#they don’t even look when I try to show my art
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dissapointu · 1 day ago
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Hello, I wanted to ask you a little drabble with all the arcane characters.
Like how they fell in love with reader ( like what captured their attention etc)
It would be pretty cool in my opinion.
Have a wonderful day\night.
Aaaugh, I made of made this a bit long-(really long, that was sarcasm) I'm splitting it into two portions
Jinx-
Jinx didn’t know what to make of you at first. You weren’t loud or flashy like the people she was used to dealing with. You weren’t trying to prove anything, and yet, there was something about you that screamed different.
She first noticed it when you didn’t flinch at one of her explosions—not the way most people did, anyway. The boom had rattled the room, shaking dust from the rafters, and yet, there you were, brushing soot from your shirt like it was just another Tuesday.
“Nice touch with the blue sparks,” you’d said, nodding at her latest contraption. “Adds flair.”
Flair? Most people would’ve called it destruction. Most people would’ve screamed or run. But you? You tilted your head, eyes bright, genuinely impressed, and for a moment, Jinx was at a loss for words.
It wasn’t just that you didn’t fear her; it was the way you saw her. You noticed the little things—the care she put into her work, the way she tinkered endlessly to perfect her machines. While others saw chaos, you saw art, and for someone like Jinx, that was everything.
The next time she saw you, it was intentional. She didn’t need to bring you a gadget she’d been working on—it wasn’t even finished—but she wanted to see how you’d react. Sure enough, you examined it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, pointing out details she hadn’t realized anyone else would notice.
“This is genius,” you murmured, tracing a finger along a carved design she’d barely remembered adding. “You really think through every detail, don’t you?”
Her heart did something weird then, like skipping a beat but more… explosive.
From there, it snowballed. You became her favorite person to show her creations to, the only one she trusted to see her work before it was ready. You never judged, never laughed when something misfired—just smiled and asked how you could help.
And Jinx? She realized she’d fallen for you one day when she caught herself trying to impress you. The realization hit her like a grenade: she didn’t just want you to like her inventions—she wanted you to like her.
“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said one night, leaning against her workbench, tools scattered around her. Her voice was softer than usual, almost unsure. “Most people don’t get me, but… you do.”
You’d just smiled, that easy, genuine smile that had hooked her from the start. “That’s because you’re worth getting.”
And just like that, Jinx knew there was no going back.
Vi –
Vi wasn’t looking for anyone. She didn’t have time for soft moments, not with everything she had on her plate. But then you came along, and she couldn’t help but notice how you carried yourself—steady, calm, unshakable.
The first time she really noticed you, it wasn’t some grand, sweeping moment. It was quiet. You were helping some kids in the Lanes patch up a rickety swing they used to pass the time. Nothing fancy, just you, a coil of rope, and that determined look in your eyes.
She hadn’t meant to stop and watch, but something about you drew her in. Maybe it was the way you didn’t hesitate to get your hands dirty or how the kids laughed around you, their faces lighting up despite everything the Lanes threw at them.
“You’re good with them,” she said after working up the nerve to approach you, trying to sound casual.
You glanced up at her, wiping sweat from your brow, and gave her a smile that hit her like a sucker punch. “Someone’s gotta be. They deserve better than this, don’t you think?”
It wasn’t just your words that stuck with her—it was the way you said them. Like you meant it. Like you actually believed in something better, even when the world gave you every reason not to.
From then on, Vi found herself noticing you everywhere. The way you stepped up when others hesitated. The way you didn’t back down, even when things got messy. You had this quiet strength about you, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway.
She started finding excuses to stick around—helping with repairs, walking the kids home, sparring with you in the courtyard when the opportunity came up. And each time, she found herself drawn to you a little more.
“You’re somethin’ else,” she admitted one night, sitting beside you on a crumbling wall, the city’s broken skyline stretching out before you.
You raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “That so?”
“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck, uncharacteristically shy. “Most people would’ve given up on this place a long time ago, but not you. You stick it out, no matter how hard it gets.”
You shrugged, your gaze softening as you looked at her. “Same could be said about you, Vi.”
That was the moment it hit her—like a punch she didn’t see coming. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t ignore.
She fell for you in pieces, each small moment stacking up until it all clicked. It wasn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. It was the way you fit—like you were exactly what she didn’t know she was missing.
And when she finally worked up the courage to tell you, your answer came with that same steady smile that had captivated her from the start.
“Figured it out, huh?” you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away.
Yeah, she figured it out. And she wasn’t letting you go.
Sevika-
Sevika didn’t believe in love. In the Lanes, it wasn’t something people had the luxury of chasing. Survival came first, and attachments were just liabilities waiting to stab you in the back.
But you were… different.
The first time she noticed you, it wasn’t because you were trying to catch her attention. You were too busy holding your own, stepping into a dispute between two gang members over stolen supplies. She’d leaned back in the corner of the Last Drop, watching the chaos unfold, ready to step in if things got messy.
But then you surprised her.
You didn’t raise your voice or threaten anyone. Instead, you stood tall, calm as you defused the tension with a few sharp words and an unflinching glare. You had this presence, like you weren’t afraid of anyone in the room—not even her.
“Bold move,” Sevika had said when you approached the bar afterward, ordering a drink like you hadn’t just stared down two brutes twice your size.
You glanced at her, your lips quirking into a small smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep things from falling apart.”
That was the moment she started paying attention. You didn’t just survive in the Lanes—you thrived. You didn’t let the weight of the place crush you like it did everyone else. And more than that, you cared. Not in some naive, starry-eyed way, but in a way that made you fight tooth and nail for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves.
It pissed her off at first. The way you carried yourself like you weren’t afraid of the darkness around you. She thought it was reckless, stupid even. But the more she watched, the more she realized it wasn’t recklessness. It was conviction.
You weren’t scared of getting your hands dirty, but you never lost sight of what mattered to you. That’s what got under her skin, what kept her coming back to the same barstool night after night, just to see what you’d do next.
She started finding reasons to stick around. Sometimes it was to share a drink, other times to offer backup when things got rough. You never asked for her help, but you didn’t push her away either, and that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.
One night, after a particularly close call with one of Silco’s rivals, you patched up a cut on her arm, your hands steady as you worked.
“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” she muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes.
You chuckled, your touch gentle as you tied off the bandage. “Takes one to know one.”
It was such a simple moment, but it stayed with her. The way you looked at her—not like she was some feared enforcer, but like she was just… Sevika. It wasn’t something she was used to, and it scared her as much as it thrilled her.
Over time, she realized she was looking for you in every crowd, waiting for the nights you’d sit beside her and trade sharp banter over a drink. She fell for you quietly, begrudgingly, like it snuck up on her before she could stop it.
And when she finally admitted it—to herself, to you—it wasn’t some grand confession. It was a gruff, almost reluctant, “You mean more to me than you should.”
Your response? That same infuriating, endearing smirk. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
Sevika huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but the truth was, she didn’t mind. Because for once, letting someone in didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like strength.
Silco -
Silco had always been a man of control, ambition, and sharp edges. In the underbelly of Zaun, survival demanded nothing less. Trust was currency, and affection? A distraction. He had long since accepted that power was the only thing worth chasing.
But then you appeared.
You weren’t loud or showy, not one of those people clawing for his attention. No, you worked quietly, efficiently, in the background of the chaos he ruled. You were just another piece in his intricate machine at first—just another person serving a purpose.
What caught his attention first was your unyielding patience. Where others in the Lanes were frantic, desperate to prove their worth, you moved with a calm certainty, like you weren’t afraid of the storm around you. You fixed what was broken—tools, machines, even people—without asking for anything in return.
One night, you’d been tending to one of his injured men after a skirmish, your hands steady as you stitched him up in the dim light of the hideout. Silco watched from the shadows, curious. The man hissed in pain, and you responded with a soft laugh.
“Hold still, or I’ll sew you up crooked,” you teased, your tone warm but firm.
It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the way you carried yourself. There was no fear in your voice, no need to prove yourself to anyone. You didn’t care about earning his favor or gaining power. You just… were.
For someone like Silco, who thrived on manipulation and control, it was unnerving. People were supposed to want something from him. But you? You treated him like a man, not a king.
It wasn’t long before he started seeking you out. At first, it was subtle. A lingering glance as he passed through the room, a quiet question about your work. You always answered him honestly, without flinching under his piercing gaze, and it left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite name.
One evening, after a particularly brutal day, he found you sitting by the docks, staring out at the toxic waters of Zaun. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly at the sight of you, though he didn’t understand why.
“You should be careful out here,” he said, his voice low as he stepped closer.
You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly. “And miss the chance to breathe? I think I’ll take my chances.”
It was such a simple thing, but it stayed with him. In a world that demanded constant vigilance, you allowed yourself to simply exist. It was a quiet defiance, one that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.
Over time, you became a constant presence in his life, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls. It wasn’t grand gestures or impassioned declarations that made him fall for you. It was the quiet moments—the way you never cowered under his gaze, the way you challenged him without hostility, the way you saw him for more than his scars.
One night, as the two of you shared a rare moment of silence in his office, he finally allowed himself to admit what he’d been feeling.
“You’re dangerous,” he said, his voice soft, almost amused.
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Dangerous? To you?”
He smirked, though there was no malice in it. “You’ve managed to do what no one else has.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’ve made me want something I didn’t think I needed.”
Your smile widened, warm and unguarded, and for once, Silco didn’t feel the need to look away.
In you, he found something unexpected: a quiet kind of strength, the kind that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect. And for a man who had spent his life fighting for control, letting himself fall for you felt like the ultimate rebellion.
Vander -
Vander wasn’t a man who fell in love easily. His life had been shaped by too much loss, too much responsibility. The people of the Lanes leaned on him, and he carried their weight with quiet strength. Love, to him, felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.
But then, there was you.
It wasn’t some grand moment that captured his attention—it was the small, steady things. The way you moved through the chaos of the Last Drop, keeping the peace in your own quiet way. The way you never demanded his time but somehow always knew when he needed someone to sit beside him in silence.
What struck him first was your kindness—not the soft, fragile kind, but the sort that had edges. You didn’t let people walk over you, but you never hesitated to offer a hand to someone in need. In a place like Zaun, where survival often demanded selfishness, you were a rarity.
He noticed it one night when a brawl broke out in the bar. Two rowdy patrons had nearly overturned a table, and before Vander could step in, you were already there. You didn’t raise your voice or throw a punch. Instead, you placed a firm hand on one of their shoulders, your calm, measured tone cutting through the tension.
“Save it for the street, boys. We don’t spill blood where we share drinks.”
To his surprise, they listened. Vander couldn’t help but chuckle as they slunk off, muttering apologies.
“Got a way with people,” he said later, handing you a drink as thanks.
You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Just trying to keep things from falling apart.”
Those words stayed with him. It was how you carried yourself—like you were always holding the pieces together, not because you had to, but because you chose to.
Over time, he started finding excuses to be near you. A quick conversation here, a shared drink there. You had a way of making him feel… lighter. Like he could let go of the weight he carried, even if just for a moment.
It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after the bar had emptied, that he realized how deeply you’d settled into his heart. You were sitting on one of the tables, cleaning up a spill, humming a tune under your breath. The soft glow of the lanterns lit up your face, and for a moment, Vander just… watched.
“You’re staring,” you said, not looking up.
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me.”
You glanced at him then, your smile warm and teasing. “What’s on your mind, big guy?”
He hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure. But then, he decided to just say it—Vander was never one for dancing around the truth.
“You. The way you care about this place. The people. Me.” He exhaled, leaning against the bar. “Never thought I’d find someone like you in all this.”
Your eyes softened, and you set down the rag in your hands, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased gently. “Took you long enough to notice me.”
He laughed then, a deep, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Oh, I noticed. Took me a bit longer to admit it.”
And when you reached up, resting a hand against his face, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. In you, he found something he hadn’t realized he needed—a steady flame in the chaos of the Lanes.
Ekko -
Ekko didn’t believe in distractions. The Firelights needed him, the Lanes needed him. His days were spent fixing the mess left behind by Piltover’s greed and Silco’s reign. He had no time for anything else—least of all love.
But you? You didn’t give him much of a choice.
It wasn’t a single moment that caught his attention. It was a collection of them, like the pieces of a clock coming together. He first noticed the way you moved—quick and deliberate, like you belonged to the rhythm of the chaos around you. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Whether you were patching up one of the Firelights after a mission or organizing supplies in the hideout, you carried yourself with a quiet confidence that made it impossible for him not to watch.
What hooked him, though, was your laughter. The first time he heard it, he froze. It had been after a particularly rough raid. Everyone was tense, the weight of the day pressing down on their shoulders. And then you cracked some joke—stupid, honestly, but something about the way you delivered it had everyone laughing, including Ekko.
That was when he realized it: you didn’t just survive the Lanes. You thrived in them. You brought light into a place where most people only saw shadows.
It started small—an extra second spent talking to you, a lingering glance when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d catch himself gravitating toward you without even meaning to, drawn to the way you lit up a room with just your presence.
But it wasn’t until one night, long after the others had gone to sleep, that he truly understood how deep you’d gotten under his skin. You were sitting by the glow of a makeshift lantern, tinkering with some piece of tech you’d salvaged. The light cast shadows across your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the focus in your eyes.
“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.
You glanced up, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Someone’s gotta keep this place running.”
He stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “You do too much, you know that?”
“Says the guy who can barely take a break,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” For a moment, he just stood there, watching you work. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm.
“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly.
You paused, looking up at him with a tilt of your head. “Do what?”
“Care so much. About all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entire hideout, the Firelights, the Lanes.
Your gaze softened, and you set the piece of tech aside. “Because someone has to. And because… I believe in you, Ekko.”
The sincerity in your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. You believed in him. In a world that seemed determined to tear him down, you stood beside him, unwavering.
“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me anyway.”
That was the moment Ekko fell. Completely, irreversibly.
Jayce -
Jayce had always been drawn to brilliance. Invention, ambition, ingenuity—they were the cornerstones of what he admired in others. And yet, none of it had ever prepared him for you.
The first time he saw you, it wasn’t in a polished Piltover workshop or a grand council meeting. It was in a small, crowded market on the edge of the Undercity, where the scent of oil and metal clung to the air. You stood at a stall, bartering for scraps and materials like your life depended on it—because, as he’d later learn, it did.
What caught his attention wasn’t just your resourcefulness or the sharp wit you wielded against the vendor. It was the way your eyes lit up when you held a seemingly useless part in your hands, already envisioning the endless possibilities it could unlock.
He didn’t even mean to approach you. His curiosity had a mind of its own. “What are you going to do with that?”
You turned, a little startled, but you didn’t back down from his inquisitive gaze. Instead, you held up the twisted hunk of metal like it was a crown jewel. “Turn it into something brilliant. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. And Jayce, who had spent his life chasing impossible ideas, saw a kindred spirit in you.
From that moment, you became an enigma he couldn’t resist unraveling. Every conversation revealed new layers to your ingenuity, your resilience, your unshakable belief in making the impossible possible. And the more time he spent with you, the more he realized it wasn’t just your mind that captivated him—it was your heart.
You were unafraid to challenge him, to push him, to remind him that the world wasn’t just equations and theories but people and dreams. Your passion reignited something in him he hadn’t realized he’d lost: a love for the why, not just the how.
One evening, as the two of you sat side by side, tinkering with a device in his lab, he found himself watching you instead of the work. The way your hair caught the light, the quiet determination in your expression, the soft smile when something finally clicked into place.
“You’re staring,” you teased without looking up.
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—how do you make everything seem so effortless?”
You grinned, glancing at him with that spark he’d come to love. “It’s not effortless. I just don’t let the hard parts stop me.”
In that moment, he knew he was a goner.
Jayce Talis, the golden boy of Piltover, had fallen in love with you—not because of what you could build, but because of what you built in him: a renewed faith in the beauty of dreaming big, of chasing the spark no matter where it led.
And it apparently led to you.
Viktor-
Viktor didn’t notice you at first, not in the way others might have. He was too focused on his work, his mind consumed by blueprints and equations. But you… you were patient, always there in the background, asking questions no one else dared to ask, seeing things no one else cared to notice.
It was one of those late nights in the lab when you caught his attention. He was hunched over a schematic, frustration etched into every line of his face. You, seated quietly at the far end of the room, had been watching him—though you’d never admit it aloud.
“Did you eat today?” your voice broke through the silence.
Viktor didn’t even look up. “I’m fine,” he replied, a rote answer that wasn’t convincing in the slightest.
You set down your work and crossed the room, standing just out of his peripheral vision. “Fine isn’t food, Viktor.”
When he finally looked at you, there was something in your eyes that made him pause. It wasn’t pity or condescension—two things he’d grown accustomed to. It was understanding, genuine and unyielding, as if you knew exactly what it felt like to lose yourself in something bigger.
That was the first moment he realized you were different.
It wasn’t the last.
You had a way of grounding him, of pulling him out of his own head without judgment. Your presence was quiet but powerful, a steady force that didn’t demand his attention but earned it nonetheless.
What truly captured him, though, was your mind. You didn’t just accept the world as it was; you questioned it, challenged it, sought to understand it. You weren’t afraid to debate him, to push back when you thought he was wrong, and yet you did so with a respect that made him listen.
He found himself looking forward to your late-night conversations, the way you’d linger in the lab long after everyone else had gone home. You’d ask about his work—not just the mechanics but the why behind it, the hopes and fears he buried beneath his relentless drive.
One evening, as you sketched out a rough design on a scrap of paper, Viktor caught himself smiling. Not at the drawing, though it was clever, but at you. The way you bit your lip in concentration, the furrow of your brow, the quiet hum of satisfaction when you got something just right.
“You are remarkable,” he said softly, almost to himself.
You glanced up, surprised. “What?”
His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, fiddling with a wrench. “Nothing. Just… your ideas. They’re… innovative.”
But it wasn’t just your ideas. It was you—the way you saw the world, the way you saw him. Not as a man constrained by limitations but as someone capable of more.
You believed in him, not just in his work, and that was something Viktor hadn’t realized he craved until you offered it so freely.
And as the days turned into weeks, then months, he realized something else: He believed in you, too.
It wasn’t some grand epiphany or dramatic moment. It was in the quiet, shared glances, the lingering touches when you handed him a tool, the way his chest felt lighter when you were near. Somewhere in the midst of late nights and whispered dreams, Viktor had fallen in love.
Not just with your mind or your presence, but with the way you made him feel—seen, understood, whole.
And for a man who’d always fought against the odds, loving you felt like the greatest invention of all.
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gaywineauntsstuff · 2 days ago
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Listen the ‘Bruce brought dick in to stop him killing Zucco” is fun
You know what’s more fun
The fact that Dick Grayson is the fundamental opposite of Jokers one bad day
Because he was 9 and insane
Jokers “all it takes is one bad day” meet Dick Grayson also terminally insane but in the opposite direction.
(“I had a bad day not a fan, it’s illegal now”
“Chum murder is already illegal”
“Yeah in the eyes of the law, but who follows that! I’ve decided it’s illegal for people to have bad days”
“You have to follow laws Dick. You have to”
“Says the man getting shot at by the cops bc he dresses as a giant bat monster and fights crime using ancient martial arts”
“Hnnng”
“Anyway it’s illegal now, people suffering I have decided and I’m adorable so what I say goes!”
Bruce pinching bridge of nose “Dick you can’t save everyone and change every person you meets life”
“How about! No!”
“Di-“
“Great talk Bruce! Bye bye now!”)
Like when I say Dick Grayson was the crazy Robin I don’t mean he was aggressive or cruel
No I mean this man would not be out of place in Lewis Carol’s Alice in wonderland.
He’d see all the insane shit in Gotham and go ‘that makes perfect sense’ and continue on his merry way
Like he’s the type of kid who when he’s mad at Bruce for sidelining him on a fight against the joker (and making him fight Harley)
Will pull out a chessboard, grab Harley Quinn and go “I win, you get arkhamed you win we fight”
“Kid-“
“I have a gymnastics competition coming up and I wanna show up this douche in my class- you are not breaking my legs before then. Sit down. Play chess”
“Shit kid why didncha say so”
Why does he wanna fight the Joker who will objectively injure him far more throughly
“Well it’s simple math, I grew up in a circus, I like clowns, he is the biggest disgrace to clownery I’ve ever seen bet he didn’t even go to clown college. Doesn’t even have any iconic makeup, he just has toxic waste skin?? Like not even eye makeup or a red nose?? If you wanna do thematic crime do it right? Anyway it’s my legal obligation to try at any given moment to reck the embarrassment to all things goofy and funs shit.”
—————
Bruce looking for his 9 year old ward who was kidnapped as Robin
Dick hanging upside down on semi sentient vine gesturing wildly at poison Ivy who is nodding empathically
“And the water here is not normal!! Like how do you grow plants! I used to have to take care of plants all the time and now if I water them they rot! Like right in front of me!!? And I feel so bad but?? It’s water?? Please drink it?? Mr plant”
“Oh yeah it’s because of all the toxic ace chemicals in the water, you have to triple filter it. Honestly Robin I’m disappointed, your plants should be drinking the same water as you”
“ they do tho!”
“You…drink… Gotham tap water? Batman lets you drink Gotham tap water?”
“Well no… he always tells me to use the filter but I like the tap water!! Sometimes it’s fun colors and spicy”
“oh… oh that explains so much about you..”
“No he just came like that.”
“Oh HI B I was asking miss Dr.ivy why my plants keep dying”
“Robin don’t consort with villains”
“Miss Dr. Ivy you’re a doctor right”
Poison Ivy who is violently amused “PHD not MD but yeah I am”
“So you’re smart”
“Yeasss”
“Cool!…. What does consort mean?”
