#or desiring exclusivity in a relationship

[pearlprincess02]

dating & dates (leo version)

leo: (leo venus/mars/5th house/7th house)

when dating someone with leo venus, leo mars, leo in the 5th house, and leo in the 7th house expect a bold, passionate, and theatrical approach to love. they crave attention, admiration, and grand romantic gestures, thriving in relationships where they feel special and adored. they love excitement, playfulness, and a strong emotional connection but also require loyalty and consistency. confidence is key—if you’re dating them, show them off, hype them up, and make them feel like the star of your world. leo venus loves romance with a touch of drama; they want to be courted in a way that feels grand and cinematic. show appreciation often, and never let the spark fade. leo mars is passionate and direct in pursuit, enjoying playful competition and a partner who can match their fiery energy. they need excitement and spontaneity to keep them engaged. leo 5th house brings a love for fun, creativity, and performance. keep the relationship lively with shared adventures, laughter, and an element of showmanship. leo 7th house seeks a partner who embodies confidence and charisma. they’re drawn to those who can hold their own but also complement their natural radiance, making the relationship feel like a power couple dynamic.

date night ideas

glitzy red carpet movie premiere (leo venus, leo 5th house, leo 7th house) dancing at an exclusive club with vip access (leo venus, leo mars) vip tickets to a concert/theater show, masquerade ball/themed costume party, fireworks display/light show viewing, horseback riding on the beach at sunset, backstage passes to an event/performance (leo venus, leo 5th house) luxury rooftop dinner, helicopter ride over the city, private chef cooking a gourmet meal at home, couples’ photoshoot with a professional photographer, luxury spa day for two, glamorous shopping spree together, elegant gala/charity ball (leo venus, leo 7th house) karaoke night where you both perform duets, spontaneous road trip with a surprise destination, sports car rental for a high-speed adventure, amusement park day with thrill rides, live comedy show/improv night, talent showcase where you both perform something (leo mars, leo 5th house)

over 18+ spicy bonus 🔞

leo: (leo mars/cupido/eros/lust/amor)

someone with leo mars, leo cupido, leo eros, leo lust, and leo amor in their chart brings passion, drama, and a sense of spectacle to the bedroom. they crave admiration, intensity, and playful dominance, viewing intimacy as both an art and a performance. confidence and enthusiasm from their partner are essential—they love to be desired and adored just as much as they love to impress. expect them to take charge, demand attention, and turn every encounter into something unforgettable. leo mars is fiery and bold, taking an active, dominant role with a preference for passion-fueled encounters that feel exciting and energetic. they want a partner who can match their intensity and enthusiasm. leo cupido thrives on seduction and the chase, loving the build-up and anticipation as much as the act itself. they enjoy feeling like they have captivated their partner, turning intimacy into a game of attraction. leo eros brings creativity and drama, seeking experiences that feel luxurious, theatrical, and deeply passionate. they love to express their desires through physical touch and expect their partner to be fully present and engaged. leo lust is unapologetically indulgent, craving high-energy, uninhibited pleasure. they have a strong appetite and want a partner who isn’t afraid to explore their desires without hesitation. leo amor ties love and sex together, valuing deep emotional connection alongside physical passion. they need devotion, affection, and admiration in the bedroom, making their partner feel like the only person in the world.

kinks you might have

praise & verbal adoration (leo mars, leo cupido, leo eros, leo amor) power play & dominance, competitive edge (outperforming partner, keeping things exciting) (leo mars, leo cupdio, leo lust) power couple dynamics (feeling like royalty together)  (leo mars, leo cupdio, leo amor) high-energy, passionate encounters, oral fixation (giving & receiving with enthusiasm), spontaneous encounters in exciting locations (leo mars, leo eros, leo lust) luxury & sensual indulgence (silk sheets, candles, champagne, etc.), intimate eye contact & deep emotional connection during (leo mars, leo eros, leo amor) passionate roughness (biting, scratching, intense energy) (leo mars, leo lust) possessiveness & marking (hickeys, claiming partner as theirs) (leo mars, leo lust, leo amor) exhibitionism (showing off, performing), roleplay & theatrical scenarios, mirror play (watching themselves & partner), seductive lingerie & aesthetic appeal (leo cupido, leo eros, leo lust) teasing & prolonged seduction, worship kink, over-the-top romantic gestures before intimacy (leo cupido, leo eros, leo amor) voyeurism (leo eros, leo lust) choreographed intimacy (music, rhythm, setting the mood perfectly)  (leo eros, leo lust)

all observations are done by me !!! @pearlprincess02

main masterlist

[zapsoda]

actually maybe i dont understand monogamy as much as i thought i did because i dont feel any inherent discomfort at the idea of a hypothetical partner being romantically interested in another person or people as long as they are Still romantically interested in me

[heliianth]

aspec killugon... save me aspec killugon.............

[kinoshi]

В связи с недавними анонсами... Ни о чем не жалею.

[muu-kun]

"I've been.. thinking on all the day, and.. I've made my pick to be going forward with.. socially transitioning into being a woman Muu."

[joanofexys]

hey gang if anyone wants to set me up on a date i am getting hella bored of sitting in my house all day and would love a little romance in my life

[faultyconscience]

i actually think emma might have a slight preference for women (physically and emotionally) askdfjha bc she sees men as 'less complicated' (emma, sweetie, what???) bc they're an easy lay lmfaooo

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[ohnoitstbskyen]

asking sincerely. do you see a romance between jayce and viktor? do you think they ended up being something romantic at the end?

With apologies I am going to only half talk about the thing you are asking me, since I have something else on my mind and you happened to hit the button that makes me vomit it into words.

Coming at this from an aromantic perspective, I obviously don't experience the state of absurd obsessive delusion that you bizarre romantic freaks fetishize so feverishly*, but I am often annoyed by the idea that friendship and romance are either opposites or mutually exclusive. From my perspective, the boundary between the two is at best thin, and more realistically not actually a boundary at all except by cultural construction.

*i am taking an excessively hostile, crass tone for my own amusement i do not mean this seriously please be normal at me, weird allo freaks

I won't get into my full feelings about the end of Arcane, but it seems perfectly plain to me that the script, the imagery and the animation presents Jayce and Viktor as two halves of a whole, not opposing forces but alike to yin and yang: opposites which each contain the other. And at the climax of the show, the greatest peril to life and peace in the narrative is resolved by these two men literally joining their bodies and souls together, and going into eternity holding one another for comfort and strength. They are quite literally soulmates, quite literally the most important people in one another's lives.

I don't think that that kind of intimate emotional connection between men must necessarily be either romantic or sexual - I am aromantic, and plenty of ace people exist, and there is nothing in our natures excluding us from intense connections of love with other people of any gender.

I also think it is willfully ignorant (and genuinely homophobic) to act as though these deep connections are mutually exclusive with sex and romance. As though if Viktor and Jayce fucked nasty and made out sloppy style, suddenly their intimacy is less pure or valid, or tainted somehow.

"If these two men who are emotionally close to one another also fuck or get romantically involved, then friendship is dead, murdered on the floor by a dick-shaped knife; vile sexuality corrupts and debases the true, pure and virtuous love of ✨friendship✨" <- This shit is homophobic at a baseline, queerphobic in general, and frankly as an aromantic man I find it pretty fucking insulting as well.

What, are my friendships with other men just inherently more pure and divine, more meaningful and true than a gay man's can ever be, because I will never suffer the vile temptation of adding romance to my affection? Is that how I should think of myself? And is an aroace man more pure than me still, the only source of TRUE male friendship that a man can ever experience, free from the pustulant corruption of sexuality and romantic desire?

You get this pathetic defensiveness (especially from men, but other genders aren't immune) wherein sex and sexuality and romance between men is perceived as a threat to men's right and ability to experience deep connection to each other. But the emotional castration of men comes not from people imagining sex and romance as a component of our relationships - it comes from people who insist that our emotional lives must be ruled by strict binaries. Sex and romance, OR ELSE friendship. Deep romantic connection OR ELSE deep platonic connection. Pick one and do not dare to imagine both, nor act as though the boundary between them is something that we built by cultural fiat, and which can be dismantled just the same.

