#this might just be his most boring outfit

[deadpoets]

GEORGE HARRISON’S OUTFITS: DAY THIRTEEN – JANUARY 22, 1969 The Beatles: Get Back (2021) dir. Peter Jackson

[stalkedandblocked]

camgirl!reader x sevika

tw. reader and sevika are live, regular au (?? i have no idea how to word it 😭) masturbation (reader), strap on, fingering, cunnilingus (giving and receiving), sevika puts you in a headlock, squirting, overstim, sucking the strap

while in college you get a little bored of your mundane life, and with some free time during the night and also in need of some more money you start an only fans account. after growing quite a following you decide to do a raffle to stream with one of your fans to make things more interesting.

a/n: this took so long holy moly. i hope y’all liked this because this is one of my first times writing a full fic <3 like and reblog if ur a real sevika truther :D

with your tripod and camera on your bed infront of you, you moan, “mmmf… im so close,” you arch your back off the bed as you press the vibrator harder onto your clit. you spread your legs wider, giving a show to the camera. “fuck- oh my god,” your hips start bucking and you throw your head back, you moan and cry as your orgasm hits you, the painful feeling of overstimulation comes quickly but you keep the vibrator on your pussy and your whole body trembles through your orgasm. panting like a dog, you finally turn off the vibrator and place it to the side.

you lift your shaky body and sit on your knees in front of the camera, putting your hands in your lap to squeeze your breast together. you start to announce the little idea you had. messages are spammed in the chat, asking for you to chose them, that they’ll even send money for you to choose them, and asking about what you mean by this. you only giggle and say, “it’s just a thought you pervs, i thought it might be fun to chose one of you randomly and see if you’d be interested in streaming with me.”

the chat dies down on the questions and you say a few more words to say goodbye, before ending the stream by blowing them a kiss.

after hopping in the shower and getting yourself clean, you change into some comfy pajamas before making a post on your page.

‘hi to all my fans! i’m so glad you guys were interested in my proposal, if your in the area dm me for a chance to stream with me ;), i can’t wait!’ after pressing send you turn your phone off and head to bed, hoping that hopefully this won’t be a mistake, and that whoever you chose isn’t entirely horrendous looking.

the next day you check your phone, a couple hundred dm’s are in your inbox. most being people from far away asking if they can fly out but you stick to your word, you find one from an account who sent their address. “let’s see what this person has to offer” you think to yourself. you text back and forth before ultimately asking for a photo of them holding some id next to them so you know they’re not lying about their identity.

a while passed before the account responds, there was no indication about who this person might be so your surprised to see a woman, another notifications sends and it’s a photo of her id attached. you look closer at it, her names sevika, she’s quite a bit older than you, but that didn’t bother you. you ponder for a bit, you’ve never had sex with a woman, but was not opposed to the idea. but yes, even thought the photo of herself is a bit awkward, even reminding you of a parents facebook photo which makes you laugh to yourself a bit, she is very attractive. and from what you can see she seems quite muscular.

“alright”, and you send her an address of a restaurant near both of your homes and tell her to meet you there tomorrow and 4pm.

the next day, you put on a simple going out outfit, nothing to make it obvious your meeting a stranger to fuck her, then head out the door. as you walk to the restaurant you feel butterflies, obviously you had only even been with men, but she was, well, very sexy you thought. the idea excited you but also made you nervous.

as you sat at a table and tell the waitress your waiting for somone, another walks into the restaurant. you miss her face but her hair is tied half up and it’s short, a few inches above her shoulder. she’s also is very tall. you gulp, from what you remember that looks like her. she scans the restaurant before you make eye contact. she walks over to you and sits across from you.

“you must be sevika,” you smile, feeling more nervous than you expected to be. when she responds her voice is deep and smooth, her words are almost seductive. compared to your messages and how she talks to you she seems much more ready and nonchalant about this whole situation in real life. everything about her attracts you, “so did you have any ideas of when you’d like to.. ahem” you try to keep your voice down so no one hears and gets any ideas, “..stream”.

sevika is lazily leaning back in her char, legs nudged open a bit. she leans over the table, resting her arms on it, “i’m ready whenever you are.” you have no idea if she meant to make you flustered, or tried to make it sound sexy but her words melt you brain almost. you stand quickly and grab her arm, “let’s do it today, let’s do it now!” you squeal out before your dragging her out of the restaurant.

sevika had driven so she directs you to her car, you drive to your house and you walk up the stair together after she grabs a bag out of the back of her car. your whole body is warm and fuzzy with excitement. “i usually wear some lingerie when i start, as you probably know. would you like some or do you want to start naked?” you ask, grabbing a matching to set to change into.

“naked.” she responds, she watches as you walk to the bathroom to change. you throw a robe out of the bathroom so she can cover herself before you start. you come out in your set, wearing a robe as well. she sits on your bed watching, “let me set up the camera and then we can begin. did you have anything in mind on what we want to do, what we want to follow?”

“i have ideas for later, but let’s not worry about that now.”

you begin the stream, sevika sits naked on your bed, and you take the robe off infront of the camera. sevika places a hand on your hip guiding you to her lap before you crawl over her. each touch feels like sparks, your already soaked and anticipating what’s gonna happen. you grab eachother and start kissing, her tongue runs over your lip and your lips crash against each other. you sit down on her lap and slowly move your hips over her muscular thighs, you moan into her mouth. “that’s a good girl,” she praises, before continuing to kiss you.

she grabs your hips roughly, helping them move back and forth, you arch and moan for her. your chat is going crazy, some even shocked that it’s another woman. she stops your grinding and lifts your hips up a bit before dragging her thick finger up and down your slit. both of you seem like you forgot that your streaming and just enjoy each others bodies. she rubs your clit in circles, making your toes curl. she takes you from on top of her and flips you to face the camera, spreading your legs, the exposing position making you even wetter. she slides your panties to the side so the camera can see your wet cunny, she starts rubbing circles on your clit makes you throw your head back.

she chuckles at you, “don’t make me hold you head up. already so sensitive, huh?” her mocking words make you moan once more, she begins teasing your hole before nudging her index and middle finger into you. her fingers are so thick and long, your already seeing stars, “fuck! yes! right there sevika, oh my god-” you scream out as she adds her ring finger inside. your juices leak all over her lap and hand. your head leans against her and you mewl into her ear, begging to cum. as you finally start to reach your orgasm she pulls out her fingers and slaps your pussy.