————-
Annoys the riddler by going with the most out of pocket technically true answer
Think “a sparrow with a shotgun”
———-
Makes the Jokers goons laugh, louder than the joker. Even while under threats of death by sufficiently wacky murder plot
———-
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mercillery · 1 day ago
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REQUEST: Do you think you can do the request for the reader who was a villain in the entire superhero world who somehow gets transported into one piece world and meet yandere Shanks? I like to imagine the reader acting naturally mischievous, just like Jinx from Arcane, although she only did it for fun and to survive for some reason.
WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD
NOTES: I really hope I did this right because I have NOT been on my A game lately 😭
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Your arrival in the One Piece world is less of a graceful entrance and more of an explosion—literally.
One moment, you’re minding your own business, and the next, you’re plummeting from the sky like some demented shooting star, limbs flailing and curses flying. You crash into the middle of a bustling port town, sending crates, seagulls, and the occasional unlucky bystander scattering in all directions. The dust settles, and there you are, standing in a crater of your own making, grinning like you meant to do that all along.
Welcome to the Grand Line, where logic checks out and chaos clocks in.
The marines stare at you with the wide-eyed horror usually reserved for sea kings or Luffy’s buffet bill. Pirates gawk, unsure whether to laugh, run, or offer you a drink.
You give them your signature sharp, mischievous grin—one part charm, two parts “I’m going to ruin your day,” and an extra sprinkle of “just try me.” Confusion ripples through the crowd like a wave. You bask in it, your energy crackling and boundless, a living storm wrapped in human skin.
The local pirate crew, tough guys with a collective IQ rivaling a bag of rocks, size you up and make the classic mistake: they think you’re just some eccentric with a flair for drama.
That’s when you move. Before they can blink, you’ve turned their leader’s sword into a modern art installation, shoved two marines into a barrel labeled “Pickled Fish Heads,” and balanced a seagull on your shoulder for dramatic effect. Panic and hilarity ensue.
Word travels fast on the high seas, and it doesn’t take long for whispers of your chaos to reach ears in the highest (and lowest) places. The World Government adds your name to their ever-growing list of headaches, filed under “urgent” and “why do we even bother?” You’re not just a problem—you’re a full-scale diplomatic incident wrapped in a smirk and delivered with a bow. Basically, you’re a concern now.
But it’s not just the marines who take notice. Somewhere far off, a certain red-haired pirate lifts an eyebrow. “Looks like there’s a new wild card in the deck,” Shanks mutters, eyes glinting with that mix of amusement and intrigue. Congratulations, you’ve officially caught the attention of the world’s most unpredictable forces. This is where his obsession with you begins.
At first, Shanks is amused—entertained, even—by the novelty you bring to the seas. Honestly, who wouldn't be? The way you breeze through confrontations with the grace of a tornado and the subtlety of a sledgehammer piques his interest.
Watching you dismantle the strongest foes, evade the deadliest traps, and still manage to smile through it all is like watching a firework show that never ends—bright, unpredictable, and dangerously beautiful.
But Shanks isn’t some easily impressed fool. No, he’s smarter than that. He doesn’t just enjoy the show and move on. No, his amusement slowly morphs into something deeper. Something more…obsessive. You don’t just break rules—you make your own. And that, my friend, gets under his skin in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
It’s not just the chaos you bring to the table, but the fact that you seem to slip through danger with such ease. You take risks like you’re daring the world to stop you, and yet—you never get caught.
Shanks, being the perceptive captain he is, knows there’s something behind that. There’s a fire in you, sure, but there’s also something more—a certain… darkness? A guardedness that doesn’t show on the surface but flickers in your eyes every time someone gets too close.
Oh, he notices that. You laugh and joke with everyone around you, your antics a constant stream of unexpected, glorious chaos, but when it’s just you—when the spotlight’s not on you, when you're not performing for an audience—you’re different.
Your smile tightens, sharp as a blade, more of a dare than an invitation. It’s like a challenge in disguise, one that says, If you want something from me, you better be prepared for the cost. Shanks watches, fascinated, as you put on this show of being carefree and invincible, but underneath all the madness, you’re calculating. You’re always thinking, always a step ahead.
It’s obvious you don’t trust anyone, not completely, and Shanks? Well, Shanks doesn’t push too hard. Not yet, anyway.
He’s intrigued, yes. But he’s not stupid. He knows better than to charge in like some lovesick fool. You? You’re unpredictable, like a live wire just waiting to snap. He doesn’t want to get too close too fast, doesn’t want to make you feel cornered or raise an eyebrow at him.
And besides, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? Watching from a distance, observing your every move, figuring out what makes you tick. The dance between curiosity and caution. Where did you come from? Who are you, really? How do you work? What makes someone like you—so erratic, so full of life—tick? Is it just instinct? A desire to keep the chaos alive? Or is there more to you than meets the eye?
And so, he watches. He watches the way you challenge the strongest and most fearsome foes like it’s nothing more than a Tuesday morning. He watches the way you smile at danger, never afraid of it, never running from it—just wading through it like you were born for it.
And more than anything, he watches the way you handle yourself when the storm clears, when you’re alone in the aftermath of all your destruction. In short, his intrigue starts with hearing about you, then turns into obsession when he finally sees you in action. Shanks is no stranger to dangerous things. And you, my dear, are dangerous—albeit in the best way possible.
Eventually, after admiring you from the shadows for so long, he decides to approach you. He does it in the most Shanks-like way possible: a mix of casual charm and reckless abandon. He’s not one for grand entrances; no crashing through walls or dramatic monologues here. No, he’s more of a “show up when you least expect it, but somehow it feels like he’s been there all along” type.
Picture this: you’re lounging somewhere high up—because heights are fun and gravity is just a suggestion when you’re you. Maybe you’re perched on a crooked rooftop, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you tinker with a small gadget you found in some unsuspecting marine’s coat pocket. It’s a ticking contraption that probably shouldn’t be ticking, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it? The town below is bustling, oblivious to the chaos brewing in your hands. A seagull eyes you warily, as if it’s considering retirement if you stick around any longer.
That’s when he makes his move.
Shanks approaches you the way a cat would approach a bird—slow, steady, and with a smirk that suggests he already knows how this will end. He makes his presence known before he gets too close, humming some sea shanty that’s off-key enough to be endearing but not so bad that you’d throw your shoe at him.
He’s got his signature grin in place, the kind that says I’m here for a good time and maybe a headache or two. The townspeople below don’t even bat an eye; they’re too busy trying to remember if they left their windows locked the last time you strolled by.
Now, Shanks isn’t trying to startle you. He’s smarter than that—he’s seen what happens to those who catch you off guard. One minute, they’re standing proud, and the next, they’re tied up in some sort of human pretzel that makes them reconsider all their life choices.
No, he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of whatever improvised booby trap you have up your sleeve today. So, once he’s within sight, he makes sure to announce himself, arms spread wide as if to say, Look! No hidden swords, no sudden moves. Just me and my questionable sense of judgment.
“Am I interrupting, or is this a bad time to mention that thing’s probably set to explode?” He quips, eyes twinkling with amusement. Of course, he’s not really worried—it’s Shanks. The man’s faced off against warlords and monsters that would send most pirates running home to their mothers, so a mischievous villain with a penchant for mayhem? That’s practically a vacation.
You arch a brow, glancing from him to the gadget that’s still ticking away. It’s almost funny—the most wanted man on the seas is standing there, grinning at you like he’s just wandered into a tavern and found the last seat at the bar.
Shanks knows he’s playing a risky game, approaching you unarmed and unafraid. But then again, that’s exactly the kind of gamble he loves. He’s betting that the spark of curiosity in your eyes will outweigh whatever impulse tells you to turn this meeting into a test of reflexes. And let’s be honest: he’s not wrong.
You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth quirking up just enough to let him know you’re intrigued—but not enough to let him off the hook. What’s his angle? Why is one of the most infamous pirates in the world standing here, acting like he’s just interrupted a casual hobby and not a potentially catastrophic experiment?
It’s not lost on you that most would run in the opposite direction at the mere sight of you tinkering with something potentially explosive. But this man? This ridiculous, audacious, red-haired captain? He’s leaning in, all while wearing that grin that’s one part roguish and two parts I’m absolutely going to regret this later. And somehow, that’s exactly what makes him fascinating.
At first, it’s almost funny. Because after that he’ll just start popping up out of nowhere, leaning casually against a market stall or sipping a drink at some rowdy tavern you’re sure he has no business being in.
He always wears that same knowing smile, as if the universe itself just happens to love playing matchmaker with you two. “Crazy running into you here,” he’ll say, voice laced with that lazy, deep amusement that makes you want to both smirk and roll your eyes. Crazy? Please. The only thing crazier is how often he’s finding you in the middle of your next big scheme.
But soon, the pattern becomes unmistakable. It doesn’t matter where you go—a sleepy fishing village where you may or may not have set a few docks on fire for fun, or a dense jungle where you’re sure no one could possibly find you while you scout for mischief—there he is.
Always at the perfect time, always with that lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eye that says he’s loving every second of it. It’s uncanny, really. The man’s supposed to be one of the most powerful pirates alive, yet here he is, spending an absurd amount of time just “accidentally” running into you.
And oh, how it gets under your skin. Because whether you’re raiding a marine base disguised as a disheveled merchant or setting up a prank involving way too much gunpowder and a seagull with questionable morals, there he is—unfazed and curious, with that maddening, calm presence of his.
He’s not just watching; he’s studying you, savoring every moment like you’re the best show on the high seas. Sure, anyone else would be calling for backup or running for cover, but not him. No, he’s the fool standing in the eye of the storm, watching with the kind of exhilarated wonder usually reserved for treasure hunts or legendary battles.
You, on the other hand, start to notice his little game. The “oincidences” pile up until they’re as obvious as a sea king at a beach party. You’re torn between annoyance and amusement. It’s flattering, in a way.
After all, it’s not every day that someone like Shanks, with all his charm and laid-back swagger, goes out of his way to stalk—sorry, coincidentally encounter—someone as unpredictable as you.
But it’s also infuriating. Who does he think he is, trying to turn the tables on you? You’re the master of chaos, the orchestrator of mayhem, and here he is, making you feel like you’re the one caught in some elaborate game.
Still, you try to outwit him. You switch up your routines, veer off into the most uncharted, unpredictable places, places so remote even the mapmakers just gave up and doodled sea monsters instead. You lay low, stir up trouble in places you’re sure won’t make it back to any pirate worth their salt. But somehow, some way, there he is.
Maybe he’s helping himself to an ale at the dingiest bar you could find, or maybe he’s leaning against a tree in the middle of nowhere, one hand on his sword and a smirk that practically screams, You didn’t really think I’d let you get away that easily, did you?
And if you try to push him away, that just won’t work. If anything, he’s more enchanted. Because to Shanks, every glitter bomb, every prank, every trick you pull is just another piece of the puzzle, another reason to be fascinated by you.
And somewhere between dodging your traps and trying not to laugh himself to death, he realizes he’s not just amused anymore—he’s head-over-heels, completely gone, the kind of infatuation that doesn’t end with simple fascination but with something much deeper. The man who could laugh off an admiral’s challenge now finds himself more captivated by you than any battle or bounty could ever make him.
Shanks’ affection sneaks in slowly, like a storm building on the horizon—quiet at first, but impossible to ignore once it hits. It starts as something harmless: an extra drink sent your way when you’re raising hell in a tavern, a knowing smirk as he casually keeps one hand on his sword when a fight breaks out.
But then it grows.
He starts hovering—not in an obvious, clingy way, but enough that it feels like he’s always a step behind you. Whether you’re flipping off marines or turning another pirate’s ship into a makeshift fireworks display, he’s there. Watching. Always watching.
And for someone who’s supposed to be laid-back, Shanks sure has a knack for snapping to attention whenever you’re around. His laugh gets a little tighter when someone brings up your antics, like he’s torn between pride and worry.
His crewmates don’t miss a thing, of course, but they keep their mouths shut. They know better than to tease their captain about the gleam in his eye whenever you come up in conversation—or the way his fingers tap restlessly on the table when he hasn’t “accidentally” bumped into you in a while.
It’s funny, really. Shanks is a Yonko, one of the most feared men in the world, and yet here he is, acting like a lovesick teenager. And the best part? He thinks he’s hiding it. He’s still doing his whole carefree routine, leaning against doorframes and cracking jokes like he doesn’t have an entire fleet of informants feeding him your every move.
But the shift is there, subtle but undeniable. His usual nonchalant swagger stiffens just a bit when another pirate crew gets too close to you, his grin falters for half a second when someone else makes you laugh, and his voice drops into something darker, something more dangerous, when he tells you, “Stay where I can see you.”
Oh, and let’s not forget the moment you decide to respond in the most you way possible. Because if Shanks is going to try to rein in your chaos, you’re going to remind him exactly who he’s dealing with.
Maybe you flash him your sharpest grin, the kind that screams I dare you. Or maybe you immediately do the opposite of what he asked, vanishing into the crowd like a puff of smoke just to see how fast he’ll find you again. (Spoiler alert: it’s fast. Too fast, honestly. How does he keep doing that?)
Or maybe you just pull one of your classic stunts—a grenade-like gadget tossed high into the air with a wild laugh, sending nearby pirates scrambling for cover while you pirouette out of harm’s way. The chaos doesn’t faze you; it’s your natural state.
Shanks, on the other hand? He doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, arms crossed, watching you with that maddening mix of amusement and exasperation, like a parent watching their kid lick a lightning rod during a storm. Sure, he’s smiling, but there’s a tightness to it, a barely-contained edge that says, You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?
But that’s the thing about Shanks—he’s not angry. No, he’s enchanted. You’re a hurricane in human form, and he doesn’t want to tame you. He just wants to keep you safe. And that’s the part that messes him up the most: you don’t need him to protect you. You’ve been surviving on your own for years. You don’t need Shanks. But oh, does he need you.
And the more he watches you dance on the edge of chaos, the deeper he falls. He sees the way you laugh in the face of danger, the way you challenge anyone and everyone with that gleam in your eye, like you’ve got nothing to lose. But he also sees the cracks, the moments when your guard slips and the weight of your past sneaks through.
And those moments? They hit him harder than any punch ever could. Because for all your chaos, all your wild unpredictability, he knows there’s a part of you that’s still searching—for what, he’s not sure. Safety? Belonging? Something else entirely? Whatever it is, Shanks wants to be the one to give it to you.
But he’s careful. Oh, he’s so careful. He can’t let you see just how deep this obsession goes—not yet. He keeps his grin wide, his tone light, his demeanor easygoing. But every time you pull one of your stunts, every time you put yourself in danger just for the thrill of it, his heart clenches.
And when someone else gets too close, when they so much as look at you the wrong way, that laid-back facade cracks, just for a second. Because Shanks may be calm, may be collected, but when it comes to you? He’s a man on the edge. And you? You’re still playing your own game, dancing circles around everyone who tries to keep up.
Let’s skip to maybe a few months or so: It’s one of those rare, quiet moments—well, as quiet as things get with you around. Maybe you’re perched precariously on a ledge, fiddling with some contraption made from salvaged parts that you swiped from a marine ship, casually ignoring the fact that the thing looks like it’s one wrong wire away from detonating in your hands. Shanks is nearby, sitting cross-legged on a crate, his hat tipped back and his arms resting on his knees, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. And honestly, you are.
That’s when you drop it. Completely unprompted, of course, because why would you bother easing him into it? One second you’re talking about how annoying it is that the marines keep sticking Wanted posters of you up in towns you haven’t even been to yet, and the next, you’re casually saying, “Oh yeah, by the way, I’m not even from this world. So that’s a thing.”
Shanks pauses mid-drink, the rim of his mug hovering just shy of his lips as he blinks at you. For once, the ever-unflappable Red-Haired Yonko looks... well, flapped. He sets his beverage down slowly, his eyes narrowing in that curious, thoughtful way of his, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re messing with him or if you’ve finally gone completely off the deep end. (Let’s face it, it’s a toss-up.)
You, of course, are completely unbothered by his reaction. In fact, you’re barely paying attention to him at all, too busy tinkering with your little doomsday device—or whatever the hell that thing is.
You start explaining, your words coming out in bursts of chaotic energy as you wave your hands around (which, considering you’re holding wires and probably a live battery, is extremely concerning).
You tell him about your world—how it’s full of superheroes and villains, and how you were one of the latter. Not because you were evil or anything, but because it was fun. Survival was tough in a world like yours, so you made your own fun, pulled a few heists, caused a bit of mayhem, blew up a few buildings here and there (details, details).
You glance up at Shanks, your eyes sparkling with mischief, and add, “And then one day, BAM! Out of nowhere, I get spawn and fall from the sky and into this place. Like the universe itself went, ‘You know what? You’re too much for this world. Let’s try you somewhere else.’” You laugh, loud and unrestrained, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all.
Shanks, meanwhile, is still trying to process what you’ve just told him. It’s not that he doesn’t believe you—honestly, at this point, he’d believe just about anything when it comes to you—but it’s a lot to take in. Another world? With superheroes and villains? And you—you—were one of the villains? He can’t help but chuckle at that. Of course, you were. It explains so much.
Still, he has questions. So many questions. Like, how did you get here? Can you go back? Do you even want to go back? And, more importantly, what kind of idiot superheroes let you run wild long enough to wreak havoc in their world?
He doesn’t ask, though—not yet. Instead, he watches as you get bored of your gadget and toss it behind you with a shrug, causing a small explosion that sends a flock of seagulls squawking into the sky. You don’t even flinch, just lean back on your hands and grin like a kid who just got away with stealing cookies from the jar.
“That explains why no one’s ever heard of you,” Shanks finally says, his tone light but his eyes sharp, studying you. “Not that it matters. You’ve already made a name for yourself here.”
You smirk at him, that wild, mischievous grin that makes his chest tighten in a way he’s not ready to unpack. Of course, you’ve made a name for yourself here. You’re you. Doesn’t matter what world you’re in—you’re always going to be the storm that leaves chaos in its wake.
But what Shanks doesn’t say—what he won’t say, not yet—is that your revelation changes everything for him. Because now, it’s not just about keeping you safe from the marines or rival pirates. It’s not just about protecting you from the dangers of this world. It’s about keeping you here. In this world. With him. Because if you’re not from here, if you somehow came from somewhere else, then what’s to stop you from vanishing again?
The thought sends a spike of unease through him, but he buries it beneath his usual easy grin. He won’t let that happen. He can’t. You’ve turned his world upside down in the best possible way, and he’s not about to let you slip through his fingers.
If the universe went through the trouble of dropping you into his life, then damn it, he’s going to make sure you stay there. Even if it means playing along with your chaos and keeping his own obsession hidden behind that charming, carefree facade.
And so, life continues—a kaleidoscope of chaos, obsession, and unpredictable adventures that leave the Grand Line buzzing with your name. Shanks, ever the enigma, plays his role of charming pirate captain to perfection, but you know better by now.
The surface-level grin, the casual remarks, the way he always "just happens" to be in the same port town as you? Yeah, no one’s buying that anymore. The man is hooked, and not even the sea itself could untangle him from you.
But the question lingers—what next? You’ve already turned this world upside down, left a trail of havoc, and made a Yonko, one of the most powerful men alive, fall head-over-peg-legs obsessed with you.
And yet, your spirit is as untamed as ever. Shanks knows this, too. Oh, he’d love for you to stay, to have you as part of his crew or even just within reach, but you? You’re not the type to stick around for too long. You’re a storm, a burst of energy that refuses to be tied down by anything—not even the Red-Haired Pirate himself.
Still, Shanks can’t help but hope. He won’t say it outright, of course. Instead, he’ll do what he does best: adapt.
If you decide to wander, he’ll make sure to hear about your escapades—whether from his informants, his crew, or the occasional Wanted poster featuring your grinning face plastered in every marine office from here to the New World. And if he hears that you’re in trouble? Oh, he’ll be there. Not immediately, because that would be too obvious, but soon enough to lend a hand and maybe—just maybe—steal a bit more of your time.
And if you do decide to stay? If you decide that maybe, just maybe, the chaotic magnetism between the two of you is worth exploring? Well, Shanks isn’t going to complain. He’ll welcome you with open arms and maybe a locked door or two—just in case you try to bolt, ready to see where this wild ride takes the both of you.
But here’s the thing—this is your story. Whether you stick around, sail off on your own, or somehow find a way back to your world of superheroes, it’s all up to you.
Shanks knows this, even if he hates to admit it. He knows he can’t control you, and truthfully, he wouldn’t want to. That unbridled chaos is part of what drew him to you in the first place.
So maybe one day you’ll vanish, just as suddenly as you arrived, leaving behind a legend that grows wilder with every retelling. Or maybe you’ll stick around, redefining what it means to be a pirate in this world. Either way, one thing is certain: you’ve left a mark on this world—and on Shanks—that won’t be forgotten anytime soon.
And who knows? Maybe chaos itself has finally found a place it belongs. Or maybe it was never about belonging at all. Either way, the seas will never be the same. And neither will he.
