his tip against your entrance knowing he could easily slip inside if he wanted to. 

Joel pushed himself inside, as moans like sighs of relief sounded from both of your chests. He stilled for a moment enjoying how perfect this moment was. Your chest heaving heavily as you peered at him with glazed eyes. Fucking ethereal. 

He wanted you to feel it– the feeling of being so full in more ways than one. How perfectly he fits inside you– the shape and every ridge of his cock. You were made for it– made for him. 

His hands gripped your thighs lifting them so he’d be able to reach you at a perfect angle and began to pound into you at harsh speed. His thrusts were deep as they shook your pliant body on the bed,  yet again another reminder of the differences between your boyfriend and his father. You’d never really felt loved when you’d have sex with Jack– It was more or less an experience for him than you. He just wanted to empty himself inside of you, never really wanting to make sure you enjoyed yourself. After finding yourself in Joel’s bed one rainy evening, it only made sense that his giving nature bled over into the bedroom. By the time the storm cleared, you knew this wouldn’t be a one time occurrence. 

“He doesn’t deserve you babygirl.” He groaned against your neck, he’d been so lost in the feeling of you around him he wasn’t able to stop himself from leaving marks on your body. He sucked into your skin, kissing and licking the pain away. The sound of his skin smacking against yours as he fucked into you with such vigor made you disregard it completely, “Want everyone to know you n’this sweet pussy belong to me.”

Everything he did always made your head spin. The combination of the sweet words and his musky scent that was just so inherently Joel made you light headed. Him saying you belong to him was just confirming words you felt linger in the air between you when this whole ordeal started. 

“Tell me.” He moaned, trying to delay the steady approach of his orgasm. He didn’t want this to end, “I need it.” He urged you, and you looked down to see him thrusting in and out of you. You moaned at the sight of your hole taking all of him inside of you. Joel caught you by surprise when he leaned down to capture your lips, biting on your bottom lip as he continued to fuck into you with the same harsh pace he’d set previously. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d begun to cry until his large hand wiped the tears from your eyes. Your cheeks were red and your eyes were glossy. He loved that he was the one making you feel this way– absolutely wrecked. 

His hand went to your clit, rubbing it as he fucked into you with fervor, “Tell me you’re mine.” 

You were close and he could tell. 

“Please” He begged, the desperation in his voice made you clench around him, “Need to hear you say it sweet girl.” 

You didn’t know what to do. His hand came to wipe the tears from your eyes, fucking you harder, making sure you felt him and every roll of his hips. Your legs wrapped around him in an effort to get him impossibly closer to you than he was already. This new angle allowed him to get even deeper inside of you. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you looked into his eyes though it had been said many times over before for the first time you said, “I’m yours Joel.” 

“And m’yours baby.” He whined into your mouth, “All yours– Fuck– No one elses’ you own me.” 

It seemed like your tears came out tenfold at the statement, the overwhelming sense of pleasure– of love and care. His hips started to stutter but he tried to push through, and you let out a strangled cry as the feeling in your stomach intensified at the realization; 

You owned Joel Miller.

“I own you.” You repeated back in a whine-confirmation, your voice still unsure if you’d even heard him right.

“M’ all yours sweet girl never been anyone else’s.” Joel responded with a moan. It was foreign to the both of you, a sense of vulnerability you’d experienced with anyone before and it’d obviously been far too long since Joel had let someone in the way he let you. 

But he was willing for you. 

“Fuck– Im– m’gonna cum Joel.”

Your orgasm wracked through your body before you could get another word out.  You cried into his shoulder, nails digging harshly into his back as you garbled unintelligible words.

The look on your face was enough to send him over the edge, giving one last thrust he buried himself to the hilt as he peered down to see where your two bodies met. The only thing he was able to make out was the curly hair at the base of his cock as he emptied himself inside of you with a strangled groan. His eyes quickly found yours to communicate you both already knew;

I know, I felt it too. 

After he’d cleaned you up he peppered your face in soft kisses, wrapping his arms around you. He laid there with you, enjoying the feeling of you snuggled warmly against his chest. 

You looked at him like you always did. The aquiline shape of his nose and grey whiskers that made up his facial hair. 

He was beautiful in a way that felt beyond your grasp, as if the very essence of it existed in a language you’d never learn to speak.

Then he softly looked down at your face that rested on his bare chest,  his hand found yours, a quiet plea in his touch.

‘Don’t sleep with him,’ he whispered, his voice steady but filled with something deeper, something unspoken, “Stay– stay with me tonight.” 

After a long pause, you simply nodded.

“Okay."

[daylighted]

dean winchester x angel!reader — innocence is a virtue.

or, how on earth is he supposed to corrupt you? you? or, dean's newest passenger princess is killing him slowly and violently.

cw, fluff but with sexual elements. mostly fluffy though. reckless driving DO NOTTT do this!! professionals only!! dirty minded!dean. honestly just horny!dean really. innuendos galore.

word count : 2.9k

notes, guys can i be so honest i have not even gotten to the seasons where angels come into spn. this is all based on the lil bits n pieces i know of the future stuff ok. ik i'm a fraud but BE GENTLE IF IT'S OOC OR ANYTHING < /3

req. by anon & in honor of kas's dean & angel fics bc i LOVEEE them

★ ˚⋆

dean, honestly, had never met someone quite like you. when he'd told cas in passing that he was about the most naive, innocent thing he'd ever met, all he did was give him one of those looks he reserved only for dean. he thought, then, that it was just because he was being a bit of a shithead, and cas was telling him without telling him so.

very quickly, he found out how wrong he was about both of his assessments.

the day you came down to earth and graced everyone, literally, with your presence, dean was smitten. never before had he met someone so sweet. so honestly pure. until you, he thought that purity was nothing but an ideology based on impossible feats. a pipe dream and a half for the faithful. no, the reality was that he just hadn't met you yet.

sam was pouring himself into research, too focused to realize that dean was all but whittling away in his starvation, so when he offered to go grab some cheap shit from the diner a few minutes from the motel, all he got in response was a mumble of agreement and a wave of his hand from him.

but you, who'd been sitting on the motel bed, stiff as if you had something stuck up your ass holding you in place, turned to him and asked to come with. that struck dean off kilter immediately, because he hadn't been asked for anything in a long ass while. sam just usually assumed he'd be writing shotgun wherever they went. john — no, he'd never ask his son anything, usually buried that sentiment in harsh demands and orders. cas asked him lots of questions, but permission was not often one of them.

and when he looked at you, read over your features and saw the genuineness in your wide, expectant eyes... god, how could he say no?

so you sat there in the passenger seat. dean had to buckle you in with a joke that flew right over your head — another joke you would not get, even though he was fucking killing it with them right now — about not wanting to send you flying if they got into a wreck.

you proceeded to unbuckle and buckle and unbuckle again a few times, seemingly fascinated with the click of the mechanism. dean wanted to be annoyed. genuinely. if sam had started pulling this shit, dean would have pulled over and drove a few feet ahead as a warning to cut it the fuck out.

but with you, it was adorable in its own right. god, it was! somehow it surprised you, every time it clicked, even if you'd already done it eight times. like, how did anyone expect him to get pissy at you when you were doing those sharp, surprised gasps every few seconds? a few more times and he'd be pulling over to give you something to gasp at, he thought idly.

and then winced, scrunching up his face, when he realized how deep in the gutter his head was. no, he wouldn't touch you. wouldn't even try to plant that idea in your pretty little head.

dean didn't want to corrupt you. if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he wanted to keep that pretty little head as clear as his nose was, alright? he wasn't going to be the one to break you into what this world was, its hardships and its cruelties — and its more deviant pleasures.

but fuck, you made it so hard to keep his head straight.

you did this thing, he realized too, on that silent, clicky drive, where you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when you were in deep thought. thought about what, fuck if he knew, because if you said something to him in the moments that he watched you do it, he'd never know. he was watching your mouth but not to listen.

dean was about to start reprimanding himself in his head, for what must have been the third time already, when you said something, nearly making him slam on the brakes in his surprise.

"how are you doing this?" you asked, as if that wasn't the vaguest question he'd heard in his entire life.

dean blinked a couple of times as he waited for elaboration that never came. he switched hands on the steering wheel, resting his right loosely over the gearstick. "doing..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly in a gesture to make you keep talking, "what, exactly?"

you did not catch the hint, and he was probably a fool for expecting you to. it took a few more seconds of you staring very intently at his thighs for you to speak up, and by then, he was fucking squirming in his leather seat, trying to not let it get to either of his heads that you were so blatantly staring at his dick.

"this," you answered, twinges of frustration evident in your tone. he couldn't blame you. he was getting frustrated in this car ride, too. "making it move."

christ. he was going to hell. he was going to hell again, this time because of his own drifting thoughts.

"you're gonna have to be a little more clear, dove," he managed through his teeth, voice strained, "'cause i don't think we are on the same train of thought right now."

another blink, and another few seconds pass. your hand shot up in his direction and he flinched, honestly flinched, convinced from the filthy thoughts circling in his head that you were about to grab him by the—

"this," you repeated, and he almost bristled at the attitude, almost told you off about virtues or whatever, when he finally got it. your arm stuck out in gesture to his legs, which pushed the gas pedal and rested against the doorframe, as he drove.

dean closed his eyes briefly, metaphorically swapping his metaphorical wrist for his headspace. he was not, was not, the person that should be introducing you to this world.

dean shifted again, bringing his left leg closer to the leather seat as he readjusted into more of a comfortable position. he hadn't even realized how tense he'd gotten on this short car ride until now. he was as straight backed as you were, and breathing just as slow. "driving?" he asked anyways, like an idiot.

"driving..." you repeated, like the word was as fascinating to you as the process was. "how?"

the diner sign was right there. it was teal and glowed, retro in style, announcing benny's bistro as open.

he drove past it.

dean knew that you did not sign up for a driver's ed course with him with your question, knew even more that he was risking his baby for a pathetic attempt at flirting with someone who did not even know the definition of the word, but to hell with it. you'd asked to come along with him, and therefore placed yourself in his hands for his guidance. the least he could do was make some sort of effort, couldn't he?

"c'mere," he grumbled once he'd pulled baby off into an unassuming back road, parking it dead in the center. you'd need all the open space. he patted his spread thighs a couple of times.

your stupidly pretty pink lips sucked into your stupidly straight teeth. fuck. "why?"

"just—" he cut himself off when he realized he was about to get snippy. you didn't deserve snippy. he was just hungry and horny and you were pretty and he was...

he was pathetic. looking for reasons to get you into his lap. he'd already been to hell, what are they gonna do, drag him back by his ear?

"just do it," dean finished on a sigh, his hand dropping to the front of his leather seat, grabbing the handle and shoving the seat back as far as it could go. there you were, staring at his dick again, making him feel hotter and more bothered.

he felt his heart stop solidly in his chest when you started to climb over the middle console, so oblivious to the faceful of ass he was getting. dean was practically praying to god at that point. he knew he'd been a shit until then, and definitely a sinner by every means, but if he could grant him a little fucking strength—

you plopped your happy little ass right between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. you were warm, was his first thought. he was screwed, was his second.

"what now?" you asked him, that innocent lilt to your voice as you did, and he felt like a dirty little freak for wanting to bend you over the steering wheel moments before ( who was he kidding? for still wanting to bend you over the steering wheel ).

dean took both of your hands and placed them on the steering wheel. once he'd closed your fingers around the wheel, he dropped his hands to your thighs.

"this one," he patted the left one, and nearly went molten behind you, when you lifted that thigh and placed it on his palm. "nuh uh," he tried to lightly correct, "this one you don't use. jus' keep it out of the way." dean's voice was strained in his ears, in his throat.

you slipped your thigh out of his grasp, pressing it up against the inner of his own thigh, your foot tucked around his ankle. you were so trusting and compliant. he was so, so screwed, and so, so awful for thinking about breaking that sweet naivety.

"this one," he said, patting your right thigh, and when you didn't move it this time, he smiled, just a little, to himself. "you use to make it move."

the flush on your cheeks that followed his tease was so damn pretty it took his breath away.

he lifted his leg, not able to reach the pedals with you sat between them and his seat all the way back. he pointed his boot at the left pedal, knowing you were watching each of his movements intently. "that's the stop pedal. push it down to stop." he repeated the process he'd done with your legs, boot pointing at the right pedal as he explained it. "that's the ignition."

pause.

"that's the go," he corrected, sparing you any momentary confusion and any more questions, he hoped. dean could not keep sitting here idle with you between his legs. "makes the car drive. harder you push, faster it goes."

hell, hell, hell. he wasn't going to hell, because he was already in it, strung up and burning.

"i'll handle the gears," he added quickly, when he caught your head turning downward to the shift stick. "don't wanna overwhelm that pretty little head of yours, dove, with too much at once."

dean rested his right hand on the gear stick, his left hand gripping the handle on the driver's door for dear life. he needed the support; you were driving him up a wall with his claws out, and you were about to be driving him. driving his baby. it took a lot of coaxing from sam for dean to let sam behind the wheel. all you did was ask how do you make it move? and he was letting you drive.

you. who did not even know what a car was. who was learning how to drive literally that moment.

god help him. he'd prayed more in this fifteen minute drive than he had in years.

you pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car revved all pretty and loud. dean watched with bated breath as the response to your efforts registered in your head, the way your eyes lit up in that curious glimmer, the fucking teeth biting on your lip.

once you let up, he pushed on the gear stick's release, and tugged it down from park to drive. the car slowly began to move down the dirt path.

you slammed the brakes so hard that his head knocked into the back of your shoulders. "fuck, dove, gentle."

and you were, when you shifted your foot over to the gas pedal again. you pushed it down on it tentatively, the car starting to glide down the dirt road, the sound of pebbles grinding beneath the tires.

"better," he mumbled in your ear, leant forward to keep his eyes on the windshield. it's not that he didn't trust you, he just... yeah, he didn't trust you. "just like that, dove."

the praise, though, goes in one ear and out the other, because the gentle ease of baby's tires along the road is interrupted by you slamming the gas. the tires squeal. clouds of dirt and dust puff out from behind the car as it takes off.

dean's heart went from in his ass to in his throat in a manner of a second. "whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, a nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "slower, slower, will ya? crashin' in the middle of nowhere is the last—"

you hit the brakes again, still hard but less this time. just enough to send his head knocking into your shoulder again as the car slowed.

slowed, but still headed toward the ditch. "right, see your hands?" he asked, chin nuzzling into the plush spot between your neck and your shoulder so he could see better. "twist 'em. nice n' gentle for me, to your left, yeah, good girl. makes the whole car move, yeah? jus' keep it on the dirt, not off "

you follow his instructions, and dean feels a swell of pride at this. maybe he should have gone into driver's ed or some shit. he was a good ass teacher.