And yes, yes, yes, I know there are cultural forces literally illuminati-style conspiring to systemically erase the entire existence of explicitly romantic, sexual male love from media, and I know that homophobic puritanism is on the rise and there are material concerns and a real necessity for explicit representation in fiction, yes I know. Everything is more complicated than a tumblr post can cover, I am not trying to Solve Rainbow Capitalism™ over here, I am trying to express frustration as an aromantic man that this stupid fucking binary keeps getting culturally reinforced by both my enemies and my well-meaning allies, when I think the binary is what's fucking killing us in the first place.

So anyway. My position is that Viktor and Jayce can be entirely aromantic no-homo friends, and they can fuck nasty in the throes of mutual need and obsession, and I refuse to entertain the idea that there is an irresolvable contradiction between those things. Each of those can contain the other, or become the other given time and circumstance.

What the imagery, storytelling and script of Arcane makes clear is that Viktor and Jayce love each other more than life itself. To say that that love must be shoved into the box of either "platonic" or "romantic" is to miss out on almost everything that is beautiful about love. It can be both and neither! It can be a secret third, ninth or fifteenth thing that they haven't invented a tag for on Ao3 yet.

They are giving each other whatever the spiritual mind-ghost equivalent of sloppy backshots are on the ethereal plain forever, they are the most romantic lovers in the cosmos, and they are also the most chaste and platonic life-partner friends you have ever seen, effortlessly intimate and unashamedly tender. They are men who love one another, in every way that love matters.

You can pick whichever interpretation brings you joy, and resonates with what your heart needs, the text of the show is eminently and explicity open to it, and anyone who says otherwise either failed to pay attention, or refused to pay attention on purpose.

[whoreforsexymen]

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

[inkedbybarnes]

unclear

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: everyone thinks you're dating bucky, except yourself.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ minors dni. miscommunication (i love this trope, sue me), angst with a happy fluffy ending, quite stubborn reader, implied smut if you squint, usage of petnames such as baby and doll. lowercase for basically everything.

i haven't finished anything in decades, but i suddenly had an idea just now and decided to write it down. surprisingly, i finished it? might have a lot of mistakes and such since i haven't proofread it yet. also, sorry for using lowercase for this, i kinda like how it looks. hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“you're confusing me. so... you're not dating bucky?”

wanda tilted her head, confusion etched on her face as you spent your weekly girl's night with natasha. it usually consisted of eating food you all desired, drinking until you got wasted, and spilling secrets to one another.

although tonight, you weren't sure if you had any secrets to spill.

"as far as i know, no. we're just friends, teammates. nothing else," you answered with a heavy sigh. "can we talk about something else?"

"hold your horses, young lady! we are not skipping this topic again. you obviously want a label but he isn't giving you one!" wanda protested. she has been constantly asking about you and bucky's relationship for the past weeks, and you always had the same answer. you don't know.

"have you never talked about it with bucky? he looks at you like you'd get lost if he looks away for a second. not a single soul in the tower would think that you're just friends," natasha interjected, taking another sip from the bottle of beer she held. she had a point, as always. "if he's just playing with you, which i highly doubt for barnes, then just end whatever that is. you deserve better than having doubts and confusion, babe."

you've tried asking him multiple times, but every attempt felt like you were stepping on his boundaries. after years of being controlled by hydra, you knew it was possible that he'd hate the feeling of being rushed and entering a relationship that could potentially feel like a cage to him.

but natasha was right. your "relationship" was no longer anything friendly. he sleeps in your bed, claiming he slept better in it, and wakes up beside you to shower you with kisses. none of you even tried to hide it after some time. you always cooked your meals and ate them together, casually feeding one another and stealing kisses in between. you even stopped going on dates and you had no idea if you were exclusive. you deserved to know what your relationship with bucky was, but you were too scared to lose everything once you asked.

"we're not dating. i only see him as a friend, so you can both stop worrying about me." you lied through your teeth, your chest aching as you realised how stupid this was. you sighed and faked a smile, shifting the attention to natasha. "so, tell me about your date with steve! how was the first ever date of captain america since the 40s?"

wanda was distracted by the question, immediately bombarding the now blushing widow with questions. on the other hand, your mind flew away for a minute, finally deciding to get an answer from bucky.

the annual ball that tony stark held for, well, nearly anyone, was nearing. you only had two weeks left, and you haven't even gone out to find something to wear. it was hard to find any motivation to do all that effort when the person you've been waiting to ask you as his date hasn't asked you yet.

although, bucky had a tendency to get shy and hold back. you knew that. so here you were, standing behind the doors to the gym, knowing that bucky would be training at this hour. you still haven't asked him the question you were supposed to ask him, so you decided to do it all at once.

after you've finished your small pep talk, you opened the door to enter the room and your first instinct was to search for bucky.

considering that he was a huge chunk of a man, he was easy to find. however, the sight of him standing in front of a woman that was too close for your comfort wasn't delightful.

he didn't see you entering the room since he was facing the opposite direction, conversing with the agent that happened to be training as well. she had the sweetest and flirtiest smile on her face, bringing her hand up to his arm, slowly caressing it. you didn't mean to easily hear their conversation as you walked closer.

"so, do you happen to have someone for me to have as a date for the ball? i don't want to be lonely on that night, sergeant," the agent said with an extra pout, swaying her hips side to side like a child asking for candy.

"oh, yeah? i think i have someone for you," bucky replied, breaking your heart into pieces with how enthusiastic he was with his answer. "i'm sure you'll—"

you sniffed. unconsciously. not knowing that your tears were already falling, causing your nose to get stuffy. how pathetic, you thought.

your little sniff caught the attention of both the agent and bucky, looking at you in shock. although, the girl was more pleasantly surprised than the opposite. thankfully, you already had your tears wiped before they could see them.

"oh, we didn't see you there!" she greeted you with your name. "we were just talking about our date for this year's ball. who are you bringing?"

"i haven't decided yet, no one's worth it even if i try," you answered bitterly. "so you're going together?"

before bucky could answer, the agent already had her arm wrapped around his, happily smiling at your question. "yeah! amazing, right? i actually thought you two had a thing, but i guess not. glad things worked out in the end."

and that was your last straw. "well, enjoy yourselves. i have to go and find natasha."

you turned to leave, ignoring the loud calls of bucky. you were glad that you never asked him about your relationship and the ball. you were going to be hurt either way.

you spent the next hours stuck in your room, body covered with a thick sheet as you ranted about your frustrations to friday.

it was silly, you knew that, but you refused to call natasha and wanda to remind you of your stupidity and decided to let an ai robot listen to your problems instead.

"and he even flirted back! answering coyly like a teenager. he's 107 years old, fri!" you whined, not noticing the new nickname you've given the alternative intelligence. "ugh, now i have a broken heart and no date in sight. how did it get to this?"

"perhaps you must discuss this matter with sergeant barnes first. your conversation ended quite abruptly with no clear conclusion."

"no, i don't want the truth rubbed on my face," you said, grabbing another piece of tissue to sneeze in. "you restricted him from entering my room, right?"

friday answered with a yes, then you thanked her for listening and decided to get some sleep after tirelessly crying for hours. you knew you had a team meeting with the avengers in a bit, but you couldn't bring yourself to even walk a few steps.

your sleep ended and you were woken up with friday's reminder that it was time for dinner with the team.

with a groan, you pushed yourself off your bed. bucky would be there, but you were too hungry to care. it would be awkward, of course, but you had to face him at some point anyway.

your feet padded towards the door, opening it after trying your hair in a bun.

"ah, fuck."

you jumped at the voice and the body falling to the floor as you opened the door.

"bucky?" you asked, still in shock. "were you sleeping outside of my room?"

you watched bucky stand up, his hand massaging his aching nape as he looked for your eyes. "friday won't let me in. i waited outside instead. i guess i fell asleep during that," he explained, a frown forming on his face. "did you restrict me from entering our room?"

your eyes widened at his choice of words. our room. he considered your room to be his room as well. while that would've made you melt in an instant, you were still hurt to entertain that possibility.

"this is my room, barnes. not yours, not ours. and yes, i had you restricted because i couldn't face you yet. what do you need anyway?"