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ghostickle · 7 months ago
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#I wish I could go back in time never had met either of them#never trusted them never given them everything#I moved in with him because he begged me too I wanted to live alone#and now I’m getting fucked over#I do everything I can for people I pour everything I can into people#give them all my time and energy do anything I can to make them happy hurting myself in the process#and when they can’t get anything more out of me when they got bored of me I get treated like this#and left to rot#with nothing#and it keeps happening#I find a person who I think will genuinely care about me and love me the way I do for them#who truly wants me around#and I trust them#and they take that trust to use me and everything just keeps repeating#why can’t I just be loved#they only love me when they’re able to use me and make me into what they want#ghost rambles#they don’t even hide that they’re only using me by the end of it.#I’m there for every thing they struggle with whenever they feel alone#I get them presents I make them food and treats I get into whatever their interests are so they can show stuff off to me#but no one’s done it for me#they don’t even look when I try to show my art#they don’t care about my music#they were never there when I was struggling#shit there’s been times he found me crying with fresh cuts blade still out and just wants to talk about how everyone hates him#just wants me to drop everything to comfort him#ignores that id been crying couldn’t care less that I relapsed#it’s always about them
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i-really-like-phrogs · 7 months ago
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Re-design of my un-named Beetlejuice OC from back when I was thirteen
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Original Reference under the cut:
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#my art#beetlejuice#toonjuice#beetlejuice cartoon#beetlejuice fanart#beetlejuice movie#procreate#I don’t really make OC’s for fanwork anymore… but the ones I had when I was younger almost never got named 🥲#When I first made her I really really liked her- and her story was very self indulgent#Looking at it now is almost way too weird for me… (and honestly a little unintentionally homophobic???)#Basically she was one of the girls from Dante’s inferno… except she got kicked out because she only had attraction to girls#(This was BEFORE I suspected that I was a lesbian— mind you.)#Yeah but anyway she went to the Deetz/Maitland house looking for a place to stay but drove everybody crazy#She was super flamboyant- loved everything pink n fluffy- and was well meaning but did more harm than good trying to do nice things for the#She had this one sided crush on Delia??? Like musical Beej and Adam except less perverted and more flirty/sappy? I was an odd kid- okay? 🥲#Anyway… the old design didn’t really do much to show off her personality… so I ended up upheaving the whole thing#It was okay for what I knew at the time- but I know what I was trying to say then and now I have the knowledge to say it better#Also— the reason I gave her horns here is so silly.#When I was younger I was in a Christian school where I wasn’t allowed to draw witches-ghosts-demons-etc.#So even though I based her on the Dante girls… I refused to give her horns because I thought that was ‘too sinful’#I even remember having so much guilt while looking for references of the Dante workers#I couldn’t even look for more than five seconds!#Anyways… she really pushed the boundaries for me at the time and it’s fun to see how I’ve changed and grown since then.
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tellie-vision-art · 2 years ago
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I’m gonna be honest I lowkey want to draw Axel or maybe her with Priya but I don’t normally draw fanart and I am scared 😭
And also I would hate if people followed me explicitly for that BC I don’t normally draw fanart and I know it would be disappointing to see my OCs all the time. Like would any attention I receive from it be worth it if no one’s interested in my actual art rather than just the characters in it. Like there’s no demand for my art would anyone who follows me even care if I drew fanart 😭 it’s a double-edged sword
And like interacting with fandoms always ends poorly for me (Scream Queens bc harassment, Squid Game bc lots of gross people) what if I draw it and post it and the TD fandom gets ruined for me too somehow, I would die 😩 I fear interaction outside my target audience (followers and my friends) I suppose
#total drama was my first hyperfixation fun fact for you#but I was too small and bad at art to make content at the time lmao#but like damn what if I draw them and they look like shit in my style I would off myself#also tbh I headcanon Axel probably doesn’t care about shaving bc she’s too busy… surviving#and I don’t want to get roasted for drawing a woman with body hair 😩#I feel like also I want to give her a tooth gap I think her design would look aesthetically pleasing to me with it#I love her so much she was ROBBED#also she is trans and a lesbian she told me personally#if she told me to jump off a bridge I would with no questions asked#anyway random ship headcanon also: I feel like Axel is the one with the crush first#however her ways of showing affection are not necessarily seen as affectionate by other people bc she’s so intense#like i.e. I feel like she genuinely thought killing the squirrels for her team was a kind gesture#she just does not show things like kindness traditionally if that any of that even makes sense#THE POINT IS SHE’S SHOWING AFFECTION BUT PRIYA’S NOT PICKING UP ON IT BC SHE SHOWS IT WEIRDLY 😭#lmao I’m imagining her trying to gift her a knife (or saw!) bc she’s baffled at the idea of someone not having one for self-defense#SHE BRINGS HER (cooked obviously) DEAD THINGS LIKE A CAT 😭#she won’t get you flowers she will bring you military rations so you’ll have food when the apocalypse comes#maybe Priya even gets irritated by everything bc she’s capable of defending/doing things herself and she’s like#misinterpreting Axel’s shows of affection as her thinking she’s weak/incapable#and poor Axel wouldn’t understand what she’s doing wrong bc she is ensuring her survival! why is that not working!#Someone needs to help her but I can’t see her accepting help#but it would be funny to see someone suggest giving Priya flowers or smth and Axel’s like#why would I do that flowers just die wouldn’t you rather have a weapon for when the apocalypse comes#a strange way of showing affection but I think it would be CUTE#and it would be funny bc Priya would eventually show affection the normal way and Axel would not pick up on it at all#she would tell her she looks pretty today but what she REALLY wants to hear is I would trust you with my life during the apocalypse#the way to her heart is the apocalypse! she just tragically thinks it’s the way to everyone else’s as well#lmao I’m talking so much but it’s so funny to me#a disaster lesbian in her natural environment#they mean so much to me I saw them interact once and my brain was like yes this is it
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artdcnaldson · 5 months ago
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NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit
This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.
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Rating: E (18+)
Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other
A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)
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“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”
You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”
Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.
Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.
“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.
“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”
“How?” Patrick asked.
Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”
Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.
With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.
“What?” You asked with a frown.
“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”
You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.
His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.
The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.
Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.
Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”
You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.
“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.
Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.
And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.
Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.
You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”
“Good,” Patrick said.
At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”
Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.
“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.
Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”
You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.
He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”
You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.
“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”
Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.
Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.
Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.
You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.
“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”
You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.
He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”
Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”
You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.
“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”
Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.
He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.
And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.
And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”
Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.
Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.
“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”
He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.
Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.
Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.
Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.
“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.
“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.
They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”
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rebelscums · 5 months ago
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Little Flower (Qimir x Padawan reader)
Rating: Fluff | Kissing | Light grinding | A pillow is thrown
Summary: You are the padawan to a masked man you had no name of. You have been by his side for years, training and mastering the arts of what he refers to as the dark side of the force. However, with Mae entering your life as his new favorite, you are beginning to question whether you belong there anymore. Something that you run to your closet fiend to talk about. Who knew confessing to Qimir about your trouble would bring a life changing moment.
“I’m not strong enough for him.” That was the first thing you said to Qirmir as you entered his shop. Borrowed shop? You didn’t care.
The defeat in your tone was enough to alert him of your dismay.
“That’s it. I’m officially useless to him. He doesn’t need me.” You blurted out all of your frustrations to the only person you have ever been able to call a friend, “All he cares about is his new acolyte Mae.”
You were both stationed here with Mae as she completed the next part of her trial which was to kill Master Torbin… Without a weapon.
“What makes you say that?” Qimir popped his head up from behind his counter.
“He’s been making me run these needless errands lately that literally anyone else in the galaxy can do.” You set a bag of powdered gold leaves onto the counter, “This took me an entire day to find and when I go back to the spot I left him, he was gone! Gone! Didn’t tell me where either.” You said frustratingly, “So I figured you might know what to do with this.”
Qimir took the bag and peered inside, a please look on his face as he hummed, “Actually I do. It’s the leaves I need to make a poison Mae requested.”
“Of course it is.” You rolled your eyes at the mention of her name.
Mae seemed to be taking the eyes of your master and Qimir lately. Something that made your eyes turn green with the overpowering feeling of jealousy… Of being abandoned.
“Look, I love Mae and she has become very dear to me, but… I was here first.” You felt like a child for saying that, “I know that sounds selfish, but it feels like he just tossed me aside for a better version.” You looked up at Qimir showing him the hurt and betrayal in your eyes before looking away to try and suppress your feelings, “And maybe… Maybe she is better than me… Maybe I should just take my loss and go.” You spoke in a near whisper, your throat tightening at the thought.
“No!” The way he quickly voiced his answer had you looking up at him waiting for him to continue, “You are strong with the force and an extremely skilled assassin.” He shook his head, “You don’t have to leave.”
You sighed and moved past him and the counter, “But what if he wants me to leave Qi? You don’t understand. It’s like he doesn’t even see me or the power I possess. All he ever says to me is that I’m not ready to become his acolyte and that I need to help Mae ascend yet…” You slumped into the cot that he called a bed with a huff, “I’m older than she is! I’ve been with him longer might I add. I’ve never questioned him, I’ve followed him loyally and this is what I am granted with? To be a baby sitter?”
“One useful skill may come out of that job.” He noted and you missed the blush in his face at whatever he was thinking about…
“And what might that be?” You muttered tiredly as you stared up at the ceiling contemplating your life and how you could just be better.
“You would make a good mother?” Qimir shrugged his shoulders as he tried to had the small smirk on his lips.
You launched one of the pillows on the bed the moment those words left his mouth. It was going straight for his head to which he surprisingly dodged with ease, but that didn’t stop the surprised look appear on his face as he raised his hands in surrender.
“Not funny.” You grumbled and crossed your arms, turning to face the wall with a pout.
“Okay okay. I’m sorry.” Qimir said as he walked over to where you were. When you didn’t turn to face him, he decided to take a seat on the edge of the bed beside you. There was a thoughtful look on his face before he spoke again, “Maybe… Maybe he is looking out for you.”
That got your attention. You sat up, your shoulders brushing against his as you peered up at him with confusion, “What do you mean?”
A nervous blush creeped up his face as you leaned closer to him, “Well I mean… I…” He trailed off nervously, “I just mean that maybe you just might be more important to him than you realize. He could be looking after you to take on a more important role.”
“What’s more important than being his acolyte?” You huffed in confusion as you look towards your fiddling hands, “I remember what he said to me all those years ago when we first met. He promised he would make me a powerful force weirder and that I would stand by his side as his acolyte and now… Now I’m starting to question if he really meant it.”
Qimir’s hand found yours and gave it a comforting squeeze, “He meant it and… You are powerful. Just as you are brave and unlawfully kind.” He assured and it was your turn to blush.
It seemed like he always knew what to say to you in ways that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn, “Qi…” You breathed out as you glanced at his lips.
He was quick to copy your movements leaning in closer to you as he did so, “Maybe he sees too much good in you to turn you into something your not.” He whispered, his breath caressing your skin.
“You seem to know a lot about what he may think.” You whispered, suddenly lost in his darkening gaze, “Why is that?”
“What can I say? I’m good at reading people.” He smirked slightly as he looked down at your lips again, “I’m also extremely possessive over what I care about. Knowing him means knowing you.”
“Okay…” You hummed accepting his answer, “Alright then mister possessive, what am I thinking about right now?” You mused, a mischievous glint sparkling in your eyes.
It was something the Qimir couldn’t get enough of. It was your playfulness towards him that was like a breath of fresh air against the darkness he was met with daily.
“I would say…” His speech was slow as he traced your face with his eyes, “That you really want to kiss me.” He teased lowly. There was a small grin on his face in knowing that he was right.
He was always right.
“Do I now?” You didn’t try to deny it as you leaned in closer to him, “And you? What do you want to do?”
A low noise emanated from his throat, almost like a pleading sound as his lips brushed against yours, “I want to kiss you...” He said in a way that made your heart yearn for him.
“Then what are you waiting for? Kiss me.” You breathed out, your heart racing wildly in excitement.
That was all he needed to hear as he leaned down to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fluttered closed at the soft sensation in the way that he kissed you. It was delicate and gentle as if he was afraid to push you too far, but the way your arms circled around his neck, pulling him closer to you, was all he needed to know.
He felt like light between your fingertips as you ran your hands through his hair and he was gentle with his movements in guiding you back against the bed. “Beautiful…” He breathed out, fitting himself snugly between your legs.
“Qi…” You breathed his name against his lips, arching your back as he tugged your bottom lips between his teeth. He held himself back, letting go of your lip to really look at you. You couldn’t help but look at him with awe as he gazed at you with so much love and devotion shining in his eyes.
“You are just… Breathtaking.” He admired you with every part of his being, “Utterly breathtaking…” He seemed mesmerized as his right hand traced along your curves.
You blushed, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked away from him embarrassed by his loving words, “Who knew you were such a flatterer.”
He chuckled lowly as he leaned back down to kiss your lips. All too quickly he left and began leaving a trail of kisses down to your neck. You couldn’t help your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling.
“You deserve to be flattered.” He continued losing himself in everything that was you. He rocked himself against you as he held back the urge to devour you entirely. He wanted too so desperately now that he knew you were his, body, soul, and mind. He would never let you go, not now… Not until his last dying breath. “You deserve the galaxy, my little flower.” He muttered softly against your skin.
You have much to learn little flower.
You moaned lightly at the pleasure he filled you with almost kissing his last words, but you heard them. Your mind took a moment to register the deeper meaning behind his endearment, but when you did your eyes opened in realization. It was him. Qimir was him. No one knew about that little nickname except for…
“Master?” You whispered running your fingers through his hair in a gentle manner, but your heart beat widely in your chest as he stopped kissing you.
“Hm…” He hummed a small smirk gracing his lips as he breathed against your neck, “You finally figured it out.”
You placed your right hand on his cheek and gentle lifted his head to face you, “He’s you?” You said in awe as you pieced together every moment up until now, “You’re him?”
“I am.” He searched your eyes for any fear or resistance, but his shoulders relaxed as he saw none.
“So… That is why you were never around when he— I mean when you were training me? Because you were already there.” Your brows furrowed, “Does Mae know?” A small pang filled your chest at the possibility of her knowing your masters identity before you.
He shook his head, “No.”
The pang quickly left, filling your chest with relief as you let out a small sigh, “So… That’s how you were so sure about how he was feeling because that’s what you truly felt…” A blush filled your cheeks at the kind words he said to you earlier.
However, you realized something else as well. He was the one who kept you from becoming his acolyte. You gasped as you smacked his chest causing him to groan and you would have cared for the old Qimir if you didn’t already know how strong he truly was as your master.
“Why won’t you make me your acolyte?” You huffed slightly embarrassed now that you know you spilled your guts to him, “This entire time I have told you how I felt. I am devoted only to you master so why will you not let me become your acolyte?”
“I thought you would have figured that out by now.” He chuckled shaking his head.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean? That is why you train me, it is why you let me stay with you, is it not?”
Strands of his hair fell into his eyes from the way he shook his head. You couldn’t help, but reach up to brush them away, something that had his heart flutter and his lips curl up into a soft smile. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closed as he spoke softly, “I don’t want you to become my acolyte anymore because I couldn’t bear the thought of something ever happening to you.” His gaze darkened, “I would burn the galaxy before that ever happens.”
You smiled softly and brushed away the creases from his brow, “I know.”
“I want you to be mine.” He nuzzled his nose into your wrist before placing a gentle kiss upon in, “I want you to be my equal… Not as someone who does my bidding, not as my padawan or my acolyte, but someone who stands by me.”
“I want you my little flower because you are everything I wish the world to be.” He finished, a soft look in his eyes.
Love swelled up in your chest at the confession he conveyed so deeply to you. His love sealed your fate to him as you leaned up towards him. You brushed your lips against his, the both of you conveying your strong emotions to one another with the look of your eyes.
“You have my heart Qimir and I will stand by your side, always.” You agreed softly.
It was a promise that the two of you would keep without any doubt. He was yours and you were his until the end of time.
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nescence · 3 months ago
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Marriage life
JJK men x Fem!Reader
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Summary - Basically just you and him in a marriage. Both wholesome and smutty. Involves: Gojo, Getou & Nanami
Warnings: Mirror sex, pervert Getou, praising, masturbating, massage sesh with Nanami ;), overstimulation.
PT2 pending…..
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GOJO
You and Gojo are pretty much the rich aunty and uncle. You don’t have kids because your sister has pretty much filled that hole for you and babysitting the two twins is enough.
Movie night is a must with you guys. It’s relaxing and comforting especially on rainy days. So before bed when the kids are over you either watch horror or comedy, all snuggled up in a blanket. Gojo is always the last to fall asleep, it’s like he’s programmed to stay awake and protect you - always being the one to carry each of you to bed carefully.
“Satoru?” You mumble as your body is carefully placed onto the bed. You hear him hum as he covers you up. “The kids…” you trail off, sleep still in your body. He joins you in bed placing a kiss on your cheek then lips. “took care of em, get some beauty sleep” he reassures, arms sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him planting another on your forehead before you snuggle into him. The warmth emitting his body immediately putting you to sleep. His embrace has always been comforting, bringing you a sense of saftey you couldn't describe.
Clinginess, Gojo can be clingy whenever you’re off to work. He found it ridiculous why you would want to work in the first place. He had enough money for generations upon generations so you working was always baffling to him. Who in their right mind would work willingly?.
Sweets. You guys could make a factory with the amount of sweets you had in your cupboards. Maybe that’s why he always has an unbelievable amount of energy. Even in bed.
Practically a house husband.
“How’s my beautiful wife doing today?” Spreading his arms wide, Gojo pulls you into a hug. You were tired but you gladly accepted it, letting yourself fall into his hold. His arms remain at your hips staring down at you. “You’re glowing” his eyes sparkle, and you frown.
“Really? I thought I looked like shit” you say but he shakes his head “that’s weird…didn’t use anything new”. Once those words came out your mouth Gojo grins. “I could think of a reason why” his tone was cheeky, eyebrows wriggling as he stares down at you. Realising what he meant, you groan pinching his nipple which makes him jump.
“Ya nasty” rolling your eyes with a smile on your face.
Always, always praising you.
“Look at you…” Gojo practically whispers to himself, watching his fingers circle your wet clit through the mirror. Your body twitching under his electrifying touch, the way the tip of his middle finger delicately presses against your clit has you shaking for mercy. Licking his lips hungrily, his eyes observe. A fucking. Sight. To see.
Your brows curled and bottom lip disappears underneath your teeth. Legs broadened - felt embarrassing to you - like a work of art mirrored at gojo, granting him the sight of every inch and surface of his wife; your pussy glosses under the soft lighting of your bedroom, keeping his glistening cock cosy within whilst drops of cum seep out, running down his length. Your low whimpers sounding like the desperate cry of a pup. Face stained with dried tears. And Gojo loves it, bringing you to such a state to show how much he adores your body, how a stunning woman like you should be treated - he wants to give you nothing but pure pleasure caused by him and him only.
“Ahn~~” you moan, trying your best to keep your legs open as Gojo continues teasing your abused clit. Your sensitivity at a high due to your nonstop cumming. “You’re soo..beautiful [Name]” He lulls into your ear, mouth against your heated skin as he speaks. “Look baby, look” he stops fidgeting with your bud, your eyes avert to his in the mirror. “Don’t ya look fucking gorgeous?” Mouth parted as he speaks, breathing hungrily as he takes your hand into his. Guiding your fingers through your folds, making you spread yourself nice and wide for him to marvel at how well you suck him in, he hisses feeling you squeeze him along with the gorgeous sight. He has your fingers run through your slit, gathering both his and your essence. You exhale at the action any light touch on your clit making you twitch. “Bet you taste as good you look” his eyes lock onto yours, “hmm?”. Your gaze never leaves his blues as he guides your hand up to your lips, the pure intimacy in your eyes as your lips fall open, giving him the opportunity to push your fingers into your mouth. Closing it shut, you relish in the sweet taste of you and your husband, moaning vulgarly as you suck and swirl your tongue around your digits. Causing your husband to further expand within you.
His eyes, lost in yours, clouded by his lust whilst he watches you swirl your hips. Gaining whatever friction from his cock Sitting deep within your walls. All the while you’re lost in the motion, your eyes rolling shut revelling in the sensation. Your sucking becoming weak as you grow a knot within your stomach, mouth loosening and drool running down your chin. Drunk with sweet bliss.
Fucking hell. You’re killing him.
“Fuck…c’mere” his hand faces you towards him, lips immediately magnetise. Giving Gojo a chance to taste both you and him. Hungrily devouring you, not giving you a bit of control as his tongue rolls, leading you whilst moaning. Gojo sucks In a breath feeling your soft walls pulsate and squeeze his girth, his lips hung on yours. Letting out pleasured breaths as he finally moves his hips again, nicely…slowly…gliding his length up into your drenched hole. His name rolls off your tongue barely above a whisper, Gojo lazily kisses you as his mind is now elsewhere, gradually increasing his speed now that both his hands held onto your hips. A yelp slips your tongue feeling his swollen tip hit your cervix. The creamy mess of your cum reaching both ears, evidence of your unceasing sex. Whatever words Gojo grunts out falling into deaf ears, a feeling of rapture throughout out your body. Your vision blurry due to a well up of tears, eyes glued to the ceiling, mouth remaining parted as rhythmic moans are beat out your throat every time Gojo’s hips bounced you upwards.
“Your pussy’s so goood [Name]” Groaning, Gojo spouts out whatever comes into his mind. Big hands squeezing the flesh of your hips whilst he enjoys your cunt socked on him. “Feels so- so good baby- fuck” he grunts eyes catching the motion of his length disappearing into your pussy, a white ring of cum developed around his base. A reminder of your previous rounds, and yet he couldn’t get enough.
Seeing your head hung over his shoulder, tits bouncing, tears streaming….He wants more, he needs to make his wife feel just how fucking amazing she is to him.
GETOU
One thing about Getou is his acts of service, that's his love language. He'd help you with your hair, help with cooking despite being horrible at it. Anything he feels would burden you he'd do it.
Despite his act of service, you love returning the favour - one thing between you two is you self care days. Getou only doing it because of you. You'd help him out with his long silky hair, massaging his scalp, oiling his face. all sorts.