"like this?" you asked, drawing him out of his self glazing. your voice, soft and hesitant, breathless with your excitement, has his chest heaving.

"yeah, dove, jus' like that," he rasped, his left hand moving from the doorframe to rest where your thigh met your hips. the car kept its slow pace down the long dirt road, and for the first time since you'd gotten your hands on the wheel, his heart doesn't feel like it's pounding in his throat. "no, no, don't stop. keep goin', you're doing so good for me."

his phone starts to buzz in his pocket, and like that, his self indulgent driver's ed lesson comes to a screeching halt. "you jus' keep on going like this, alright?" he asked you, patting your hip with his hand before he reluctantly let go.

he definitely answered the phone with more attitude than necessary. couldn't help it. he was having a great time. "what, sam?"

"everything alright?" sam asked, and then dean felt like a prickhead for giving him shit at all. "s'been thirty minutes."

dean sighed, his eyes lifting again to look out the front windshield. a stop sign was quickly approaching, and you didn't even need his guidance for that. you were slowing to a stop all on your own. he was so fucking proud, it was sick. "all good. long line at the burger place."

it was dead empty, four miles back.

"we'll be back in a few, alright? chew on one of your books or somethin' while you wait, make 'em useful."

"dean—"

he hung up before he could hear sam's sighed response.

his hand fell to your waist again, squeezing lightly to stop you from lifting your foot off of the brake just yet. "play time's over. calvary's callin' us back."

dean pushed the gear stick into park again before he moved both of his hands to your hips, helping guide you back into the passenger seat.

he adjusted the seat again, his hands finding their typical place on the wheel. he did a very illegal u-turn at the four-way intersection and headed back down the road that you'd driven him down.

"have fun?" he asked after a beat, eyes flicking over to see you. you looked so pretty in the orange glow of the sunset, your face lit up in deep gold.

you turned to meet his eyes, and he had to look away quickly, the bright glimmer of adrenaline in them knocking all the wind out of him. "yes."

"good." dean meant it. there were so few things he'd risk everything for, but that toothy smile of yours jumped to the top of that list.

"dean?" your voice rung out again, earning him another glance your way in acknowledgement. "what part of the car was in my back the whole time?"

dean faltered, eyes blinking in a bout of surprise and lips parting, searching for a response he did not have. his eyes dropped down to his lap for a second, dread and embarrassment pooling like ice water in his stomach at what he hoped wasn't— yeah. yeah, it was.

"i dunno, dove," he mumbled through his teeth, staring straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, doing basically anything to not meet that curious look of yours. especially knowing you'd have your lip in your teeth all over again. "might have t'take it to the shop, while we're in town... get it checked out or somethin'..."

he was so damn screwed.

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @deanswidow @deansbite

[woozivrsefactry]

l.sm — your own sweet sex-god

pairing : bsf!lee seokmin x reader synopsis : you did not expect to witness your otherwise seokmin's heavenly body tonight. you also didn't think you'd end up in his bed. tho, you're not complaining about it. w.c. : 2.1 k tw : oral (m rec), dirty talking, mentions of breakup, mentions of dk's hookup, very explicit description of dk's body (yes its a warning), subby seokmin, cum swallowing

The breakup didn’t hurt as much as it bruised your pride. You’d seen it coming from a mile away; in truth, you'd expected to be the one to call it off. But here you were, newly single, dumped, and, oddly, more aggravated than heartbroken. Frustration simmered under your skin, and in that moment, all you wanted was to vent to Seokmin, your best friend, the one person who could make everything right with his warm smile and endless patience. So, with little thought, you found yourself heading to his place unannounced.

When Seokmin answered the door, though, all thoughts of your ex fell away in a heartbeat.

He was…different. Shirtless, firstly, his bare torso, shining with a thin layer of sweat in the dim light of the hallway, just open and out there for you to gawk at. Your eyes began at his broad shoulders, down his sharp collarbones, lingering over his chocolatey nipples decorating his pecs, the defined lines of his abs -- he'd been really working lately, and it was showing now -- and of his sharp v dissapearing inside the elastic of his loosely hung grey sweat. god, those grey sweats, that as you ogled further, made obvious of the line of his dick (and god, that was BIG), and hence, the obvious lack of his underwear. you stared a second longer before your eyes snapped back up to his eyes.

Seokmin’s eyes widened as he realized who was standing there, and his lips turned up in that familiar, disarming smile. “O-oh, uhm, hey… What brings you here?”

You tried to summon the words you’d rehearsed in your head, but suddenly they felt silly. The whole “I-just-got-dumped-and-I’m-annoyed” speech faded away as you took in the Seokmin in front of you—powerfully attractive, and clearly freshly sexed with how good he smelled right now. The disheveled girl you’d passed in the lobby made sense now, and somehow, that knowledge made you feel…jealous?

It surprised you how badly you wanted to know if she meant something to him.

He seemed oblivious to your racing thoughts and gestured for you to come in. “I’ll get you a drink. Come in, relax.”

Seokmin moved to his bedroom to grab a shirt, -- you'd lie if you said you didn't stare at his beautifully plump ass as he turned his back to you-- leaving you momentarily alone in the living room, your mind still reeling. It wasn’t the time or place to entertain the fantasies that started to swirl in your head—images of those strong hands on you, that laugh as he held you close, your fingers running along his jawline and his against your something else. But it was difficult not to feel the pull of attraction, now almost impossible to ignore.

He returned, looking a little more like the Seokmin you knew, wearing a simple pastel henley shirt. But every time your eyes flicked to his lips or the lingering sight of his toned body, the air between you felt charged with something new.

“Alright,” he said, handing you a warm cup of tea and giving you his full attention. “What happened?”

You tried to recount the breakup, but even to your ears, it sounded flat, a half-hearted retelling of events that didn’t truly matter anymore. Every time you glanced his way, your eyes kept lingering over his features, imagining his hands on your skin. You barely registered the comforting words he offered about how you “deserved so much better” and that your ex was clearly clueless to let you go.

Eventually, you found yourself retreating to the guest room—your room, as Seokmin always called it, since he kept it prepared just for you, cozy and warm. You tried to shake off the vivid daydreams filling your mind as you lied down on the bed, but it was no use. After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, your hands inside your pants, an attempt (and failing) to quell the ache that had only grown stronger with every new thought of Seokmin.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing seemed to ease the tension building inside you, not when every thought was filled with Seokmin’s face, his body, his touch. If only he was touching you with his own fingers.

Frustrated, you found yourself standing, almost as if on autopilot, and made your way to his bedroom. You hesitated for just a moment, but the need inside you pushed you forward. Seokmin glanced at you from his bed and before either of you knew, you were on top of him, your knees trapping his hips on either side, your hands pinning his, your faces close. he didn't stop you. you took that as sign to lean in closer and felt his breath hitch, his heart eating faster, eyes wide as your hair brushed against the side of his face. "y/n..."

“God, Seokmin,” you whispered, "whats wrong with me. why are you making me so damn wet..."

"I-i?" His question was so stupid. Of course him. Of course its him with that fucking sex-god body. His knee raised, thigh proding between your legs, making you whine.

"Yes, you. You are the one whos made me this wet, and now you need to take care of it."

Thats the only words seokmin needed before he flips you over on your back, getting on top of you. "Can I?"

the audacity to even ask that. You didnt bother an answer, just pulled him by the neck, capturing his lips with yours. He moaned in your mouth. you both kissed each other with such passion that made you wonder if Seokmin had thought of kissing you like this before. you two looked less like kissing and more like two snakes trying to bite into each other's mouth. when he pulled away, it was only to breathe, because you both did forget to breathe with how hot that kiss was.

You took that chance to flip him back. you began kissing down his neck, down his shoulders, making him moan and gasp and yelp everytime you bit too hard. you sucked on the would and licked it nastily, marking him yours with how dark the marks were gonna get. you pulled his shirt off and threw it aside, almost with anger, because how dare his shirts hide that god-bod from you for so long. you instantly bit his nipples, making seokmin gasp, fingers tightening in your hair. you licked over his nipple again, relishing in the sweat and metal-y taste.

you continued biting and licking and kissing and marking him, moving lower and lower till you reached the hem of his sweats. you looked up at him with half lidded eyes as you slid your tongue along his hardened length through the fabric of his sweats,watching his head throwing back with a gasp. "God, Seokmin, you're so damn slutty, still not wearing any underwear. You must wanna flaunt this to me, don't you?"

you gave a oen mouthed kiss over his crotch, wetting the fabric and making it even thinner.

"I-i, no, fuck. y/n, ngh, s-slow down." he was beyond forming coherent words as you sucked over his length from over his sweats, the taste of his precum almost immediately hitting your tongue. "Feel so good, aah-"

His words faded into a soft gasp as you pressed your lips over him again, just firm enough to make him shiver, his resolve unraveling with every slow, deliberate touch. Each press of your mouth felt electric, like a spark building between you both, until he was gripping the edge of the bed, breath catching in shallow bursts.

When you finally hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and began to pull them down, his anticipation was palpable. His length was hard and flushed, wet with your spit and his precum that leaked enough to make it look like he already came, and you felt a surge of confidence seeing how much he was affected by you. you took him whole in your mouth, going down on him till you could feel his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He groaned, his hands curling in the sheets, and you could feel every inch of his reaction, his muscles tensing under your touch. With every movement, every teasing glide, he became more and more undone, his breathing shallow and quick. you bobbed your head up and down, the obscene gurgling noise loud as you swallowed around him. He came soon, down your throat without any warning except the exceptionally loud and beautifully broken cry from his mouth. you coughed as you pulled out, grinning mischievously as you opened your mouth and showed him that you drank it all up.

Seokmin’s chest heaved, his eyes barely open as he lay there, still catching his breath. But you weren’t about to let him rest. Without a word, you moved over him, your fingers of one hand grazing his shoulders, holding him down as you settled in his lap, your other hand holding his dick up as you sat on it. His body was still sensitive, and the moment you pressed your hips down, a soft, helpless sound escaped him.

"Sensitive much, Minnie?” you murmured, leaning close, a hint of mischief in your tone. His cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t look away, his hands instinctively coming to your hips as he tried to steady himself, clearly caught off guard by your boldness.

But you weren’t giving him a moment to adjust. As you moved, he let out a moan, his hands gripping your waist a little tighter, unable to keep himself from reacting to every movement. His eyes were hazy, completely overwhelmed, and as you leaned down, your fingers found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to make him look up at you.

“By the way,” you whispered, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Who was the girl in the elevator earlier? A girlfriend? Casual fling? A friend with benefits I don't know about?”

His eyes went wide, and you saw a flicker of nervousness there, breath hitching as he tried to answer. “N-no, it was a tinder match. We just… It was nothing serious, just…you know…” His voice trailed off, his cheeks turning pinker as he tried to find the words. "Some handsy stuff, that's all."

Your smirk grew, and you gave his hair another gentle tug, making him meet your gaze fully. “Nothing serious, huh?” You leaned down, your voice a whisper against his lips. “You're such a slut, baby, getting two girls in your bed in the same night, and still being so needy.”

That comment had him flustered, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red as he stammered out something incoherent, his hips betraying him as they jerked upward instinctively. "Y-you're the one fucking your best friend the first night after your b-breakup!" Seokmin attempted to fight back, but it was still useless, and it made you chuckle cruelly. It was clear he was lost to the moment, every word from you pulling him deeper under your spell, his reactions belying just how much he was enjoying the teasing.

You didn’t let up, watching as he tried to hold back his reactions, utterly captivated by you, his every breath quickening as you took full control of the moment. Each movement, each teasing word left him completely at your mercy, a sight you could get used to.

You leaned back, riding him faster, earning a stuttering long whimper from him. His fingers reached between your legs, touching your clit to bring you as close to orgasm as he was. His other hand slipping upwards, grabbing one of your boobs gently squeezing.

"Y-y/n! Nghh- I am cumming again." Seokmin said, eyes shut of embarrassment, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. You would tease his state more, if not for how close to cumming you were yourself. "I wanna cum with you."

Your hips rolled faster, seokmin's own hips jerking up to meet yours, impatient. With a shared guttereal moan you both came. You collapsed on his chest, your hips still rolling slowly, riding out the waves of pleasure.

You lazily looked up at Seokmin. Red swollen lips, sweaty blushed cheeks and droopy eyes staring back at you. Face fucked. As much as you loved your sweet, innocent-looking best friend Seokmin, you could do get used to this version of him. Maybe have something more with him.

[kitten4sannie]

dolce and gabbana

pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)

genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot

summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.

w.c: 3.3k

warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)

a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33

song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller

San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.

Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.

San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.

It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.

“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.

San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”

“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”

Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”

San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.

“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.

Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.

San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.

-

The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.

He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”

“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”

Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.

Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.

Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.

Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.

San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”

“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.

Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.

Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”

San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”

“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.

San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.

“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”

“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.

“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.

“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”

“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.

“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”

“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.

“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”

Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”

Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.

“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.

Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.

“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.

“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”

San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”

“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.

“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.

His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”

“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.

“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”

You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”

“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”

“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.

As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.

You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”

San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”

“Y-yes, San?”

San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”

Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.

“I’m not sure about that one…”

“Can I ask you one more question?”

“Hm?”

“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[littlelamy]

Rafe taking care of Reader who goes through a depressive episode. She’s feeling like she is a burden and feels like everyone would be happier with her gone. Maybe things are pretty new between them, only gone on a few dates so she obviously (like most) isn’t going to tell him anything and doesn’t think she matters to a guy she has gone on a few dates with anyway, so she just stops responding to his texts

a/n: thank you for requesting!⭐️ i hope i wrote it appropriately to what you requested 🙂💗part 2 is up!

the first time rafe noticed something was off, it was subtle—just a missed text here and there. maybe a delayed reply. nothing unusual at first. he probably told himself you were busy. everyone has those days where life gets hectic.

but when hours stretched into days and your replies went from short to nonexistent, he started to feel that quiet pull of worry.