"i wanted to see you, talk to you." a flash of pain crossed his eyes. "whatever happened at the gym, it's—"

"bucky, you don't have to explain anything to me. we're just friends. it's my fault i assumed we were something. i just need some time to get over it."

"but i thought we were something as well..." he replied, his voice was almost as quiet as a whisper. "i thought we were dating."

"were we?" you asked, genuinely curious. "we never.. you never said anything. i mean, yeah, i wished it meant something, but i thought you wouldn't want to be trapped in a relationship with me, so i just waited. apparently, i was right and i can't blame you for that."

"right about what? the thing that happened in the gym this morning?" he asked. you nodded in response. "i know it sounds like i was flirting back, well i didn't know at the moment, until i asked steve who was clueless but he called nat to help me out and explained that it looked like i was flirting back. i wasn't. i was just going to suggest sam as a date for her. i would never agree to anyone."

oh. so he just wasn't interested in anyone at all.

"besides this one girl who's constantly been in my head. that's if she'd even give me a chance and say yes. i fucked it up badly before i could even ask her properly."

you knew what hoping got you, but you couldn't help but think that he was talking about you. he'd have to be clueless to say all those things in front of you only for it to be someone else.

"i love you, baby. i should've told you that, i should've made it clear sooner. i'm so sorry i let you have doubts when i could've been reassuring you about what i feel for you."

"bucky..."

"i would never feel trapped with you, doll. only you made me feel so much love and freedom. i'd be a fool to let go of that. i'm sorry it took a few hits and harsh words from natasha to make me realise that i wasn't giving you enough when you deserve everything." he held your face in his hands, bringing you closer to him. you felt breathless, tears threatening to fall but this time it was out of joy. "hydra made sure i had no voice to express myself. now, i'll use it to let you know that i love you so fucking much that it hurts when you're not around. i promise to work on it. if anything like this happens again, ask me, baby. demand things from me. i'll give you everything in a heartbeat."

"even if i ask for your arm?"

he laughed, a sound that was music to your ears. "it's yours baby. although, i do like fucking you with my metal—"

"bucky!" you scolded him, hitting him lightly on the chest.

"sorry, baby. couldn't help it. missed my girl so much."

his girl. you loved hearing that.

"it's only been a few hours. don't be silly," you reminded him, but you knew you also felt the same.

"i miss you even when i don't see you for a second." you couldn't help but laugh at his words. "something funny, doll?"

"sorry, natasha said something similar about you a few days ago," you answered. "i'm sorry for assuming so quickly, bucky. you deserved the chance to explain."

"and you did let me explain. i can't blame you for assuming and getting hurt when i never gave you the confirmation to believe otherwise. don't apologise for it, baby."

"i love you," you said, causing him to grin widely.

"yeah? you love me too?" he asked, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "this is official now, right? we're dating?"

you nodded happily, giggling as he landed a kiss to your mouth. "so, you wanna go to the ball with me?"

he kissed you again. "don't. i'm supposed to be asking you that. i had an entire thing prepared for you, i even dragged half of the team to help me out days ago. besides wanda and natasha, of course. couldn't let them tell you about it."

your heart swelled, he was already planning to ask you before all of this misunderstanding happened, and it could've been solved with communication. lesson learned, indeed.

"well hurry because i can't wait to say yes," you playfully threatened him, kissing the tip of his nose until the loud rumble of your stomach interrupted your sweet moment. "ah, right. i was on my way to eat dinner when i opened the door."

bucky laughed, his eyes twinkling witth adoration as he kept his eyes on you. "we can't have you starving, that's for sure. come, let's get you something." he held your hand, and dragged you to the kitchen. he turned to look at you with a playful smile. "wanna cook together like the old times?"

you smiled. "like the old times."

in the middle of your cooking session, you heard whistles and claps along with the footsteps that entered the kitchen. you both turned to find the rest of the team with shit eating grins.

"finally! so is this real or do we need to smack your heads?" tony asked, his hand placed on his hip.

"it's always been real, stark," bucky answered, wrapping his arm around your waist. "except this time, i'm making sure my entire world knows it."

"i think everybody knows you have a thing for each other, barnes." clint added.

"i meant my entire world, not everybody." bucky looked at you with awe. "she's my world."

bucky's answer gained various loud reactions from the team, mostly calling him a cheesy old man and fake gags, but there you were, cheeks heating up as you looked back at him with the same amount of love, if not more.

and he did ask you to be his date to the ball the day after, surprising you with his so-called secret plan.

a year later, he surprised you with a ring as he knelt on one knee.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[iniquitousyearning]

mattheo riddle. let me fuck you.

PAIRING: Mattheo Riddle x Gryffindor!Reader

SUMMARY: worried that mattheo was just going to use you for sex and leave, you had him agree to courting you first until you felt you were ready to take it to the next level. after months of this, mattheo finally can’t take it anymore, and lands himself on his knees at your feet.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k.

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, Degradation, Praise, Absolute Feralism, Begging, Exhibitionism, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex (implied cloaking charm), Dirty Talk, Swearing, Oral (f receiving), Body Worship, Slight Breeding Kink.

Courage. Bravery. Honesty--all traits that your house, Gryffindor, valued and honoured.

However, conspicuously absent from that list, was stupidity. A trait that you certainly seemed to posses a fucking abundance of these days.

To delve into the specifics, you possessed stupidity in the form of pure idiocy that took root when you began messing around with a certain curly haired Slytherin boy. This curly haired Slytherin boy just so happened to come from a group of assholes who seemingly detested your friends as well as your own bloody existence, having been nothing shy of full blown enemies for majority of your time spent at Hogwarts.

And yet, somehow, one thing led to another with this certain boy, and before you knew it you'd found yourself in a certain situation you'd never have imagined in a million damn years.

A courtship.

Securing Mattheo Riddle's commitment to court you exclusively, with a firm agreement to abstain from sex until you felt unequivocally ready, baffled your understanding. This arrangement was meticulously crafted out of a deep-seated concern that, left unchecked, he might merely try fuck you and then vanish without a trace.

He was known for doing that.

The rules of the courtship were a safeguard for your heart, a decision rooted in self-preservation, rather than any preoccupation with your virginity or lack thereof.

The harsh reality was simple – you desired Mattheo Riddle, despite every instinct screaming that you shouldn't. To shield your heart from potential wreckage, you implemented a set of rules governing the extent to which Mattheo could advance in your relationship. The decision to progress to the next level, if and when you deemed him deserving, rested solely in your hands.

It was a fool proof plan. No way for you to get hurt.

However, to absolutely no one's surprise, Mattheo wasn't a fan of this plan –not when he reluctantly agreed to it, and certainly not now. Not as you were seated across from him in a dimly lit corner of the library, the top buttons of your white button-up uniform shirt straining against the curve of your tits, your tie a loosened mess around your neck, and your burgundy pleated skirt way too fucking short for any bloody blokes sanity to remain intact.

Mattheo had counted the fucking days since the two of you started messing around, each instance of shared intimacy without crossing that final threshold chipping away at his restraint like relentless erosion. He wasn't fucking sure how much he had left in him.

"Did you finish this one, Matt?" Your voice rang out as a soft whisper, the hum of it snapping Mattheo from his wandering thoughts.

Forcing himself to meet your eyes and not linger on the buttons of your shirt just begging for fucking relief, he nodded. "Yeah. This one too."

Mattheo lifted a divination book, a testament to the exhaustive night the two of you had spent cramming for tomorrow's exam. Weary, you gave a nod, pushing up from the desk.

"Let's put these away, yeah?" you suggested gently.

Mattheo's throat parched as he observed you tugging down your skirt, a belated realization of how perilously high it had inched past your hips. With an innocent effort to conceal the expanse of those enticingly thick thighs – the same thighs he enthusiastically found himself nestled between every damn night – you fueled a growing heat within him. Mattheo cleared his throat awkwardly, giving a nod before pushing himself up as well.