"Is it nice" you whisper softly, smiling as you watch him relax into you. His eyes remain closed as he hums, enjoying the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp. You chuckle, reaching to get a serum for his face, whilst applying it you lean over to place a peck onto is lips. Getou’s purple eyes fluttering open to be met with the face of his beautiful wife, a fond smile spreads across his face as he watches the softness in your expression as you scrub his scalp. You’re always so gentle and pulpous with him. Just like he his with you.
He reaches his hand to take yours in, you let him although caught off guard. His lips meet your skin, a gentle kiss from him on your hand.
One thing you both love are drives, it didn't matter the destination or if there even is a destination. You both found amusement in having long drives either in comforting silence or with music. And during all that Getou's hands dont leave yours, interlocking your fingers in silence no matter how sweaty it gets he doesn't let go. Unless you stop for a snack.
Whenever your clothes go missing/ get damaged. Getou doesn't hesitate in replacing them. One day a bra or shirt of yours would be gone and the next day it'll be there right where you left it all brand new. Even if when you point out something you like, it'll be in your possession the next day.
Speaking of clothes getting damaged or lost. The reason being?. Your husband. Despite his cool demeanor and being your husband, Getou is a pervert for you. Stealing your clothes, enjoying their scent as he fucks himself using them. Just to make up for when you're not there.
You had gone out to meet your best friend because of an alleged emergency. And now Getou is left alone with his thoughts.
1 hour later, he finds himself watching a show to pass time. Frequently checking his phone to see if you’ve messaged him or called. But nothing. It doesn’t help when the last thing you said to him was hinting at something, something he knew very well what to be.
‘I have some things I wanna try out with you…’
Those words ring in his head and his mind goes into the gutter. Immediately thinking of the videos he came across on your laptop. You’ve both never done that before. Maybe?….
2 hours later, fuck… he groans into his hands. Unable to focus on the show. His dick was aching…throbbing for a release he can’t bear to resist any longer.
10 minutes past, and Getou finds himself digging through your dirty laundry. Eyes laying on that one lace panty he loves on you. He doesn’t waste time pulling the band of his sweats down to set himself free, tip angry and leaking with precum. Veins popping as if he was gonna explode. His mouth goes agape, letting out sharp breaths once he brings the piece of cloth to his nose. His free hand rubs his inflated tip whilst deeply inhaling the musky scent of your cunt.
“Fuck…Baby.” He gasps, eyes rolling as he begins to stroke his cock. Imagining your flooded hole welcoming him in. Desperately pumping him. “Sssshit [name]” he amps up speed, bringing the lace down to wrap around himself. He needs you. He needs so bad and you’re not here.
“[Name], [Name], [Name]— fuck ah—”
It’s not enough. He needs more, he’ll never cum this way. His hips buck into his hand in attempt to gain more friction, to replicate your gummy walls bouncing up and down him. Milking him. Emptying his balls till he’s all dried up.
“Yes baby…shit— ah- ah-”
His hand moves at an alarming speed, his release is right there. Within reach. A few more pants and strokes before he’s finally done, ropes of cum covering your laced panty, Getou hunching over as the release hits him hard. He groans, letting out a few breaths before looking at the mess he made.
All that mess and he’s still hard.
5 minutes pass.
“I need you- I need you-” Getou’s humping your pillow like a dog, rolling his hips into the soft cushion head thrown back at the frictions. “Ohhh fuck, fuck.” already chasing his third orgasm, his tip sensitive and red from the action. Pillow soaked with his cum and sweat running down his torso. Your lace panty lays on the floor all stained with his seed, Getou payed it no mind. Telling himself he’d get rid of it later and buy you a new one tomorrow. Now a new pillow too. Your name chants from his lips multiple times, your face appearing to him every time he closes his eyes.
He just. Couldn’t. Get. Enough.
He wants his dick to be squeezed, drenched, overstimulated to his limit. Your moans, his name leaving your soft lips in a scream. Everything about you makes his thrusts harder. Sweet moans leave his lips, as he goes harder. His mind filled with your every being, voice, touch.
“Suguru”
“Agh…fuck…yes baby” Your voice sounded so real, Getou could only throb at the sound.
“What’re you doing?” Sounded too real, his head snaps to your doorway. Seeing you stood eyes wide as you watch your husband hump your pillow shamelessly. Even then he doesn’t stop, eyes locked on yours feeling not only his heart but his cock best at the sight of you. He should stop, he should stop. He repeats in his head, but his body refuses, the pure sight of you bringing him closer to a finish.
“[Name]” he grunts, face red and hair stuck to his skin. “I need you…please- please-” begging you, his voice cracks, the sounds going straight to your already wet core. And of course, you couldn’t deny it.
NANAMI
One thing about Nanami is his consideration. No matter the situation he’s always have you first in mind. After work he’d always stop by the convenience store to buy you your favourite snacks. Now you have a whole cupboard full of it.
Compared to him, you have much more energy than he does. So every time he’d try his best to entertain your interests since it makes you happy.
Just like Gojo - he praises you every chance he gets.
“Awww kento what’s this” you pick up the stunning dress from the bed, admiring the way it shimmers under the light.
Nanami watches you with a small smile, your eyes sparkling just like the dress “It reminded me of you” he mumbles just enough for you to hear before your throwing your arms around him “Thank you so much. I love it.” You place a long kiss on his cheek, his arms wrap around your waist staring into your eyes as he spoke. “Why don’t you try it on? Since you like it so much let’s show it off” your brows perk up in shock. But then again, you should be used to this.
An hour later you’re coming out the bedroom all dressed up. The light in Nanami’s eyes glows once he lays them on you. What a beauty you are…
“I don’t know what I did in my life to deserve you” He speaks without thinking, reaching his hand out for you to take. “Oh stop it” you wave your hand, giggling like a Highschool girl receiving a compliment from her crush for the first time.
“I’m only stating the truth my love”.
Speaking of showing off. Nanami would never waste a chance to take you out, bringing you to restaurants, making sure you have your fill. Overall showing off his beautiful wife to let the world know how much of a lucky man he is to be graced with such a woman.
Working overtime is a habit Nanami can’t seem to get over. And because of that days or even weeks go by without you guys having that intimate time together. And Nanami, of course, always manages to make it up you.
“This is the least I can do. And no, you can’t return the favour” He speaks sternly, lifting you off the floor - hooking a hand underneath your knees and another around your torso.
“But you’ve been working. A lot. May I add and I’ll feel bad Kento” you argue as he places you on top of the massage bed. He plants a kiss onto your head, walking towards a cabinet “take your robe off”.
You watch him, annoyed by his disagreement. But oblige, a massage isn’t something you can easily pass on. And by your husband? You know it’ll be the best massage of your life. You lay face first on the bed, shuffling so you could get comfortable. You felt slightly chilly since Nanami suggested you go completely naked. But you have no complaints since it’s him.
“You ready?” He checks, his voice coming from your right.
“Mhmm”
Once you said that you felt a cool liquid dripping onto your back. The temperature sending shivers throughout your whole body. Your eyes close feeling his hands rub your back, spreading the oil whilst applying pressure.
“Relax for me [Name]” He spoke so calmly, so softly, it could put you to sleep. And on command you did. Relaxing just as your husband instructs, letting out hums of satisfaction whenever he hits the right spots. “Does it feel good?”. Fuck, his voice. That smooth, deep voice that you love so much. You’re trying so hard to ignore it, to not think so inappropriately about this innocent session.
“Yeah…you’re really good at this hun” you add, feeling his hands right above your rear, circles around your lower back. When he hits a specific spot you moan. “Right there Kento” you hiss as he goes back to area again, circling it until you’re satisfied “S’that good?” He inquires, making sure he’s done enough. And you nod, enjoying the tension being released.
Once he’s done with your back, he moves down to your legs, massive hands rubbing intently. Lathering them with oil. Doing to them what he did with your back.
You feel his hand move upward, now kneading your ass which caught you off guard. But you’re not complaining, rather, you giggle “Saving the best for last?” You imply, hearing Nanami sigh as he continues massaging.
“I won’t give you the satisfaction of my answer” You could hear the smile in his tone. But you don’t push on, enjoying the feeling of his hands on your body.
“Give me a sec”
Once he’s done, you hear his footsteps receding. Coming back after a few seconds later but he doesn’t do anything other stand there.
“Kento? What’re you doi— Ah!—” your husband causes you gasp as his fingers run through your folds with a cold oil. “K-Kento” your eyes expand, letting out a pleasured yelp as you hand springs to grip the massage bed. His fingers stuff you up so well, your insides already writhing. Turning you to mush as your husband's fingers slither deeper within you - the oil making it easier but also acting as an enhancement to your pleasure. What the fuck? you've felt good before but right now... you felt elated. And your moans only grew more intense as he went on.
“Judging from your reaction I made the right choice buying this oil.” He comments, fingers dragging in and out from your sopping cunt. Your eyes squeeze shut as you feel heat pool at your core, his fingers fucked you so good it’s almost embarrassing how they could bring you to this state.
“It’s only the two of us here my love. No need to restrain yourself” And with those words, a stimulation to your clit had you yelping. “Kento!”.
“Yes?”
Nanami is answered with a mewl, your body writhes beneath him. Legs springing up as a result of the overwhelming pleasure. Every once of your body felt hot. You felt goosebumps by your lower back where your husband’s hand laid whilst the other digs into your pussy, bringing you closer to climax.
“Too…ah…too much…” you barely manage to get your words out, constantly falling back into that world of pleasure. Mind solely focused on how your husband’s fingers glide against your sensitive walls, how they rub against clit. Oh…you were so close…and it didn’t go unnoticed by Nanami, he felt your cunt clench around his digits. And with that your husband increases his speed, your body tenses. Legs stretching, and hands clenching as you were on the edge of climax.
Before you knew it. Flashes blind your vision as you came. Soaking your husband’s fingers with your juices.
Nanami gives you a chance to catch your breath, soothing you with a hand massaging your back. But he doesn’t let it prolong for too long since he still had to move into the second part of this massage session.
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✦ Finally back on my grind.
1K notes · View notes
dollniu · 2 months ago
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lets talk abt kinks ! — JJK MEN
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SYNOPSIS — kinks i think jjk men secretly have…
PAIRINGS — toji x f!reader, sukuna x f!reader, gojo x f!reader, ino x f!reader, higuruma x f!reader
CONTENT — biting and hickeys, blood play, teasing, humiliation, overstimulation, 69, begging, orgasm control, masochism
OTHER — MNDI 🔞
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TOJI — biting and marks
toji shows ZERO mercy when it comes to marking you as his own. while he’s fucking u, he loves biting on your neck and leaving trails of bite marks across your skin that don’t go away for at least a week. whether he’s fucking you from the back or the front, he’s sucking on some part of your body. he loves hearing the the soft moans you make when he bites you which only makes him bite harder, it’s like music to his ears. just using his mouth all over you while he’s throbbing inside you, licking and sucking and kissing, etc. he knows ALL of ur sensitive parts and loves sucking on your sweet spot while ur riding him and the reactions you make when he bites you only makes him go rougher. also the fact that literally everyone can see the work of art he’s made on your neck, bite marks and hickeys (even in places only you two can see 💋) “you’re fucking mine.”
SUKUNA — blood play
sukuna is a mf sadist. he absolutely loves it when you’re at his complete disposal and a little toy he can inflict his cruel desires onto. and there’s nothing he loves more than leaving cuts on your body that leak with sweet crimson liquid. scratching at ur thighs or stomach, anywhere he desires with his sharp nails and watching the blood drip from your tits to your stomach only for him to lick it all up, savoring the taste of you. and the way you arch your back in pain and pleasure drives him crazy, watching you bleed as he fucks you harder and rougher. and the thing he loves most is biting into your neck with his sharp fangs, drinking the blood while he’s pounding inside you. drinking the blood and hearing you squeal in pain from the sudden impact only makes him bite deeper. “your sweet blood is mine, doll. let me taste every last drop of you on my tongue.”
GOJO — teasing/humilation
no matter where you guys are, gojo always finds a way to tease you. whether it’s whispering in your ear how much he wants to be inside you or touching you in the places you’re most sensitive, he just loves seeing you squirm as your face turns beat red. especially at the worst times— at meetings he’ll playfully put his hand in ur inner thigh, inching towards your core just to see that delicious flushed look on your face. he can’t contain himself when he sees you like that, a horny squirming mess. and during sex it’s even better, he’d make you strip down in front of him with his eyes glued onto your body, licking his lips while staring at the flustered mess he created. gojo is the type of guy to make direct eye contact while he’s fucking you. you’ll turn away in embarrassment but he’ll just grab your humiliated face and force you to stare into his eyes while he’s pounding you. it drives him crazy when he sees you squirming underneath him, letting out loud moans that you try to hold in, covering your mouth. but in return, he fucks you harder, rougher, just to hear those sweet noises come out. “come on, you like being like this.. don’t you? my little slut.”
INO — overstimulation
whether it’s you or him, ino loves overstimulation. feeling everything at once, it’s too much to handle but it feels so good. he loves seeing you squirm as he fingers you, making your legs shake after coming for the third time. you tell him to stop, pushing ino away but he knows damn well you want more and he fucking loves it. but whether you’re riding him, giving him a blowjob, or a handjob, he’s gonna be begging for you to keep going. tears flow from his wet eyes, staring up at you bounce on his dick, begging to let him cum. orgasm after orgasm, he wants to come again and again. “p-please! oh fuck- please keep going baby- please l-let me cum!”
HIGURUMA — 69 (duh)
higuruma LOVES EATING PUSSY. this is a known fact, he loves tasting all of you and licking up your sweet juices. and of course, riding his nose is also a factor. you mentioned it once and he absolutely lit up to the idea, looking up and seeing you use him for your personal pleasure made him hard just thinking about it. so when you brought up the idea of 69, you do it every night. sucking his dick while pleasuring his girl was absolute heaven for him, eating you out to perfection while getting a blowjob was just what this overworked man needs after a long day at work! just eating your pussy is enough, but feeling you swallow his dick while he plays with ur clit with his tongue felt heavenly. “god.. you taste so fucking good.. please.. mphm.. keep going.”
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selfcarecap · 21 days ago
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Lip Gloss [A.D.]
Art Donaldson x reader (x Patrick Zweig)
summary: Art loves when you kiss him while wearing lip gloss and it gets all over his own lips. What he loves even more is when you get on your knees for him and he ends up with lip gloss stains all over another certain body part of his.
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warnings: smut 18+ (oral m receiving, fingering f receiving, handjob, reader and Art have sex next to Patrick who is asleep but they have permission, submissive-ish!Art, a bit of voyeurism from Patrick – he doesn’t ask but for the sake of this fic we’re assuming consent bc it’s fictional, m masturbation, spitting, cum eating, pet names: good boy, baby, reader says Art is ‘wet like a girl’), feminine Art (so dare I say canon Art🙂‍↕️) or at least he likes lip gloss lol, Art and Patrick are college roommates – attraction heavily implied between all three of them but only Art and reader are in a relationship, this was supposed to just be a drabble lol there’s no plot just porn, also i’m kinda intimidated by the challengers fandom lol idk but anyway here's my first challengers fic sddslkh <3
word count: 3.4k | gorgeous divider by @dollywons
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When you first start dating Art, you always apologise for wearing lipgloss when you’re kissing him. You always wipe it off his lips after a kiss, pulling your sleeves over your hands to get it off his mouth. You’ve heard that guys don’t like it, but you like wearing lipgloss and Art has never complained. 
When you get more comfortable around him, you don’t always wipe the gloss off his lips, letting him do it himself. But he only does it because he feels like it’s what he’s supposed to do. Guys aren’t supposed to like the feeling of lip gloss. He’s probably supposed to tell you it’s annoying and ask you to stop wearing lip gloss, at least when you’re with him. 
But he doesn’t want to control you, and he doesn’t want you to stop wearing lip gloss. He just wants you to stop apologising for it.
“You don’t have to say sorry,” he tells you every time with a smile, but you still do it. 
“I know it’s sticky. I won’t put any more on tonight, don’t worry.” Art stops himself from pouting at your words. 
And yes, Art once applied the lip gloss that you left on his nightstand. He was missing you and the lip gloss was the closest thing to you that he had. He ran into the bathroom when Patrick came home, wiping it off furiously before his best friend could see. 
He likes keeping a shirt of yours at his place so that he can smell you even when you’re not there, but what he likes even more is to apply your lip gloss. It’s just a thin layer, but it makes him feel like he’s been freshly kissed by you. There’s nothing wrong with that, and there’s definitely no reason he does it other than to feel closer to you. 
-
You’re getting ready for the birthday of a friend one night. You’ll be going to a bar for a bit, nothing big. But you’re doing your make-up on Art’s bed with him sitting behind you, hands on your hips. 
“You look so pretty.” 
He says those words for every step of your routine. He wants you to know how beautiful you are no matter how much or how little make-up you’re wearing, even if it’s cheesy. Art grins when you show him the finished look, and his eyes stay stuck on your glossy lips, tinted a dark pink, almost red colour. 
He knows you can’t resist it when he looks at you like that, he never can when it’s the other way around either, so you press a kiss to his lips. Art knows that you’ll be wiping the sticky gloss off as soon as the kiss is over, so he deepens it to keep the feeling of lip gloss on him, even though Patrick is sitting in the bed right next to you. 
Knowing him, he’s probably staring and enjoying it; Art wouldn’t be surprised if he heard the sound of Patrick’s phone camera going off. 
You smile against Art as you part your lips for him, trying but not quite managing to bring yourself to stop kissing him yet. You have to physically take Art’s chin between your fingers and push his face away from you to stop. And yet, you give in again immediately, peppering his face in kisses before you pull away for good. 
You give Patrick an apologetic smile, even though you both know he doesn’t mind you and Art making out next to him. By the time you look back at Art, he’s already wiping at the lip gloss stains all over his face. Your cheeks heat up when you realise how many marks you’ve made on him. You forgot you put on a darker and more pigmented lip gloss than normal. 
“Wait,” you giggle, pulling away Art’s hand that’s already trying to wipe the sticky gloss away, “I’ll bring you a wipe.” 
“Doesn’t he look pretty like that?” Patrick comments before you have a chance to get up. Art throws a pillow at him. 
You look between them, at Art’s face littered with shiny, sticky stains. His lips are especially dark and shiny, as if you just put some lip gloss right on there, albeit a bit messily. 
“Of course he’s pretty like this,” you say, not looking away from Art.
 “Then just leave him like that, he likes it.”
“I don’t,” Art defends much too fast, and Patrick laughs. Art reaches for his pillow to throw at Patrick but remembers he already did. He’s about to stand up to go to the bathroom and get a stupid wipe himself, but you grip his t-shirt and he sits back down. 
“It’s okay if you like it, baby. It’s hot that you do,” you try to whisper the last part, and pull him in by his t-shirt to kiss him again, “Let me clean you up, and I’ll put some lip gloss on you properly.” 
“Only cause you think it’s hot,” Art calls after you weakly. 
Patrick laughs again. 
“Shut up.”
Art shyly tries to catch a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 
You sit back down in front of him, gently cleaning his face. You hold out the lip gloss afterwards, placing a hand on his face to apply it, the wet pop sounding when you undo the lid. 
“Wait,” Art leans back abruptly, as if you’re about to hurt him, “I want it from your lips.” 
You huff, smiling at him. You apply some more lipgloss to your own lips, taking your boyfriend’s face to give him a kiss to his pursed lips. You apply more and kiss him again. You both smile at the oddly innocent kiss – pursed lips against pursed lips. 
You wipe away the excess over Art’s cupid’s bow, grinning at his shiny, sticky lips. 
“You look so pretty, baby,” you tell your boyfriend, and he blushes. 
“Show me,” Patrick says, leaning forward to see Art from the front. Art turns his head away from his best friend, red up to the tips of his ears now. 
“Show him, baby,” you coax, reaching out for his chin to turn his head. You know Patrick likes to make jokes, but not when his best friend is like this – eyes like those of a puppy, genuinely embarrassed. 
It doesn’t have to mean anything, but Art has made it such a big deal in his head that he can’t like having your lipgloss on his lips that Patrick knows he needs encouragement right now. Patrick moves to sit at the edge of the bed to look at Art better. “Look at you, Artie, all pretty. Looks almost as good as on your girlfriend.” 
You roll your eyes – you should’ve known he can’t be fully serious. 
“You have to leave now, you’re already late,” Art reminds you, and you let him press another kiss to your lips. You’ll have to clean up the mess he’s made on your mouth on the way, but you don’t mind. You watch him enjoy the feeling of the sticky gloss on his lips a few more seconds before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 
You and Patrick share a look, rolling your eyes, and you blow a kiss to Art before you close the door.
 - 
You come back home early, before midnight. The birthday girl left to go see her boyfriend halfway through her own birthday party, so you’re back at Art and Patrick’s dorm. You’d be annoyed at your friend if you didn’t have your own boyfriend to go visit.
Patrick is already lightly snoring when Art opens the door for you – he’s in nothing but boxers – and you know what that means.  
Patrick has given you two permission to do whatever you want while he’s asleep, as long as you’re quiet. You’ve always wondered if it’s a tactic to secretly listen in on you and Art having sex, knowing that you would’ve otherwise never done it with him in the room. 
Art has a small light on next to his bed, and you join him on his mattress. A few leftover glitter particles sparkle on his lips, and you pull his face closer to yours. 
“Suits you so well, Artie. So pretty.” You swipe your finger over his bottom lip. He kisses it, stopping himself from smiling. He’s already looking at your lips, and you mentally pat yourself on the back for remembering to reapply your gloss just before you got here. 