“hey, you okay?” he texted the day before, after his third unanswered message.

you saw it pop up on your screen. his name glowed against the darkness of your room, and for a moment, your heart ached with the idea of answering. but then the thought crept in.

he’s just being polite.he barely knows you.he’s probably relieved you stopped answering anyway.

so you let the screen go dark.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. it wasn’t like you two were serious. you’d only gone on a handful of dates, and even though every moment with rafe had been sweet and effortless, there was no way someone like him could actually care.

you’d been wrong about people before.

the weight in your chest had only grown heavier over the past few weeks. even getting out of bed felt impossible some days, let alone pretending to be okay for someone like rafe cameron. so, you didn’t bother. you shut your phone off, buried it under a pillow, and let the world fade into static.

the knock at your door startled you.

at first, you thought it might’ve been a neighbor or a delivery driver, someone just passing through. but then it came again, louder this time, more deliberate.

“y/n?”

you froze, your breath catching as his voice carried through the door.

“it’s rafe.”

you stared at the door like it might open on its own. the last thing you wanted was to face him, especially like this. but hearing his voice made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“i, uh…” he hesitated, the sound of him shifting his weight audible through the thin walls. “i just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you stayed silent, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. but deep down, you knew rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to just walk away.

“you don’t have to let me in,” he added, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “just… let me know you’re alright.”

you clenched your fists, trying to will the lump in your throat away. how were you supposed to explain that you weren’t alright? that you hadn’t been alright in weeks?

the knock came again, gentler this time.

“i’m not leaving until i know you’re okay,” he said firmly, though there was no anger in his voice. only concern.

you sat frozen for what felt like forever, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. maybe he’d given up. maybe he was walking away right now, realizing this wasn’t worth his time.

but then your phone buzzed from where it lay buried under the pillow.

you hesitated before reaching for it, your hands trembling as you unlocked the screen.

rafe <3: hey, i’m outside your place. not trying to bother you, i just wanted to check in. if you need space, i get it. just let me know you’re alright, okay?

your chest ached as you read the words. there was nothing demanding about them, nothing that made you feel guilty or trapped. he wasn’t asking for anything except to know you were safe.

and that made it worse somehow.

because you weren’t.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[coff33andb00ks]

vivvvv how about…

11 + 24 with lando 😊

"It's impossible to get rid of me."/"Are you awake or asleep?"

driver + number = drabble <3

maddie babe ily

warnings: disgusting perverted amount of fluff

Lando Norris is, in his own words, a little bitch.

Granted, he said those words when he was drunk and a moth flew too close to his face, but you'll never let him forget that he uttered them.

Nor will you let him forget you have video of him screaming in terror and running straight into the glass door of the balcony to get away from the moth.

It's what your friendship is based on: embarrassing moments that the other finds hilarious but no one else would understand. Like the time you spent three minutes telling a store mannequin what you were looking for, or the time Lando locked himself out of his apartment at four in the morning. He has a tendency of doing that, so much so that when it happens he shows up at your place.

Like he is now, in his joggers and slides, without his wallet or phone, smiling sheepishly at you like it isn't three a.m.

"Don't you have other friends," you grumble, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands.

"None that'll answer the door this late," he sighs.

You sigh and step back to let him in, pretending to be unaffected by the scent of him freshly showered. "How'd it happen?"

"Took out the trash and thought I had my key in my pocket." He looks entirely too comfortable in your tiny apartment, shirtless and his hair still damp.

Nodding, you shuffle to your bedroom to collect the spare key to his place. That he'd given to you so casually, like it was a normal thing for him to hand out an extra key, when you knew it wasn't because even Fewtrell didn't have a spare key back when Lando lived in England still.

"C'mon, you know I'll need it. Besides, you're the only one I trust to have it." He dropped the key - attached to a Snoopy keychain that you remember him buying in Vegas - into your purse. "There. Now it's impossible to get rid of me."

As if you'd ever want to.

He follows you into the bedroom and you're painfully aware of your unmade bed and the clothes you'd left on the floor. Which is ridiculous, because it's Lando, he's been in your bedroom before, he's seen your dirty underwear–

Just not at three in the morning...

"Fuck," you mutter, turning your purse upside down to empty it onto the dresser. The essentials of your life spill out, lip gloss and gum and wallet and keys - but not Lando's because that one stays on its Snoopy keychain it's special - and hand sanitizer and notepad and six pens and tissues and the ticket stub from the movie he took you to see two weeks ago and a friendship bracelet and two pads. Everything but his key.

"Don't tell me you've lost it," he says.

You scoff at the idea. You may have lost your mind, your sanity, and sometimes your wallet, but you'd never lose his key. Your sleepy mind scrambles. Two weeks ago you pulled it to give to him and–

"Oh shit it's at my place," he mumbles, clapping a hand over his face.

"Lando!" you groan, sweeping everything back into your purse.

He's sorry, you're annoyed, and after bickering uselessly you tell him to just go to bed, he can get his superintendent to let him in in the morning.

It's not unusual to share a bed with him. Lando's a clingy, touchy feely person, half the time you travel with him he ends up taking you into staying in his room. Ostensibly because he likes to talk but really because he wants to cuddle.

"You awake?" he whispers in the darkness. "Or asleep?"

You don't answer, because you know he's about to say something profoundly sweet or incredibly stupid.

He presses his face into your hair and sighs, much like an exhausted dog finally settling down for a good sleep. "I do it on purpose sometimes," he whispers. "Cuz I sleep better with you than when I'm alone."

As confessions go it's probably your favorite. But you have to pretend you don't hear it. You're smiling though, and you let out a sleepy little hum. And you feel him smile.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, oral (f receiving), mentions of blowjob, etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, extra

wc: 1709

a/n: the comeback of loser!jk<3

masterlist

"we should- mhph!," he gasped when you interrupted him with yet another kiss, attempting to speak again when your lips barely disconnected, "we should stu-" unfortunately for him, your lips did not stray too far.

you had no interest in holding any type of conversation right now. not when the pretty nerd was alone in your room for the third time this week.

surprisingly, despite your lack of ability to pay attention while jungkook was over at your place, your grades had still gone up. on the down side, this small improvement proved to be enough for your horny brain to make the executive decision that it'd be a waste to spend any more time studying when you could be playing with your pretty boy toy instead.

jungkook never had any complaints. even on the days you did study, you'd bid him goodbye by sitting on his cock and kissing up and down the length of his neck. he always left quite satisfied, though also dizzy with desire.

the sudden addiction you had with the boy couldn't have been helped. it was impossible for you to understand how he didnt have all the girls on campus trailing after him. he was clearly handsome, just incredibly shy. his shyness was so severe, he had trouble holding eye contact with anyone who spoke to him, only ever responding in incomprehensible stammers of nonsensical sentences.

you were more than fine to work with this. you knew it'd only take a while for him to warm up to you, and you were happy to patiently wait. the two of you sometimes conversed, getting to know each other past the math and the sex. he had already warmed up to you quite a bit, able to push his shyness aside for you. you'd break all that down any time you removed your shirt and propositioned yourself to him, but that was just to be expected.

as of now, your midterms were over and you felt no need to study for regular assignments despite jungkook's insistence. this meant you had all the time in the world to rearrange your tutoring sessions to fuck him instead. even as he attempted to form a single sentence, your tongue would find its way to his mouth, interrupting any thought that might break you away from his touch.

"i ... we're supposed to study at least a bit," he reminded you with a breathless tone as your lips went to his neck.

"don't wanna, baby. wanna fuck you instead. don't you want that too?", you whispered when you made your way to his ear, nibbling at it suggestively.

nodding feverishly, his eyes began fluttering shut, hands lamely digging into your hips like they usually did, "if- if you're sure."

you chuckled at his statement. you never had any second thoughts about fucking jungkook. he was a pretty nerd and former virgin whom you had the power to mold into the perfect boy for you. how could you ever pass out such an opportunity?

"i'm sure, pretty," you reassured as your hands went to pull up his shirt, yours joining soon after.

now sitting on his lap, top halves nude, you got up before his eyes could zero in on your breasts, throwing off your pants and helping him out of his own. unlike other times, you did not sit back down on his lap, instead opting to sit on the bed next to him, letting yourself fall back as your legs hung off the side of the bed.

looking up at him, you gestured at him to get off the bed with a quick flick of your eyes. the way he quickly understood and went to kneel between your legs made you chuckle. he was such a smart boy.

to this day, the pretty boy had never eaten you out. the extent of your sexual relationship only went as far as penetrative sex thus far. no oral had been involved for some reason – likely due to your need to jump him every time you saw him.

what you wanted most today was to claim your high on his tongue. you needed the pretty boy between your legs, struggling to lick into your cunt and fumbling to find your clit. you knew that with some guidance you'd easily get his skills at oral perfectly tailored to your tastes. that was the nicest part of having a pretty and untouched boy such as jungkook – you could teach him everything just the way you liked it.

staring up at you with his gigantic doe eyes, his brows furrowed in worry, likely unsure of what to do next whilst simultaneously intimidated by such a suggestive position. your fingers went to his chin, lifting up his face whilst yours lowered to almost meet in a kiss. a pretty whine was felt against your lips when you moved away just before your lips could connect.

"pretty?"

"yes?", a gulp accompanied his inquiry.

"will you be good and lick me?"

a groan left his lips before he began nodding dumbly, practically whining as he confirmed his enthusiasm.

"please ...", he whimpered when you created a larger gap between you, grabbing onto his hair and pushing his face into your bare cunt.

opening your legs wider, you led the pretty boy almost all the way to your pussy, stopping right before letting his lips touch your own.

"tongue out, baby," you instructed.

wordlessly, he followed your instructions as his hands went up to your thighs for support. he gave you a decided nod before leaning in and shyly licking into your cunt. groaning against you, he licked experimentally once, twice, thrice – enough times for his resolve to break and for his shyness to be replaced by want.

your hands continued to guide him by his hair, grinding into his mouth in sync with the movement of his lips. it was easy to fall into a trance while the desperate boy ate at you. it was as if he'd had prior practice, except you knew that wasn't the case. jungkook was clearly just letting his hunger take over, leading to an ethereal feeling you knew only jungkook could give you.

"kookie ... oh, fuck," you cried out, fingers digging harshly into his hair.

he reacted accordingly, groaning at both your voice and the feeling of his hair getting pulled at. his hips were also uncontrollable as they ground into the side of the bed, pathetically humping in hopes of some stimulation.

as he ate at you with an unprecedented desperation, he let out the prettiest whimpers and pleas against your cunt, leaving you lightheaded at how needy he was for you.

"it's so good ... fuck, so good. thank you- thank you, oh, fuck ...."

"tastes so fucking good, oh god ...."

"it's for me? fuck, tell me it's mine. t-tell me it's all for me, please ..."

"oh, thank you thank you thank you thank you ..."

encouraging him, you claimed him as yours, telling him how good he was and how you'd give him anything he wanted. he cried even more at this, continuing to thank you for granting him access to your cunt. you knew he meant this in both a sexual and emotional way, which only made you feel even dizzier.

a few minutes into jungkook sloppily making out with your cunt, you pulled him away a bit (despite his resistance), making him look up at you.

under you, you found foggy glasses, messy hair, and half his face covered in your wetness. and even with all that, he looked like the prettiest thing you'd ever had between your legs. he whined the moment you separated him, attempting to reconnect his lips with your cunt, but you remained stubborn.

"baby, you're doing so good for me," you wiped a bit at his lips, though he misinterpreted your intentions, instead taking your fingers into his mouth and suckling.

he was a natural at being a needy mess.

"need you to play with my clit, though, pretty. c'mere, like this. let me show you ..."

with your fingers, you showed him where he'd find your clit, instructing him to stick out his tongue for you again and kitten-lick at it. he went the extra mile and began suckling at it after just a few moments, making your eyes roll back and your toes curl.

going back and forth between licking at you and suckling at your clit, his intensity only increased the more you cried out for him, beginning to hump against his face with zero finesse. the squeaks of the bed could be heard as he himself bumped his cock against it, whimpering into your cunt out of neediness.

"g-gonna make me cum, kookie ... oh, fuck, i- i'm gonna cum, pretty. eat it f-for me? p-please?"

you hadn't planned on becoming so needy for him, but you also hadn't planned for him to be such a quick learner. he simply nodded into your cunt, speeding up his movements as he grumbled against your lips, clearly growing desperate to make you reach your high.

this was easily one of the most intense, neediest orgasms you'd ever had. your voice reached a pitch it never had before as you shamelessly used jungkook's face to get off. at some point his nose began nudging against your clit, almost causing you to black out in pleasure. by the end of it you had been singlehandedly doing all the work whilst jungkook let you guide his face however you wanted.

"fuck ... kookie," you breathed once your high subsided, "c'mere, baby."

climbing up the bed, he hovered over you, shy in initiating a kiss but putting his all into it the moment he realized how into it you were, suckling your juices out of his tongue and moaning into his mouth.

"was ... was it good?", he murmured into your neck once your lips had disconnected.

"it was so good, baby. you're such a quick learner," you caressed his back reassuringly, ignoring the hardness poking against you for a moment.

"want me to try it on you?" you asked, chuckling when he suddenly stilled.

"o-oh ... you want to?"

"lay on the bed, kookie. let me show how good it feels," you grinned at him, knowing you were about to blow his mind yet again.

[sleepy-fiction]

Don't Tell Your Boyfriend.

lin lie x f!reader SMUT

syn: After revealing his hero identity to his long time gf, who is also a giant fan of Iron Fist, Lin treats her with reenacting her wettest, wildest, Iron Fist dreams.

tgs: cunnilingus (male + fem recieving), bdsm, powerplay, degrading kink, erotic asphyxiation, minor breeding kink, throat fucking, role-playing in bed, command play, sweet fluff, Iron fist x reader

an: this might be the best thing I've ever written. it definitely is the longest now. ofc i had to sprinkle a lil AuDHD spec on the reader, its a great fic. Barely beta read

4.8K words

You're pulled gruffly into Iron Fist's lap, your hands cupping his face with a fiendish whine. He grinds deep against you, his bulge making sweet music against your crotch, the friction making you whimper.

You were impossibly impossible. Impossibly horny, impossibly hard to figure out, impossibly stubborn, impossibly silly, and impossobly wild. But you continued to be the impossible, as Lin, your Iron Fist, made it possible for you to be yourself with him.

So you showed him all of your weird colors.

Your weirdest, being how sensitive you were to sexual stimulation, despite the years spent together.

You were quivering now, as he tongued you down in his Super suit. An act you begged him to do once you found out your boyfriend of 2 years was the handsome superhero you had a major crush on. It's worse that he chose to tell you in your room, that was adored with figures and merchandise dedicated to him. Even worse, as, they day you met, you were drunkenly being carried from the bar by Lin, babbling on and on about your one-side sexual pursuit of Iron Fist.