As the two of you retreated into a dimmer, more secluded section of the library, you bent at the hips to return your book to its shelf. Unmindful of Mattheo's intense gaze, exhausted yet persistent, you began chattering. "I think there might be one more we can skim through, if you're still up for it-"

That thought abruptly dissolved as two sizable, calloused hands sought out your body, gripping anywhere and everywhere they could. An instinctive flinch involuntarily escaped you, but the sensation of those hands delicately tracing your thighs swiftly eased your tension. A trail of burning flames surged up your torso, and you instinctively straightened against him.

"For fucks sake." Mattheo's voice resonated as a low, deep growl in your ear, so intense you questioned whether he meant for you to hear it. His fingers clawed at the buttons of your shirt, nearly tearing it open in a frenzy. "What the fuck are you doing to me."

"Matt-" your hands came up, finding his. The two of you had certainly messed around in a lot of questionable places, but the library? At midnight on a weekday? "W-what are you-"

That sentence was abruptly cut short as Mattheo's lips attacked your neck at the same exact moment he slipped a hand through your now unbottoned shirt and roughly cupped one of your tits, twirling his thumb over your nipple. An entire body shudder rumbled through your limbs and the softest of moans escaped your lips, filling the charged air between you.

Music to Mattheo's fucking ears.

"Let me fuck you." It wasnt necessarily a demand but more of a plea. The desperation in his tone was fucking palpable. He sunk his teeth into the side of your neck as he pressed his hips against your ass, the entirety of his erection jabbing into your back. "Let me fucking fuck you."

You gasped, lids fluttering in an involuntary response as his hand switched to your other breast now, kneading and groping and squeezing with just as much fervour, more even. When you moaned again, he growled against your neck, pulling off you momentarily just to spin you around to face him.

His hands seized your hips, pressing you back against the shelf. "What is it, princess? What the fuck do you need from me?"

You scarcely had a moment to absorb the question, accompanied by the raw, desperate vulnerability in his tone, before he surged into action again. Long fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your skirt, while the other hand ascended to your jaw, gently tilting your head back to meet his intense gaze.

"I've been so fucking good, have I not?" His fingers inched excruciatingly slow over your mound, taking his time to tease you for all he could, watching every subtle ministration of your face as he went. "I've stayed out of fights. Haven't partied. I've been so fucking loyal..."

You swallowed, acknowledging the sincerity in his words. Yes, all those things were undeniably true. Mattheo had transformed into a different man in recent times. While you were drawn to him for the chaotic soul he was, the fact that he willingly opted out of party nights to spend time with you hadn't escaped your notice in the slightest.

Mattheo noted your silence. "Was it the drugs? Because you know I quit those."

Long fingers crept toward your slit, one finger gliding along and coating itself in your slick. Gods, if you weren't already fucking dripping for him.

You tried to shake your head. "No, Matty..."

His hold on your jaw tightened as he felt how fucking wet you already were. He snuffed a groan in his throat. How a little fucking Gryffindor could manage to have him in such a chokehold was beyond his comprehension.

"Is it the smokes?" He tilted his head, watching your eyes. "Because, fuck--I'll light every last one into flames right here in this fucking isle. I'll use the ashes to sear your fucking name onto my skin--just give me the goddamn words."

As his finger connected with your clit, drawing quick frantic circles over it, you mewled, your hands squeezing his biceps as your brain could only muster the comprehension to say one fucking word.

"Mattheo-"

"Mhm." Mattheo groaned, pressing his lips to your temple, his hand on your jaw slithering down to clasp a firm hold around your neck. "Yeah, baby, that's my name, fuck...say it again."

His pace on your clit increased, your head spun with carnal lust. Intoxicated. "Mattheo-"

"Yeah, good girl. Fuck--so fucking good." The reply came within seconds, along with the release of your throat, his hand gliding back to tangle in your hair. "Come on, baby, you know I'm not in this for the sex...you know I want way more than that."

If you hadn't already been rendered helpless and speechless from his relentless pace on your clit, you would have scoffed at that. But instead, all you could do was attempt to breathe the words out between your moans.

Your lids squeezed shut, fingernails digging into the fabric of his uniform. "I-I don't know that, actually."

"Fuck." Mattheo dipped low, his finger thrusting into your cunt before you could even realize it had, his thumb continuing the pace on your clit. The way your wet walls gripped his finger as he pumped it in and out of you was enough to send him into pure fucking desperation. He sucked in a deep inhale, gathering himself. "How do you figure that, hm?"

"Because-ah-here you are practically fucking begging me to let you fuck me." Your back arched, your legs trembling. If it wasn't for Mattheo's looming frame practically pinning you against this shelf, you were certain you'd be a pile of limbs on the floor at his feet. "You're just...t-telling me what I want to hear, Matty."

"I'm not." His pace increased, his brows knit tight. He didn't like that response. Not one fucking bit. His lips found your ear, his grip on your hair intensifying. "You don't understand how fucking bad I want you--how fucking bad I want every single last inch of you. Your laugh, your smile, your wit, your heart, your fucking soul. You haunt me every moment I'm awake. Even when I'm asleep you're there, fucking torturing me. I dream about waking up next to you. I dream about growing old with you. I dream about worshipping you, pleasuring you. I dream about pumping this perfect cunt full of my cum. No woman has ever fucking done this to me. I'm insane for you. For fucks sake please let me fucking fuck you princess. I need you so fucking bad. All of you."

"Gods," was all you could say, not a single shred of coherence left in your brain, not as those words bounced around inside your head in rhythmic hums synced with the movement of his fingers. You were right there. "Matt--fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

"Mhm, go on baby," he cooed with a softness that seemed to fray against the edges of desperation, his voice nearly shredding against his vocal cords. How he was keeping himself together was truly fucking impressive. "You're so fucking good for me. Such a pretty fucking pussy, hm?"

"Yours," you breathed out just as your vision blurred, your entire body shuddering around his fingers. "It's all yours!"

A choked gasp slipped from your lips, swiftly muffled by the plush entirety of Mattheo's mouth. His tongue invaded past your teeth, meticulously exploring your gums as if etching the details into memory. The sound of his groan reverberated through you, but it soon became a mere echo as your ears rang and your orgasm charged, coursing through every inch of your being, leaving your head spinning and your body trembling against the shelf.

Mattheo withdrew his lips from yours, sensing the aftershocks of your orgasm rippling through you, sure in the fact you had regained enough composure to remain quiet without his help. He grazed his teeth along your jawline, warm breath bathing your skin as both of you panted in unison, bodies pressed and fighting for breath as he slowly pulled his finger from your cunt and teased over your clit with slow, sensual swirls.

"Let me fuck you," he repeated again, softer this time, his voice a whisper as light as a feather in the air. "You said it's mine...you said this pussy belongs to me."

"Yes," you panted, squirming against his hold as he continued his slow teasing strokes over your clit. "I...I did say that...it does..."

"Mm," his dark eyes lingered over your lips before he leaned in slightly, resting his forehead against yours, erratic breaths intermingling. "Please. Fucking please, let me take what's mine."

Mattheo Riddle had gone by many names over the years; an asshole, a delinquent, a rebel--but a man with manners? A man who'd ever had to beg and plead for something he wanted? That was not something you would have ever included in his description. Seeing him like this, completely and openly vulnerable, did something to you. Something you knew you could no longer resist. This was a man you knew you were willing to take risks for, willing to risk getting hurt for. It'd been fucking months. You wanted him. Just as fucking badly as he wanted you.

"I dunno, Matty," you grinned, unable to fight it off even if you tried. "Maybe you should say please again...maybe you should say it on your knees..."

Mattheo huffed, a groan accompanying it.

"Dirty, dirty little thing..." he whispered, pulling his hand from your cunt entirely now, both hands shifting to your hips, gracing them with a feral squeeze. "You really fucking are mine, aren’t you?"

As Mattheo Riddle dropped to his knees at your feet, you were certain the entire world had faded away. You were certain that time no longer existed and that there wasn't a single other living being in the entire expanse of the universe--all there was, across all existing planes of reality, was you and this messy, curly haired boy at your feet, looking up at you with dreamy chocolate eyes, poised to beg and fucking plead for release from his torment.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," his hands trailed a steady path from your hips down your thighs, squeezing and grabbing every inch of flesh he could. "You know that, right?"