You kiss him then, and Art licks into your mouth as if he’s been starved and waiting to eat you up since you left. You adjust your position to sit on top of him, and your knee grazes his lap. He’s already fully hard.
“Sorry.. couldn’ help myself. Pat fell asleep and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“It’s okay, baby,” you grin, holding his jaw, “You want me to make it better? Want me to go down on you?”
Art nods distractedly, mumbling out, “please, baby. Need you”. Your thumb brushes the gloss on his lip, and Art opens his mouth. You pull your hand away before he can wrap his lips around your thumb, and you kiss him as a whine escapes his mouth, muffling his voice.
You press your lips against his until they’re coated in your shiny gloss, and then you slide a finger into his mouth. He sucks on it – pink, sparkly lips around your finger.
“You look so pretty. Should wear my lipgloss more often,” you tell him, and he turns his head away in fake-annoyance, your finger slipping out. You feel his hard cock against your leg again as he moves, and you pull at his chin to open his mouth.
Art moans as you messily push three of your fingers into his mouth to get them wet against his tongue. You pull them out and slide them down into the waistband of his boxers, and down the length of his cock.
You put your hand over his mouth before he has a chance to moan, and you nod towards Patrick. He’s asleep, his back to you, but it’s not going to take long for Art to wake him if he keeps being this loud.
You get up, and Art pulls his legs to the side of the bed as you sit down between them. He’s straining against his boxers, a tall tent pulling the fabric taut. You release Art’s cock, and it slaps against his abs. He’s glistening down his length from where you spread his spit on him, a small puddle of precum already at the tip. 
You giggle quietly, “So wet, baby. You’re wet like a girl.”
“Shut up,” he whispers back weakly, biting his lip to stop a smile from spreading over his face.
You kiss the wet tip, licking the precum, and begin to leave lip gloss stains all down his length.
“Feels so good, baby. You’re so good at this,” Art says not nearly quietly enough.
“Shh, baby. Don’t wanna wake Patrick up.”
Your boyfriend nods, but you don’t think he’s listening.
You take his dick into your mouth properly now, wet heat enveloping him as you take him deeper, and you look up to see how he bites his lip and lets nothing but a breath slip past his lips as he watches you.
“Good boy,” you whisper to him. He intertwines his fingers with yours by the side of his hip, and you look up to smile at him. You ignore how, when you look past Art for a split second, you can see Patrick clearly jerking his cock under the blanket, the movement of his arm making it obvious. 
You shake your head slightly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at Art’s best friend, and you take your boyfriend deeper down your throat as your spit drips to his balls. Art looks down at you with such restraint on his face, it almost looks like he’s about to cry.
He manages not to make a sound when you suck his dick more eagerly, your lip gloss smeared over his cock as you jerk off what you can’t take past your lips. The only sound in the room is the wetness of your mouth and your spit around your boyfriend’s cock.
Art lets out a shaky breath as his abs contract, his hand squeezing yours, and you softly nod up at him, taking his cock as deep as you can. He whimpers pathetically when he spills his load down your throat, and you swallow it all as he keeps cumming and cumming in your mouth.
When you pull away, out of breath and with your lips wet, you take in the picture you created. Art’s cock is full of your lip gloss, his face shiny with a thin layer of sweat, his cheeks as red as the gloss you left on his lips earlier. You’re about to stand up and get a wipe to clean Art up, but he pulls his boxers back on.
He likes the glossy stains on his cock even more than the ones you leave on his lips. 
He pulls you up on the bed, lying you on your back. “Please can I go down on you?” he whispers, mouthing at your neck and down your chest, pulling your top down as much as the tight fabric allows, whining when he doesn’t get all the way down to your nipples.
As much as you want Art to eat your pussy, you won’t let him. He always gets messy and loud, moaning almost uncontrollably as he makes out with your wet pussy, and there is no way Patrick could pretend to sleep through that. 
If you thought Art was going to cry earlier from how good he felt, he reaches a new level of teariness now when you tell him no, eyes almost glassy.
“Tomorrow, okay? You can still use your fingers now.” Art looks at least somewhat assuaged at your offer, and lies down on his side next to you, unknowingly shielding you from Patrick. You don’t know if he came along with Art, or if he’s still jerking off, and that makes it even more exciting. 
You know Art would never cheat on you, but if you gave him permission to, and if he admitted his attraction, you’re sure he’d jump at the first opportunity to invite Patrick into bed with you two. You know Patrick feels the same. You like the thought of him listening in, making himself cum to the sound of his best friend and his girlfriend having sex.
“Here,” Art urges, holding a hand to your mouth, even though he knows you’ll be more than wet enough from giving him head. You spit into his open palm, and Art spits in too, the way he always does, liking the feeling of your combined warm wetness against his skin. 
Art reaches down your body and into your underwear, adding to the wetness. He rubs your clit in messy circles, kissing you even messier. You spread your legs for him more, but Art lets out a frustrated huff.
“Can I… want you naked,” he mumbles against your skin. Art watches with puppy eyes as you get up, taking off your tight top and grabbing your favourite oversized shirt of his instead, sliding off your trousers and panties only once you’ve put the shirt on.
“This is all you get.”
Art looks happy enough as you get back into bed with him, sliding a hand up your shirt now that he can comfortably get under the hem, and cups one of your tits.
“Can’t believe you’re mine,” Art says against your lips, hand moving back between your legs to play with your pussy, “So pretty.”
He circles your clit for a few moments before he pushes a finger inside while making out with you, remnants of his own cum still in your mouth, spit and gloss between you two as he continues to rub your clit.
“You’re the prettiest woman in the world,” he says, voice almost strained, and you realise he’s hard again, humping the mattress as well as he can while lying on his side, “Wish I was inside your pussy right now.”
You have to resist giving in to him – he’ll be insatiable the rest of the night if you let him fuck you even just for a few seconds – but you reach down to pull his cock free from his boxers, wrapping your hand around him.
“Can you focus if I’m doing this?” you ask pointedly, and Art nods eagerly.
“I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy. I’ll make you cum,” he promises, slurring his words as your thumb swipes over the tip. But he’s not lying, he’s still fucking your pussy with his fingers. You’ve trained him well, so he knows what to do.
You can’t deny that you’re both getting loud now, if it’s not the moans you don’t quite manage to swallow down, then it’s the sound of your wet pussy and your slicked hand around Art’s cock.
You cum almost at the same time, Art rubbing your clit at just the right, albeit messy, intensity, and your thighs squeeze around his forearm when the orgasm flows through you, your own hand not stopping around Art’s cock. He’s breathing hard, reaching for the tissues on his headboard, but the tissue box topples over and falls against his shoulder and to the floor as he tries and fails to rip out a tissue.
“Here, I got you, baby,” you angle his cock to his abs, so that he won’t be spilling all over his own sheets, and you only have to jerk Art’s dick for a few more seconds before he’s shooting ropes of cum over his own skin. His abs glisten as his breath stutters, and he has to wrap his hand around yours to stop when he gets too sensitive.
“I love you so much,” Art huffs with a smile, and you kiss him briefly.
“I love you too.” You gather his cum off his abs, wiping it over your palm and holding it over his mouth. It drips and falls between Art’s parted lips. Art hums when you slip your fingers into his mouth, and he sucks the last drops of his load off them.
“Such a good boy,” you rub your thumb over his cheek, gazing at him in awe.
“I love you so much,” he tells you again, a soft smile on his face.
When you’re done and you look over, Patrick is back to quietly snoring, a freshly crumpled tissue by the side of his bed. You kiss Art before you can begin to smirk, and you briefly consider telling him. You decide it’s a conversation for another day. Art would definitely get hard again if he knew that Patrick was jerking off to you two doing it, and he’s already squeezed out two orgasms just now. You don’t need him that overstimulated tonight.
You remove your makeup and get one of the fresh pairs of panties Art bought for you to keep at his place. You walk back into the bedroom and find Art on his back, smiling at you all fucked out. 
You lie down with him, letting him cup one of your tits for comfort so that he can sleep better. You kiss his cheek and see that his lips are still shiny with glittery gloss. You decide not to offer to clean him up, now that you know he likes it like that. 
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P.S. Thank you for reading <3 Reblog and comment for Art to come and kiss the gloss off your lips 🤭
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gladiatorcunt · 7 months ago
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hey ryn!!!!! sooo i saw this (nsfw link incoming)
https://x.com/sexarchiv/status/1736871466501648453
and was desperate to hear your thoughts on this w patrick +++ art watching
love you love you🎖️💕
hi!!!!! i’m sorry this is so late but i went crazy over the link and art does a lil more than watch but i hope you like it 💘💘💘
cw: 18+ mdni, art and patrick make out during this (nsfw twt link), implied sub reader / switch patrick / dom art, one use of daddy, gross patrick who whines a lot, art being lowkey possessed by tashi (he’s on something in this one), nipple play (?), teasing, unedited
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It’s a quiet night in with your boyfriends, there’s left over pizza in the fridge and the roku city background on the tv casts a soft purple glow over your shared bedroom. You’re too tired to get changed, the three of you lounge on the king sized bed in various states of undress. It’s supposed to snow during the night, so there’s just a sort of cozy vibe in the air. You really weren’t intending on being intimate with your boyfriends for the rest of the day, but absentminded strokes up Patrick’s sweaty torso quickly turn into palming his thick bulge in his boxers. Patrick softly groans, squirming and spreading his legs to give you better access.
Art slips his hand into his matching set of briefs and pumps his dick to hardness, synching his strokes up with yours. He shuffles up the bed to lie down right next to Patrick, using one arm to move Patrick to lay back against him. Art leans his head on Patrick’s, ready to tease and whisper whenever he sees him getting sensitive. Patrick automatically puckers his lips for a kis but Art cruelly denies him, not wanting to distract the other man from your touches. Somehow your hand manages to look small in comparison to Patrick’s girth, and Art squeezes his balls as he imagines it around his own length.
“He’s gonna cum too fast.” Art says, knowing that you don’t take control with Patrick like he does, but goading you on regardless.
“You just feel so good, ‘s not my fault.” Patrick moans as your thumb circles around his pinkish red cock head.
You dip your nail into the slit and lean down to let some of your saliva slowly drip down onto his aching cock. With the added lube, you pump your hand a few more times and put your wrist into it. You’re so lost in the deep groans coming from above you and seeing his pretty cock somehow pull off looking like it’s on the verge of tears that you almost forget that there’s an end goal to all of this. You’re just so in love and in actual awe of how gorgeous a dick can be, Patrick’s nastier overall but it only makes his cock look even better.
The tip is glistening and you peck it a couple times, grinning at the tiny beads of precum that trickle out of his slit. Art reflexively licks his lips and thumbs his own head, just enoying his partners playing with each other and being more than very appreciative of his favorite show. The atmosphere is so sleepy and relaxed that not many words are being spoken. It’s most a flurry of soft grunts, whines, and sweet nothings that are lost to the white noise from different sources around you.
“Go ahead and make daddy cum while I give him kisses, ‘kay?” Art coos, more at Patrick than you as he tilts his chin up with one finger and softly presses their lips together.
The kiss soon turns into a frenzied slide of their lips, swapping so much spit that their tongues actually hardly touch. You squeeze your thighs together before going back to what you were doing, trying your hardest to not cum on the spot because of them. You push your shirt down just under your tits, hissing as a rush of cold air hits your already hard and sensitive nipples. Patrick jumps like he’s been shot when you lower your full tits to brush against his weeping cock, circling your thumb around the head and tracing a vein or two.
He whines into his kiss with Art as you lower yourself even further to press your nipple into his tip. He stops being an active participation in the makeout session, too preoccupied with the teasing touch of your nipple gliding up and down his cock head. Something about your nipples being so small but so soft to the touch, getting him so worked up over the tiniest bit of flesh. It’s a feeling that’s akin to circling a vibrator around his length, but your nipples ghosting along his dick make him want to sob. He relases a symphony of broken sounds into Art’s lips, softly spoken and inhuman.
You grip the base of Patrick’s cock, holding it steady as you gingerly move your nipple up and down the tip. You take your time to really press it in deep, squishing it a bit as you force it all around him. This has you ready to cum too, the chilly air combined with how wet Patrick’s cock is sets your brain on fire, but you’re not about to have to clean your panties and be embarrassed. Art’s right, it doesn’t take much of you dragging your nipples over his slit and around his puffy tip before he’s oozing all over your hand and tits. You work him through his quick orgasm, slowing down the speed of your nipple and moving to drag it along his entire length now.
You even circle it around his balls, heartbreakingly slow but you’re not trying to make him blow his load again. Art soothes Patrick through his twitching, if the wet smacks of lazy french kisses are anything to go by.
You look up to see Art give you a two finger ‘come here’ gesture, and when you’ve crawled back up the bed to join them, you notice how damp his underwear is. Art pulls you into their kiss and drags your sticky hand to cover his soaked bulge, keeping it there as you spend no time rushing this languid embrace with your boyfriends. Before you know it they’ll be back on the court and all they’ll have time for is near bloody quickies in your shower until they head back out to practise.
Art hums, lifting his hand to pet you and Patrick, sucking both of your tongues and giggling at the whimpers you let out.
“It’s my turn now, hm?”
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aklaustaleteller · 7 months ago
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Might Fancy You
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Y/n went from fearing Klaus, to studying in his studio, to then throwing Shakespeare insults at him while chasing after him to put paint on him; he'd started it. But what happens when she ignores his one warning and he has her cornered in a flash?
Warnings - few mentions of blood and some kissing.
Word Count - 1.8k
Masterlist | please reblog the fic if you like it!
I told you I'll have part two out in two days and here it is! You can read part one here, and well, I hope you enjoy both the parts!
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“And you are?” Elijah asked the girl standing in the doorway of the mansion, clutching onto so many things that he worried all of it was going to fall out of her trembling hands any time now. 
“Um, I’m here to meet Klaus?” She said, an awkward smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. “He’s helping me with an art project,” she continued when the original didn’t say anything.
But he did raise an eyebrow at that, making her even more nervous and bunch up her shoulders in a defensive shrug. “You know what? I’ll just leave,” her voice made a few tumbles as she turned around and began walking out the door she’d just come in. Her guard was high up because she had no reason to believe that this vampire wasn’t going to drain her of blood then and there for stepping onto his property without any permission. 
“Y/n!” She heard a voice call out and she flinched, her heart trying to make up for the missed beat and speeding up as a result. 
“Y- yes?” She stuttered, slowly turning to face him, fearing what’s to come. How stupid had she been to ask a goddamn original to help her out with some- some school work! 
“What did you say to her, Elijah?” Klaus glared at his brother on seeing his new friend so shaken up.
Elijah only turned towards him in a slight confused daze. “I simply asked her who she was,” he said, walking away from the scene to probably his reading chair, leaving as nonchalantly as he could’ve killed her. 
A smile creeped up on Klaus’ mouth, a chuckle rumbling inside his chest at how easily she’d been frightened. It was almost bordering on endearing. 
“C’mon love, follow me,” he urged her as he walked up the stairs, coming to halt when he didn’t hear her move. “Y/n?” he called her, looking back at her from midway up the stairs. and coming to a realisation that she might genuinely be scared of him. 
“I think I’ll go,” she said, looking very close to passing out. “Forget I asked you for anything.” She didn’t even look him in the eyes and turned back around to leave and get away from this mansion as fast as she could.
But of course, Klaus stood in front of her just as she turned, almost sending her heart flying out of her mouth. It was strange, to witness this completely new side of the girl who ferociously bit right back at him the most creative insults he’d ever heard in his long life.
“Why are you so suddenly terrified of me?” Klaus asked, his face creasing in confusion as his eyes showed her specks of hurt that could very well just be the mossy-green of his eyes deceiving her. “What happened?”
“I- I don’t know maybe the sense that you’re an original who could rip me to shreds or drain me of all my blood right here,” she stopped herself like she’d done something insanely stupid and – ”finally knocked at my brain,” she trailed off very softly, almost as if cautious of making him angry.
“Y/n- love, you know I’d never do that,” he mumbled, cupping her face and almost flinching when she went stiff. “I mean I could do that but I never would!” he reframed his sentence when she narrowed her eyes, for some reason, desperate that she understood him.  
“What do I have to believe you wouldn’t?” 
“Because I do not have any reason to,” Klaus reassured her, not saying that maybe because he fancied her a little, just because this wasn’t the ideal moment for a confession like that. 
Y/n didn’t say anything at that. Standing still and looking into his eyes, searching his face for any signs of underlying betrayal but she didn’t find any – not that she expected to, he is a thousand years old after all, surely he’d know how to disguise his motives.
And yet, when Klaus grasped her arm and led her up the stairs, she let him. 
“I see you brought all of your stuff,” Klaus chuckled, trying to lighten up the mood as he took a million things out of her hold, placing it all on the rug and smiling when he saw her setting up the canvas for him. He could get used to this very easily. 
“I did, it’s my work you are doing after all,” she said softly, slowly coming out of her shell. “I didn’t want you to waste your supplies on it,” she continued. 
“I wouldn’t say this is wasting anything,” Klaus proposed, thinking that maybe this would be the topic for their discussion today, slight banter even? 
“I wouldn’t either,” she agreed with him, catching him a little off guard. “But the school people will tear this apart and throw it in the trash before I could ever get to it.”
Klaus shook his head at that, preparing the paints and the brushes. “And why would you want to get to it?”
Y/n had managed to make herself comfortable on the floor a couple feet away from him, her papers already scattered on the floor of his studio,  and Klaus only hoped that they could do this more often after this day.
“Well, I wouldn’t want it go to waste… you see? Maybe hang it somewhere in my house when it’s purpose in school is served,” she shrugged nonchalantly, taking the cap off of a pen by her mouth and Klaus wanted nothing more than to rush over to her and cup her face to kiss her. 
Which reminded him that she was quite fastly transitioning back to her usual self around him. He smiled at that, the scary thrill in his heart that had come at the thought of her fearing him slowly fading away. 
Neither of them said anything after that, getting to their individual works in silence. The soft sounds of Klaus’ brush against the canvas, mixing colours on his palette and rinsing the brush rid of the previous colours filled the room along with sounds of Y/n flipping her book, turning the pages in notebooks and changing pens. 
The sun peeked in through the windows, the lighting constantly changing as the clouds drifted calmly through the sky. 
While painting, Klaus began to worry about this girl who was so engrossed in her homework that she hadn’t moved once. He worried that she’d gotten so serious and quaint that she might just tumble into sadness. All that to say, he missed her laugh a little as well.
He tuned to just look at her while he was sure that she was unaware. Her hair was tied up, circular glasses that had a coppery rim slipping lower and lower on the bridge of her nose until she had to fix them. She looked cute, Klaus caught himself thinking.
Her lips were resting in a faint pout as she focused, her fingers picking at them while she jottled down something in her notebook with her free hand. His hand ached to trace its fingers over the highs and the lows of her face. The little frown that had formed inbetween her eyebrows made her look all the more cute and Klaus found himself walking over to her, his feet functioning on a mind of their own. 
He bent down to come face-to-face with her as she was sitting, and he almost cooed at the fact that she still hadn't quite registered the close proximity at which he was in front of her. Raising up his hand, he booped her nose – getting the very reaction he was hoping for.
She looked up at that, slightly startled, only to catch Klaus’ eyes widening a little themselves. 
“Why did you do that?”
“Uh, because there was something…” he panicked, his eyes frozen on the spot he had gotten yellow paint on her nose. “I removed it though, don’t you fret,” he smiled, brushing over his pants as he began to stand up straight. 
But she passed him a glare then, clutching the bottom of his henley to stop him. “Klaus,” she began. “Did you remove something or put something there?”
He shrugged at that, focusing back on the canvas and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her getting up. 
“Klaus.” She said his name with an underlying warning. She brushed her own finger over the very spot he had touched, and saw the paint.
“Everyone’s entitled to act stupid once a while, but you really abuse the privilege,” she was walking closer to him and Klaus knew exactly what was about to commence, making him cover his head with his arms when she pressed her hand against the paint on the palette. 
He howled with laughter when she dragged her hands across his neck, twisting and turning to get away from her. Still laughing at the insult she threw at him because it was a bloody good one, Klaus swiped his finger across her collarbone, earning a whine from her as she began chasing him around the studio. 
Stopping to catch her breath, she began shouting at him – “thou crusty batch of nature!” But laughter slipped past both of their mouths before they could even contemplate what she’d just said. 
“No way you just threw a Shakespearree insult at me,” Klaus laughed, standing on the complete other side of the room, opposite to her.
He feigned a growl when she began walking towards him, red paint almost drying on her palms. “Take another step, and I can’t be held responsible for my actions,” Klaus whispered loud enough for her to hear. 
And she ignored his warning, just like he was hoping she would. Watching her creep up closer and closer to him, Klaus felt a smirk pull up a corner of his lips. 
In a flash, Klaus had her pinned against a wall, her wrists held above her head in his hands. His face tilted to the side lightly, his eyes focused on her mouth as he felt her gaze on him heating up her skin. She tipped her chin forward, her lips not quite meeting his’, making him close the gap between them and connect their lips. 
Lips moving in a perfect sync, Klaus brought one of his hands down to snake it around her waist, her mouth opening with a gasp at the sensation and giving him the chance to kiss her further. The back of her head met with the wall behind her as they kissed with a passion that felt too heated. 
Detaching their mouths, both of them took in heaves of breath, Klaus pecking her lips once more before releasing her wrists. She was looking into his eyes, searching them for something and Klaus couldn’t help but smile at her, her lips very lightly swollen, looking like they’d just been kissed. 