“fuck!” you cry out as your body reacts to your ruined orgasm, sevika chuckles. you breathe heavily as sevika manhandles your basically limp body, laying it on the bed, she starts pulling down your panties and the slick dripping between your legs is more visible than ever. you arch your back slightly off the bed and she unclips your bra, she stops what she’s doing and stares at them. you giggle and can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or because of her expression, like she’s almost captivated. your breasts fall from the bra and lay prettily on display, which sevika quickly takes advantage of and begins to suck at on of your nipples and knead the other. you let at small moans while kisses litter your tits.

she lifts her head up and smirks “are you ready?” she asks, with having no idea what she’s talking about, you eagerly nod. she begins moving her body over yours and places her bare pussy on your face, letting down all her weight, then spreading your legs and burrying her face in your own cunt. your almost shocked by this, she starts teasing the tip of her tongue on your clit, before diving it into your hole, tongue fucking you and hitting all the good spots in your pussy. you moan against her cunt and try to copy her actions. you suck her clit and lap your tongue up and down her pussy, you squeeze around her tongue in response to her moaning. it’s low and vibrates through your whole body. it’s not long before you cum because of the previous teasing she had done earlier. you squeeze your legs around her head and buck up, trying to keep up the pace with how your lapping her pussy, but inevitably struggle from how your body is shaking against her face.

sevika places one last sloppy kiss to your clit then raises herself, and grinds against your face until she orgasms, gripping onto your hair. the moans she lets out makes your pussy ache.

while coming down form your high you lay next to each other panting, forgetting about the stream itself. “you okay, baby?” sevika asks, places kisses on your neck. “mhm,” you mumble, relaxing into the bed as she kisses you. “well, i think it’s time for what i had planned for earlier”, she gets up and disappears off camera. across the room she pulls something out of her bag that she had grabbed earlier. she begins to attach something to her hips, and before you know it she’s standing over you with a strap on.

it’s so thick and long, you gulp. not even with any men had you had to take something for big. “i know your wet enough but, i don’t think this is” sevika lets out a sly smile. her height already towers over you, so even standing and you sitting in the bed has you face to face with it. “suck it.” she orders and obediently you do. you place your hands around it, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, and slowly thrust your mouth down onto it. she stares down at you and bites her lip. you bob your head up and down, slowly reaching down with each thrust, your throat adjusts around it and you gag against it and sevika laughs. she places one hand on your head to tug at your hair. once you finally reach down the base she holds your head down. the length makes your eyes tear up as you gag even more.

she pulls your hair back until your off of it and pushes you down to the bed. still grasping your hair she puts your face down into the pillows and keeps your ass up before crawling over you. she has your face infront of the camera and wraps her arm around you. her thick biceps flex as she grabs the strap to line it up at your cunt. she wastes no time pushing it in, when she bottoms out your eyes roll back and without even moving it feels almost heavenly. she starts thrusting slowly before they become almost rapid, her arm squeezes around your throat even more and you moan and gasp. “taking it like such a good little slut,” she purred. you let out a messy smile and your moans just couldn’t stop coming out. they way it felt against your g-spot and pounded into you made your toes curl.

“se-sevika!” you drooled, “i’m gonna cum, please! hah, keep going!” you screamed, sevika took no time and started pounding into you more, her free arm rubbing your clit, fast circles against the puffy aching bud. your body shook and your eyes rolled back into your head, sevika thought they might never go back. you cried out before you finally squirted all over yourself and the bed, the liquid covering your stomach, the sheets and sevikas hand. “holy shit” sevika gasped at the reaction to your orgasm. your whole body was stiff and shaking, your mouth tried to let out moans but nothing came out as your eyes rolled back as hard as they could. your body went limp onto the bed, sevika pulled out of you, a line of slick breaking as the contact broke. you whined at the sudden emptiness.

she grabs the camera and faces it towards you, she spreads your weak legs showing the amount of cum that had leaked from your hole and everything that had dripped onto the sheets and between your thighs. “took it like the good slut she is,” she grabbed a handful of your ass and let out a laugh before she abruptly ended the stream.

she threw the camera onto the bed carelessly, then asked, “so, want to meet again next week?”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby. 

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored. 

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days. 

Art Donaldson. 

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage. 

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks. 

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine. 

“We’ll start with the basics.” 

-- 

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go. 

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.” 

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him. 

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you. 

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace. 

-- 

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.” 

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days. 

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?” 

“No.” 

“Then how do you know?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches. 

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?” 

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something. 

“What do you wanna know?” 

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?” 

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit. 

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.” 

“Lily?” 

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.” 

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.  

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.” 

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?” 

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?” 

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.” 

“...He seems to be pretty busy.” 

“He is.” 

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?” 

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound. 

“It shows, you know,” He says. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.” 

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm. 

“Just good?” He plies. 

“The best. A real pro.” 

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little. 

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat. 

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?” 

“She’s killing it.” 

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it. 

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.” 

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds. 

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.” 

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.” 

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.” 

--  

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him. 

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw. 

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap. 

-- 

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch. 

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies. 

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud. 

It spurs you to lunge a little too far. 

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side. 

“What hurts?” 

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left. 

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.” 