You pulled your lip between your teeth, unable to peel your eyes off this boy before you. He was mesmerizing, In all his glory. Every last fucking molecule of him.

"Yes, Matty..." you breathed, your hands clutching at the wooden bookshelf behind you, steadying yourself. "You tell me a thousand times a day."

"Only a thousand? I was aiming for way more than that." Mattheo hummed, wetting his smirk-adorned lips as he brought his mouth to your inner thigh, softly nipping at it. "Guess I have to step my game up, huh?"

You blinked, pulse pounding in your ears. “I-“

“Please, princess…” Mattheo shifted, snapping himself back to the task at hand, nipping at your other thigh now, his voice so soft you almost missed it. His eyes never left yours. “Fucking hell.”

In one swift movement, his hands gripped your thighs and spread them apart, one leg slung over his shoulder as he brought his lips to your already dripping cunt, placing a vulgar kiss to it, tongue delving into your slit, a trembling groan echoing in his throat when he swallowed your wetness.

Your lungs sputtered, head falling back against the shelf--his eyes, in the pits of perversion, watched you, soaking in your speechless delight while he explored each tiny crevice of your cunt. Bliss built inside of you for the second time, blocks of white hot energy, stacking with every second those velvety, full lips massaged your folds. Your mouth fell in an open pant, your hips rocking into his face--his hands moved, sticking your wrists to your hips as he gripped you there.

You struggled to find your breath--oxygen had left the room--and you squeezed your eyes shut, desperate to keep your moans quiet. Your previous orgasm still had you tingling, the stimulation almost, almost too much--but you found yourself climbing toward your second with little effort. Your eyes rolled back, pleasure crashing over you, tiny moans leaving you while he sucked slowly on your clit, engorged and throbbing at his lips.

"Fuck, Mattheo-" you whined, your nails digging into the flesh of your own thighs as his strong grip kept them pinned there. "I'm gonna-fuck-"

Your core thumped with a demand to cum--Mattheo was reining you to a cliff, your desire a wild animal, bucking with abandon and ecstasy.

"Mhm, that's it," he muttered into your flesh. "Let me fucking taste you."

His tongue swirled over your nub, slipping wet circles around it before he groaned and sucked it hard between his teeth. You wailed, cracked, orgasm gushing through you, a geyser, a cascade of ecstasy that left you quaking, your walls spasming at his chin.

There was no more holding back your moans. "Oh--f-fuck!"

Mattheo swallowed your release hungrily, releasing your wrists and clutching your hips to his head, as if the evidence of your pleasure sustained him, laving at you until you squeaked and jerked from sensitivity. With a satisfied gasp, he released you entirely, slowly rising back up to his full height, watching with tethered emotion while you descended from your high.

Without even giving you the chance to process it, he reached down and swiped two fingers along your slit, collecting your cum before bringing it up to your lips and urging it past your teeth.

"That's what I do to you, baby," he cooed, his eyes far less intense than they were before. His free hand brushed the sweat dampened hair away from your forehead, watching as you wrapped your lips around his fingers and worked them clean. "You like that?"

You nodded, heat flashing your face, and Mattheo groaned appreciatively, slowly pulling his fingers from your mouth. His gentle grip found your chin now, drawing your eyes to his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, "you don't have to-"

You cut him off. "Fuck me, Matty."

Mattheo blinked, and you reached for his belt.

"Please, Mattheo," you clenched, body quaking with need. Even after two orgasms you still wanted more, needed more. You needed him, and now you were the one willing to beg for it. "Please, fuck me."

Almost immediately, Mattheo's eyes darkened, his gaze glossing over with a hunger that spoke volumes far louder than any words ever fucking could. He leaned in slightly, your scent still lingering on his breath.

"You want me inside you? Hm?" He purred, lips grazing over yours. "You want me to fuck you here? Open and exposed for anyone to see?"

You smirked knowingly. The cloaking charm he had cast didn't escape your notice. This boy always had a knack for thinking one step ahead. Yet, the exhilaration of the prospect was just another facet that had initially drawn you to him.

You nodded. "Yes, Mattheo...I need you..."

Mattheo pressed his lips to yours, not wasting another singular second of time as his hands moved to the clasp on his belt, fumbling with it, a low groan escaping him as he pulled his throbbing cock free, gliding his fist over it a few times as his tongue hungrily fought with yours.

Mattheo's hands shifted to your shoulders, spinning you around, your own hands grasping at the shelving in front of you. You felt the warmth of his thick length gliding between your thighs, teasing you, slicking himself in your wetness.

"You're sure you want this?" Mattheo's voice was a soft growl in your ear, his hands grasping at your hips with enough force to bruise. "Fuck, princess, please be fucking sure."

The reaction was immediate. As though he asked you if you needed oxygen to breathe. "Gods, I'm fucking sure, Mattheo. I'm so fucking sure."

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, fingernails digging into your flesh, pulling your skirt higher up your torso. "You've got me so fucked up, princess..."

As he slicked his length over your core once more, teasing your entrance, you whimpered. He was so smooth and silky and fucking big...you knew this was going to sting, even after two orgasms, even after he had you dripping down your thighs. Just that thought alone made your pussy clench, you'd do fucking anything to get him inside of you.

"Mattheo..." you whined, your body tensing with each false thrust. "Stop teasing me."

"Shit,” he breathed, easing the head of his length into you now, before slowly pulling out. "I'm teasing myself, baby...I don't know if I'm going to be able to control myself-"

You groaned, shuddering. "Please!"

Mattheo matched your groan with one of his own, and with one smooth movement, he tightened his grip on your hips, tugging you closer before he drove his dick into your cunt, splitting you open with one deep, slow thrust.

"Oh..." he moaned, paused, froze, entire body seemingly turned to stone. The only outward sign of his consciousness was his rapid breath washing over your neck. "...fuck."

You gripped the edges of the shelf with such intensity your knuckles were pale, doing everything within your power to keep quiet. The feeling of him seated inside you like this was everything you'd fucking imagined it to be. Better even. Your entire body was tense with bliss, your walls moulding around him.

Mattheo's lungs sputtered. "Relax...fuck-relax around me, baby..."

"I-" You weren't sure what he meant, your body trembling, your heart pounding in your throat. "Matt-"

"I'm not going to fucking last," Mattheo growled into your ear, the strain in his vocal cords more prominent than ever. "...if you keep squeezing me like that."

You mewled, head falling back against his shoulder as you fought to suck oxygen into your lungs. Mattheo finally began to move inside you; slow, easy strokes in an effort to give you a chance to adjust, feeling your tight walls relaxing around his thick girth, before he pulled out entirely and slammed back in, stuffing you full, groaning as you pulsed around him with each brief pause.

"Fuck...tight fucking pussy...so fucking wet..." he whispered, lips pressed against your ear. "All fucking mine."

Any ounces of restraint Mattheo had managed to maintain prior to this clearly had now been entirely annihilated as he increased his pace, fucking into you like a savage, as though he'd never get to fuck you again. He panted into your ear, groaning, fingernails bruising your thighs while he hammered your cervix with thrust after thrust after thrust. Sputtered curses left him under his breath and he attempted to silence himself with your neck, biting and nibbling at your throat. You stifled every single noise that threatened to leave your lips, body bouncing with the power of his hips, air hiccuping in your lungs as he pounded you.

"This little pussy is mine...you're mine..." he growled, fingers snaking down and brushing over your clit. "Fuck, you feel so good...I can't believe you kept this from me for so fucking long..."

Rapture numbed you, at the edge of your skin, a typhoon ready to wreck you witless. Your lids fluttered, teeth biting your lip with enough force to draw blood. He was going to make you crack. Make you fucking scream. There was no way you could continue being quiet when he was fucking you this good.

"M'sorry, Matty-" you weren't even sure what you were apologizing for. "So good...so deep...I-"

"Cum for me." Desire had consumed you both, his pace embodying complete desperation, a frenzied, urgent need to bring you both to orgasm. "Cum so I can fucking breed you...pump this little cunt full of my cum like I've dreamed of doing for months..."

Mattheo increased his pace on your clit, thrusts deepening even further--which you didn't even think was physically possible. He was slamming you deep, panting with every snap of his hips, your pussy hot and slick and pulsing with your oncoming climax.