“Think I might fancy you a tad,” he grinned, laughing out loud when she grabbed his face to kiss him again, making him lose his balance only for a second before he was cupping her face ever so gently.
"Never realised I wanted to hear you say it so much,” she let slip a breathy chuckle, looking into his eyes before kissing his lips once more. Lord, it was addictive – he was addictive. 
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hellishjoel · 10 months ago
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cherry thrill | lights
9.2k / pairing: daddy dom tattoo artist!joel miller x sub virgin f!reader
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series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi chapter summary: your tattoo artist, joel miller, takes your virginity. chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, implied age gap, swearing, virginity loss, dom&sub dynamics (/not lg), size kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, swearing, dirty talk, pet names (princess, bunny, baby girl, sweetheart, etc.), oral (m&f receiving), fingering, protected p in v, joel talks you through it, protective!joel, slight pov switching, reader is described as having no tattoos or piercings, as well as hair, but otherwise no physical description, no use of y/n series summary: Trust and devotion. Ink meets innocence. Your tattoo artist, Joel Miller, shows you what it really means to give up control. Reeling from the loss of your job, you’re running out of options, until a passing comment from Joel and a video camera give you just the right idea. A/N: this was supposed to be a one shot but just like everything else I try to write, I expand on the characters too much for it not to become a series. also, thank you for 2,000 followers, I promise to do something soon to show my appreciation <3 I'm bad at giving thanks and receiving attention so anyway - dividers by @firefly-graphics (thank you, daisy!)
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During your first consultation, there was something in the air. 
Glances that lasted a few seconds too long, a charged energy replicating that of two strong magnets.  You stand frozen in a dark office down the hall from the shop’s main entrance. The walls are painted black. A gallery wall displays different art and posters in gold frames. There’s a large red neon sign with your tattoo artist’s initials, J.M. 
Joel Miller. 
You sit opposite of him, leg anxiously bouncing and nails subconsciously piercing the chair’s leather arms as he listens silently to your request before his mind starts to work. It doesn’t take much time to draw up an example or two with your guided tweaks and fixes. 
Other than the scribble of a graphite pencil, silence falls over you both. And observation takes over. 
Joel surrounds himself with scattered drawings on loose paper that litter his desk. You watch the way his eyes screw inward to focus on the sketch he is drawing up. A small vein protrudes from his temple, his jaw shifts from side to side with tension. 
He’s a blunt sort of handsome. With harsh edges and lines, jaded and carved with precision like precious marble. It makes your pulse jump a bit in your neck and wrist. 
You think your first tattoo should be something special, especially since you’ve waited so long to pull the trigger. He was a bit intimidating like you imagined a tattoo artist to be, what with his brooding demeanor and how he looked you up and down upon taking one step inside his parlor. 
Virgin. 
That’s what he called your skin, untouched by any ink or piercings. 
He didn’t know that it described you down to your core. No one had popped your cherry, taken your virginity, made you theirs. Untouched.
Now, half an hour later and sitting anxiously in his back office, he finishes drawing up the sketch and asks about the precise placement you had in mind. 
“I was thinking here,” you mindlessly point to a spot on your upper thigh. There was a level of secrecy to it, in case any future employers cared about that sort of shit. 
You can’t help the way your skin vibrates under his touch, when he aids you in taking off your bottoms and runs his calloused palms up the smooth skin of your thighs. 
You shakily exhale as he warms you. 
You definitely don’t let yourself fantasize that he’s feeling you up, or even think about wanting him to explore every inch of your body. You know he’s just doing his job. 
But the way his eyes flick up to yours when he feels the goosebumps he knows he’s created is otherworldly. Like he knows you want him to fuck you. The way your muscles twitch under the warmth of his palm, feeling pliant under his touch. Fuck. 
His eyes gleam as his mouth forms into a barely-there smirk. 
There was no point in playing coy. Your body changed at the contact and Joel knew it. 
It was damn near degrading the way he let you simmer. It set a light inside of you no one had before. So that’s when you knew you’d let him, Joel Miller, take your virginity. 
It would be no easy task. You didn’t know how to pursue him, or anyone for that matter. Maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have said virginity. 
You try not to stare for too long, but even with his gruff demeanor and silence being second nature to him, he was handsome. A rugged sort of handsome with different facial piercings. 
A septum in his nose highlighted its aquiline structure. And a small hoop in his right eyebrow, with greys tickling through like pretty streaks in the hair. It made him look deliciously too old for you. Perhaps that’s what you enjoyed most, though. He was no amateur. 
The moment his fingers dipped into your flesh to work on your tattoo's placement, you knew he felt it, too. Supple under his touch. Squishy. Something he could sink his teeth into. Something that obeyed. 
“You prepared for the pain, sweetheart?”
His southern drawl is sweet like honey, deep and husky nonetheless. 
“I think so.” 
Your response is meek. It’s your wavering nerves from having him so close and unsure what the feeling of being tattooed will be like. Joel looks for certainty instead. He insists on it. 
“Need ya t’tell me. Not that you think, that you know.”
“I’m sorry. I know so.”
Joel squeezes the back of your thigh fondly, a proud little smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. “Good girl.”
The praise alone was enough to make your thighs sticky with arousal. Joel sent you home that day with an ache between your legs that your fingers had to fix. And you thought about him the entire time. 
How his cold tongue piercing would feel against the warmth of your clit. Holding you with his strong, protective arms swirled with black ink. How his staggering dark eyes would look into yours as he fucks you. 
But thinking about him wasn’t enough. 
You tried to string out the process, anything you could do to fix more time with him. Anything to get his tough palms on your skin. 
You fiddled with different placements, opting to show a little skin as you rid yourself of your top and pointed to your ribs during your next appointment. 
A breath hitches in your throat as he eyes your bra's innocent pink color. Lacy and pretty. Delicate. He clears his throat and runs his fingers along your side, evidence of his touch causing an effect on you displayed with more goosebumps. Your body could simply not hide the attraction you felt towards him. 
“Would hurt. A lot. The ribs move every time you breathe, which makes the tattooing process more painful.” Joel gently cups your side with his large palm and squeezes your ribs, holding you in place as you shakily breathe with the hold he has on you. “Can’t tell ya where to place it, can only advise. Just don’t want such a pretty girl to shed any tears.” 
That’s when you knew you could trust him. That even a man as hardened as himself could treat you with such care. 
He excuses himself for a moment, opting for more transfer paper and leaving you topless in his private office. 
Your ears were ringing, you could hear the quickening beat of your heart. You slowly inch off the portable tattoo table, glancing around Joel’s dark academia-style office. 
He’s an enigma, you think, the more you look at his surroundings. Quiet but dark, you knew he was concealing a hidden desire. You hope to unlock it. That he’ll trust you enough just as you trust him. 
Articles of clothing start to drop to the floor, one by one. You knew you’d be ambushing him; you didn’t want to scare Joel. So you left yourself in your soft pink-colored bra and panty set. You thought it was classy and cute. Not too forward, but sweet. Definitely planned out, you hope he doesn’t notice. 
All your confidence quickly disappears as soon as he comes back in through the door. You could feel your heart slowly sink to your stomach, your lips parting to come up with some sort of reasoning. 
“I-I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say. Joel is stilled at the entrance of his office, door still ajar as he blankly stares at the delicate angel standing in the middle of his office. 
He clears his throat and finally closes the door, leaving the two of you in silence. You can’t read his expression. 
“What do ya think you’re doin’?” He asks, sweet southern drawl dripping with tension as his heavy boots slowly make their way closer to you. 
You can only shake your head, unsteady hands concealing as much of your body as possible. You decide to face the mirror, keeping your back to him. 
“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I was just-” Lie. “I was just looking at your full-length mirror to see other placement ideas.” 
Joel merely shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lyin’ t’me, baby girl. You wanna try tellin’ me the truth now?”
His tone only makes the ache in your core grow with desire as your pulse quickens under his eyeline. 
You feel embarrassed, heat coursing through your body and making you tingle as his stare lingers selfishly, basking in the glory of your figure. You watch with want in the reflection as his eyes stare at the curves of your hips and your ass. A handful, he probably thinks. 
“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxes, moving closer and enveloping you in his musky pine and whiskey scent. It’s almost knowing what he says next. “Tell me what y’want.” 
You swallow the lump protruding in your throat before you decide to be honest with him. Like you said, you could trust him. You play with your fingers and pick at the skin by your nails.
“I want you.” You say barely above a whisper. 
Joel simply shakes his head, takes another impossible step closer, and cranes his head down to hear you better. His lips and coarse beard hairs tickle at the shell of your ear. 
Your eyes close shyly as he speaks again amid your silence. 
“Say it again, baby. Can’t hear ya.” His toned front meets your back, forcing a whimper past your lips. 
You work up the nerve to take a glance at the two figures in the gold-framed mirror. Perfect opposites. Young, beautiful, a little inexperienced. Older, handsome, sure as hell looks like he knows what he’s doing. 
His height looms over you. His eyes are an unknown shade of obsidian and he’s radiating a comforting warmth. Your hand reaches for his, only able to look him in the eyes through the glass as you guide his hand to your hip. 
Your thumb rolls across the faded tattoo on the backside of his hand. There used to be a cross there, but it looks to be covered up by some sort of python now. With a shaky sigh, you try again. “I want you, Mr. Miller. I want you to take my virginity.” 
You’ve prepared yourself to hear his laughter, a snickering, degrading comment of disbelief. You felt ready to experience shame. But you were wrong. 
Joel places his pointer finger under your chin, using his other hand to guide you in his hold to turn and face him. His thumb grazes over your lower lip as he guides your head to tilt up and look at him properly. Your soft eyes meet his lust-driven ones and your heart surges at the sight. 
You’ve never seen a man so hungry. 
“You want me to take your virginity, little bunny?” He hums seductively. Suddenly, you don’t feel so doomed. It’s placed with a little bit of eagerness now. You wanted your spoils. 
“Yes. Want you to do whatever you desire with me, I’ll do anything you want.” You sound like a devoted cult member, but the energy you feel is undeniable. You’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point. 
Slowly but surely, Joel begins to nod. He’s mulled it over and he’s made up his mind. 
“Whatever I desire, huh?” He tuts almost degradingly. Your nod of enthusiasm makes his blood rush. 
He hesitates, untrusting of his own words. 
“Want you to call me Daddy,” He starts haphazardly, gauging your reaction. “Think you can do that, sweet girl?”
Your wide eyes soften, a notch of confusion knotting your eyebrows. 
“You- what?” 
“Want you to call me daddy. Want you to be a good little girl for me and hop up on that desk. Can ya do that for me, princess?” His chin juts up and signals toward his office desk. 
The swirling in your stomach just won’t stop. 
“Go on now.” His orotund voice projects his instructions. You back up a few paces until you feel the cool metal of his desk hit your backside, slowly moving to sit on it with hidden excitement and a shiver up your spine. 
You do want to be good, if there’s anything you want in this world right now, it’s to play along and be good for him. Knowing he would take care of you was making you leak. 
His fingertips delicately touch your skin, starting at your wrists and moving upwards to the straps on your bra. He’s intimidating to look at, so you fixate on something behind him. But it doesn’t help when he clouds your vision. Even his aroma, from the smoke of his cigarettes to the musky spruce cologne, was putting you in a tailspin. 
You don’t anticipate the way your body moves for him. His hands skim to the back of your bra, and your spine straightens. It makes the right side of his mouth twitch up into a smirk. 
“Nervous?” He belittles.
Your long lashes innocently flutter, you think you might be doing it on purpose. You sort of like playing along. 
“A little… Daddy.” You test cautiously, the word tangling on your tongue. But it’s unforgettable the way his eyes light up at the name. You find yourself already willing to do whatever it takes to recreate that signature look of his. 
Joel hums appreciatively, thumb making minuscule circles over your chin. “I’ll take care of ya. Ya know that. Or else you wouldn’t have chosen me.”
All you can do is nod. Because he knows that your selection process was a real thing. You had danced around it once during your first consultation when he asked if you had a boyfriend. All you could feel was heat rising to the back of your neck, shy eyes evading his warm brown orbs. 
“No, definitely not.” 
“What’d’ya mean definitely not? You’re a pretty girl.”  
You shrug in a noncommittal way. “I’ve never had to really worry about stuff like… boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Any of that sort of stuff.” 
His eyes flicked up to yours in an instant, a mutual understanding of your underlying words. “I see. I understand, angel.” 
Joel works your bra off with one hand, you gasp as you feel the material loosen around your body. His opposite hand taps at the top of your thigh. You’re all too aware you are eagerly sitting half-naked on his desk. 
“Open.” He directs, voice laced with smoke. 
You nip at your lower lip and slowly inch your clamped-shut thighs open for him. He instantly makes eye contact with the wet, dark little circle that’s ruining the pristine innocence of your panties. 
He decides not to make fun of it, but it’s truly a compliment. Your adoration for him. “This all for me, angel?”
You work up a few quick nods. Now that he was so close, you wanted him to hurry the hell up.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” 
You feel heat tingle at the sides of your neck. This would be your first time really talking like this with someone. He made it feel safe to talk so dirty. To try, to learn. 
“Yes, daddy.”
You can’t deny how proud you feel to be the reason a certain warmth brightens in his eyes and on his smirk. You did that, you pleased him. Little did you know how he’d thank you for it. 
“You said you’re a virgin? Hard to believe.”
A shaky sigh leaves your parted lips as his warm palms slowly pull your bra down, revealing your breasts to him. “Just never found anyone I really trusted or liked enough.” 
He mutters something quiet in understanding, all too distracted by how damn pretty you look. 
Joel is silently observing your body, he can’t help but want to touch the delicate flower in front of him. A gasp leaves your parted lips as his calloused hands come up and cup your breasts. He starts to squeeze, and a happy little whimper leaves your mouth with a small smile. 
“I like that.” You tell him, hoping it improves your chances that he’ll do it again. Which he does. 
“Good.” He compliments, pinching your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, turning them into peaks that send electricity down your spine. 
A sweet and experimental moan leaves your lips. Joel stands between your parted legs and you feel his erection for the first time against your skin. You can tell by the shape protruding through his pants that he’s a large man, already thick and swollen for your taking. 
“No one’s ever been inside of you?” He damn near growls, raising an eyebrow after the beat he offers you to answer.  
You shake your head again. “I’ve tried my fingers, but I’m sure it’s not the same.” 
A scoffy little breath echoes out of his nose. “No, not quite. Lay back for me, bunny.” His hands release your breasts, pebbled nipples left abandoned as you slowly move down onto your elbows and then onto your back. 
There was a sudden peak of anxiety, not being able to fully see him. But perhaps this was the point, to fully surrender yourself under his touch. To trust him. 
His rough hands grip the sides of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. He gets about halfway down your thighs before you quickly sit up on your elbows again. 
“Joel?” Your voice anxiously chirps. 
He stops, eyes flicking up to you from your cunt still concealed by your sticky thighs. 
“We can stop,” He says before you can explain. “S’okay if you’re not ready.”
“No, no, that’s not it, God, that’s not it,” You rid his worries, feeling your chest quickly rise and fall under his all of a sudden protective gaze. 
“I uh-... I know you don’t owe me this, we’re not together, but… can you talk me through what you’re doing? I want to learn, and I can tell you’re experienced, I know it’s a lot to ask but-”
“S’not too much to ask.” He quickly intervenes, gently taking your hands and guiding you to sit up fully once more. Your soft eyes graze over all the layers he’s still wearing, and suddenly you’re reminded how naked you are. 
“Use your voice, sweet girl. Can tell you wanna say somethin’. This is your time.” 
The sentiment means a lot. It is your time, your first time, and just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean it should be any less special. So you decide to make it your time, the way you want it. 
“Can you take your clothes off too? And is the door locked?” You trail off upon seeing his amused smirk. 
“Go on.” He nods again, letting you list your needs and wants. 
“And can you kiss me, please, Daddy?” You ask more softly than the rest of your demands. You know that kissing is romantic, but you think it might help settle you. Pull you back from drifting away, keep you here with him.  
He watches you for a moment, a bemused grin on his lips before he gently cradles your face. “The door’s locked. I’ll take my clothes off. And I’ll kiss you as many times as you like as long as you keep askin’ that nice.” 
For the first time during your interaction, your face lights up with a smile. It’s small, it’s thankful, but it’s there. There was an undeniable connection you shared with Joel, it made you feel safe under his curious eyes. 
With his large hands cupping either side of your jaw, he leans down while simultaneously guiding your chin up as your lips meet. It’s gentle at first, soft. His mouth tastes like a cigarette, it’s oddly intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more.
You know how to make out at the very least. So when you gently bite down and tug on Joel’s lower lip, both of your eyes open as a throaty little groan escapes him. 
He kisses you a little harder this time, hands falling to your hips as he pulls you closer so your fronts align. The force makes your lips part and Joel takes the opportunity to let his tongue invade your mouth. He moves fluently to explore, both of you falling into a sweet lull as your bodies meld into one. 
Inadvertently, he hooks his pointer finger into your panties halfway down your thighs and finishes pulling them to your ankles. They land somewhere on the floor in a pile of your other clothes. 
Unbeknownst to you until he took his hands off your body to pluck open his belt do you realize how you were on fire for him. 
You wonder while he pushes down his trousers and tugs off his shirt if he’s ever slept with a virgin before. If you’d be his version of a first time just like he’d be yours. No, not his first ever, you weren’t that foolish. But maybe you could teach him a thing or two as well. 
There’s no way to mask your surprise when he pushes down his boxer briefs, the dark band revealing all that was underneath. His half-hard cock raises towards his stomach, rosiness fluttering at his tip. You were pleasantly surprised to find that it was a little hooked, deliciously curving upwards. 
With a new sense of confidence, your hand reaches forward and you start to shift your hand up and down his length. Joel’s quiet grunt shatters your thoughts. He gently cups the side of your neck and twirls a piece of hair around his finger. 
Joel takes your hand off his cock and you worry you’ve done something wrong already. He holds it palm-side up and nods encouragingly. “Spit on your hand, baby.”
He nods after you look up at him with shy, blown-out eyes. But you obey. 
You spit into your hand and let him guide your hand back around his member. That seems a lot better. He glistens with your spit and you have the urge to keep shocking him with your confidence.
You lean forward and directly spit onto his tip, looking up to see his approving little smirk. 
“Fuck- That’s- mmm, that’s good, angel,” he sighs with a certain happiness, loving the feeling of getting his cock taken care of. “Feels real good.” 
The praise sets off a million pistons in your brain, feeling yourself scrabble off the desk,  dropping to your knees as you continue to pump him. 
He’s heavy in your hand, and you gently lean forward to give sweet kisses to the tip. You swallow the lump in your throat before parting your lips, taking the head of his cock into your mouth. He’s salty, musky, but not dirty. In fact, he was rather well-kempt in his nether regions. 
You force yourself deeper and Joel already has his hands in your hair to pause you. 
“Woah, slow your roll, pretty girl.” He says with shortened breaths. Heat floods your body, you hate being so new to this. 
Joel continues to stroke your hair back, gently gliding a thumb up your cheekbone before he cradles one side of your face. “I see you gettin’ all shy, I know this is your first time, but I’ll teach you the basics. And no one’s perfect on their first try, okay? So just get that thought outta your head now.”
Your chest swells at his eagerness to relax you, so you nod gently and lean in to kiss the base of his stomach in appreciation. The right side of his mouth tilts up as he swipes his thumb across your plump bottom lip, a silent thank you for the kiss. 
“You’re a real good girl, you know that?” A bigger smile breaks across your lips and you eagerly tug on his cock with eagerness. Joel sighs, already in defeat at how you’re willing to get it right for him, to learn, to listen. To obey. 
“You’re gonna wanna relax your jaw,” his fingers guide you, your lips parting and letting your jaw drop lower, lower, lower for him. “And the whole part is to suck, not just put your mouth on it, okay, peaches? So hollow your cheeks, no teeth, and only go as far as you feel comfortable.” 
You shake off your nerves and clear your throat, feeling your mouth fill with spit intended for him. You place your hands on the back of his thighs, feeling the dark hairs under the pads of your fingers. 
Slowly, you wrap your mouth around his tip once more. You swirl your tongue around him, adoring the way he hisses when you glide your tongue across the slit leaking a salty substance. 
Over the introduction, you try to take him down your throat properly. And he’s a mouthful, literally. He’s a lot. But you try to just enjoy that there’s no real pressure. 
A lot of saliva starts to build in your mouth, and you swallow it around him. You’re awestruck when he lets out a low moan, strong hands weaving through your hair and lightly tugging. Your eyes flutter up to him through your lashes, and he’s looking at you so deliciously. 
You can tell he wants to fuck your mouth, holding his hips back from really letting you have it. And maybe he could do that to you someday, but for now, today was slow. And Joel knew that too. 
Joel gently tucks your hair back, your lips suctioning around his length before he drags you back towards him, indicating for you to start moving, to bob your head. 
It takes a few tries, but you really feel yourself going further down his cock. You breathe through your nose, but it’s hard when you’re trying not to gag around him. Finally, after little to no error, you slip up. His tip unexpectedly hits the back of your throat and you gag around him.  Joel must feel your whole body tense with anxiety because he’s quick to gently hush and console you. Your eyes well up with tears, but your first instinct is to keep him inside your mouth and swallow around him. 
A long, low groan leaves Joel’s mouth, a compliment to your first big challenge. 
“Holy fuck,” he pants, weaving his fingers into your hair and fisting eagerly to keep himself grounded. “You’re doin’ so fuckin’ well, princess, you have no idea, fuck,” he grins. “Try using your hands on what you can’t take, come on, baby.” 