A very dedicated, gorey, and lengthy conversation that he remembers in full, as not a single droplet of alcohol was in his system.

Funny, he left his number on a sticky note before leaving, simply saying that you were "too cute." Or now, now that you know that he is the newest Iron Fist, he simply wanted to toy with you. Fuck, even as your boyfriend, he enabled you so damn hard with your obsession, buying you the first Iron Fist Merch as it dropped, sometimes "pulling strings" and getting them early. Watching every Iron Fist movie, comic, and even taking you to "see him" in person on occasion.

Hell that's not even counting the times Iron Fist saved you from mortal danger, flirting with you until you had to bark him off. Despite your attraction to him, you were loved and was loyal to Lin Lie before anyone else. But still Iron Fist wouldn't give up. You were shocked to note, on a star-stricken patrol that you ran into him, that he remembered your name.

Worst of all, you remember for your most recent birthday, Lin bought a cheap Iron Fist costume and wore it. And let's just say one thing led to another. Despite seeing how similar Lin was to Iron Fist, you literally didn't see the connection of him actually being Iron Fist. Afterall, you had been obsessed with Iron Fist for years, it only makes sense for you to fall maddening in love with a guy who looks and sounds just like him.

Lin loved to tease you about it too, he said the same thing!

But fuck.

It finally all clicked together.

Lin Lie, Iron Fist, was toying with you.

You were too humiliated to look at Lin for a week after learning it all.

So when you finally got back to normal, and all the emotions died down, buried sexual desire crawled out the belly of the deep. Sexual desire for Iron Fist. Sexual desire for Lin Lie. Sexual desire that the only two men you've ever loved were the same. Then came your ovulation week, and it was like the flood gates opened up. Literally and figuratively.

You were dripping wet.

There you are, sitting in Lin's lap in your bedroom. He sat in your chair by your desk, a cool breeze flowing in from the window left open by you. The night air was cool and crisp, the crickets singing their night song, as the blurr of warm city lights melted in from it. You'd been wanting to kiss Iron Fist for a while. Though now that you're here, you can feel how achingly different this was over the cheap costume.

Back then you were fucking Lin Lie as Iron Fist.

Now you're fucking The Iron Fist.

But you have to stop and recall how all of this started.

Iron Fist had knocked on your window, just minutes prior to sending your boyfriend off to sleep. So you can imagine the conflicting surprise that bubbled in you. Even worse, Iron Fist didn't acknowledge that he was Lin Lie. Even worser, he played as if they were too different people.

"Hey, doll. You'll let me in, hmm?"

"L-Lin," you stammered, your heart pounding, your eyes unable to believe what was there before you. The Iron Fist was-- Fuck wait no your boyfriend in--?? Iron Fist? Your Lin was dress-- Ah your brain couldn't come to a conclusion, but what you saw was the impossibly impossible Iron Fist, standing on your fire escape, pushing your window open and stepping into your room.

You weren't used to it. You've only seen the real Iron Fist as Lin Lie-- Or Lin Lie as the real Iron Fist(?) Once and it send you catatonic for weeks. Now he's here again, toying with you.

"Lin? That's your boyfriend, huh? Don't worry, he doesn't have to know," Iron Fist grins, those deliciously plump lips of his a sweet pink. You fall back on your bed, paralyzed in aw, sitting on the edge as you watched The Iron Fist parade around your room. He looked at all your figures, your carpet, the merch hanging on your walls.

Your hand trembled over your heart.

This was different than the cheap costume. He had the aura, the capacity. He stood so tall, he walked with zealous fire beneath his feet, his movement precise and serious. It was the suffocatingly strong presence, those ripped muscles out on display, and in that professionally crafted suit that drove you mad. A mask with eyes that moved. His suit wasn't laughable and plastic-y the way Lin's was, it was pressed, it was hand stitched, the patterns on them glew, glew like the bandages restraining those dangerous fits.

"Wow, you are a really big fan. I'm flattered. Thanks for the support," he hushes slyly.

This was something you've never told your boyfriend before (oh but you have, the day you met him), but you liked to imagine Iron Fist could hurt you with those hands. Not that he does, but just knowing that in one small move, he could completely injure you turned you on. Your legs quivered, your brain frying. He hushes, "Does your boyfriend know?"

Now that you know that is Lin, you didn't feel the need to shoo him or protect yourself from his bewitching gaze.

You ask, "K-Know what?" You're slowly coming to, blinking as you finally process his words.

Iron Fist turns to you and grins worse, "That I'm in here."

He steps booming steps toward you, you flinch your eyes closed, your breath hitching. Your eyes take in the sound of his breath, the sound of his chuckles as large hands dust under your chin. As a thumb steals it, and pulls your gaze up. You hesitantly open your eyes, admiring how close he was, admiring his mask, and how real he felt. God, your head was spinning.

"Hehe... Good girl," he whispers.

You reach to grab purchase of his forearm, but he pulls away. You blink in disbelief, your finger tips ghosting over your chin. But all that is brought away from you as you hear Lin Lie smack his thigh.

Your eyes whip to him, his hands patting him, legs spread out in your chair. He had pulled the arm rests up, giving him all the room to spread.

He looked so sexy, you swallowed thickly. You stood, not needing any further information, and sat down in his spread legs, your core directly on him. Iron Fist grunts briefly, his strong hands building up your waist and feeling your hips.

You short circuit again, eyes wide and lips agape, just admiring with your hands stuck to your chest. "You can touch me too, ya'know. Here, come feel me," he speaks. Iron Fist gently grabs your hand, and lays it assertively on the middle of his broad chest. He's warm, you can feel his slow heart beat, as he guides your hand up and down his broad body.

He soon leaves you there, as your other hand joins in replacement. You stroke up his red and yellow dragon logo, his chest is so large, so strong. Your hands continue up to those burly shoulders of his, feeling how hard they were like stones, before dragging your hands up his neck. You muttered, "Lin," a soft smile dusting your face as you gaze up yo stare deep into his eyes.

Iron Fist's face cracks for a moment before throwing on a smile. His hands trail up your back as he hushes, "He won't know. I won't tell him."

You grin, shaking your head in disbelief, hands falling back to his chest. Iron Fist leans up, his hand stealing the back of your head as he pulls you into a kiss. His touch is sturdy, trapping you to his lips, as his tongue inflirates your mouth. You slurp it up, gripping the edges of his uniform. You moan out, "Iron Fist." And his other hand slips from your hips to grip your ass as a reward. You moan into his lips again.

You're sat in your hero's lap, straddling his body and feeling his heat against you. Your core is pressed against his half hard cock, your hands trailing up to cup beneath his ears as he took you through it. He pushed and pulled the kiss, carrying you in it like the tides chasing the shores. Your eyes were shut close, your heart beat paced, your finger tips familiarizing yourself with the pulse from beneath his warm skin.

When you broke away, grunts and pants fell the air, needy and desperate.

"Mmh, (y/n)," Iron Fist hums, still holding your ass cheek in one hand, "say my name again." It's a deathly command, almost sing sung like a deep growl. Your eyes romantically search his, wide and glossy, as a fond smile braced your face.

You spoke, "Iron Fist..."

"Fuck... Yeah, good girl," he whispers.

He steals back your lips more passionately this time, his plump lips soft like heaven, his tongue hot and wet, desperately licking you through like candy. And you slurped him up as he came in. He started to grind against you, your hands gripping him a bit tighter in shock. You gasp absurdly, throwing your head back. You mewled, "Iron Fist," sensitivity crawling up your body.

Iron Fist smirks, "Shhh, can't be too loud. He'll wake." He reaches up, trailing his hands up your stomach and to grope your breasts, adoring how soft they felt beneath his hands. His hand slips under your shirt, feeling up your hot skin, before unclipping your bra and caressing your breast freely. You moan, the slow friction driving you crazy. You grinded down on him,feeling his clothed shaft brush over your clothed hole. You puckered aggressively and swallowed thick.

Iron Fist pinched your nipples beneath his thumb and index, you shiver softly.

You gasp, "Aah... Iron Fist... I'm your biggest faan," your brain clouds over, "my boyfriend gets me all your merchandise... He even gets them- ooh... Mmng, months earlier than their market release..." It's the truth, the truth that Iron Fist didn't know, only Lin Lie.

He cackles, his sharp, pearly teeth twinkling behind his plump, pink lips. They were so perfect. Your fingers crawled up and ran over them gently as he spoke again, "You'll have ta' thank him for me, bunny." He softly bites your fingertips, hearing you cry out in response.

His hands pull your shirt off your body, you easily help him do so, and then your bra is next to fly off. He takes in the sight with a deep sigh, his hands running over your ribcage soothingly. All that fades, as he slaps your ass hard, hard enough for you to yelp.

He commands, "Get down." Those ferocious hands of his slide away, as you quickly stand. You drop down to your knees in front of him, crawling in deep to his spread legs, and running your hands along his inner thigh. You rest your cheek against one of his thighs, staring at him with big eyes as he fishes out his big cock.

It's eight whole inches, thick and stocky, burly but as pink as the tip of his nose. His head is wide, and he's wider towards the middle of his dick than anywhere else. An amazing cock you familiarized yourself with as your boyfriend Lin's. You giggle at it, scooping up the monstrosity with both hands. You gaze up at him teasingly, "Iron Fist-," you can here Lin sigh wistfully at the name, "Are you sure this is okay? What if the media learns about this... It'll be a big scandal," you whimper as you lean in to pepper kisses on his shaft.

He laughs, "Just giving my biggest fan the attention she deserves." His hands scoop up a fist full of your hair. "Now suck it. Show your hero how much I really mean to you," he spits it with degrading venom, making your eyes shut tight.

His grip is so strong, he's got you locked in his powerful hands. Hands he's seen destroy villians with time and time again. He's restricting you, guiding your lips to bump against his tip. You spread your lips obediently, ogling up at the sight of Iron Fist, legs spread, and mouth agape in desire. He fucks your face down on his fat dick, a quarter of his burly dick fits in your mouth before it hits the back of your throat. You moan on it, the vibrations causing him to hiss out.

You wrap a hand around his base and suck, hollowing out your cheeks and protecting him from your front teeth with your lips. You bob and slurp up whatever could fit in your mouth, the rest massaged by both of your hands. Iron Fist groans breathlessly, "so beautiful."

He was entranced by the sweet sight that was you descending on his cock. He watched as one of your hand briefly left him to trail up his turquoise super suit, pressing deep against his abdomen before sliding back down. You never fled his stare for a second, sucking him so geninuely, so innocently.

He'd been wanting to fuck you like this for so long. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry with how loyal you were to his real self, Lin Lie. Just once, he wanted a sneaky rendezvous, just to play with your mind and really role-play that high. The high of fucking someone's (his) girlfriend as a superhero. Letting loose and doing whatever the fuck he wanted. He wasn't that kind of person, but when he saved you that one day, your head resting in his lap, stating up at him with glossy beady eyes. God, the fantasy sprung up too much to control.

He started teasing you not for the fun, but thrill of seeing if you'd ever cave. You didn't so, tonight he had planned to make it all happen.

His legs tense as he moans out, your tongue swirling around him, and you bobbed your head. He wasn't much of a head reciever. He liked the power that came with it, but most of the time, more than half of him was left hanging out. Besides, he couldn't fuck rough the way he loved to while receiving. But you liked to do it, so he let you. He'd be lying to say it wasn't good though.

You always pushed yourself to take in more. "Yeah, that's it," he whispered. He pushed more of himself deeper in your mouth, cooing sweet nothings, and slowly thrusting into you. The sounds you made were delicious, as you gagged and huffed, tears panging your eyes. "Take in all of Iron Fist's cock, slut," he cackles, you wince in delight.

He pushes in further, hearing you gag, and feeling his head slip into the back of your throat. Despite face fucking you, he was cautiously slow. His grip on you had lessened, even shook at some of your gags, as if he were nervous. You would giggle if you could, after all, only your Lin would be so worried.

Your hands had moved off to stroke his clothed, turqoise inner thighs, trying to keep your breathing steady through your nose as he pushed in. He kept going all the way until your lips brushed his abdomen, your chin brushing against his balls. He groaned out, "Ffuck, bunny. 'M all the way in your mouth," a strung of mandarin curses flew out his mouth, the sound of it making you flinch and moan, your legs clenching together.

His eyebrows quirks under the mask, "Oh? Nǐ xǐhuān wǒ zhèyàng shuōhuà ma," he hushes out. You grip his thigh more in despair, grunting out as he guides your face up and down his shaft. "Hmm? Tù tù? Aah... Nǐ kàn qǐlái hěn piàoliang... Tù tù," not understanding any of it all, you recognized "Tù tù" as some sort of nickname by how affectionate his voice seemed to turn.

Oh? You like when I talk this way? Hmm? Bunny? Aah, You're too beautiful, bunny.

You slurp your tongue around him, using your hand to lightly smack his forearm away. Despite feeling like nothing to him, it flies from your hair, and you place both hands on his abdomen. You bob down, gagging but taking his cock down in, before jerking your head back up, his dick was covered in spit and drool, the sight so sinful, he bucks into you. You huff deeply from your nose, but he doesn't stop thrusting forward into you, much quicker than before too.

In fact, his glowing hands grab your head again, pushing you down deep against his cock, you pull at his pants. He growls out, "Nǐ bù zhīdào wǒ zài shuō shénme, nǐ bù zhīdào wǒ néng duì nǐ zuò shénme. Dàn nǐ xǐhuān zhèyàng, nǐ fēicháng xǐhuān tā. Bùshì ma, Tù tù?" His tone is so degrading, so harsh and aggressive, ans under the relentless thrusts into the back of your throat, you cry out helplessly.

You don't know what I'm saying, you don't know what I'll do to you. But that's what you like, you love it. Don't you?

"You love feeling so fucking helpless, huh," he spits out in English, and your hands slips down into your underwear to retaliate. Your fingers press and fidget with your swollen, sticky digit, your other hand keeping purchase on his thigh. "Take this cock, Biǎo zǐ... Your Iron Fist's bitch now," he moans.

bitch/whore

Your fingers frantically fuck into yourself, wrist ans shoulder aching and struggling in the restrictions, but you couldn't care less. Manically, you felt and curved your walls, toes clenching as you ride off this high. You want to mewl and cry out his name so bad, it's pathetic how you still tried, and ruptured in nothing but unrecognizable mumbles. More vibrations to send to his high.