You couldn't hold it back anymore--"Oh Gods-Mattheo!"

You shattered, exploded into flames, spectrum of colour blazing through your mind, a string of sobbing wails fleeing you as pulsed and spasmed on his dick, third climax shuddering through your veins. Mattheo groaned, clamping his palm over your lips as he continued to drill into you, holding off his own climax for as long as he could until he was physically unable to control himself--and he cursed, lungs sputtering as his hips slowed, cock twitching inside you as he poured his cum inside your cunt.

The room itself seemed to shudder, a tremor rumbling in the hardwood until he had finished and slowly pulled out, a deep, satisfied sigh leaving his chest.

After you collected yourself enough you spun around and watched as he tucked himself away, brushing his dampened curly hair back from his forehead. He straightened out, tucking the soft white fabric of his uniform shirt back into his pants before doing up his belt.

The second his eyes met yours, you reached for him. "I'm sorry for making you wait-"

"Don't ever be sorry," he cut you off, pulling you into him and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. "You were more than worth the wait, baby."

[sweetshuga]

「 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆? ✧ 𝑪.𝑺 」

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⭒ +𝟏𝟖 ⭒ cursing ⭒ munch!chris ⭒ pussy eating ⭒ dirty talk ⭒ overstimulation (f) ⭒ blowjob ⭒ soft dom!chris + more.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟖𝟖𝟒

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: My first ever smut! Fixed the aesthetic a bit<3

𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝑰𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅: English is not my first language!

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: What happens when you start to like the guy you hook up with regularly—only for him to not reciprocate.

"Wait-" a moan escaped your mouth before you could finish your words.

"Stop squirmin’ ma," his voice muffled by your dripping core as he ate you out like a starving man.

Your back arched as you thrashed around, unable to stay still, after all, you had orgasmed who knows how many times now. Every nerve in your body was burning, your skin oversensitized from the sheer amount of back to back climaxes.

"Chris, please," his name a broken whimper on your lips as he still didn't stop despite your trembling body, instead, slowly slipped two long digits in, curling them just right as he sucked hard on your clit.

𓆩♡𓆪

You and Chris had an argument, and no, not a lover’s quarrel; you two weren’t exclusive after all.

He had stated once again that you two weren't a thing, much to your distaste. You liked him. It wasn’t a secret really, even he knew you liked him like that.

You sulked, as per usual, earning an eye roll and a scoff from Chris. He had made it perfectly clear that he didn’t want anything serious, he wasn’t ready... yet.

He had always thought you were a pretty girl. Smart and funny to boot, honestly the epitome of a desirable woman. Great personality, nice- no, perfect fucking ass, one of the things he noticed the first time he saw you around campus.

Chris wasn’t the relationship type, neither was he a player, sure, he had his fair share of girls every now and then but he was never that crazy about flings.

He couldn’t deny it, it was never a secret, he had made it clear to every girl around campus that he wasn’t the biggest fan of commitment. Scared was an understatement when it came to relationships for Chris.

He was terrified.

Though you weren’t just some random chick he wanted to play fuck and duck with; you were real, you liked him, really liked him. He couldn’t deny that fluttering feeling he got when you were around.

You were beautiful and all, that ass though damn, but even with that fluttering feeling he got with you around, he wasn’t that into you to consider working on his commitment issues for you.

The playful argument you had with Chris ended up, yet again, with you in bed with him.

𓆩♡𓆪

Back to the present, the present where your body bowed off the bed, unable to control your moans.

Your eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy, spots dancing behind it, and the noises coming out of your mouth were purely pornographic.

You had orgasmed yet again.

Almost on the verge of passing out is when Chris finally lets go of your clit with a wet pop. The poor nub swollen and oversensitized.

"Damn... you’re a mess..." a low rumble of a chuckle slipped through his pretty pink lips that now glistened with your juices.

His chin dripping with it.

"Think you broke me... dunno if I can... move," you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

"Dramatic much?" Chris chuckled huskily in amusement, his voice hoarse from disuse and desire. He watched as your eyes closed and your body went limp.

"Oh c’mon ma, don’t go passin’ out on me," he chuckled again as he shook your shoulder gently, causing you to stir.

"mm... Chris... No more." you whined quietly, not like you could speak any louder anyway.

Chris just chuckled again, "whaaat? No more?" he pouted playfully, jutting his bottom lip out dramatically.

"Gee, think you can cut me some slack? been comin’... how many times now? I can’t even remember," he chuckled again, finding your words amusing.

"Can you stop giggling for 5 seconds?" propping yourself on your elbows, as you looked at him with mock annoyance.

Your eyes darted down to his lap, the sheer size of the bulge made you feel that ache between your legs again, despite your words.

Chris seemed to have noticed your gaze. His large hand palmed himself through his loose grey sweatpants.

The pair you loved, and he knew it, that's the reason he wore it in the first place.

"Eyes up sweetheart," he joked, not breaking eye contact with you as he slowly pulled down his sweatpants.

Your eyes widened briefly as his length hit his stomach.

He had gone commando.

"C’mon, don’t look at me like that," he chuckled lowly "n’ you think you can help me with this lil’ problem?"

He noticed the hesitation in your eyes so he added quickly, "promise I won’t put it in... know you’re too sensitive right now."

A soft sigh of relief escaped your lips. "Alright, yeah, I might as well return the favor," you murmured chuckling weakly. You slowly sat up, your body still burning with the previous highs, and pushed him gently into a sitting position.

Chris watched intently, through hooded lids, as your head lowered down to his throbbing erection. His hips jerking slightly when you wrapped your plump lips around his sensitive head.

His lips parted as a low moan fell from it, throwing his head back as you took him deeper in your warm, wet mouth.

"mmh... yeah... just... just like that," he encouraged, his fingers tangling in your hair, making a make-shift ponytail, pushing your head further down, making you take more of his length.

𓆩♡𓆪

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒂

[muntitled]

Ready or not | Park Sunghoon

-' Pairings: Park Sunghoon x Fem!Reader

-' Summary: He volunteered to be seeker. That should've been your first warning. The hungry look that had begun brimming in his eyes should've been the second.

-' Warnings: Language, Horror Elements, Established Relationship, Very Slight Fluff, Hide and Seek, Smut +18 mdni, Primal Kink, Fear Kink, Breeding Kink, Slight dd/lg, Praise Kink, Massive Degradation Kink, Spit, Cum play, Choking, Rough Sex, CNC, Hard Dom!Hoon, Desperate Sex, Public Sex, Sub!Reader, Subspace, Unprotected Sex

A/n: My contribution to spooky season

“I don't wanna play anymore,” You don't say it too loudly, lest you give yourself and your hiding spot away.

“I really, really don't wanna play anymore, Hoonie-”

A chuckle cracks through the dark night air.

"Hoonie," you hear his voice snicker from in between the shadows. "Cute." It's far. Not anywhere in your immediate vicinity. Where you are, it's just tall oak trees and stars.

A squirrel decides at that moment to scuttle over your sneakers and cause a very audible gasp to rip itself out of your throat. Through the crooked trees you hear a laugh. His laugh.

"Too easy," his voice reaches your ears.

Sunghoon isn't here. He hasn't found you yet. That brings you the first sliver of comfort that you cling to with everything in you. It allows you to trek further uphill. The little lights they've paved along the hiking trail serves as your only navigator through the woods. You want nothing more than to be there, in the light, but even you knew that would be an insanely stupid move. You would illuminate yourself to him. He'd find you immediately. You had far too much pride for that.

'I don't wanna play anymore-'

Perhaps you were hoping by repeating the phrase over and over again, that Sunghoon would magically get the desire to end this wretched game, but even as you travelled up the rocky hill, away from the bench where Sunghoon had been counting dutifully, you knew it was an impossible ask.

He was the seeker and he was counting excitedly, with a smile on his face.

The duty of the seeker, as far as you know, had always been the least desired. Being tasked with the responsibility of finding everyone else and being ostracised from the rest of the group- made to be a monster they all hid from? It sounded horrible to the brain of any rational human being.

Your bones rattle with discomfort when you realise that your boyfriend didn't particularly fit into that category.