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. 

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand. 

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?” 

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort. 

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns. 

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.” 

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips. 

“Of course.” 

-- 

“How’s the ankle?” 

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again. 

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks. 

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.” 

“Good enough to walk on?” 

Hardly. 

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again? 

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up. 

-- 

I invited Art. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all. 

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days. 

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely. 

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room. 

“Almost ready in here?” He asks. 

“All set!” 

-- 

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile. 

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds. 

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests. 

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself. 

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves. 

“Wanted to come say hi.” 

“Well. Hi.” 

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet. 

“Thanks for the invite.” 

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you. 

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours. 

“He isn’t taking care of you.” 

“My ankle is fine.” 

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down. 

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—” 

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh. 

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip. 

“Condom?” He asks. 

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.” 

“Sssh.” 

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip. 

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—” 

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Art—” 

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?” 

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm. 

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties. 

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from your still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room. 

--  

“Can I see you?” 

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him. 

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies. 

“Where?” 

“I’ll send an address.” 

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk. 

“...You regret it?” He asks. 

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do. 

--  

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck. 

“Is this Lily?” You ask. 

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.” 

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.” 

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully. 

“Art?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Why am I here?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer. 

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.” 

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.” 

-- 

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up. 

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

--

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[touyaismycomfortboy]

♡ mr. aizawa's wife....

a/n: i'll probably most definitely write about husband aizawa with a wife who has a quirk, but for now here are some quirkless wife hcs <3 this is lowkey all over the place, all I've been thinking about is husband aizawa and what that would be like so i need to dump out all my thoughts and then I'll write smth more organized eventually

word count: 0.7k

synopsis: what it would be like to be aizawa's wife <3

pairing: shouta aizawa x fem!quirkless!reader

genre: headcanons? dump? i honestly dont know!! i'm just writing stuff fr <33

you're not a pro-hero so you don't work at UA, but you're still there all the time. the heroes truly love you, you oftentimes get bored after your own job and bring the faculty fresh baked goods, typically leaving a big tray in the teachers' lounge but delivering aizawa's to him since he's always so busy with class.

the first time you met his new first years they were doing some training outside, you had just come by the school with a tray of peanut butter chocolate cookies and were about to deliver some to aizawa and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading home.

when the girls of the class saw you walk up to aizawa out of the corner of their eyes and give him a kiss they gasped and stopped whatever they were doing.

aizawa panicked when he realized they saw and told them to get back to training, but they were already immediately approaching you and showering you with questions.

"oh my god mister aizawa has a wife?!" "how long have you two been together?!" "how did you guys meet?!" "what is aizawa like at home?"

you would laugh nervously and brush off their questions, whispering something to them about how aizawa is secretly a snuggle bug or something of that nature and usher them back to training, watching as they giggle and whisper to each other as they walk back, looking at aizawa and giggling some more.

aizawa isn't sure what you told them, but he'll "glare" at you for a moment with no real anger behind his stare, then mumble a quick "love you" before returning to work.

if you get off of work before him, he loves coming home and crawling into your arms, collapsing on top of you if you're lying on the couch.

he feels like a classy man when he wants to be. he'll be the kind of man to tell you to be ready at 7pm and to wear a nice outfit, and tell you he got you both a reservation at a restaurant.

he'll never tell you where it'll be, but he'll make sure to vet the menu beforehand just to make sure it has food you like so you never have to pretend to like something around him.

it will never be an insanely popular place with a bunch of people, but it'll always be nice. he doesn't like loud, crowded restaurants that are so loud he can barely taste the food in front of him, he loves quiet and intimate spaces with you.

if you ever volunteer to chaperone at a UA camp or dance or any other event, he always secretly loves watching you work with his students. he loves the chemistry you build with each of them and the effort you put into building friendships with them.

izuku loves to talk to you, he's always running up to you with his notebook asking questions about what the personal life of a pro hero is like and seeing if you have any anecdotes or fun facts about his quirk.

you're also one of the people all might lets see his true form before it's revealed to the public. you're always worrying over him, and he always brushes it off and tells you that he's okay, but you still check on him every time you visit UA.

as seen with how he acts around his students when something traumatic happens to them, he's very good at talking you through whenever you're sad. he's not a man of many words, but the words he does say leave an impact, and he always knows what to say.

he's not much for PDA, most people don't even know he has a wife until you just show up since he's so private, he prefers his intimate affairs stay intimate, he doesn't like everyone in his business or knowing how he acts around his wife.

nothing makes him feel guiltier than all the times you're awake for days on end next to his hospital bed after protecting his students from a dangerous situation. you understand why he does it, how important his students are to him, but still... seeing how destroyed his body gets after a villain encounter always makes you sick to your stomach, and you never feel quite at ease when he's working.

you both love taking naps together, if naps could be a love language that would be your guys'. you're always snuggling when alone and one thing will lead to another and you both end up snoozing on the couch for 30 minutes or so, something about being in each other's presence is so relaxing.

[rinffection]

♡ Sickeningly Sweet!

How blue lock boys show you how sweet they are to their girlfriend!

featuring! Isagi Yoichi, Meguru Bachira, Itoshi Rin, Seishiro Nagi & Chigiri Hyoma.

a/n : hellloooooo :3 back with some blue lock head canons, ahhhhh!!!!!! Anyways I’m writing this as I watch the shining so plz spare with me.

notes : mxf, afab!reader, sfw headcanons, NOT PROOFREAD

ISAGI YOICHI!

definitely compliments you on dates! — whether your outfit or face :3

when he sees something that reminds him of you, he buys it for you immediately!

after scoring a goal, his eyes immediately go to find yours. When he does, he gives you a big puppy smile.

adding to above, he would text you instantly after the game, asking if he did well today or if you saw that goal he shot!

late night calls after a whole day of soccer training! He actually sleeps better after hearing your voice.

he always holds your hands when you guys walk together.

sends you a bunch of lovey dovey TikTok’s, when he has time, of course.

whenever he gets jealous, it’s always in a cute way. he wouldn’t start a fight but instead he would hug you a little tighter after the guy is gone.

loves to make those cheesy couple TikTok’s with you! He actually enjoys it a lot.