You can feel yourself physically gush at his compliments, your stomach swirling with a newfound desperation. To please. 
With new instructions, you work your hand at his base and pump up and down with the rhythm of your mouth. You worked on gently squeezing and releasing your hand, making Joel go slack-jawed as a husky groan leaves the back of his throat. Sucking and licking and bobbing your head in earnest, he’s already twitching in your mouth. 
“You’ve done this before baby,” his voice drips with a smirk, pulling yourself off for some deep breaths and a few desperate swallows. 
“Haven’t, promise, Joel,” You coo with a proud little smile, your voice thick and wrecked as you continue to pump his cock in the absence of your mouth. 
Joel lets your hair go and guides your hand off his cock before helping you up from the floor. 
Your face is obviously written with disappointment, you could have continued. You sort of wanted to continue despite the ache hanging around in your jaw. 
“You were gonna make me come, don’t wanna come yet, angel,” Joel pants weakly, ducking down and connecting your lips. You’re a little taken aback. Not by the kiss, but by the fact you already had him nearly ready to finish. 
“Really?” You murmur hopefully against his mouth, wishing he wasn’t just saying it to compliment you. 
The way that his features started to twitch and his tummy and chest fluttered with his jagged breathing, it would have been quite a sight to see him finish. Maybe he would have even done it right on your tongue. The thought alone gives you goosebumps. 
Your insides swirl as he licks inside of your mouth and gently runs his tongue along your bottom lip, moving you back towards his desk. You hop up without his instruction, feeling him smirk against your pouted mouth. 
“Now you’re gettin’ a hang of things.” He murmurs into your mouth, carrying on where he had left off before, sinking down to his own knees at the edge of the desk and positioning your feet to rest up on the edge. He seems to stare at the glistening arousal you’ve been creating for the last hour straight. 
That nervous feeling settles in your stomach, completely bare and open for him. A shocked gasp leaves your mouth, not prepared for him already to be diving into your pussy. 
The breadth of his tongue slowly swipes up the center of your core, purposely flicking off of your clit and making you yelp at the contact. His cold tongue piercing against your sensitive bundle made a shiver shoot up your spine. 
He gently smirks as he places a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh. “You’re jumpy, kitten. Take a breath. Wanna make you feel real good.” 
You let out a shaky sigh and move off your elbows, back flat on his desk as your eyes slowly drift close. Then, as he starts to truly taste you, learning you and what you like, it’s unexpected how much you enjoy it. It never really dawned on you that some people truly enjoy eating pussy, but Joel Miller sure does. 
Your broken little whimpers and strung-out moans turn into writhing on his desk under him. He was such an expert, meticulously swirling his tongue around you and suckling your clit into his mouth. 
It didn’t take long for your fingers to wind up into his hair as his shoulders lay bracketed between your thighs. It was heavy, it was stomach-twisting, in fact, it was rolling through you like a storm. The it in question was your first oral orgasm. 
“J-Joel,” you gasp, your jaw dropping down as he slowly prods the tip of his finger at your entrance. 
“Need to get you ready for my cock, sweet girl, keep focusing on how good you feel,” he encourages. Your face pinches as his finger slowly sinks into your entrance, but you realize how grateful you are for all the extra spit and arousal Joel has provided. 
It doesn’t necessarily hurt, it’s a weird ache at first. But then his finger starts to slowly pump inside of you, and it’s a new craving. Especially with the way his tongue moves around your clit, the pistons in his brain firing all to figure out what you like. 
Do you like when he flicks your clit with his cold metal piercing?
“Ohmygod-” you gasp. 
Do you like when he swirls his naughty tongue around you in tight figure eights? 
“Joel, please,” you say, needing more. 
Did you like it most when he suckles around your sweet bud?
“Joel!” You cry out, tugging tighter at his hair, not sure if you want to tug him closer for more or push him away because it feels too good. 
“O-Oh, oh my god.” Lying still was a foreign thing to you now, all you could do was wiggle and grip your fingers into his hair, tugging harshly as he grunted against your core in enjoyment. 
He actually likes pleasing you, he likes tasting you! It’s a compliment without words as your eyes dip close and your head digs back into the desk.
Suddenly, your stomach starts to drop like you’re on a rollercoaster. You’re not unfamiliar with the feeling of an orgasm, but this, oral, it hits differently. 
“Fuck,” you curse unexpectedly, making Joel cock up an eyebrow as he glances up at you. All you can do is watch as his mouth suckles harder around you, his finger pumping faster and adding a second. 
Because if there’s anyone in this world that can break you out of your shell, Joel wants it to be him. 
Now you’re really aching for him,  wishing that it was his cock slotted between your walls, pushing you towards euphoria. 
“Know you wanna come for me angel,” his fingers quirk upwards in a come here motion, and a long, strung-out moan of his name leaves your lips.
God forbid any of the shop’s workers or clients hear you, but you can’t think of a singular reason to care right now. 
Your walls flex and squeeze around Joel’s two fingers, truly feeling the stretch as you come around his digits. It leaves you a whimpering mess on his desk, hot pants leaving your pretty lips. 
Joel is in heaven, lapping you up and moaning against your core as your clit starts to twitch with the overstimulation. His hands squeeze at the flesh of your thighs before he sits up and kisses up your body, his own lips meeting yours. He’s hungry, and you’re still bouncing back. But you want it so bad, and you’re so close to finally having it. 
“Joel, I’m ready.” You coo, wrapping your arms around his neck. 
He breathily laughs and pecks your lips once more, tasting your own arousal and making you feel warm inside. 
“Desperate for my cock, ain’t that right, pretty girl?” 
God, he was such a menace with his mouth. Your adorably shy grin is all the answer he needs. But you give him one anyway, because he likes when you talk like that with him. 
“Yes, daddy, I just wanna feel it already,” you try out, Joel’s lust-filled eyes meeting yours as white-hot heat spills into your stomach. 
“I’ll give it to ya, baby girl. Wanna give that tight little virgin pussy my cock, don’t want anyone else to have ya. Mine.” Joel huskily grunts, a choked moan leaving your lips. 
Joel reaches past your head and to the drawer on the other side of the desk. He jimmies it open and searches his hand around blindly. He flips open his wallet and pulls a small square foil package from the slot. 
Oh, duh, a condom. In all your excitement, you sort of forgot to be safe. But you’re glad he was prepared. 
You watch with adoration on your features as Joel lifts the condom to his lips, pearly teeth ripping the foil off but not hurting the condom. His other hand rests sweetly on your hip, thumb running soothing circles into your pretty skin. 
It’s a soothing feeling, one that he doesn’t have to do, but he does because he’s being considerate and maybe even a little protective. You gently lay your hand on his forearm, fingers tracing fresh black ink and older green ink on his arm’s sleeve. 
A shaky sigh leaves your lips as he uses both hands to glide the condom down his shaft. It’s nearly invisible, the way it’s so thin and tightly wrapped around his cock. Besides the band that rests at the very bottom of his shaft. He grumbles something incoherent, probably his annoyance with the fussing of the condom and how tight it probably felt around him.  
You take in a shaky breath and nod at him once he comes to rejoin your centers. 
“You’re sure you’re ready for this? Don’t wanna wait for someone y’love? Or trust? Or just... Anybody but me?” Joel’s face is pinched with genuine concern. 
You smile softly and gently cup his cheek. “I do trust you. It takes a lot of trust to allow someone to alter your body forever with a tattoo. So, you’re giving me a tattoo, and you’re taking my virginity. You’re sort of doubling down for me right now, honestly.” 
Joel flashes a genuine little smile. It’s the most you’ve said consistently all day with him, even with a little drip of sarcasm and wit. 
“Okay. But ya gotta say it.” He says more seriously. 
“I’m ready, Daddy. Want you to make me feel good. I know you can.” You can already feel yourself picking up his dirty talk. It makes your smile twitch as you gently grip both of his forearms, his hands spreading your thighs open for him. 
He enters the space, his heavy cock resting over your core and slowly slipping up and down your wet folds. 
You let out an unexpected little scoff as he grinds himself down against you, your arousal soaking the condom. He holds himself at his base and taps his tip down against your already throbbing clit, making you hiss out a desperate whine. 
“M’not usually this… gentle.” He admits through gritted teeth. You’re sort of shocked by that. Sure, he has a rough and tough exterior, but he’s treated you with such delicacy that you assumed he was like this all the time. 
“So, what are you usually like?” You pose, your breath hitching in your throat as one of his hands abandons your thighs and guides his tip from your clit to your entrance, up and down, several times. Your thighs twitch impatiently. Your entrance squeezes around nothing. 
“M’just... not this gentle,” is all he can say without breaking into a bemused smile. 
“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.” 
Joel playfully scoffs as his face starts to pierce with concentration. “Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.” 
“I’m sure I-” your words are cut off by a loud gasp, your lips parting as his tip penetrates your walls. You’re phased for a moment before you gulp and recollect yourself. You whimper, louder and louder as he pushes on, watching Joel move with such caution. 
He really is holding back, you think. You wonder what he’s like when he can just fuck how he pleases. 
“Baby,” Joel’s voice breaks your concentration. “Breathe.” 
A loud huff of air leaves your mouth that you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. The ache in your hips and core only builds with tension as Joel pushes on, his length and girth surely parting your tight walls. 
“So fuckin’- tight.” He says with gritted teeth, his fingers piercing into the delicate flesh of your outer thighs, making you whimper. 
“Joel,” you quietly cry for him, tears threatening to spill at the pain. It’s just- a lot. It’s a lot for your first time, and maybe you wouldn’t have signed up if you knew what he was packing, but in a weird way, you loved it. He felt made for you. 
“M’here, angel, look at me.” In all the excitement and overwhelming feelings of pain and pleasure, you hadn’t even noticed you were clenching your eyes closed. You slowly peek them open, greeted by his heavenly features. 
“There’s my girl.” He compliments, warmth and sweetness shooting through your body. 
“Fuck,” you say, your voice a bit wet as Joel comes down closer to aid you. He’s all the way in now, you can feel his balls flushed against your sopping wet cunt. 
The arousal helps, the condom sort of doesn’t but it’s fine, that’s life, you think. You’re torn between pain and pleasure. Honestly, you just feel so fucking full. 
He tells you between breathy pants that he would have used lube if he had any, but he didn’t, and he’s sorry, and his pretty voice starts to turn into static with how fucking good he feels inside of you. 
“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praises, sponging a few kisses along your cheeks and tasting your salty tears. You feel like some weak pathetic being under him. He’s been sweet, but you’re sure he’s just treating you like he found a wounded animal. 
“Move, Joel, please” you weakly demand, lassoing your arms around his neck and holding him close to you. 
“No.” He says through gritted teeth. “Just-” he pauses and takes a deep breath, knowing that you’re dealing with a million emotions right now as he’s trying to breathe around the death grip you have on his cock. “Just wait a minute, sweetheart, let yourself adjust.” 
A pouty, bratty sigh leaves your lips as you continue to blink away tears. You eventually nod and he only smiles adoringly as he returns to kiss at the tears.
Your senses are spiked. You can smell his cologne, feel each gristle of hair from his salt and pepper beard. It’s erotic how much more you can feel while at the edge of your emotions. 
One of your hands roams into his darling chocolate curls, instinctually going to gently scrape your nails delicately against his scalp. You’re sweetly surprised to hear him mutter a sweet little moan just for you against the shell of your ear. 
Your hands flutter across dark tattoos on his shoulders and arms, your blurry vision trying to make out the shapes as you trace a pretty angel on his upper bicep. 
Joel Miller was inside of you. Joel Miller has taken your virginity. The hottest man you’ve ever set your eyes on is fucking you at his place of work, on his desk. And you convinced him to. 
Joel was right. The pain, ache, and burn slowly turned into a real yearning for him to move. It felt like what was right, a certain neediness to be filled and fucked.  
“Daddy,” you whisper more sweetly this time, more to your character. “Please fuck me, you feel good now, I can take it. Promise.” 
It takes him a moment to gather himself as well, smiling sweetly as he keeps his mouth by your breasts where he is sucking a gentle hickey into your soft skin. Color flushes to the area, feeling his teeth gently nibble on the spot before he finally lifts off. 
Marking you, you think. It makes another gush of arousal flood your core, liquifying your spine as you become putty in his hands. 
His mouth twitches in a small smile as he captures your lips. Unbeknownst to you, the sweet kiss was just a distraction. 
Joel slowly began reeling his hips back which was a whole new sensation. His strangled moan harmonized with the gasp you let out into his mouth, moaning out the breath you were holding as he plunges himself fully back inside your warm cunt. 
You whimpered weakly, needy and anxiously happy, you wanted more. More, more, more. 
“Oh- my god,” you whimper, feeling him start a steady rhythm inside of you. Your jaw slowly drops and your eyes flutter closed, feeling your tits start to lightly bounce every time his hips perfectly align with your own. 
“So goddamn tight, still,” he grunts each word, forehead against yours as he watches your face unfold with a million reactions. 
Something primal switches in Joel, knowing he’s the first one to do this sort of stuff with you. 
It’s strangely possessive and arrogant, he knows it, but being the first man you trust to fuck you properly was feeding his ego. You’re a beautiful young woman with big doe eyes who waltzed into his shop and insisted he rail you, take your sacred first, talk you through it, and carry you through this dark and fearful forest. 
You trusted him. He wouldn’t break that bond. 
You came here wanting something, knowing how to get it. You came here asking, and Joel was open to teaching. The last thing he wanted was for some asshole to hurt you, something your sweet nature couldn’t afford was poison. 
Maybe he could teach you more, if you wanted. If he offered you an invitation to his world, would you take it? He only shared a slice of his lifestyle with you today, would the rest scare you, or entice you? 
Joel can’t help the way his hips buck faster at his thoughts, a little sob leaving your lips. He’s absent, just for a moment, feeling your skin slap against his as he holds you down and fills you fully. His tip hits your cervix for the first time and heat floods your stomach as you cry out his name. 
“Shit,” he panics and quickly comes back to his senses, wide eyes meeting your bleary ones, “you okay, angel? M’sorry” Joel whispers, returning to his original rhythm. 
“Yes-yes, fuck, please keep going, keep doing that, I can’t believe how good it feels.” 
Joel weakly smirks, proud to see you taking him so well.
The desk squeaks and juts with each of his heavy thrusts, that’s how you know it’s fucking good. You came here wanting to lose your virginity, but now that you’ve unwound Joel Miller, you want him to fucking rail you. 
Licking your lips, you lean up and pepper kisses up his wirey jawline, feeling the patch of hair that fades out and then back in again. He’s so sweet right now, but you wonder what he was talking about before. What was he when he wasn’t gentle? How good would rough feel? Would you like it? Maybe you could learn, explore, adventure. Surely Joel with his experience could be a guiding light. 
You watch with glittery eyes as Joel pulls his head off yours and licks across the pads of his fingers. 
“What are you- shit,” you whimper as his fingers start circling your clit, taking a moment to find your sweet little rhythm, one that somehow matches his hips. Now, your skin is slapping and it’s echoing around the room. Your moans are louder and uncontrollable, as are Joel’s. Your hips ache but you don’t find the will to care, he feels like fucking heaven. 
His cock is somehow inching deeper, as if your walls have decided to invite him in further, where he hits this perfect little spot inside of you that makes you squeak Joel’s name with robbed breaths. 
You’re not sure if you can hold on much longer, your stomach starts to swirl as all the knots inside your belly begin to untie themselves. 
You brace Joel at his shoulders and look into his eyes as you moan his name. A certain hunger flickers behind his dark brown orbs. His jaw clicks and he starts fucking you in earnest, filling you up each time as his hips snap with vigor. He feels fucking amazing, piercing your walls and marking you as his. 
“Joel-”
“Say what I wanna hear, baby,” he rasps. You quickly nod and gulp. 
“Daddy, please, I-I’m so close,” you moan sweetly as your head digs into the desk, jutting your chin up and arching your back. Joel takes full advantage of your breasts in his face, burying his nose in between them and nipping at the sensitive flesh, nearly making you yelp. 
“M’right there with you, angel baby, come for me,” he insists breathlessly.
His hips were losing their precision, going buck-wild, so you knew he was close. But he was holding out for you. 
You clench your eyes closed, feeling yourself lose all control. Your heart races in your chest, beat thrumming in your throat as you hold Joel against your front as his hips continue to snap and fill you. You don’t know what to do with your mouth, so you feverishly land your lips on his and make him mask the moans of your orgasm. 
Joel’s groan echoes loudly into your mouth as you gasp against his lips. Your walls clench eagerly around his cock as he spills into the condom. 
It’s blinding, deafening even. Your face goes slack and your eyes see stars. You think you might be shedding a tear or two because Joel is cupping your face kindly, thumbs swiping under your eyes as he encourages you out of your haze. 
“Lemme see those eyes, pretty girl,” he pants sweetly, watching for any sign of doubt. But he wouldn’t find any. 
You’re not so sure where he starts and you begin, your mind is so fuzzy. 
A soft hum leaves your lips as you soothingly run a hand through his dark hair again, gently stroking the longer curls away from the sheen on his forehead. Both of you were so warm, it felt like a fire was set between you two. When you curl a strand around your finger, you weakly smile as it coils back up and bounces. 
“How was your first time, angel?” Joel pants, still buried balls deep inside of you. Your hips ache, but part of you wasn’t ready for him to pull out yet. 
“I can’t believe I finished twice.” You admit with a shy smile, running a thumb up his cheekbone and glancing up at his eyebrow piercing. He notices you staring but keeps his eyes on your own.  
“Did it hurt?”
He shakes his head. 
“What about the one in your nose?”
He shakes his head again, this time with a smile. 
“Or your tongue?” 
This one made him ponder before he finally gave a light shrug. 
“You don’t remember the pain after a while. Just like tattoos. The pain is temporary.” 
Your mouth tilts in a lopsided smile, feeling messy with both of your spillages still puddled around your centers. 
Joel grunts as he slowly stands up from his bent-over position on the desk, pulling himself out of you and tying up the condom before he tosses it into the waste bin. 
You whine quietly to yourself as you close your legs. It hurts a little more now. Your hips and your core, a certain soreness. Or maybe it was missing him already. 
“Oh,” you whisper, starting to feel a little bit of leakage glide down your thigh. “Joe, do you-” 
“Course,” Joel says assuringly, hands already on a towel as he neals down and gently glides the material up the inside of your thigh. You bite down on your lip as he cleans you up with the soft towel and a little bit of water. 
You glance around the sterilized room and realize he’ll probably have to scrub this place down for the most part. Whoops. 
You’re slow to dress. Joel’s already buttoned his pants by the time you find your panties. He snickers quietly and helps you dress with a smirk. 
It’s not awkward like you feared it would. It sort of felt like you guys were friends. Then, something sort of unexpected happens. 
Joel fondly strokes a hair out of your face, pushing it behind your ear and smoothing out the little knots he had caused while fisting your hair during his blowjob. He’s soft and gentle with you. It makes you oh so curious what he looks like when he’s not soft and gentle. 
You sigh softly as you look at yourself in the mirror. You sort of felt proud, like you’d be a whole new person leaving the shop today. Even without a tattoo. 
“Joel, I don’t want anyone to see me leaving your office.” 
“That ashamed of me, huh?” He scoffs at you playfully, running his hand up and down his chest hair before he finally throws on his shirt. “I have the back office, so we can just go out that door.” He juts up his chin to behind you and you follow his eyeline. “Goes to the alley behind the shop.” 
You note the dark green painted exit door, and you’re thankful you don’t have to parade through the front of the shop or go past any other clients. 
The gentleman that he is, Joel walks you to your car as dusk settles in, marking the sky an orange and red horizon.  
“I gotta clean up the shop and close. You gonna be okay until I see you next?”
You nod meekly, a sweet smile on your face that twinges with a little shyness. “I’ll be okay. I still need that tattoo.” You tease to which he grins. 
“You do. I’ve worked real hard on it, so you better come back an’get it.” 
You nip at your lower lip as he stays guarded by your window, like a handsome pierced, and tatted bodyguard. 
It’s itching at you too much to let it go. You’re just too curious. “M’not this gentle.” 
“Yeah? Maybe you can show me next time what you’re really like.” 
“Not sure if you can handle it, kitten.” 
You gulp and clutch his hand before he fully stands up to walk away from your car. “You’ll show me again sometime? Like you said?”
Your eyes glimmer with a certain hopefulness, but his own seem to harden out of caution. 
It was just insane that he knew so much more than you. You wanted to unlock all forms of pleasure you were comfortable with. You like that he was holding something back. 
You were wet clay in his massive hands, he could mold you to his liking. You could learn his pleasures, his kinks, what unravels him beyond repair. You could learn a thing or two about yourself in the process. 
Joel sighs. 
“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warns, lips crooked in a snarl. His eyes beg for you not to want him, not to want this. 
But nothing set your nerves on fire like seeing him in control of you, just that brief second where his eyes flashed from amber to black and he fucked you like nothing or no one was stopping him. What if you gave it all up to him? 
Submissiveness dances behind your eyes, and Joel’s a sucker for that sweet look on your face. He debates if this is what you really want, or if it’s something else. He can’t deny he enjoys the trust you put in him. 
Joel quietly sighs with hesitation, eyes the way your small hand desperately holds his before he finally squeezes back. 
“You don’t know how t’take no for an answer, do ya?” He asks, a small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That’ll have to change.” 
You grin and nod, biting down on your lower lip as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Joel takes notice, not wanting to see you in any sort of discomfort, especially from something he caused. 
“Take some pain medicine and relax tonight, angel. You were perfect.” 