As you try to venture deeper into the woods, away from your Seeker's approaching footfalls, you think back to a time in the evening before you weren't so cracked with fear. Everything had been perfect then.

It seemed like the perfect conditions to take a romantic walk along the hiking trail with your boyfriend. The hiking trail leads into a deep and dense patch of wooded land behind Sunghoon's apartment. Tall trees surrounding you both. The path leading uphill, on a winding, uneven road. At that time, the sun had just begun sinking behind the trees, but you could make out Sunghoon's features from the little lamps that lined the pathway.

You had been walking hand-in-hand, feeling quite secure, feeling starkly not-scared.

Suppose it was your fault.

Sunghoon had asked if you were sure you wanted to take a walk with him in the dark and you swung your clasped hands between the two of you, bringing it to your lips as you said, "You say that like you're something to fear-"

As you walked, he had watched you with a bashful kind of smile that was only exclusive to Sunghoon- fangs shining in the moonlight as he pulled his jacket over your shoulders. He liked having you wear his clothes, especially in public.

A dismaring, cute kind of smile that drew you in initially.

"Plus," you stood on your tippy toes as you whispered into his ear, "I don't really mind being scared."

"Is that so?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow as you continued to observe the nature surrounding you both with an innocent, oblivious quality. He liked that. He liked how you always managed to see the world through a pink stained lense. A world of puppies, rainbows, faeries, princesses- all that shit.

It caused something horrible to stir inside him. Something that wanted to take the innocence he saw bursting forth from your eyes and crush it. He wanted you to see him. To perhaps look at him with that fear you spoke so highly of. "You like the feeling of being scared?"

"Eung!" You nodded, still watching the tips of the trees reaching towards the stars.

"Wow-" he had said, "Spoken like a true crazy person-" you shoved into his side, a very deep frown setting over your glossed lips. Your braids were let loose, easy access for Sunghoon to pull on one as he continued his teasing.

"Don't call me that-"

"It's okay- I like having a weirdo girlfriend-" you loosened your fingers, sulking and ready to turn your back on a cackling Sunghoon and head back from whence you came but he kept your hands locked in his.

"You really enjoy it?" He asked, stopping at a bench on the side of the trail, "being scared, I mean… Do you actually like it?'

"Uh-" you had begun feeling thoroughly exposed under his gaze. He watched you like you were something to be inspected. His sharp eyes peeled you apart. Sunghoon, towering over you didn't really help the feeling so you beckoned him to sit down. He did, with a heavy plop, his black shirt and black sweatpants billowing from the warm wind. He opened his legs, allowing you to slot yourself between them. Even sitting down, Sunghoon didn't need to look up at you. He was so large and all-encompassing. It made you feel so small.

"I mean doesn't everyone!?" You evaded Sunghoon's gaze but he kept his train on you.

“No,” he responds, suddenly very interested in this topic. You haven't been dating for long enough to disclose kinks yet. The farthest you've both done is establish safe words. Every facet of your relationship was gleaming under the veneers of unexplored territory.

He didn't think you liked being scared.

He didn't think he'd be happy to know this. He keeps his face stoic though, giving nothing away.

"That's why horror movies exist, right?"

A short breath came from Sunghoon's mouth as he finally broke eye contact, seating back against the bench, "That's why horror movies exist. I thought-" He turned his head to look at your hand before meeting your eyes again, his face as blank as a canvas.

"You thought what?" He asks, willing you to carry on talking. Sunghoon has tunnel vision. Whenever you spoke, the only thing he was physically and cognitively able to focus on is you.

"I thought horror movies were like-” you kick a dead leaf on the ground “-Like edgier comfort shows. Like, Gilmore Girls or something-" That sentence completely knocked him out.

"You just compared horror movies to Gilmore Girls-"

Sunghoon wiped his sweaty hands on his shorts "Interesting, well- we should play a game to test this theory,"

Your eyebrows crinkled. "What kinda game?"

"Relax-" Sunghoon said as he waved a hand before his face. "No one would get hurt, not unless you wanted to-" there were a great many things Sunghoon said that completely threw you for a loop. This was one such statement.

You were used to it by now. The backhanded airy, fairy comments Sunghoon made under his breath.

You wouldn't be surprised if he had whole other conversations with just himself. Like he was in constant conversation with a voice in his own head

The sun had completely set and a jogger passed by the two of you in that moment, the final jogger you would see tonight.

"Hide and seek. You hide." he continued as if unaware that he was giving you a very visceral sense of whiplash. "Don't stray too far and keep your eye on the trail so you don't get lost, okay?"

"What-"

"I wanna make it 30 seconds, but I'll be nice and make it 60-"

"Wait Sunghoon, I'm wearing a dress-"

"You'll manage." He pushes you away slightly.

"Hoon-"

A chuckle as he says, "Baby, you better start hiding. Don't you know how to play-"

"Sunghoon, I don't wanna play,"

"One."

You were backing away as you stared at him and he stared at you. Sunghoon leant forward, planting his elbows on his knees as his hands swung between his open legs. "Two."

“ i don't wanna-"

"Three-"

A rock jabs into your calf as you stumble up the incline. Sunghoon nods. "That's it-" and before he closes his eyes, he shoots you one last charming smile. Only this time it's veneered with something much darker, something that has you turning and lunging uphill.

"Run," he said.

He volunteered to be a seeker. That should've been your one and only warning. The hungry look that had begun brimming in his eyes should've been the second warning.

Your thigh begins to ache as Sunghoon concludes his counting with an airy and bright, "Ready or not!" You can hear him snickering to himself, "You know the rest," before the sound of his heavy footfalls crunches over fallen leaves.

It was a warm and humid autumn night.

Your heart was thumping to the beat of your heavy footsteps beating down on the short grass. There was an eerie sense of solidity that sunk over the park during late nights like these, and the moon is your only spectator.

What ought to have been a harmless game of hide and seek quickly turned into a slightly disturbing rendition of the thing. As soon as you ran out into the woods, away from where Sunghoon was counting, a sense of dread had quickly began pooling in the bottom of your stomach especially when you looked around and realised you were quite literally standing in the middle of a hiking trail, at night with you boyfriend who is far too eager to play this game.

"I'm going to get you too soon," you can hear his voice, but you can't see anything beyond the crooked silhouette of tree branches. The woods seem to whisper through to your paranoia. Sunghoon sounds like he's everywhere, like he couldn't come from one single direction.

“H-Hoonie- wait-"

The wind picks up, blowing against your exposed knees. You shuffle against the closest treet, clinging towards it like it was the only pillar of safety you could confide in.

"You're making this too easy, baby-"

You crouch into a ball close to the floor, suddenly feeling wholly and completely alone with nothing but the darkness for company. The darkness and whatever hid inside it. A sinking feeling makes the pits of your stomach grow with vehement warmth as you nuzzles your nose Into Sunghoon's jacket

You had arrived.

Fear was clutching so terribly at your throat you felt you might suffocate.

You were a little kid again, terrified of the dark and everything that was inside it. Only now, you had a boyfriend and somehow, he was hiding in the dark too.

“Shit-” you place a hand on your heart, feeling it racing to ungodly heights. This was not only fear but panic. And bubbling just beneath that, was a strange sort of excitement that twinkled in the darkness.

You were in the dark for far too long. What if you forget your way home?

The panic was pulling at your insides, making them twist and turn and react to every sound in the dark, wondering when he'll find you, thinking he probably already did.

The truth is Sunghoon watched your shadow trek uphill from the moment he finished counting. He stalked behind you with his hands in his jacket pocket, keeping a safe enough distance away to give you confidence. He made sounds of watching your silhouette jump intentionally.

You weren't very good at hide and seek. You peered over your shoulder far too often.

At some point you looked directly at him, your eyes meeting his in the darkness but its like recognition didn't register and your fear was all that drove you further uphill.

He was watching from a distance as you squirm now. You had crouched down onto the uneven forest floor, pulling his varsity jacket around you like a cloak that might make you invisible. You were shaking like a leaf. And Sunghoon realizes, with grave finality that he's really fucking hard.