MEGURU BACHIRA!

THE MOST PLAYFUL PUPPY EVER!! He will literally cuddle with you every chance he gets.

okay but his love language is just physical touch. He loves hugging or giving you kisses all over your face!

he likes drawing little doodles of you and him on his notebooks whenever he’s not paying attention in class.

likes to send you voice messages during evening’s all about his day, and loves when you send back too :3

since he’s always playing soccer by himself, he likes to drag you with him so he can teach you to play as well!

adding to above, he would pat you on the head with his golden smile whenever you do something correctly.

likes to have sleepovers with you! (mostly so he can cuddle with you when he goes to sleep)

whenever your frustrated over something, he lets you rant to him like he’s your bestie.

he will lay down with his head in your lap while he yaps to you.

doesn’t mind doing your girly stuff with him. As long as you have your pretty smile on your face, he’s happy!

ITOSHI RIN!

like a lot of people say, he doesn’t like showing PDA, but when it’s just the two of you in a room, he’ll immediately become a clingy puppy.

you might think he’s nonchalant, but he actually remembers every little thing about you! Whether it’s a habit you have or your favourite snack.

he buys you things without telling. Like if you were eyeing a necklace or a snack, he would buy it for you :3 (even if you don’t say anything)

regularly checks up with you via texts!! He’ll message you good night and good morning texts, and sometimes ask ‘did you eat?’ or ‘it’s getting late, you should go to sleep’.

he likes to keep things that remind you of him in his room — whether it’s a present, card, a trinket from the date you guys recently went or even photos of you two! He acts like he doesn’t care, but he actually does….

Rin always waits for you! after class, training, for a date or after a game, he would wait for you so you can walk with him! (He wants to make sure you’re safe when you walk home and that no guys hit on you.. lol.)

rants to you about sae and the ‘annoying’ teammates he has to deal with because he trusts you! While you guys cuddle on the couch or bed, of course.

DEFINITELY lovesssss giving you forehead kisses! He thinks it’s cute how you’re shorter than him.

cares for you. And when I mean he cares for you, I mean he would give an icy glare to whoever’s making you feel sad. (and sometimes it wouldn’t be just a glare….)

gives you his jacket or hoodie when you’re cold. It’s a quiet gesture, but he doesn’t need you shivering or catching a cold, and sometimes, he lets you keep it. It smells like him anyways!

watches your favourite shows or movies with you! He might grumble about how ‘this is so boring,’ but he actually secretly enjoys spending time with you— even if he had to watch your girly stuff with you.

SEISHIRO NAGI!

pulls you into naps with him! He loves sleeping, but he also loves you.. so why not both together?

lets you play with his hair. he probably doesn’t like it when others do it, but when it’s you, go wild.

always has your hair tie on his wrist. You don’t go a day without seeing it on his arm. (or maybe he’s just too lazy to take it off)

loses video games just for you to win. And when you ask about why he seems to be lacking, he’ll reply with ‘dunno, I guess I was distracted by you’.

lazy pecks on the lips. Sometimes it’s to shut you up while he’s gaming or sleeping— but he likes seeing you blush after anyways.

his go-to dates are definitely sleepovers, just so he can cuddle with you while watching a movie or something. (also, it’s because he’s too lazy to go out, lol.)

asks you to feed him because apparently, eating is too much of a hassle.

teaches you how to play a video game he likes — just so you can play with him!

makes you wear his hoodies, and sometimes, he even lets you ‘borrow’ it! He actually likes seeing you in his clothes, especially when it’s a bit too big for you.

shows you off. Like when someone asks him about his packed bento that you made for him, he’ll nonchalantly say ‘my girlfriend made it for me.’

CHIGIRI HYOMA!

LETS YOU BRAID HIS HAIR!!! Since he has long hair, he lets you style it however you want. (even if it ends up looking like a funny mess)

he’ll tie or braid your hair for you. Since he has long hair, he basically knows how to tie and braid hair like the back of his hand.

hear me out…. he discusses hair products with you. Sometimes even lets you share his favourite hair mask!!

buys you your favourite flowers every time you guys have a date together. It’s a way of showing how much he cares.

matching always. When you get him something matching, like a bracelet or necklace, he insists on keeping it on every day.

he’s probably the person who takes you out on the BEST dates. Like this guy lives for aesthetics. Just imagine him taking you out to watch the sunset, canoeing down a pretty river or finding amazing small cafe’s to try out with you!

soft/hard launches you on Instagram. He posts you on his story, and always takes photos of the both of you going on dates to post onto his page!

he takes the best pictures of you, lol. You don’t even need to train him into taking good photos for your Instagram, he’s just naturally good at it. Usually after he takes the pictures, he’ll compliment you and say ‘it was all because of how pretty you are’.

writes short poems or notes for you. It’s one way of showing his love— through words!

celebrates every holiday with you. Whether it’s Christmas, Valentine’s Day, or Halloween, he goes out his way to celebrate it the best with you!

after notes! : Hai again everyone.. :3 I think you can probably tell who’s my favourite in here…. lol…. But anyways, lmk if you guys want any fics on these headcanons! :p

[thatsdemko]

unknown - m.verstappen

masterlist | pairing: max verstappen x Hamilton!fem!reader. summary: when an unknown number comes across his phone, max can’t help but discover who’s sent him the image he can’t erase from his mind. warnings: 18+ + fingering (f receiving) + mentions of nudity + fluff (at the end). a/n: I want to give a huge shoutout to @monzabee for always being my inspiration to finish my smut, but also for convincing me to read twisted games (this ones inspired by that xx)

unknown

attachment: 1 image

the pinging sound distracts him from the current game on his television. pausing for a quick second, max glances at the unknown number and slides the message open as curiosity struck him.

unknown

can you see my nipples through this?