Your heart swells at the compliment, the appreciation, the care. He gently pats your window a few times before standing up straight and backing up from your car, moving back towards the dark green exit door. “I’ll see you soon.” 
Driving away, you’re giddy with excitement of the unknown. It was a dark path you wanted to pursue. And maybe it was fucking stupid how you could trust a complete stranger like this, how none of your past partners felt worthy of your first time, but the tattooed and pierced old southern gentleman did. It was fucked. But you were sort of fucked for Joel Miller. 
You hum to the radio as you experience pure adrenaline, thumb gliding over the raised numbers on his business card. You glance down and notice a small stamp of a fern in the top right corner, adjacent to his name and professional title. 
The Obsidian Gallery 
Joel Miller
Senior Tatoo Artist
You can’t explain how your heart inadvertently races as you remember flashes of his hips rutting into yours, those same delicate fern leaves decorating the front of his hips. You were so fucked for Joel Miller. 
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next chapter ->
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julietsbody · 7 months ago
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KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons. 
tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader) 
a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs
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thirty minutes ago. 
art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you. 
art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time. 
“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.” 
ahem. 
you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression. 
you blink at him, once, twice. 
a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.” 
it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him. 
and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better. 
you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“  
“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.
he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint. 
your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement. 
maybe silence will earn points back from your coach. 
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
silence did not earn anything. 
art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up. 
the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.” 
“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it. 
if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first. 
he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?” 
“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.” 
art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing. 
to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.” 
you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back. 
smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.” 
he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?” 
ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him. 
and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?” 
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
art said he forgave you, right? 
ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.” 
“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you. 
“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind. 
“whatever helps,” you remark. 
“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle. 
once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.” 
eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable. 
“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?” 
you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.” 
“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.” 
“with tennis?” 
“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.” 
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you. 
“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds. 
yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really. 
“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet. 
he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors. 
“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before. 
“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually. 
“like your wife?” 
“like you.” 
art corrected you. 
he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well. 
the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe. 
at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose. 
“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty? 
gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy. 
“what?” you frown, confused. 
“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing. 
“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple. 
“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?” 
“what do you mean?” 
art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“ 
“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours. 
“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..” 
“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.” 
“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now. 
“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?” 
you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you. 
when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying. 
he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.” 
“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin. 
he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.” 
“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to. 
“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath. 
“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness. 
“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?” 
“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part. 
“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.” 
he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks. 
soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him. 
he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance. 
“ready?” he hushes out. 
“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already. 
“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more. 
his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well. 
sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas. 
“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches. 
in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm. 
he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.” 
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thewickedjazzy · 30 days ago
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Level 1 : “Unveiled” [cyberstalking] for Kinktober.
♡stalker! fyodor d. x afab! reader.
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♡Synopsis: your secret life as a streamer takes a wild turn when feyda becomes dangerously obsessed with you, well uh.. obsessed enough to break in, not just to watch, but to finally fuck you.
♡Warnings: ņsfw, mdni, smųt with plot, cyberstalking, cybersex, obsessed! fedya, bdsm themes, non-con recording, dark themes, bondage, oral, cum mentioned, unprotected sex..etc.
♡Word count & a/n: 4k, i'm so sorry. i know i'm horrendously late. i may or may not morph into some sort of poetic lunatic by the end of this fic ppft. also, shoutout to fedya’s art by the brilliant " @isabeau333 " on x.
[SEE: Kink Coin & Winners Scoreboard]
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it’s 1:46 a.m. again. you’re sitting on your bed, eyes wide open, staring at the glow of your phone screen. tonight feels different, but you can’t wrap your finger on why. there's a stillness in your own bedroom that makes your skin prickle with unease. you should be asleep by now—work’s in a few hours—but your body hums with a strange kind of thrill. a thrill you haven’t felt since him.
you unlock your phone and scroll through your messages—nothing. the usual fans, the usual comments. until you see it, your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you catch the latest one:
unknown: “don’t bother, my dear. i’m already inside.”
unconsciously, your breath catches in your throat. inside? inside where? your fingers freeze as you stare at the screen. is someone actually stalking you? you can't help but think what if it’s just a prank, someone trying to mess with you, make you think that you're crazy or something.
but deep down, you know better.
because nothing exciting ever really happens to you. not in your real life, anyway. you’ve got your 9-to-5 job, well, the same routine every day as it was before him. you come home, make lunch, and watch a show to unwind from the long, exhausting day at work. mundane. predictable.
but after midnight, everything changes.
it’s the part of your life no one knows about. not even your closest friends. as soon as the clock hits 12, you shift into someone else entirely. that secret side of you comes alive, and for a few hours every night, you stream games to a hidden audience, identity shielded by the anonymity of your kitsune mask.
you’re known online as "kitsunekitten," a name that’s grown more popular than you ever expected. thousands of fans tune in religiously to watch you play everything from dishonoured to lies of p, dead cells, or resident evil. and with every stream, your fanbase grows. the praise, the attention—it feels good.
your phone buzzes again.
unknown: “look behind you.”
you freeze, breath hitching with fear as you feel the slight shiver spread across your body. your gaze darts to the corner of the room, where your webcam sits innocently atop your monitor. you’ve always felt secure with the mask on—no one could ever see your face, not really. but now? the idea that someone might be looking through the lens, watching your every move, makes your skin crawl.
for a long moment, you don’t move. you don’t dare to. but the urge to check if it's him is eating you alive. slowly, your head turns, heart pounding as your eyes scan the obscured room behind you.
there's nothing.
the room is exactly how you left it—empty, quiet.
your shoulders sag in relief, though your nerves still remain frayed, buzzing with adrenaline. you stand from your desk, pacing, trying everything just anything to shake the unease that's wrecking your system. you glance at the clock: 1:49 a.m. it’s too late to still be awake, but you’re wired. there’s no way you’re getting any sleep tonight, not after those messages.
your phone buzzes again, and against your better judgment, you grab it.
unknown: “you’re so cute when you’re scared.”
your blood runs cold, a shiver racing down your spine. there’s no way they can actually be inside… right? you check the door, locked. the windows, closed. you even peek through the curtains, scanning the street below. everything is as it should be, yet the feeling of being watched is suffocating.
how do they know?
another message:
unknown: “why don’t you check the stream again?”
your heart nearly stops. you rush back to your desk, hands trembling as you click open your streaming software. the screen flickers showing your room through the webcam—but something’s off.
the feed is lagging, slow, as if struggling to keep up. then, for a split second, you see it—a shadow in the corner of the room. you blink, leaning closer, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
panic sets in, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to do. but before you can type anything, another message appears, this time in the stream chat. their username, the same one that’s been following you for a few days now: raskolnikov.
“i like your mask, but it’s time we get rid of it, don’t you think?”
your pulse races trying your best to shut the stream down, but your cursor freezes. the mouse won’t respond. every click is to no avail. the screen blurs for a moment before the video feed cuts to black.
what the hell is going on?
then, just as you're about to reach for your phone to call 911, your screen lights up again, showing a video file playing. it’s footage of you—a vivid footage from inside your apartment. to be more exact from your bedroom. you recognize the view, the angle—it’s from your own webcam showing you, sleeping, unaware of the camera watching your every move you make.
your stomach churns. this isn’t real, no... this can’t be real.
then you hear it. this time, a voice comes from right behind you. it filters through your ears, clear with a chilling calmness to it.
“did you miss me, myskha?”
your body locks up, thrill tightening your throat. god! you're so stupid, of course it's him, you should've known it's him, that smooth, taunting tone you’d recognise anywhere.
it’s fyodor dostoevsky.
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a few months ago, things were simple. your streams were gaining traction, and the messages were nothing out of the ordinary. until him.
it started small—just a user in your chat, “@demonfyodor,” who seemed more attentive than others. you didn’t think much of it at first. his comments were polite, sometimes even helpful. but then, they became more specific. he knew details about your personal life, things you had never shared on stream—what books you were reading, the colour of the shirt you wore to work that day.
you ignored it at first, brushing it off as a coincidence. but the coincidences kept piling up. he knew too much.
and then, the gifts started arriving. packages with no return address. items you’d mentioned offhandedly during a stream—a game you were interested in, a book you had your eye on, even a necklace you admired. they all came, perfectly wrapped, as if sent by someone who was always listening, aways watching.
by then, the messages grew more intense, sliding into your dms with a casual ease that sent shivers down your spine. easy to say that he wanted more than just to watch. he craved interaction, intimacy, a connection that transcended beyond the screen. and the thrill of having someone so alluringly close was insanely intoxicating, especially when you wore your mask, the anonymity allowing you to explore sides of yourself you’d long kept hidden.
at first, it was thrilling to engage in these flirty exchanges with him. fyodor had a specific way of using words that wrapped around you like silk, enticing you into a world of pleasure you had almost forgotten. he’d ask if you liked the gifts he sent—those perfect little treasures that you've always secretly craved. new packages started arriving, each one with a rush of excitement, revealing items that teased at your wildest fantasies—handcuffs, whips, and other bdsm delights that you had secretly wanted to try but never had the courage to explore.
you’d spent so long alone, single for what felt like an eternity, that you never expected to be so drawn to these fantasies again.
you found yourself lost in hours of texting, often escalating to calls and even facetiming late at night. there was this specific magnetic pull between you, a connection that was both so thrilling yet unbelievably terrifying. and the unforgettable nights you shared became an addiction—worse than nicotine, you realised.
safe to say that fyodor was different. well, he was smart, intuitive, and oh, that half-lidded gaze of his, those captivating amethyst eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul, made it nearly impossible to resist. the way he smirked when he facetimed you, so confident and smooth, drew you in like a cat to catnip.
fyodor had a unique talent for making you cum over and over again without even being in the same room. his silk smooth voice filling your senses with his soft moans and luscious whispers. you could almost feel him there with you, as if he knew every secret spot that would send you twirling into ecstasy.
“just for me, darling,” he would murmur in the dead of night, calling you while you lay there, helplessly aroused, stroking his deliciously lengthy pale cock while whispering sweet nothings that seemed to tangible your desire. it was intoxicating.
and oh the thrill of being sprawled out in front of him through the lens, just for his viewing pleasure, became a nightly ritual. you’d slowly slide the lavender dildo he gifted between your slick-coated folds, moaning softly as you fucked yourself just for him, eagerly awaiting his reaction. every squirm, every gasp was a performance, and the way he admired your every inch of you, the way his gaze burned into you through the screen, made it all the more exhilarating. you loved how pretty he made you feel, how desired, and how alive.
and then came the darker undertones—the realisation that the line between thrill and danger was razor-thin, especially when your connection to him spiraled deeper into obsession.
you were obsessed—completely consumed by him, and you could swear he felt the same. fyodor was always there, filling the void with his words and voice. until one day… he just disappeared.
no warning, no goodbye. nothing, just… gone.
he deleted all of his accounts, his number, everything. every trace of him, wiped clean, deactivated as if he had never existed in the first place. you thought it was some kind of sick game at first. a punishment, maybe? but for what ? you didn’t know. all you knew was the desperate, gnawing need for answers.
you spent days—weeks, really—searching for any trace of him, some clue, something that would explain why he’d vanish so suddenly. but there was nothing. it was as if he had planned this all along, like a predator keeping his prey hooked, dangling just out of reach before vanishing into the void, leaving you stranded in the wake of your obsession.
you’d find yourself obsessively refreshing your streams, hoping his username would pop up in the chat as it used to, scouring your dms, wondering if maybe he was still watching you, lurking among the anonymous fans. you caught yourself imagining him behind every new follower, every message, wondering if he was there, pulling the strings once again.
three months of silence. three agonizing months of waiting, hoping, wondering. were you in love with him? or was it just a pure obsession? you couldn’t tell anymore. all you knew was that he had burrowed into your life, into your mind, so deeply that it felt like you were drowning without him.
your late-night streams had become hollow rituals, devoid of the thrill they once held. the gifts he’d sent were still there, tucked away, untouched since his disappearance. you couldn’t bring yourself to use them anymore, not without him. Not without his voice in your ear, telling you how perfect you were, how beautiful you looked writhing on camera just for him.
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"you're shaking my dear are you okay"
his smooth, silky voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts. okay? you're anything but okay. is he even kidding right now? you almost had a heart attack, convinced someone was about to kill you.
your hands tremble, mind racing with dozens of thoughts, questions colliding together in your head. but against all logic, despite the overwhelming fear, you can’t help but feel the familiar rush of dopamine hit your brain receptors.
you missed him. and you know exactly what that means.
he’s right there, sitting on your bed—flesh and bone, not just pixels on a screen. it’s almost too much to process. you hate to admit it, but he’s even more handsome in person. those amethyst eyes are sharper, more intriguing, and his smirk… makes your stomach twist with longing.
then, his voice again hypnotic, like velvet draping over your hearing senses:
“i’m sorry, myshka. i didn’t mean to disappear like that... i had some things to take care of.” he pauses, eyes searching your face for any sign that might let him push further. but all he finds is panic, disbelief, and hurt.
“i—i don’t understand,” you stammer, desperately searching for a way to make sense of it all.
his hand reaches out, brushing your cheek lightly. the touch makes you flinch, but it’s not out of fear. it's the way your body responds—a pink hue spreading underneath your cheeks colouring them so adorably.
“you’re trembling, my dear” he whispers, thumb trailing down to your lips. “but not just from fear, is it? no… there's something else, isn’t there, darling?”
you should push him away. you should scream. but instead, you stay frozen, heart pounding in your chest as his thumb presses lightly against your lower lip, and you can see the striking plum violet and mauve lines in his amaranthine irises.
“you’re so beautiful without the mask,” he continues, leaning slightly forward. “i’ve missed this. missed you.”
oh shit! the mask—how did you forget it? the realisation hits you like a truck, leaving you feeling achingly exposed, like a delicate flower stripped of its petals. is this okay? will he hurt you?
his other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around your side delicately, drawing you closer to him.
“i’ve been watching you, myshka,” he smiles, that damn smile that you've always wondered when you'll see again. “every night, waiting for the right moment to return.”
“did you think about me?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully, as if he already knows the answer. you swallow hard, not sure if you should be honest with him or not.
“y-yes,” you finally admit, of course, you thought about him—every single day and night. his essence always lingered in your mind like an addiction, one you couldn’t quite shake off. every moment of your life was coloured by the hope of his return.
“tell me what you want, myshka,” his eyes roam over your nightgown, captivated by how your lavender bra hugs your breasts so perfectly from underneath. tracing the cascade of your hair down your shoulders, with a few wisps caught teasingly between the soft curves of your cleavage. “i can give you everything and more.”
oh lord—the way he says it makes your vision blurs with lust, you want to tell him, you want to confess all of your darkest desires, the fantasies you’ve spun in the solitude of your room. but words fail you. instead, your body leans instinctively toward him, humming in delight, craving the contact you’ve denied yourself for so long.
“the little toys i sent you are gathering dust, aren’t they? i think it’s time we put them to use.”
your breath catches in your throat. how did he know? you hesitate for a second before rushing to your closet, fingers trembling slightly as you open the drawer and pull out the baby blue handcuffs and the magenta vibrator he gifted you months ago his smirk widens as he watches you, an amsuing glint speading into his eyes.
“good choice,” he murmurs, stepping closer to take the items from your hands, smirking viciously as he holds the cuffs like a trophy. “let’s see how well you can follow my orders tonight.”
slowly, he begins to undress you, hands exploring every inch of your soft skin as if you're a forbidden fruit in eve's garden. he traces his fingers along your arms, down your hips, then to your neck down your spin and the cloudy pillows of your ass. each touch makes your skin pebble, radiating flames under his tender touches. you’re not just his toy, you’re his masterpiece.
once he’s stripped you down to nothing, he leads you to the bed and gently handcuffs your wrists to the headboard, securing you in place. you're quite aware that there's a thin line between excitement and anxiety but right now? all you can think about is what he is planning.
as he finishes, he swoops down, lips brushing yours so teasingly, before pressing his cold ones against yours in a gentle chaste kiss growing handsier by each second, causing you to let out a muffled hum of surprise.
he pulls back watching your heaving chest as you catch him holding your kitsune mask, a vicious smile curling on his lips. “you know I can’t have my favorite little fox completely unmasked,” he teases, lifting it toward your face, placing the mask over your features to obscure your identity as he holds a camera in his other hand aiming it at you, its lens capturing the erotic moment. “i want to remember every exquisite detail,” he grouses erotically—placing the camera on your night stand before slowly taking off his clothes.
your breath hitches as you take in his details through the mask. yes, you've seen him naked multiple times before, but it was always behind the camera lenses, never this close. his body is pale and perfectly structured, and oh god, his waist—how is he that beautiful?
your gaze drifts lower, eyes widening as they lock onto his hard cock, the tip glistening and teasingly brushing against your slick folds. it’s a sight that sends a jolt of desire pooling low in your stomach. you want him—need him—right now.
he spreads your folds with two digits, looking eagerly with darkened amethyst orbs as your delicious juices drool from your empty hole.
“oh... myshka, your pussy is so much softer than i imagined.” he purrs as he watches your glossy lips part slightly letting out muffled mewls, the mask frames your features, leaving your mouth exposed for him. he tilts his hips ever so slightly letting the tip of his cock glide against your buzzing clit.
“mnff...fedya,” here comes your needy whimpers that he adores.
he lowers himself, so that his mouth is just a few inches from your cunt, warm breath faning against your wet puffy folds making your cunt gush more and more of its sweet juices.
he begins with teasing licks, the hot muscle swirling around your sensitive clit in circular motion, each flick makes your back arch and hips instinctively buck up yearning for more. a muffled 'mmff' vibrates against your hot sex, as he tastes the sweet honey seeping from between your folds like you’re the sweetest nectar.
“mmff myshka, can you stop moving so much?” he murmurs against your heat core, the vibrations adding to the delicious torment. his fingers dive deeper, curling inside you as he continues to work your clit with his mouth, the combination making you moan loudly, while struggling against your restrained hands, you desperately try to break free, yearning to let your fingers tug on his luscious black silk hair.
“please… more,” you gasp, unable to contain the desperation in your voice as he responds with a low, pleased growl, redoubling his efforts to bring you close enough to your sweet release.
but just as you’re about to cum, he suddenly pulls away. a desperate whimper escapes your lips, the pleasure abruptly cut off as you watch him with wide eyes, feeling the emptiness where he was just a moment ago.
“not yet, myshka,” he chuckles, licking his lips to taste the ghost of you.
without warning, he rams inside you, filling you to the hilt in one swift motion. a sharp gasp leaves your mouth as he stretches you, the sudden intrusion makes your vision blurry, stars flashing behind your eyes making every nerve in your body tingle with pleasure. as you feel yourself close to your release again, your walls clenching around him instinctively.
“черт! тебе так хорошо.” (fuck! you feel so good.) he groans as he begins to thrust deep, each swing of his hips sending ripples of ecstasy radiating from your core. “this tight little pussy of yours..ngh..is going to become my new obsession..mff”
you mull over his words as they feed at all parts of your hollow heart, making you feel butterflies in your stomach mingling with the coil tightening in your lower abdomen.
lost in a haze of blissful moans and blurred vision, you barely notice fyodor's hand gliding over to the vibrator. the moment he presses it against your swollen clit, a scream escapes your lips, a sound of pure ecstasy that mingles with his deep, satisfied moan. the buzzing sensation resonates deep within you, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire body. as his heavy shaft with veins straining against the skin, finds new pleasure points inside you that he commits to memory eager for the next time you make love.
heat coils between you as his furrowed brows speak of pure, concentrated desire. each deep stroke reshapes your walls, molding them to the weight and curve of his delicious lengthy cock, making sure no one else could ever fill you up the way he does. when your eyes meet, it’s like gazing into a galaxy of forbidden stars—his eyes telling you of a dark beauty of pleasure that pulls you higher and higher and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass blends with your moans, each collision driving you closer to the intoxicating edge of bliss.
you’re absolutely lost in the art of it, the way his body claims yours, painting pleasure across every nerve until the world outside dissolves and all that remains is just the two of you.
his breath comes in ragged, desperate gasps, tension in his muscles like the pull of a bowstring, ready to spill inside you at any given moment. he swells, every stroke only adding more fuel to the release building between you. the world narrows to this moment, the brush of his sweaty skin against your heaving chest, the pulse of pleasure echoing through your body with the buzzy rhythm of the vibrator pressed on your clit drives you straight away to your own release.
it's like stars colliding in the vastness of a violet sky, you shatter together. his name spills from your lips in a cry, body arching as pleasure crashes over you, flooding your senses. his hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he drives deeper, groaning low in his chest. and then you feel the heat of his release blooms inside you, filling you in waves as your walls pulse around him, pulling him in even tighter.
your bodies tremble in the afterglow, the world spinning and slowing until only the soft hum of breath and the fading echoes of pleasure remain. you glance at his irresistible eyes, seeing the remnants of that celestial fire, a shared intimacy that lingers even as the stars dim and the night settles into quiet.
he reaches over with a steady hand, grabbing the camera set just beyond the edge of the bed, with a smirk curling his lips, he flicks it off, the soft click signaling the end of the recording before he leans closer, fingers brushing against your cheekbone as he slowly pulls the mask off your face and gently frees your aching wrists from the restraints.
“beautiful,” he murmurs with a thick russian accent, his breath mingles with yours for a heartbeat before he closes the gap, capturing your lips in another deep, passionate kiss, mouth moving erotically against yours with the same fervor that had driven him moments before, as if he’s still chasing the aftershocks of pleasure through the taste of your glossy now-swollen lips.
“moya lyubov, you're designed just for me.”
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