"I'm cumming," he pants, thrusting into you a for the last time before pulling out and shooting loads all over your face. You obediently close your eyes, feeling his hot load dribble down your face. "Shit, bunny," he sighs, watching you sweetly open your eyes. He reaches forward, wiping his cum off with his thumb, his free hand stroking his half soft dick. He sits up right, leaning forward and smearing his cumm off on your tits while you cough.

"Ha-ah... Iron Fist," you try to speak but he cuts you off.

"Go lay down, bunny," he says ever so affectionately. Lin was sneaking out again.

"No, Iron Fist," you whisper.

He asks, "Yeah, bunny?"

"Mmh," you pull your fingers out of you, and hold them up for him to see, "I came," you sighed. Your fingers were prune, dribbling in thick white fluids.

Iron Fist's eyes twitch for a moment, a steady groan smoothing out his lips. He grabs you by the neck, you gasp in surpise, "Stand up," he commands. You meekly stand with him, trying your best not to trip over his feet. He walks you back to the bed and drops you on it, your legs flying up in the calamity.

You mewl, "Ooh!" Your hands rushing to feel your neck as he shreds your clothes off you like butter. He grabs your legs, pushing them up against your chest, and moves you up higher on the bed, crawling in after you.

He hushes, "Does your boyfriend fuck you in this bed," his hand clamps around your neck again, his free hand slipping two fat digits in your body, fucking you with them briskly. You gasp at the question, and choke up even more at the sudden speed. "Huh? Answer, Biǎo zǐ."

bitch/whore

You shake your head, your toes curling up your hands gripped tight around his forearm. You squeak, "Mmyes! H-He does!"

"He spent all that effort and money on you, and look at you now. Drooling on my cock, clenching around my fingers... Buying you my shit to satisfy your hunger for me," he cackles, plunging out and twisting his fingers so his thumb could bump your clit whike he thrusted, "Doesn't even know Im fucking you in his sleep. How unfortunate, haah... Mmh, what a good little fan you are, keeping your hero happy, bunny," he hisses spitefully.

Humiliation makes your face grow hot, but he continues his thrusts just as you open your mouth, "L-Lin? Aah--"

"Iron Fist. Call me it, Tù tù," he groans wistfully, trying his hardest not to smile.

You quickly catch the hint, shutting your eyes and moaning out, "Iron Fist-- Iron Aah." You tighten your grip on his forearm, and following your command, he tightens his grip on your neck. You hiss out, "Fuck me please-suh. Please Iron Fist. F-Fuck mee!"

"Holy shit," he moans, slipping his finger out. It takes two milliseconds before he's onto of you, pulling your butt closer to him, as he uses his free hands to aline up with your sloppy hole. He slips a few times, "Shit-shit," but quickly, he glides right into your sweet walls.

You both moan out in unison. You watch IronFist's head sling back, a mantra of mandarin curses slipping off his tongue. His free hand slips down to join the other around your neck, beginning to thrust rough. Hard smacks echo across the space, forcing you to groan out, nails digging into his bandages' arms. He was so beefy, so large, so in control as he glides almost all the way out and slammed back in. Your walls seem to flutter and purr in delight, the slick sounds coating his bare dick in watery drool.

The addictive feeling of Lin Li-- Iron Fist's dick thrusting in and out was mind-killing. His enlarged, thick dick was stretching out your walls. Each full thrust ringing against your cervix, deep into you to stimulate all of you. Not a part of you wasn't buzzing with his piping hot, hard dick. It pillaged it's way through you, opening you up so hot you could feel him press around in your stomach, your bladder pushed and rubbed against. He was so hard but deliciously soft and squishable, the sharpness foreign and erotic, but the velvety softness was easy on your sensitive walls. You felt so full, so completed despite the slow, aggresive thrusts.

The precision on his thrusts kept him hammering the same spot. The wind up of him slowly pulling out, making your breath hitch delectably right before being rewarded with a stimulating slam. Your mind had shut off by then, your face outfucked, mouth agape half sure there's drool dribbling out the corners of your mouth. Your moans are giggly and amused, his name, "I-Iron-- Fist! Ooh! Aah... Iron-- Fist! Mhm," being the only thing you know to say. You break it up everytime, crying out Iron seconds before he slams in, and crying out Fist as the high pangs your body.

Lin's brain too shut off, almost like a dog or an ape, he's fucking you just to hear your sounds. He loves how you wrap around him, how hot you are, both literally and physically. Off in your own world while he pummels you. Both hands on your neck were just for thrust control, but damn, he liked the subtle rasp it added to your voice. You were so sweet, the way you changed his name, it made his eyes haze over, and his cock to twitch deep inside you. He loved you too much. Way too much.

It was in the middle of your chant that he suddenly began to speed up. His pace ferocious, as he leaned his weight down and dropped his head, fucking you just to get off now. You had your fun, he was getting tired. His head was spinning way too much, his dick screaming to buss a load deep within you. The urge was so overcoming, so primal. It rang throughout him, especially when your cervix sweetly kissed him. He loved the way your lips spread around his dick, how your folds hung around him like a coat. How you were enjoying yourself so much.

God he was obsessed with you.

Your moans spiraled out of control, your hands now gripping his meaty upper arms, your chin caught open and familiarizing itself with his thumbs. You were wild, beautiful.

Shit he was going to cum.

He slammed deep inside you, shooting out his ribbons into your cervix, pushing you down into him just as much as he slammed up, grunting and groaning, his voice breathy and strained. He came for so long, his cum sucked up by your womb, the hot sensation making your eyes curl back. "Ff-uck... Oough, Ff-- Shiiit," he groaned out. And when he shot his last, he ripped out of you.

You were a mumbling mess, teary eyed as you desperately tried to exclaim, "Iron... I-Iron fi..ist... Aah mmfist... My- ah... mmy cliitt," your brain was failing you, your hands smacking his arm. He was built like a stone, so it felt like nothing to him.

"Ah," it clicked, "Sorry, bunny," he laughed. He sunk downwards, half resting against the bed and the floor for a second, before sucking in your (now) engorged muscle. You cried out in overstimulation, gripping maddening chunks of jet black hair. He forced your legs open with his hands, knowing damn well you just wanted him to help you out, give you a few twirls so you could cum too. But that wasn't as fun.

You were really crying by now the sound was so sadistically sweet in this context. Your words were nothing but babbles, sentences starting somehow ans ending up nowhere. The only thing he could make out was begging, you begging so hard as your body raised and arched. You arched off the bed, pretty tits flying up in the air. And with one giant gasp, you groaned deep into the air, the sound long and strained.

He licked you so peacefully slow during your climax, eyes gleaming with affection. And as you fell back against the bed, he stood up, tucking his soft penis back in his pants. He stroked your belly with his hand, his other hand caressing your raised knee. There's this stupidly soft smile on his face, laced with goofy admiration. That was totally your Lin Lie, not that you could really focus anyway, you panted hard, your brain completely shut off.

"Well, bunny... Let's do this again, yeah? I've got lives to save," He leans down, kissing your neck slowly and smooth. He leaves one final kiss on your forehead before diving into your lips, "Mmbye," he sings, have of his words stopped by your lips.

You watch almost helplessly, as Iron Fist escapes out the window he came in from. Throwing you one final look before shutting the window, and disappearing into the night. You sat blankly, blinking in confusion, feeling as cum dribbled out of your pussy uncomfortably and ran down your ass crack.

Did he seriously just--

Within seconds, your door flies open. Lin, hapzardly dressed in a tossed on pj's and disheveled hair, stood panting heavily, a warm wet towel in his hands. "B-Buh... Haa," he panted roughly, "B-Baby your clothes... If you uh-- Were needy you've c-couldve told me I wouldn't have went to bed," he heaves. You can't help but laugh, his sweet black eyes narrowing in on your affectionately, his face flushed with a stupid smile.

He rushes over to you and frantically cleans you up, infected by your giggles.

He squeaks, "W-Whoa, bunn-- Uh!"

You laugh worsens, his eyes bulges out.

"Baby! B-Baby, you really did a uhhh... Ah fuck it. Holy shit, come here," he gives up quickly, sinking into his laughing girl, trapping his hands around your head.

He dribbles kisses all over you.

"Did you like it? Were you okay," he whispers into your skin.

"Mmhm... Iron Fist was great," you sigh.

He pulls you with him futher on the bed, laying you on his chest, you can hear how intense his heartbeat was.

"We gotta do that again soon," he smiles.

"Definitely," you giggle.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hi. My wife referred me to you for your knowledge and enthusiasm for ecology. If I wanted my fictional fantasy world to have a saltwater river (my world is weird), how could I explain or justify that? Is it even possible, ecologically speaking? Anyway, love your posts and thank you!

I have been considering this with my colleague who is a physical geographer with a passion for riverine geomorphology and she wants to sit down with me and discuss the possibilities more fully. So I may yet update this post with more options.

But, the short answer is yes, there are options to make it possible.

The one we've best fleshed out so far basically comes down to groundwater contamination. Groundwater is contaminated with massive salt input (this would likely need to be anthropogenic - up to you whether that looks like Evil Factory Output, massive magical damage post-war, or any other consideration.) One or more of the river's main tributaries is fed primarily by this groundwater store, so it cannot flush through. Once it meets the sea, it would be brackish around the estuary anyway, but this would mean halophilic species - those tolerant of salt - would be able to spread backwards back up the river channel. Depending on what you want, for plants this could mean cordgrasses (saltmarsh formers), seagrasses along the riverbed in slower areas, or potentially long, linear stands of mangrove forest; in all of those cases, it's much more likely on a slower river than a faster one.

Now, a salt river will be far more erosional than a fresh one, so the river banks and bed would be eroding more. This means higher quantities of suspended sediment in the water, so the water colour would be murkier and browner than if it were fresh. However, if its a river with slow meanders, you might get little patches of saltmarshes establishing, where the erosion turns into deposition instead, so although the water would have a colour difference it would be extreme; on faster bits, though, it would.

There would be, either from the groundwater at the top of the catchment or along the river channel, a certain amount of salt incursion into land. This would basically make arable agriculture in those areas nigh-on impossible, but you could maybe try farming something like samphire along the banks. The exception would be areas that were away from the contaminated aquifer, that also got plenty of rainfall OR freshwater groundwater imputs from another part of the catchment. Even then, though, it couldn't go too close to the river.

Floodplains need considering, too! Floodplains only flood during wet weather events that cause the river to overtop the banks; the rest of the year, they're dry. In this case, that means you might have areas that are freshwater marshes, or maybe even normal grasslands/scrub for most of the year, which then suddenly get inundated with salt. That'll kill all those organisms quite rapidly. You wouldn't have any trees in those areas, and they'd look like mudbaths for the majority of the time, I'd imagine. Very ugly wastelands. These would then provide even more lost soil into the river, for even more browning of the water.

That much sediment would therefore mean the estuary would be a depositional one - new land forms at it. It would probably have a delta. This means lots of mudflats with lots of marine worms and other invertebrates, and consequently insane levels of wading bird diversity to feed on them (plus foodstuffs - oysters, cockles, octopus, smaller fishes, etc). Loot up Korean getbol for an idea of how impressive these things can get. Saltmarshes and/or mangrove forests, too! Depending on climate. Mangroves are a tropical species.

HOWEVER, this is just one idea we've explored so far, so I shall update you if we think of others

[beneathashadytree]

A TASTE OF HONEY - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : insecurities & body image issues, chubby & curvy!reader, mentions of stretch marks, body worship, praise kink, marking, very mild breast & nipple play, implied cunnilingus, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : smut n loooots of comfort☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 1.4K words

Additional notes : This was a paid commission I made of a lovely OC with Sylus, and this version is just the slightly more non-specific version I took permission from my commissioner to post, so that all fem!readers can see what my commissions are like! If you’re interested let me know💗

Commissions are open here!

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Masterlist

“Another event, another dress with your name on it, sweetie.” Sylus’ grin as he walked into their bedroom would’ve almost been infectious, had her mood been entirely different than it currently was. Right now, though? His words seemed to have cast a curse onto her.

She had to fight against her growing irritation. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything to deserve it—unlike the majority of the times he’d earned her ire. This time, the dismayed feeling in her chest at the sight of the exquisite dress draped onto the back of the dresser’s chair was entirely because of her own racing thoughts.

“Skipping out tonight,” she simply mumbled under her breath, collapsing onto the bed with weary bones and an exhausted expression like she’d run a hundred miles. And she really had, just inside her head.

Sylus—ever perceptive Sylus—frowned at that, taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside her. “Tired?” Concern filled his eyes, and it only grew worse as she seemed to curl in on herself and burrow deeper into the mattress. “I could cancel.”

With a sigh, she shook her head “You’re Onychinus’ leader. You have to be there. My moods shouldn’t dictate whether or not you go.”

“You have the privilege of commanding me to do whatever you want. I say you abuse that right.” It was clear from his teasing tone that he was trying to get a lighthearted reaction from her, and upon receiving none, his voice turned softer. “Seriously, what’s wrong, darling?”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheet, blinking back the tears as she trained her gaze on her fingers. “I just… don’t want to wear that dress.”

Sylus was silent for a few moments, before he nodded. “Okay. Is it not to your liking?”

“Not really.” With a shuddering breath, she sniffled a little, trying to calm herself down as Sylus’ hand gently stroked her calves in a soothing motion. There was no point in getting so worked up after all, it’s always been the same. “Those types of dresses always show my stretch marks. They’re… kind of short. And tight. And weird-looking on me.”

Screw not getting worked up; her tears were dripping down her face at this point, her vision blurry and her heart heavy with each word that spilled forth. “It feels like every single one of these outfits makes my thighs look big, and my body’s not made for wearing them. It’s just… wrong, like I’m unworthy,” she choked on the last word in despair.

She could hear Sylus sighing, a twinge of sadness she’d never heard before lacing his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Firm in tone, yet not unkind, her boyfriend leaned in and rubbed her forearms gently, making sure to meet her watery eyes as he did. “These dresses only show just how breathtaking you are, and how you belong by my side.” A crooked grin made its way on his face. “If anything, it feels like I have to earn my place next to you.”

“No! You—”

“See how absurd it sounds?” His deep voice was soft as he gently nudged her on her back, climbing in on top of her as his fingers delicately brushed back her hair. “I can never get enough of you. Of every inch of you. I almost refuse to believe you.” His gaze grew impossibly softer, voice even quieter, and his hand even gentler as it traced down her ear, rhythmically stroking at her neck. “But I know that really is what you’ve driven yourself to believe. And I can’t blame you for that.”