Max’s phone nearly drops into his lap at the second message. he barely got the chance to even open the image, the second message was far too appalling and his hands got too slippery from the precipitation building around him.

“max! come on!” the chatter from his headset snaps his attention from the black phone screen in his lap. red slips across his cheeks as he apologizes quickly for the distraction, and continues on like nothing happened.

though he couldn’t lie, the curiosity of the image was certainly looming around him. what was the person wearing? could he see said nipples? he couldn’t help but try to sneak peaks at his phone whenever he got the chance before the stream ended.

finally free from his friends, max slides open his phone and his breath sucks inward. you could definitely see your nipples through the sheer linen tight white top. in fact, if it weren’t for your underwear, you could see the very outline of your vagina.

fuck. max was unsure to text back. if he did, what would he even say? there was no clear indication on who it was sending the message. he didn’t recognize the number, and on top of that there was no face. the image was purely just the outfit.

max verstappen

a bra would be appropriate.

your heart fell about five stories down, and right into the pit of your gut. shit, you didn’t send the message to your friends. instead, you mistook the ID you tapped on for one of them, and it turned out to very clearly be your brothers rival: max verstappen.

unknown

don’t mention this to Lewis.

max verstappen

secret is safe with me.

while this made perfectly good blackmail, max had nothing against you. you were completely innocent and most likely too stupid to notice you tapped his phone number instead. he’d never utter a word to Lewis, and the photo would die with max whenever the time may be.

max verstappen

where are you headed looking like that?

y/n Hamilton

your moms house.

max stifled out a chuckle unable to believe that you were born by the same parents as Lewis. when it came to humor, Lewis used it very minimal, but from the select times max had spoken to you, you were the complete opposite. meditation was joke, veganism was impossible to follow, and driving at fast speeds was too boring. y/n hamilton was every opposite of her brother.

max verstappen

I think my house is a better place for that

your heart somehow jumped back into its place, attempting to thump its way out of its cavity. max could easily be joking, he could easily be serious, but either way you shouldn’t go. max was probably not interested in women like you, and sure the photo might’ve tipped the scales in your favor, but you weren’t really into vanilla sex like he could offer.

y/n Hamilton

you wish I was headed to your place like this.

max verstappen

I do.

fuck. you close your eyes, letting your fingers type the message and hit send before you can even have a single regret. max might be your opposite in the bedroom, but you can’t help but wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.

y/n Hamilton

I’m free right now.

—

twenty minutes later his soft lips are leaving trails down your neck, his fingers work the buttons of the top that sickened his soul into this. he was careful not rip the material, but he was so the opposite of careful when his lips wrapped around your nipple.

his tongue and teeth graze the sensitive skin while you melt against his mattress into a puddle.

you were so wrong about him. oh so so, wrong.

he’d practically ripped that white shirt to shreds the second you entered his place. his tongue was a dominate force, shoved down your throat, his lips were passionate and full of eager. vanilla sex was so not max. you could write pages about him, no fantasy or book explored the way max did.

his fingers. oh gosh, they could write stories about how delicate, and soft they were. how they expanded your folds and had you clenching around nothing. they worked wonders— magic perhaps, pumping at such a fast speed you didn’t have time to react feeling him floor you until every drop of you was around him.

“these,” his tongue swipes across your breast, lips wrapping around the tip of your nipple, sucking you like a baby its thumb. it was relaxing, gut twisting, and chilling. he left you panting, begging, and still he wasn’t finished. no ounce of him showed signs of stopping.

when finally he was done toying, done with whatever ‘warmup’ he claimed this to be, his large cock filled you, warmth overtook with pleasure when you felt his hips grind yours. the rhythm was nothing like his fingers, nothing like how his tongue moved on your skin, it was slow. he was slow, like he were to savor every moment of this.

you clench, you squeal, beg, whatever could come from you as noise. nothing was coherent, and max liked that. in fact, it quickened his pace with a smirk as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head and moan his name.

“you’re taking it well.” his voice is raspy, husk and faint. a moan rippled through your body at the sound of him, you could feel butterflies unleash in the warmth of your stomach as you cry out and come on his cock.

“you’re different than I expected you to be.” you say watching him roll to the pillow beside you, his blue eyes fixed on yours, they still have that hunger in them that turns you on.

“when you wear a top like that,” his breath sucks inward, a simple shake of his head at the newest dirty ideas floating in his mind, “I can’t control myself.”

a breathy chuckle escapes your lips as you curl your body into his, perfectly molding together, “I guess I’m glad I ditched the girls for you.”

a smile stretches across his lips that he carefully plants on your forehead, “thanks for the text, I hope to receive more in the future.”

“you earned yourself a spot on speed dial.”

[ivy-elle]

Tainted Hearts

The door isn’t locked when he knocks. As if you’ve been expecting him.  

Scaramouche scoffs and a muttered “Idiot” falls from his lips at your lack of safety and self-preservation. He pushes the door open, eyebrow rising as he looks inside. “Y/n?”

When he doesn’t spot you right away, he takes a slow step inside your apartment, using the heel of his shoe to shut the door back close. His hand wanders into the pockets of his pants, while he takes in your apartment.

“Y/n!” He calls again, his eyes sweeping slowly around the interior. This is the first time he’s in here. And it’s definitely more chaotic than he’d imagined. The clothes littered on the floor fit the aesthetic of the room as much as your desk. His eyes fall on the half-empty coffee cup, still adorned by your lipstick stain, but now the dark liquid is surrounding it on the surface. Just as he’s about to step closer, his fingers itching somehow, your voice calls from the adjacent room.