As he stalks closer and closer towards you, his sneakers break the backs of the autumn leaves. He's not sure what he's going to do when he catches you, he just knows he needs you, really badly.

“Shit, shit, shit” The panic in your voice becomes starkly clear, the closer Sunghoon walks towards you and the little tree you've made your hiding place.

You can hear him approaching because he allows you to. You shake and cover your ears with your trembling hands and Sunghoon's face is stoic and emotionless as he lunges towards you.

Your eyes open just in time to swerve out of the way until you're sliding across the forest floor. You try to make a break for it- for what, you're not exactly sure- but he pokes his tongue through his cheek, slightly impressed before he grabs at you again, this time succeeding.

He pulls at your ankle, before securing your shoulders in between his palms. you're wrestling to free yourself from his oppressive hold. You kick and writhe but he wraps his arms around your waist, dragging your frame up off the forest floor.

You're an absolute mess. the side of your sundress is caught underneath his arm, exposing your left thigh to the cool autumn air.

“found you, Dove-” his voice is hoarse as he presses his face to the back of your head. Without thinking, perhaps without using anything except his innate instincts, Sunghoon pushes your front against the tree- the tree that you had used to hide from him.

‘I win-” he whispers, as his other arm snakes across your chest, squeezing and pawing at your breast while you continue to writhe wildly for him to let you go.

“Green or red?” You shiver when his warm breath snakes against the back of your neck, your cheek colliding with tree bark. “Answer me.”

Against your better judgement, you mutter, “Green,” allaying his concern with the simple act of pushing your ass against his bulge. You realise you're not wanting to get away from him. You want him to think you want to get away from him.

“Take this off-” he spins you around as he furiously unbuttons his varisty jacket that had kept you safe and sound from the big bad cold. Your shoulders are exposed and immediately hounded by Sunghoon's lips as soon as he discards the jacket on the forest floor.

“F-Fuck, Hoonie-” you really like being scared. You liked it so much your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he sucks bruises into the crook of your neck. You are hurtling into subspace like you've never quite experienced before.

Everything feels brighter. More vivid. Like you can feel the inner workings of mother earth, even under your sneaker clad feet.

You delve your fingers into his hair and you keep him there.

“F-Fuck-” you don't hardly swear but Sunghoon is sinking his teeth into your flesh while his other hand delves down between your open legs.

Instead of immediately making contact with your soaked core, Sunghoon breaks apart to watch you writhe and squirm underneath him. Your dress is completely hiked up now and he can see your hips canting up into the air. “You're so desperate I bet you could cum just like this, huh?”

His words have you moaning into the night air as your hips buck senselessly, searching for any bit of friction. “You were such a scared little baby just a second ago, weren't you?” His words cause the first round of tears to slip down your face. A gust of wind picks up then and you worry you really might just cum untouched, but then Sunghoon spares you and presses his thumb against your clit and you come almost immediately.

Stars cloud your vision as Sunghoon rubs at your clit, all while muttering harsh and unwarranted curse words.

Your hips are still bucking, even when the orgasm passes. You're so overstimulated, by Sunghoon, by the environment, by all the sounds you're being bombarded with from every angle.

“You're such a little slut you know that?” He brings his hand up to your face, speaking slowly and making grave, grave eye contact as if he was telling you a very very serious facet about your personality.

“Such a fucking slut-”

You're trembling as you look back in his eyes nodding firmly along and shuddering when he gives you that toothy grin.

“Show me,” Sunghoon says, “Show me you're my slut-” without even thinking about it for a second more, your hand finds his other hand, the one that had been rubbing at your clit through your soaked panties.

You hold eye contact as you bring his finger to your mouth, letting your tongue roll out before you place his middle and index finger directly onto it.

He swallows thickly.

Sunghoon forces his fingers slowly along your tongue, with the guidance of your small, trembling hands. He makes frantic work of unbuckling his pants with his other hand.

“You're such a fucking slut for me, you know that?” You nod, and a pained expression falls on his face as his fingers press down on your tongue.

“Fuck, I need to cum in you-” before you're able to think, Sunghoon pulls his hand out and brings you towards him with a string grip on the back of your neck he spits directly onto your tongue and forces your lips shut again.

“I'm gonna cum so hard inside you, baby-”

Your head hurts when he pushes you back against the tree a little too rough. Everything he does right now is a little too rough. It's like he forgets himself when he's on the verge of cumming in his pants.

He doesn't ease you into it.

Only forces the blunt tip of his cock through your opening, expecting you to take it like the good little slut you claimed to be.

“Sung-hoon, its sore- wait-”

He clasps both your wrists in his hand, placing it abve your head as he attempts to fuck his cock into you, “Shh, It'll get better soon-” he's slurring his words, pushing his hips against yours to force his cock even deeper in.

“Sunghoon promises-” he cradles your head towards him, “Hoonie promises- he needs to cum, yeah? Hoonie just needs you to be a good little cumslut for him- Fuck-"

“I think I'm gonna cum again-” you squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth and the sudden pressure invites another unexpected orgasm. He's fucking into you with reckless abandon now, letting go of your wrist, positive that you won't run away from him anymore.

“Youre fucking squeezing me-” his hips speed up in pace and his palm finds the base of your throat. He watches you with heavy lidded eyes and pink stained cheeks. “I'm about to cum so hard inside you-”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and tears pool in your eyes because you're far too overstimulated. Your tongue lolls out and just then, Sunghoon's cock twitches inside you.

“Fuck, you're so good, Princess-” he lowers his head into crook of your neck as his cum floods your insides “Such a good cumslut for me- Fuck!” It's the loudest he's ever been during sex, the loudest you've ever been too. So loud that the silence that follows is absolutely deafening. Neither Of you can bring each other to derange your limbs, Feeling absolutely rattled from the animalistic sex that had just occurred. Neither of you thought you had it in you.

And yet here you were.

You don't speak because you're not a couple that uses too many words To communicate. All you do is rest your head against the tree bark, as Sunghoon languidly continues to stroke his softening cock inside you.

[heehoothefool]

"Are cishet ace/aro men queer" holy fuck you people are just awful huh. Really just showing that we haven't moved past the Basically Straight ideology.

As a cisgender, heteroromantic ace individual myself, allow me to tell you a little bit about myself.

I spent most of my life wondering what was wrong with me. I knew very quickly that many of the people who confessed their love for me would not want me the moment they found out I was averse to sex. I would daydream of various men I'd had crushes on over the years spending time with me in ways I was comfortable, but rarely did I confess my feelings because a simple saying rang in my ears.

"You'll never find a man who will love you without sex."

And the people in my Instagram DMs who would call me baby and then ghost me after they figured out the flag in my profile picture spoke volumes to that. I was only desirable because I was physically attractive. No one wanted to love my personality, not if they couldn't also fuck me. It just wasn't an option.

I have been ostracized. I have been told I don't belong. The straight community does not want me because I do not actively desire sex. The very people you're trying to lump me in with because I'm "basically straight" will not claim me because I am not like them.

I am The Other. I am Less Than. I am Strange. I am Queer.

A person born male, who identifies as a man, and is attracted to women exclusively but only in one way (romantic) or the other (sexual) is queer.

That is a man who either does not desire sex, and is therefore Not Really A Man by society's gender standards and expectations, or does not desire a romantic relationship/wife/girlfriend and is called a manwhore dirtbag who sleeps around or is asked eternally by family and maybe partners who don't get it When He's Going To Get Married.

To be straight requires you to identify with your gender assigned at birth, to feel romantic attraction to the opposite gender exclusively, to feel sexual attraction to the opposite gender exclusively, and to only desire monogamy in that relationship.

A man, born a man, who is not romantically attracted women, but sexually attracted to them, is not straight.

A man, born a man, who is romantically attracted to women, but not sexually attracted to women, is not straight.

There is no debate. Yes, even the Demisexuals and Demiromantics. Yes, even the ones who are capable of feeling these things only under the right conditions.

They're all queer. Every single one. Because they deviate from the idea that Every Man Wants To Fuck A Woman And Be A Loving Husband By Default.

If you disagree with any part of this post get the fuck off my blog. If you try to start shit in the notes or in my asks you're getting blocked.

We're here. We're queer. Fucking deal with it.