Wiping at her own cheeks, she tried her best to make herself feel less sorry. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. It’s not like anyone else has been telling these things to me.” What on earth was she doing, crying to him over dresses? Or her appearance at some stupid events? Or was it simply her body? She didn’t know at this point. All she knew was that she wanted to stop feeling so distraught over something so…

Before she could continue that train of thought, Sylus had silenced her rushing brain with a slow, open-mouthed kiss and a steady grip on her waist. Even now, he was ever the tease, nipping at her lower lip and huffing out a fond laugh as he heard her breath hitch, before pulling back. In half-defeat, he said, “Maybe I’m the one to blame for neglecting to remind you of what I think of you.”

He peppered kisses down her jaw and to her neck, his teeth grazing and sucking at the warm skin there. With a hiss, her hand reached out to pull him closer by the back of his head, and all he could breathe out against her was a stilted, “How often I think of you.” Practiced hands almost blindly pulled down the strap of her silk slip for more access, as he left his bold marks across her neck. His hair tickled her, but she reveled in the feeling even more as he traced a path down the top of her breasts.

They were heaving with the effort of having to pretend she wasn’t falling apart at the seams with his mere touch, and he let out a half-groan as his hand reached out to cup one, while he sucked more hickeys onto the flushed skin of the other. It was too much, but somehow not enough to ease the growing ache between her legs. “Sy,” she whispered, a plea in his name, quickly turning into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue boldly flicked at her nipple through the silk. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Mm. I could never. My pretty girl likes it when I indulge her, I know,” he muttered, ruby eyes flicking up to meet hers and pinning her down with just a gaze as he kneaded at her soft breasts through the thin fabric, his touch burning through her like wildfire. “Tell me where you want me. What you want me to do, to show you how I could never stop wanting you and your body.”

Swallowing thickly, her fingers dug into his silvery hair, like it was second nature, guiding him where she needed him the most. “Want your lips on me, please,” she whispered, as if it were explanation enough for the sudden dizzying heat of the room, and her eyes swimming with unwrought desire. “Tell me you want me like this. I… I need it. Need you.”

The chuckle that spilled from Sylus’ lips was lovesick, and then his large palms pushed her smooth slip up to her waist and expertly tugged down the ruined lacy underwear. “As if I could stop wanting someone so divine.” He sweetly kissed her navel, then completely diverted from his path for a second to squeeze at her thighs, hooking them up on his broad shoulders.

Even between her legs, he looked invincible—more so when he maintained their intense, passion-riddled eye contact as he suckled at the skin of her inner thighs. “So sweet, so perfect right in front of me,” he sighed, almost in just as much pleasure as she was while he brushed his thumb back and forth near the apex of her thighs, mapping out every stretch mark under his adoring touch, and giving her hips a firm squeeze as his hands wandered everywhere they could reach.

Her head was filled with cotton, all her senses consumed by him and all he was. “I can spell out just what you want me to say with my tongue instead.” The very prospect of it sent even more molten heat pooling to her core. Sylus’ tongue would be her undoing. She knew it, her body knew it, and his grin that turned wicked meant that he could see perfectly well just how dripping wet the idea made her.

That smirk was almost predatory; like she was his prey, all prepped and prettily pinned for him. It shouldn’t have aroused her so badly, knowing that he’d torture her with sheer blinding pleasure and a sinful tongue, and yet she could feel herself clench around nothing. He was her undoing, and always would be, especially when his voice was such a low purr. “And you can ride my face until you can translate every filthy word. What do you say, sweetie?”

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[o-sunny-day]

@forgettable-au FAN ANIMATION ! LOUD NOISE WARNING!

*What was it all for…?

Song: Vishnu <3 by Peter Cat Recording Co.

…okay.

The main inspiration for this…can be summed up with I LOVE HOW SAD THIS CONCEPT IS. BUT i also adore how WEIRD it is.

This whole thing must be pretty weird and creepy for the characters right??? Like- we dont know for certain what EXACTLY is gonna happen, but we know for a fact that Wingdings finds out hes in a game, then kills himself so he can be closer with god-

THATS PRETTY WEIRD 😭😭 also sad but we can ignore that for now

I also experimented a tad with this in working with silence, so timing things at my own pace! It was really hard! I HAD SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!

But, time for my FAVORITE PART….ANALYSIS!!!

DISCLAIMER: some things stated as fact haven’t been said in the blog/arent canon to the au itself, just my animation/theories/interpretation, cause i’m silly and headcanoning :3

TITLE:

The proper title ive given this is “To You” which means 2 different and very vague things. What happened to you? and sending a message like “this is To You”.

In that case, “you” is whichever version of Papyrus/Wingdings/Gaster you want- Its not exactly clear which version of him means “you” which is kinda the point. The lines blur together sometimes…

But yeah, Gaster/crazy WD sends messages TOO himself so they’re “To You”

CONTEXT

Wingdings has JUST turned himself into Gaster. Ignore how impossible Sans interacting with him in this moment is, and just hear me out on the angst possibilities-

SCENE 1

As Sans approaches the mess- Gaster is encased in shadow, and looks at him. Expression not telling much- just looking blankly. Doesn’t even look like he’s alive… just… moving. Also the eye thats open, is just a slit. because- perspective. BUT I also had fun putting that there and going hehehehe it looks like WD/Papyrus’ eye

Sans approaches, and getting engulfed in the shadow, leaving the light.

His expression here was REALLY fun and REALLY hard to draw. Angry? maybe. stunned and terrified? DEFINITELY.

In this context (that doesn’t have a lot to go off of with the comics, YET) Sans knows that this was all very much intentional. He absolutely does not want to be angry, and is certainly only feeling it subconsciously.

But… he wanted so badly to understand, and enter his brother world. But now, Sans is just… Baffled. Hes like “what the fuck did you do???”

SCENE 2

Gaster continues to look blank. Looking up at Sans as he approaches, encasing him in even more shadow.

Sans’ hand reaches to Gasters face. From Sans’ perspective, his intentions are like checking for a pulse. Not literally ofc cause pulses arent on our face- but like, feeling for him. For a sign that something is there. (It’s also meant to be something motherly/comforting)

But then, Gaster leans into the touch, somewhat reciprocating this wordless “ive got you” gesture. That’s what makes Sans go from Terrified to just purely grief stricken. His brother is still alive. And he loves him.

But this form wont last for long…For universe fixing screw ups reasons :D 👍

SCENE 3

Gaster then opens his eyes, revealing hes even still got eye lights available for him. Thats what just SHATTERS the dam, and Sans embraces him suddenly.

SCENE(S) 4

Then, the “reset” happens, Gaster is gone, and Papyrus appears in place of Wingdings in his bed.

Nothing is boiling to add to a “frozen in terror” feeling!

Now- drawing all of the differences between the past and present rooms. DESTROYED ME. i HAD SO MUCH FUN BUT I ALSO CRIED 😭 There are no thank-you letters to santa, no racecar bed, no silly bone painting, no action figures, just BORING

I also wanted to keep everything monochromatic, so ofc we’ve got black and white for the void/Gaster, blue for Sans, red for Papyrus, and purple for Sans and Papyrus together.

The tape recorder and lab coat are still greyscale though cause Wingdings still has SOME of his stuff lying around. But the tapes are indecipherable, and Papyrus threw out that lab coat the first chance he got. It gave him the absolute worst feeling, worse than anything he’s ever experienced.

Something I also really enjoy is the fact that the dress shirts were still technically Wingdings’ but they’re red for Papyrus. The lab coat is the only real WINGDINGS thing that Papyrus wants absolutely no part in. Some things that were Wingdings’ are now Papyrus’ cause :D👍

in place of the bone painting are just family photos that I also have extra to say about. Someday I wanna make a comic of what happened to those/what I think would happen to em.

One day Papyrus is like “HEY UH- SANS! THESE PHOTOS! I DON’T LIKE LOOKING AT THEM! CAN WE NOT!?” Aka, he doesn’t remember these things happening/these photos being taken… BUT THEYRE PHOTOS OF HIM.

So he just feels really uncomfortable looking at memories he should reasonably remember, but doesn’t at all- and Sans gets that. But he keeps em in his drawer. Then! they hung up the bone thing in place of it cause SILLY!

But the family photos, I still had fun with. From left to right theyre a photo of Semi with the twins, the twins as baby bones, then as slightly older kids, then WDs graduation photo.

CONCLUSION!

This entire thing was so much fun, and I feel i’ve really grown as an artist over the process of experimenting and not being knocked down by annoying setbacks,

Also, as usual, Works In Progress’ plus extra behind the scenes stuff will be posted shortly after this!! YIPPEEE!!! HAPPY NIGHTMARES!!!!!

OHHHH ALSO EXTRA ART!!!

“AREN’T THEY BEAUTIFUL?”

That silly moment when your clone is really weirdly obsessed with stars and enthusiastically holds your eye sockets open to show you them

[wearysparrows]

The D Word

ao3/masterlist

Summary: At Tara's suggestion, you try something different on the phone with Sylus. Things quickly escalate.

CW(18+): daddy kink, phone sex (kind of), masturbation, dirty talk, fem (afab) reader, female terms of endearment are used, cringe pet names, porn with feelings, reader is MC, sylus is not a booktok daddy dom, he's so much more than that to me 3.4k

“Why don’t you just try it? He seems to dote on you so much already. It doesn’t seem like a stretch.”

Tara, your best friend and semi-frequent interloper into your personal relationships, was attempting to convince you to get under Sylus’s skin. “Skye,” as she knew him. Your boyfriend in every sense of the word – except that you had never made it official. Tara was especially privy to this fact – it had become nearly impossible to hide all of the time you spent with Sylus from her, nevermind the constant influx of gifts and attention from him. He had never broached the subject of putting a name on your current relationship, and you had been too nervous to ask for fear of scaring him off, or being rejected. As things stood now, you were soaking up what he was willing to give you – which, to be fair, was quite a bit. 

Tara wasn’t wrong, though. Despite your lack of a label, you had begun to rely on Sylus in a way that differed from anyone else in your life. While your relationship had started on a purely professional level, it had quickly evolved into something much more personal. As it stood now, you even relied on him for assistance with mundane tasks – like helping you build furniture, or heavy lifting that you could definitely do but didn’t want to if there was a big, strong Sylus around instead. He came at your beck and call without much complaint, and often initiated spending time with you on his own accord.

Still, there was one aspect that was missing. Despite your continually growing affection and reliance on him, you and Sylus had never been truly intimate with each other. You had definitely sexted him more than a few times – and he had happily reciprocated. You weren’t an idiot, either. You were certain you had felt him hard against you more times than you could count while settling down to a movie, or while lazing around in bed. This was another thing that he had never broached of his own volition – which made you reluctant to try Tara’s line of encouragement to tease him. You weren’t sure if he was being respectful, just wasn’t that into you, or if it was something else entirely.

“I don’t know, Tara. What if he like, gets grossed out and completely drops me?”

Tara, who was sitting across from you on the couch in your apartment, wrapped up like a burrito with a cup of tea in her hands, raised a quizzical eyebrow in your general direction.

“Are you kidding me? The man looks at you like he’s liable to eat you at any moment. You could probably ask him to take the moon down for you, and he’d find a way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her turn of phrase. Her encouragement was wearing away at your reservations. If he hated it, maybe he’d just brush it off and pretend it never happened. Best case scenario, you figured. You didn’t even want to consider the worst case scenario. You sighed, relenting to her devious plans for your situationship. She had yet to steer you wrong when you had come to her for advice in the Sylus department.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try it. If it all comes crashing down, I’m blaming you, though.”

Tara grinned, looking extremely pleased with herself. She sipped her tea innocuously, hiding her smile behind the drink as if you hadn’t already seen its evil intent.

“You have to let me know how it goes.”

This was how you had ended up pacing around your house that night, unable to bear executing your plan from the safety of your bed. You had too much nervous energy, even after completing your nighttime routine. It was late – around 11PM. Just around the time you knew that Sylus had finally begun to start his “day.” You had locked and unlocked your phone to send him a text more times than you could count, now. You stared at the irritatingly blank message box under Sylus’s contact. It really wasn’t helpful that the last set of messages between you two was about something incredibly innocuous – something about going to the shooting range to blow off some steam. The friendly nature of the messages did nothing to bolster your confidence on this matter. You made your way to the couch, finally forcing yourself to stop screwing around. You put a blanket over your bare legs, which had taken on a bit of a chill from the night air in the apartment. You opened the message thread between you and Sylus. You took a breath. Your heart thudded around, and threatened to take up residence next to your intestines as you typed out a message.

Me:

Hi. Whatcha doing?

11:03PM

You eyeballed your own text. Innocent enough. You weren’t sure if Sylus would even respond – sometimes the two of you were both so busy that you went days without contact. It wasn’t ideal, but to be expected considering the nature of your lives. You, a Deepspace Hunter, and him, the enigmatic leader of Onychinus. Despite earlier anxieties, you knew now that Sylus would always get back to you eventually. You couldn’t help your surprise, though, when his response came within the same minute of your original message.

Sylus:

In a meeting. grueling. Everything OK?

11:03PM

You stared at his response. This was the one thing that was difficult about texting Sylus – he wasn’t one for casual conversation over text, unless it was about making plans, or very brief. He seemed to be under the assumption that you texting him, especially at night, was because you needed something from him. He technically wasn’t wrong in this case, you mused, though you weren’t sure it was a need he was even willing to fulfill. Or cared to. You worried your lip between your teeth, trying not to doubt yourself now. Tara’s words about Sylus wanting to eat you came back into your mind, and you stifled a laugh in the silence of your empty apartment. You imagined him sitting in on his meeting, bored out of his mind. The image made you want to see him all the more.

Me:

Everything’s fine. Couldn’t sleep and I was just thinking about you

11:04PM

You had to force yourself to hit send, squeezing your eyes shut as you did so. It wasn’t as if you had never told Sylus something like this before (though not enormously often), but your trepidation about your plans was combined with the fact that he was currently in a meeting, and therefore liable to ignore your texts entirely (for good reason). Being rejected in an indirect way was somehow worse than if he had just outright said he wasn’t interested. Despite your reservations, the reply came quickly.

Sylus:

Funny, I was thinking about you too. want to tell me exactly what it is you’ve been thinking about me?