“In the bathroom!”

Scaramouche scorns, turning in your direction. “You’re still not done?” And while he’s irritated, his voice comes out less harsh than expected.

He clears his throat.

“I’ve spilt some bloody coffee on my clothes and had to change,” you reply, sounding more frustrated than he feels himself. “And I thought I told you, to come by later anyway. Now you have to suffer your own consequences.”

“Is that why you left the doors unlocked? I knew you to be foolish and yet, I’m surprised.”

“It’s because your impatient ass always arrives way too early.”

Scaramouche crosses his arms, while his eyes take in the rest of your room. “And what, precisely is it, that’s taking you so long? We’ll be late.”

“The outfit I ruined was perfect and now nothing else feels right anymore.”

Scaramouche lifts some figurine from the shelf, absentmindedly spinning it in his hand. “Who cares what you look like? It’s not a wedding.” Despite his words, he’s yet to see you in an unbefitting outfit. Almost immediately he banishes the thought into the back of his mind. “Just pick whatever.”

A dry laugh, then - “We’re still going out for dinner, it doesn’t matter if it’s just our friends.”

Friends? Scaramouche hums lowly. “Most of them are barely tolerable. At best.”

When he finally hears the door opening, he sets the figurine back and turns to you. To his utter embarrassment (as well as frustration) he feels his breath falter for a second.

But you don’t seem to take notice.

“Is your car close by?” you ask instead while swiftly grabbing some stuff and putting it into your bag.

Scaramouche gathers himself, his frown deepening. “You should finally get yourself a car. I’m not your personal taxi driver.”

The intended irritation in his voice subsides more into absentmindedness as his eyes drift along your outfit and take in the way it looks on you.

“Scara?”

He directs his eyes back up and meets yours. “What?” he huffs, feeling somehow caught.

“I asked if you think this might be too much?” Your eyes sweep down your body. “Maybe I should wear the other blouse.”

The way you tug on your clothes, the way you suddenly avoid his eyes causes his fingers to twitch once more. He hides them in the pockets of his pants.

His answer, when it comes, is blunt. “No.”

 “No?”

“Basic is boring. You’re good.”

You meet his eyes. He turns halfway towards the door, straightening his collar. “Now can we leave? Or your taxi driver might demand remuneration.”

Your lips twitch amused but you comply nonetheless and follow him out of your apartment. “Have I ever mentioned how impatient you are?”

“You better consider yourself lucky someone cares about your public presentation.”

“Oh, so very lucky, indeed.”

“Is that sarcasm I’m detecting?”

“I would never.”

When you leave, Scaramouche makes sure the door is locked properly this time.

[alavestineneas]

Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion. 

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way. 

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her. 

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better. 

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle. 

-

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago. 

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life. 

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less. 

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns. 

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet. 

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation. 

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine. 

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us." 

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin. 

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep. 

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus." 

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

-

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?" 

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on." 

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?" 

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?" 

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners. 

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist. 

-

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position." 

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

 "Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student." 

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration. 

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own." 

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

-

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else. 

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception. 

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man. 

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out? 

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table. 

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake. 

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving. 

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense." 

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her. 

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

-

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success? 

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful. 

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish. 

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.'' 

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air." 

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit. 

-

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her. 

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time. 

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring. 

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath. 

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

[rinnstars]

kiss me right!

in which itoshi rin gets a tongue piercing

itoshi rin x reader: fluff, suggestive (making out), drabble, not proofread + likes n reblogs r appreciated!

it was out of impulse rin thinks, or so he likes to believe.

pictures on your pinterest pinned on a board of piercing — snake bites, helix, central eyebrow piercing that rin can’t help but scroll through. its a habit he’s kept up, scrolling through your pinterest boards for ideas: from clothes idea to buy online for you to surprise especially for matching outfits like the chikawa jacket that he’s even wearing now on his bed, from photo ideas that fills his camera roll and polaroids that prints out to be pasted right on the walls of his bedroom for him to admire and unconsciously grin to himself, from date inspiration for him to take you out on on his rare days off without training.

and now he’s lying on his bed right beside you — a silver circle pierced through his tongue awkwardly as he fiddled with it inside his mouth, looking at you who’s lying right next to him on your phone, undoubtly scrolling through pinterest looking through piercings again and its killing him inside. sure, its his second day with his piercing and he probably shouldn’t do anything drastic in case of an infection. yet, he’s getting all fidgety, his hands fiddling with his phone with no purpose, scrolling through his socials that are practically empty or filled with boring football game videos, his legs fidgety and rubbing against yours as a habit and to warm both you and him up in the slightly chilly room, his teeth habitually rubbing against the cold metallic jewellery right in his tongue that he sucks against that was still slightly sore.

what would you do if you see his new piercing? would you look at him in surprise with him never indulging in such fashion stuff with most of his mind filled with football — his accessories pilled on him all belonging to you, his sweaters that are picked up by you or inspired from your pinterest board, his closet either that or only consisting of football jerseys and hand me downs for sae. would you be into it — you clearly like those cool piercing evident from your pinterest board, you always fawn over him whenever he tries something new whether it was that one time where he sported your sanrio hairpin for the first time or wore yours and his matching ring outside with you, your flushed face and stuttering words as you look at him that makes his heart swell.

“hey. i wanna try something.” if there’s anything rin can’t help but give in, its when its regarding you — whether it is when you look up at him with those puppy eyes even as a joke to go to the arcade with you once again to try yours and his luck in the claw machine that’s clearly rigged (and yet he spends his allowance there still anywhere for a chance for you to beam at him), or whenever you ask him of anything from helping you to tutor you in english or to share his food, or in this case giving in to you who’s right beside him. after all, he might not get the chance to see you when it recovers anyways — with your exams season approaching and his football competition season colluding soon as well.

and he thinks its already worth it even though you’ve just looked up from your phone, your eyes blinking as you tilt your head to face him, and he can’t help but smash his lips right against you.

its brash: its as if he’s kissing you for the first time, yours and his forehead knocking slightly against each other, his hands always finding its way to linger on your chin, pulling you even closer right into him as though he wants to melt you and him together, biting on your lips still as yours and his blood merge together. and as usual, his tongue makes his way and finds its home right inside your mouth, as though interlocking with your tongue that’s warm in contrast to his cold metallic piercing that’s even more sensitive than usual when it touches against yours. and he can guess you like the new change: with the way your eyes widen and your grip on his shirt tighten as your noise gets swallowed by his passionate kiss, the way your tongue keeps finding its way to touch the cold jewel and linger right on the sensitive spot of his tongue, the way you too pull him even closer by his shirt as you and him melt even closer: only pulling away slightly panting with drool strings connecting you and him.

“do you like it..?” rin can’t help but ask even if he knows the answer: his voice slightly shaky and breathy from the make out session, his cheeks burning still with yours and his face merged against yours, his hands still lingering right on yours as though needy and in need of your affection that he’s practically addicted to at this point.

“yeah.” one word, and you crash your lips against his once again — and rin thinks this might just be the best decision he’s ever made so far.

with the way your tongue feels right against the sore spot on his tongue that makes him whine against you, vibration sending through yours and his mouth that makes his grip your shirt a little tighter as you tug at his jacket as though still pulling him closer as though you and him aren’t practically merged together, and the way you are practically going crazy in contrast to how you usually let him take the charge as your hands find your way in to his hair that earns a whimper from him, as you shift yours and his position into a more comfortable one: all whilst not disconnecting yours and his as though it would practically kill you to separate you and him.

and as saliva drools down as he kisses you back, euphoria practically filling him — rin thinks this piercing might be the best thing and he’s sure you think so too as you unzip his jacket with your spare hand.

[seelestars]

caught wearing their clothes ?! (argenti, aventurine, sunday)

a/n : isn’t it kinda funny all 3 of them have boss forms? (´-ω-`) we don’t talk abt the way argentis part is the shortest </3

argenti

it was a nice afternoon, perfect for going out with loved ones. though, even with such lovely weather, you felt bored to death waiting for argenti. so naturally, you would search for ways to cure your boredom while waiting for argenti’s return.

that’s how you got yourself in your current situation—getting caught wearing a spare set of argenti’s usual armor as he returned.

“you look absolutely stunning in my outfit, dearest.” his soft voice startled you, causing you to freeze and immediately turn towards him. your face was practically the color of his hair, as you had never meant for him to see you like this.

“a-argenti! back so early?” you let out a nervous laugh, averting your gaze out of the embarrassment you were feeling.

“is something the matter, dearest? why so nervous? afraid I might scold you for wearing my clothes?” your embarrassment and nervousness seems to elicit a hearty chuckle out of him as he takes a few steps closer to you, extending a rose towards you. “if it’s that you’re worried about—then fear not—as I believe your beauty could rival even the goddess idrila no matter what you wear.” argenti smiles as he softly reassured you.

his words only served to make you flush further, his flattering compliments making your heart race faster. “…you really think so?” originally, you were quite worried about what he’d think if he saw you in this state. but with such kind demeanor and reassurance, how could anyone resist having an ego boost?

“of course, there is no need for me to lie to you.” argenti’s smile widens as he decides to insert the rose behind your ear. “though, I do believe the attire I would love seeing you in the most is attire fit for our wedding one day.”

aventurine

this was your lucky moment! aventurine was currently out attending an ipc meeting, which meant you were left all alone. being left alone gave you many opportunities—specifically an opportunity to borrow his spare clothes and have some fun with it.

as you looked yourself over in the mirror, you had to admit you looked nice in aventurine’s usual clothes. you even chose to take a pair of his glasses and one of his hats to fully immerse yourself in the experience! his outfit was quite flamboyant and was definitely flashy, usually catching the attention of many.

wearing his outfit made some mischievous ideas slowly start to come to life as you made the choice of mocking him in his clothes.

“I always win in my gambles, so naturally I’ll bet my entire bank account! i’m just a stupid, careless, mindless gambler—“ suddenly, you were cut off by the sound of the door opening as aventurine stands there in the doorway, arms crossed with an amused smirk on his lips as he leans against the doorframe.

“hmm… so this is how you choose to kill time while i’m away, huh?” aventurine laughs as he approaches you, observing the way you looked in his clothes. “i have to say, you look quite good like this. I’m surprised you’re bold enough to rock a little window like me, though~” he narrows his eyes, glancing at you playfully as his words made your cheeks flush.

“even your little impression of me was fun to witness. but, it says a lot about you as a person, doesn’t it? if I’m a stupid, careless, mindless gambler, then what does that make you for being attracted to me?” aventurine teases, making your jaw drop as you find yourself scrambling for a response.

“don’t get ahead of yourself now. i’m certainly not attracted to you.” you retort, despite the fact that the both of you knew very well that your words were a blatant lie.

“oho? is that how it is? then let’s see just how much you’re ‘not attracted to me’ once I start doing this…” aventurine’s chuckle sends a shiver down your spine as he begins to lean closer to your lips, his hand making its way down to your hips.

sunday

you had some time before sunday arrived home, and coincidentally, you spotted spare pairs of sunday’s usual attire as you were searching for something to occupy yourself with.

unfortunately, you weren’t a halovian like sunday. so after you had finished putting on his clothes, you had to find a way to improvise when it came to his wings and halo. messily, you began to draw outlines for his wings and halo on some paper. you then colored them in, planning to cut them out and find a way to use them.

just as you were about to tape the paper wings behind your ears, you heard sunday’s voice as he stepped into the house.

you tried to clean everything up and change, but it was too late. you had already been caught.