11:04PM

You felt your face heat up into a hot crimson at his response. It wasn’t overt at all – and you couldn’t even be quite sure that he had meant it like that . It was sometimes impossible to tell with Sylus, especially over text. He often said things that could be taken many ways. You were certain that you could be inconveniencing him in whatever extremely-serious-Sylus-business meeting he was engaged with. But it was too late to back out now. Your mind was made up. You took a breath, steadying yourself.

Me:

Was thinking about what we’d do if you were here. It’s pretty cold tonight.

11:04PM

You opened your camera app. The room was somewhat dark, so your form was a bit obscured, but just visible enough in the low light to take a photo. You turned over to lay on your stomach, and kicked your feet leisurely into the air. You were wearing one of Sylus’s big sweaters, which he had loaned out to you in the name of the recently dropping temperatures. Other than that, you had elected only to wear your panties underneath it. You snapped a picture, not including your face. You squinted at it. It showed the slope of your back, and the swell of your ass, just barely peeking out to show your panties from under his sweater. The bare soles of your feet and the backs of your bare legs were visible, too. You quickly righted yourself onto your back, pulling the blanket back over your form. You attached the photo to the message and hit send before you could change your mind. You buried your face in the blanket. You weren’t sure about the logistics of him opening the photo in his meeting – but considering it was Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, Relentless Conqueror ,  you doubted it was that much of a problem. 

There was a space of about two minutes before Sylus’s reply, and you had already begun to worry that you had somehow managed to push it too far this time. Maybe he just wasn’t that into you. But the reply came just as you had begun debating apologizing for overstepping.

Sylus:

Do you think it’s fun to get me all riled up while there’s other men in the room? If I was there, I’d already have two fingers inside of you.

11:06PM

Attached was a photo of Sylus from the waist down. He was seated with his legs open in a relaxed position. You recognized the black slacks he was wearing – some of his favorites. You even recognized his shoes. The carpet you didn’t recognize. Clearly in an establishment belonging to someone else. But none of this was important, because you could clearly see the outline of his erection straining against his pants. And it was big . You knew Sylus was big – of course you did. There was never any doubt. You had felt it before. You tried to imagine what it would feel like to take him all in when he was fully aroused. You were already feeling slick between your thighs. He had casually taken a photo of his hardon during a meeting. He was hard because of you.

Shit.

You had never even gone so far as to feel each other up (short of fleeting touches), but he was already talking about fingering you over text after just one slightly risque photo. You would have to unpack that another time. Right now, there were more pressing matters. You figured now was as good a time as any to try it out – Tara’s idea. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. You forced your fingers to swipe across the keyboard. Your anxiety and arousal had combined into a feeling like that of nearly being outside of your body as you typed, and you hardly recognized your own words on the screen before you sent them.

Me:

I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy

11:06PM

You flung your phone to the end of the couch, where it landed with a soft thud . You could hardly send the message, let alone read it back more than once. You put your face in your hands, wondering if you had just screwed up all of the time you had spent cultivating your current relationship – whatever it was – with Sylus. While you had nothing for contempt for him when you had first encountered him, he had slowly wormed his way into your mind until he began to consume your every waking thought. You were always wondering where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking. If he was thinking about you. If he was wondering about you, too.

There was a lull of time, and Sylus still hadn’t responded. One minute passed, then two, then three, then four. You felt yourself begin to sweat with the anxiety of it, and kicked the blanket from your body once again. Maybe you really had fucked up. You reached for your phone, intending to check the time. As soon as you touched it, it began to ring. You nearly dropped it again in your shock, but managed to right it in your hands. It was Sylus calling. Your palms were slick with sweat.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 His name and contact photo stared you squarely in the face from your phone screen. You gawked at it while it rang. You had never expected him to call you in response to your teasing – nevermind the fact that he had been in a meeting only minutes prior. Maybe he even intended to admonish you. Your heart had begun to beat erratically. In your anxiety and excitement, you even had begun to feel a bit nauseous. You took a great intake of breath, steadying yourself. You hit the answer button with a shaky thumb.

“Hello?” You answered. Your voice sounded much calmer than you felt. As if you hadn’t just been asking your not-boyfriend to put his dick inside you over text. As if you hadn’t just referred to him as daddy. Your knee bounced up and down involuntarily, your nervous energy having nowhere else to direct itself. It felt like ages before he responded on the other end of the line.

“Tell me what you just told me over text.” 

You felt your ears grow even hotter at his command. His tone was raspy and hushed. He sounded needy . You had never heard his voice like this before. The sound of it only made you feel even more aroused than you already were, combined with his commanding timbre. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought he was trying not to be discovered, somewhere. Had he stepped out of the meeting just to call you for this? You twisted your thighs together, squirming.

The thought of following through with his command flooded you with even more embarrassment than you already felt. Over text was one thing, but over the phone? You had hardly had the guts to send it, let alone say it out loud. Your mouth suddenly felt even more dry. Your tongue flicked out in an attempt to wet your lips, with little success.

“I..”

You attempted to start, but you lost steam. You took a shaky breath. Sylus was quiet on the other end of the line. Clearly waiting for you to continue. It was if you could feel his gaze on you, without even being with you here. If Sylus wanted something, he wouldn’t stop until he got it. You began again.

“I said I…that I’d rather have your cock inside me, daddy.” You couldn’t help but emphasize the last word, just a little. He seemed like he was into it, after all. Your own voice sounded foreign to your ears. 

“Fuck. ” Came the growl of a response. It was rare to hear Sylus curse – and something about you eliciting that response from him was incredibly sexy. You felt your core pulse in response to just one word from him. You heard the sound of metal jingling –  what you thought sounded like him struggling with his belt. 

Did he go to the bathroom or something to get himself off on the phone with you?

You swallowed dryly. Sylus’s voice came to you again. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, princess. My pretty girl. If I was there right now, I’d be fucking you so hard that you’d forget your own name.” 

You heard fabric rustling, and the sound of wet skin on skin. He was definitely jerking off to this. He had referred to you as his . You desperately resisted the urge to get yourself off at the same time – you wanted to enjoy him losing his composure over you, just this once. It was rare for him to lose face in front of you – let alone show you a side of him like this. You pressed your ear against the speaker harder, trying to catch more of his noises. He continued speaking. 

“And you’re wearing my shirt. I just know you’d feel so fucking tight around my cock. I’ve wanted to take you for so long, baby. But I’ve held back. Fuck .”

Your panties were completely soaked, now. You opted to remove them entirely, discarding them thoughtlessly over the edge of the couch, exposing yourself to the cool night air. You thought about Sylus touching himself to the thought of you. To the thought of being inside of you. How he might feel inside of you. Stretching you to your very limits. You suddenly felt very, very empty without him filling you up.

“You can fuck me the next time you come over. I want you to. Really badly.” You blurted, voice barely above a whisper. It sounded incredibly loud to you in the stillness of your apartment. It hadn’t been at all what you intended to say – despite the insanity of the situation, you were worried offering yourself up to him so soon would somehow still put him off of it. But it was what you wanted. You couldn’t help but be honest when he was like this.

“Shi–iit,” He breathed.

“I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. And you’re gonna take all of my cum inside, do you understand? You’re going to be so good and take it all for me.” 

You could tell he was already getting close. The wet, lewd sound on the other end of the line had increased its tempo, and he was breathing so hard you swore you could almost feel his hot breath in your ear as if he were already on top of you, inside of you. You clenched around nothing for what felt like the umpteenth time that night. You had no idea you could want someone this much.

“You can cum inside me, daddy. I’ll take it all, okay? As...as many times as you want.” You had begun to feel more confident now, emboldened by Sylus’s response to your words. You didn’t know you could have such a strong effect on him. Despite your nervousness, you began to feel the beginnings of anticipation for when he would actually fuck you.

“Fuck. Fu-uuck . Gonna cum, baby. Holy shit. ” His orgasm was nearly silent except for his words and the intensity of his breath. You wondered if he was always quiet, or if it was just because he was getting off to the sound of your voice in a public place that he shouldn’t be. You squirmed, your own unresolved arousal now leaking onto your thighs. You wiped at it half heartedly. You could hear Sylus panting, trying to collect himself. Righting his pants and belt after cleaning himself off quickly. You listened intently to these sounds. He had cum so quickly to you that you almost couldn’t believe what had just happened.

His voice came to you again, still sounding a bit wrecked.

“If I could, I’d come there right now and take care of you. I’m going to come and see you tomorrow. As soon as I can. Wait for me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his insistence. He was trying to reassure you, you realized. He wouldn’t just disappear back into his world like nothing had just happened between you. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a bird that longed to go to him from its cage. 

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. Sorry for interrupting your meeting.” Not that you were actually sorry. Still, it was only right to apologize.

Sylus snorted in response.

“You’re much more important than these fools. But I do have to get back to them eventually, unfortunately. I’m sure they’re wondering where I’ve gone. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can.” 

Butterflies flitted about in your stomach. Sylus referring to your importance in his life always made your insides twist up in all different directions. You wanted to be filled up with him in more ways than one.

“Okay. Talk to you soon. Bye, Sylus.” 

“Goodnight, little dove.”

You hung up the line. The air suddenly felt very empty without the sound of Sylus panting in your ear, and the cold began to creep back into your bones. Despite him never having actually been with you physically during the call, he had certainly managed to warm you up. You padded quickly back into your bedroom and buried yourself into the plush blankets of your bed. You thought about getting off – but Sylus’s words came to you.

Wait for me.

You knew that Sylus was a man of his word. He had never fallen back on a promise to you, and you knew tomorrow would be no different. It would be better if you held off. The anticipation made it that much more intense. You elected to finally find your way to sleep, your last thoughts conjuring images of all the ways Sylus would find to bend and fold you over for his own pleasure.

[capquinn]

Just thinking about how Quinn said he was on a health kick two summers ago and didn’t drink at all then admitted he was the snappiest guy to be around so imagine how moody bf!quinn must be right now with that split lip, stitches tugging every time he so much as opens his mouth — it's not pretty.

He’d be so quiet, and not in the reserved, introspective way you’re used to, but in a brooding, simmering frustration kind of way that seems to pull the air out of the room. Like he’s retreating into himself because everything hurts. The stitches pulling with every word he says, and bruising that makes even the smallest movement a sore reminder. He's frustrated and just done with the week.

It’s the little things that pile up, the ones that are so routine, so instinctive, that they feel impossible to escape. First world problems, sure, but they grind him down all the same. Like how brushing his teeth feels like a battle — every bristle scraping against raw skin, the sharp sting of mint hitting the split in his lip. Or how he can’t kiss you without the stitches tugging, the area far too tender for any sort of outside contact, forcing him to pull back with a wince.

Smiling is a chore, laughing is unthinkable, and the absence of both casts a shadow over the entire week. He’s stuck in this cycle of discomfort, where even the smallest attempt at normalcy — something as simple as grinning at one of your dumb jokes — turns into a reminder of just how far from normal he feels. It’s maddening, this constant push and pull of wanting to feel like himself but being held back by the pain that seems to weave its way into everything.

Clipped answers become his norm: “yeah,” “no,” and “I don’t mind.” Even a simple, “what do you want for dinner?” gets met with a grumbled, “doesn’t matter,” because he knows whatever it is, it’s going to hurt to eat and he won't be able to finish it anyway. And the thought of wasting more food makes him even angrier at the whole situation.

“This sucks,” he mutters under his breath one night, poking at the soup you made him, the corner of his mouth twitching every time the spoon scrapes the bowl. Not that it actually sucked — it was good soup, great even, but everything else sucked, and the soup was just collateral damage in his war against the universe.

You bite back a smile, brushing your hand over his arm. “Want me to make something else?”

“No,” he mutters, leaning back against the dining chair. His hand drags through his hair in frustration before he props his elbow on the table, cupping his chin in his palm like he's truly defeated. His shoulders sagging as though the weight of the week is pressing down harder than ever. “It’s fine.”

Except it’s not fine. He’s not fine. He hasn’t been since that high stick knocked the wind out of him and it’s bleeding into everything.

Thinking of leaving the apartment? Forget it. Unless it’s absolutely necessary — practice, the gym, or a doctor’s appointment — he’s planted firmly on the couch, arms crossed, brows furrowed like he’s in a standoff with the world. If you try suggesting a walk, maybe some fresh air to help him reset, he just shakes his head, muttering, “don’t feel like it,” voice flat, eyes trained on the TV, and the conversation dies there.

Even in the middle of the night, he's moody. He shifts endlessly in bed, trying to find a position that doesn’t make his mouth throb. He rolls onto his back, then onto his side, then back again, each movement accompanied by a quiet sigh of frustration. When he tries to rest his cheek against your shoulder, seeking comfort in the usual closeness, it only makes the pain worse. He pulls back with a wince, muttering under his breath, his brows furrowing deeper as he resettles with a sharp exhale.

“Are you okay?” you murmur softly in the dark, your voice thick with sleep. “Anything I can do?”

“No,” he mutters, and there’s enough of an edge to it that you can tell he’s at the end of his patience. And then he sighs heavily. “Just… go back to sleep.” His voice softens, but only slightly, the strain still unmistakable. It’s clear he’s trying to hold back the weight of his frustration from spilling over entirely.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you shift closer, your hand brushing over his chest as you nestle into his side, your warmth folding into him like second nature. Half-asleep and instinctive, you press a kiss to his shoulder, the faintest, softest reassurance, as if to say I'm here, and you feel him exhale steadily, the tension in his body easing just just that little bit under your touch. His hand moves to rest on your back, his fingers tracing a slow, absentminded path across the fabric of your shirt, and i’s the kind of gesture he doesn’t even about, but it grounds him all the same, letting him focus on something other than the ache in his mouth or the restless churn of his thoughts.

The worst part? The guilt. It gnaws at him in the quiet moments, filling the spaces where his usual softness should be. Every sharp answer, every impatient huff, every time he brushes you off — it all piles up in the back of his mind, heavy and relentless. He doesn’t mean to take it out on you. You know that, and he knows you know that, but it doesn’t stop the weight of it from pressing down on him, tightening his chest with a frustration that feels as much internal as it does external.

There are times when he hears the bite in his own words before you do, the way they come out too quick, too rough, and the regret is immediate.

“Sorry,” he mumbles after one particularly clipped response earlier in the day, when your only reply is raised eyebrows, the universal look of really? His lips barely move when he says it, like even the act of apologising feels like its own brand of punishment — sharp, stinging, and a little too close to the guilt already swirling in his chest.

Sometimes, there’s no apology at all — just a quiet brush of his fingers over yours, or the weight of his palm resting on your leg when you sit beside him on the couch. His thumb moves in small, absent minded circles on your knee, a silent gesture of contrition and love. It’s not grand, it’s not elaborate, but it’s everything — his way of saying I’m sorry, I love you when the words won’t come, when he feels like his brooding might swallow him whole.

And yet, even in the middle of all of his frustration and discomfort, even when he feels like he’s at his worst, there’s still a part of him that tries. He catches himself before he can say something too sharp, lets his hand linger a little longer when he reaches for yours, or pulls you into his side on the couch even when it’s the last thing he feels like doing. It’s quiet, subtle effort, but it’s there — a reminder that no matter how bad the week has been, no matter how much he’s hurting or how heavy the guilt feels, his love for you is always louder than the noise in his head. It’s in the way his fingers thread through your hair later that evening, gentle and steady, as you rest your head in his lap. He leans down, presses the faintest kiss to your temple, even if it's a struggle, and whispers, “thanks for putting up with me.”

And of course you’re putting up with him. Because no matter how snappy or brooding or quiet he gets, he deserves all the love and patience he can’t quite muster for himself right now. He deserves the steady reassurance of your presence, the way you smooth your hand over his arm, or nuzzle closer into his side, silently reminding him that he’s allowed to have bad days, bad weeks even, and it doesn’t change a thing. But really, it's not about putting up with him; it’s about being there for him — fully, unconditionally, because if the roles were reversed, you know he’d do the same for you without question.

[hannieween]

lover | heartbreaker drabble | c.sc

You and Seungcheol finally get a chance to get away from finals, homework and your parents.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: fluff, smut (18+) ✧ aus: boyfriend seungcheol, uni student cheol, flashback drabble ✧ word count: 2.7k

✧ warnings under the cut!

✧ warnings: this drabble is connected to my heartbreaker series, so smut with plot, pussy whipped cheol, unprotected sex, pull out method [don't do this i do not recommend], big dick seungcheol, edging, cumming on skin, a little 🤏🏻 bit of breeding kink. pet names: angel, baby (hers) babe, baby, (his)

✧ disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

✧ author's note: this kind of came out of nowhere so please excuse the grammar and spelling errors lmao

four years before

Going on a mini trip together for a weekend was exciting. To you, it implied lying to your parents to get out of town, forgetting about finals, about restless nights of studying but above all, being with your boyfriend, Choi Seungcheol.

You told your parents you were staying with your friends for a sleepover, which somehow worked. But in reality, you were going camping with your boyfriend, whom they still have some reserved opinions about.

Seungcheol and you had been dating for six months at this point. And everything felt like a dream to you. Granted, your parents do not like him, despite their lack of comments about him. But you were young, and you were in love.

He is closer to graduating, so he seems more relaxed about university than you. The idea of going camping was his, seeing that you were about to reach a breaking point due to stress and sleepless nights. His power to convince you to drop everything and go was more efficient than you thought.

The windows were rolled down, letting the hot spring summer air sweep inside. Your boyfriend kept one hand on the steering wheel, and the other was busy grabbing your hand, playing with your fingers. And occasionally, he would slide it on your bare thigh, inching his fingers up and then down.

You were hot on the face and neck, eager to jump on him. You were still exploring a lot about intimacy with him, but God, you wanted him. You wanted him so bad it was nearly embarrassing.

So, when you got to the campsite, it was nearly impossible to yank your gaze from his thick body. The way his biceps flex as he worked setting the tent up. He had refused to let you help him to do the heavy work. But every now and then, he would just point at something and say, "Would you pass me that, baby?" partly because he knew what you were thinking.

It was as though he could read your mind.

The sun set; you had a nice afternoon with him. So, when it is time to get inside the tent, you felt so fucking nervous to be spending the night in the same bed, or sleeping bag, with him.

Few were the nights you both had had the chance to sleep with him. Mostly just naps. But the first time you slept together was some five months ago, when you had your first time with him.

So now, your body was so close to his, to his warmth. You shared the same sleeping bag that could fit the both of you. Arm to arm with him, your knee brushing his. He shifted positions, lying on his side next to you.

"Do you have to sleep shirtless?"

Seungcheol cocked one eyebrow at the sound of your question. "I always sleep shirtless," he replied, a smile tugging at his lips, making its corners twitch. "I sleep with even less, actually," he chuckled, propping his head on his fist to look at your face fully. "Why, baby, do you want me to put something on?"

"No," you mumble quietly, starting to feel hot on the face and this time, it is not because of the hot weather. "It's just distracting," you said with an airy tone, you sighed.

But the reality is, this is your boyfriend, you just have to endure the weight of being so unbearably and embarrassingly attracted to him.

He finds your awkwardness cute. Granted, everything you do is cute to him. So, a smile breaks free on his face, almost knocking the air out of your lungs over his striking beauty. "Distracting, huh?" he mumbled, his eyes scanning the features of your face, as if trying to memorize the way that they look whenever you are flustered.

You only gave him a nod with your head, feeling shy. But you lifted a finger nonetheless, and started tracing a line over his collarbone. "I like you," you whispered, though that much was obvious. You have already told him you were in love with him.

"I know," he chuckled, trying not to shiver under your light touch that was now trailing down the middle of his chest, between his pecs. "I like you too," he said, his voice beginning to strain over the tension he was feeling in his body.

"I know," you said too, breathing out a giggle and the sound of it appeared to have an effect on him.

His gaze went soft and he could no longer try to hide the way your touch made him feel. So he leaned over, placing a hand on your cheek, making your sweet gaze lock with his before slotting his lips between your own.

"I love you," he emphasized, the emotions fluttering inside him making his voice a mere shaky whisper. It is the need he felt for you, to feel you whole and close to him, to make you his.

Seungcheol had never been in love. Not like this. Everything you did, made him a little crazy. "I love you," you mumbled back, the sweetness of your voice was what egged him on.

He dived for another kiss, this time a deeper one, his lips captured yours, moaning in your mouth when you parted your mouth slightly, giving him access to his tongue.

"Baby," you breathed, breaking the kiss only for a second because his lips are pressing on yours repeatedly. His hands slid from your cheek, his fingers now tangled in your hair. "Cheol," you called breathily.

"Yes?" he hummed, peeling away from your lips so he could see your face.

"Did you..." you start your question, but then, "Nevermind," you shook your head lightly.

But Seungcheol is not content with that, obviously. "What?" he mumbled. "Tell me," he insisted when you just shook your head in reply.

You know if there is something that drives him up the wall, is to wind him up and then leave him hanging.

"Tell me," he laughs lightly and your heart jumps at the sound. Then, he climbed on top of you, trying to tickle the answer out of you. "You bratty little thing," he gritted when you tried to fight his hands off.

But he continued poking at your ribs with his fingers, enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter and your squeals.

"Stop, stop," you wheezed, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye.

Seungcheol decided to let his joyful attack die. He placed a hand next to your head, leaning over to trap your lips with his own, giving you a chaste and quick kiss.

He was just about to slump back on his spot next to you when your hand sneaked on his nape, bringing him into a hot, rushed kiss.

Defenseless, he grunted in your mouth, his arm gave in, so his body fell on top of yours with a crash. "Baby," he chuckled, trying to lift his bodyweight off you.

His protests were quickly muddled by your needy lips, kissing him fervently. He was moaning into the kiss already, swept away quickly by the warmth radiating from your body. And when eased the lower half of his body on top of you, you could feel just how hard he had gotten with just teasing you.

Oh god. You thought. Oh god, oh god, oh god.

"Babe," you muttered, emboldened by the fact that he had given up to the make out session amply. And you know that it was very difficult to him to stop once he had started. "Did you bring condoms?" you blurt.

It was as though a bulb ignited over his head. "Is that what you wanted to ask me?" he breathed on your mouth.

"Did you?" you pressed, his chest was squeezing yours.

And you were convinced now that he could feel the frantic beating of your heart.

"No," he admitted, cursing himself silently because that was at the top of the list of things he did not want to forget.

"Baby," you reproached.

"I forgot," he chuckled, continuing to kiss you.

But you could tell that the fiery need is dissipating with each kiss. He kissed you slowly, but then he broke away, and was just about to roll over when, "Please, just a little bit longer?" you asked, holding his bicep to stop him from peeling away from you completely.

He placed his elbows next to your shoulders, so his forearms are framing your head. "You know how this goes, angel," he said softly, his fingers brushing away the hair from your face when you stay silent, so he kept going. "We kiss, we want more..." he sighed heavily, but out of the tight pressure gripping his heart.

You knew the idea was crazy, but goddamn, you want him. And you were unbearably horny. "You could pull out," you suggested, the anxiousness fluttering inside you making your tone waver.

Seungcheol stiffened for a second, and then let out an airy chuckle, thinking you were joking. But when you remained looking at him, nervous, his smile dropped. "Baby, are you serious?"

"I am," you reply, warmth tingling on your cheeks, your eyebrows knitted. "Please? Please, babe. I want to feel you."

Seungcheol scanned your face with his eyes, over and over again and that is how you knew, his mind was reeling.

He leaned over, placing soft and sweet kisses on the corners of your lips. "I could get you pregnant," he muttered gently. "What if pulling out doesn't work?"

"I don't care," you blurt, feeling an ecstatic shudder invade you.

"You don't care if I get you pregnant?" he laughed, amused by the thought that you were so needy that you were starting to be reckless. "Wanna have my babies?" he mused, his voice low again, raspy, and so dangerously sexy.

"Yes" you whispered shakily. "I want you."

And that is everything he needed.

He went all in, truth be told, he used to consider himself strong-willed. But that was before he met you, and fell on his knees for you, basically.

In seconds, he worked on you to tear your clothes off. You were so horny that the cool air of the night did not get to you. He ripped your clothes off, like a mad man about to ravage you whole.

He kissed every single inch of your body, loving the way you called out his name, the sounds of your moans. But it was the way you looked at him that drove him absolutely crazy.

Seungcheol made a trail of kisses from your lips, to your chest, kissing your nipples, cupping your breasts with his large hands while he teased your nipples with his tongue, making you moan salaciously.

Good thing you were in the middle of nowhere and chances were, completely and absolutely alone, you thought.

He laughed breathily against your skin, sneaking a look at your face before continuing to kiss your tummy, trailing down. Then kissed your belly button, making you flinch at the feeling of his wet lips against a very sensitive spot.

His hands gripped your thigh from the upper-front area, so you got a glimpse of his fingertips digging on the plush of your skin before lapping up the juices from your pussy.

You thrashed, crying out in pleasure as his tongue laves at the taste of you. Seungcheol moaned with you in delight, giving your folds broad strokes with his tongue.

In the months you have been his girlfriend, you have had few opportunities to do this, so everything is so very new to you. Every feeling, every touch feels electrifying.

Seungcheol loved it. He loved that you were discovering this world with him. He was your first everything, and he was so eager to explore his deepest, darkest fantasies with you. And he knew that you were eager to do too.

He loved the sound of your voice, the taste of your skin, your pussy. He loved eating you out so fucking much he wanted to do that for hours, to give you orgasm after orgasm. And one day, he would.

"Cheol," you call out breathily, tensing and shaking beneath him. He had started to tease your swollen clit with his tongue pointed against it, swirling around it.

That unfamiliar but needed burning sensation was pooling inside your belly, and Seungcheol knew it was closer because of the sounds of your moans, airy, so very lewd.

You succumbed to your orgasm fast, enjoying the sweet, sweet pleasure consume you in shockwaves. You thrashed, crying out his name loudly, fingers curling in his black, unruly hair.

Seungcheol wasted no time, getting to his knees as you pushed his sweats and boxers down to his mid-thigh, he leaned on top of your body, slotting himself between your shaky thighs.

You could not help it. Your eyes wandered down his frame. Seungcheol has a thick body. Thick thighs, thigh biceps, thick neck. You swallowed hard, spotting his cock, fully hard, his cockhead glossy with precum.

He saw the needy look in your eyes, you want more, he realized. But he decided to stop and tease you a little, grabbing his thick, veiny cock, gliding the tip between your folds, nudging your engorged clit.

You winced and moaned, your hands flying to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

"Look at me, baby," he muttered, his voice raw in need.

And you do. You looked at his eyes, he pressed his chest against yours before pushing his cock inside you. The warmth and wetness made him moan at once, his mouth parting and you saw his self-control dissipating as he started thrusting his cock inside you.

But he rolled his hips tortuously at a slow, calculated pace. Still looking in your eyes, enjoying the way your body trembled beneath him.

"Cheol," you called out breathily.

Seungcheol was going insane, he knows there is no way he could last long like this. "Fuck, you feel so good," he gasps.

"Seungcheol." you insisted, your teary eyes searching his face. "I think–I'm going to come," you gasped, closing your eyes and stirred on the sleeping bag, trying to resist the fiery waves rippling through your body.

Seungcheol moaned, unable to look away as you came on his cock. Your orgasm came fast, and hard. But he kept going, pushing into you desperately now.

"God, fuck," he gasped, dropping his head on your shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck!" he gritted, pulling out of you in a split-second.

You were both breathing hard against each other, but Seungcheol is shaking, rigid, trying with all of his might to not come. He decided to force himself to get you to your high at least one more time.

You waited, still shaking with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt almost embarrassed for coming five seconds after he went inside you.

But he recuperated quickly, positioning himself between your legs again, determined to keep fucking you raw. He was driven insane by the sounds of your moans, by the way you trembled and looked at him.

He edged himself two more times, overstimming himself. What did it was to think that one day, he might just keep fucking you full of his cum, and get you pregnant. He could no longer contain himself, pulling out of you to pump his throbbing cock with his fist, groaning loudly as spurts of warm cum land on your tummy.

He breathed slowly, trying to get his heart rate down. He looked at the mess on your tummy, the beads of white, sticky cum on your lower abdomen. Then, he looked at your face, thinking of apologizing.

But instead, he spotted the fascination plastered on your face, you were wide eyed, lips glossy, skin dewy in sweat. You like this, he realized. And that might have sent him into a frenzy.

"So," he begins, his breathing still ragged. "You wanna have my babies?" he smiled.

✧ author's note: this is not proofread i'm sorry. if there are some fluctuations between verb tenses, that is because i typed this in a mad state at @cvntrlseecvntrlvee who is the sole culprit of my seungcheol brain rot.

anyway,

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