“ah? is this what I think it is? is the love of my life trying to impersonate me?” sunday jokes light-heartedly, his pleasant laugh filling your ears as you look away shyly. “you even went so far as to make a fake pair of wings and halo… you’re very dedicated if I do say so myself.” he smiles softly as he takes a few steps closer to you, humming as he admired you.

“this was a dumb idea… you’re still the one that looks the best when wearing these clothes.” you laugh awkwardly, a sheepish look in your eyes as he admires you. his attention being completely directed on you at a moment like this seemed to be the most embarrassing possible timing.

“no need to be so embarrassed about all of this, my love. I don’t mind this at all.” sunday shakes his head, hoping his words will reassure you as he lightly pats your head. “in fact, I’d say you look just about ready to replace me as the head of the oak family.” he lets out an amused chuckle at the idea, his mind already painting an image of you leading the family like he currently did.

“then… what would I be missing?” a sigh of relief escapes you at his reassurance before you decided to reply with a more light-hearted tone.

“firstly, you’ll need to learn the proper etiquette, my love. mm.. but I suspect with someone as capable as you, it won’t be hard teaching you how to replace me.” sunday gazes at you with a look filled with fondness. “but at the end of the day, I like you best when you’re being yourself. so there is no need to delve into topics that involve becoming like me or someone else.”

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

How to train your pet Human pt.2 (Yandere!Alien X GN!Reader)

part 1, part 3

CW: Abduction, imprisonment, yandere themes, death, pet/owner relationship, tickle torture, humiliation, sexual themes, angst

"There they are~" Kirtch bent to pick (Reader) up, lifting them easily like a child and carrying them with one hand under their butt. (Reader's) face scrunched up in embarrassment. They were wearing an ugly shirt, both baggy and synched tightly, flowy around the body but locked in place like a neck corset at the top and wrists. When Kirtch first presented the tacky gift, (Reader) had ran to hide, forcing Kirtch to wrestle the outfit onto them.

With all of the unnecessary buttons and ties, (Reader) was incapable of taking it off themselves, and was now sulking.

"I have a lot of duties today that cannot be completed in my office, so I thought you might enjoy coming with me so you don't have to be couped up alone." Kirtch gently knocked his forehead into (Reader's).

'Escape chance, escape chance, escape chance-' "Yeah, that sounds nice." (Reader) tried to contain their excitement, consciously aware of their heart beating loudly in their chest.

"Wonderful! I've packed a couple of toys to keep you occupied if you get bored, as well as snacks." He replied happily, seeming so pleased with himself as he briskly walked down the hall from his bedroom towards the main hall. The two passed by many other aliens walking up and down the corridors, none of whom seemed to be the same species as Kirtch. Everyone wore the same cloak, standing them out from the creatures in the shopping district, a uniform slightly lighter in color than Kirtch's. Most would pause while walking to rub a hand over where their noses should have been, and Kirtch would raise a hand in response.

"What are they doing?" (Reader) whispered.

"It is a sign of respect. I am their superior, so if they are not in a rush to get somewhere they are greeting me."

Fear tickled (Reader's) spine. "Are you guys in the military?"

Kirtch laughed, a high pitch clicking sound that almost sounded like a broken music box. "No. I'm just an upper level leader in our trading company."

They arrived in front of a decorated wall, and Kirtch squeezed (Reader) a little while smiling. "Now this is a very important meeting, I need you to be as quiet as possible, okay?"

(Reader) huffed. "I'm not a child."

"I know you aren't. You're a very sweet pet, who is most definitely a grown adult human."

They felt humiliated. It had been almost a month since they were bought by Kirtch, and they did everything in their power to not anger him or appear as though they needed "release". (Reader) constantly watched and waited for the perfect escape attempt, while fighting off Kirtch's affections in as non threatening a way as possible. Like they were emulating a cat. (Reader's) skin burned, but they held back their tongue.

The wall opened, revealing a board room (at least that's what (Reader) assumed it was), a bare room only decorated with a long table surrounded by stools. Kirtch sat (Reader) on the floor and pulled out a sack from the inside of his cloak. While they didn't want to immediately act the part of a good pet, (Reader) was curious as to what was in the bag. The first thing they pulled out, however, was a taxidermied cat. (Reader's) eyes widened, and they couldn't contain their anxiety, shaking as they stared into the cat's glass eyes. Was this some kind of threat?

"Do you like it? I've been meaning to buy you more human toys, so I thought you would appreciate a stuffed animal." Realizing that the 'gift' was not malicious, the nervousness immediately dissolved into mental fatigue.

"Oh. I get it. Stuffed animal. Yeah." They put the animal back in the bag, hoping Kirtch didn't think their exhausted smile was permission to buy more dead bodies.

More aliens entered the room, greeting Kirtch before taking their seats. (Reader) couldn't understand what the meeting was about, since they were all speaking in Kirtch's native tongue, but their voices and faces were tense. The meeting went on for well over an hour, but (Reader) found it surprisingly entertaining, dubbing over their conversation inside their mind like Mystery Science Theater, chuckling with how wild their hand movements were. It was very human of them.

(Reader) fucked up, accidently snorting at one of the angrier aliens. Although they didn't understand the language, one of his sentences sounded awfully like "Pineapple farts", and with how intense his face was, it made it seem like he was describing how his ass felt. Their sound was so quiet it was almost inaudible, but the alien still noticed and spun his head in (Reader's) direction so quickly his exoskeleton creaked. (Reader) bit their lip to hide a smile, turning away from the conference to pretend to munch on their fruit (?) slices.

The irate alien began ranting louder, and (Reader) caught a word they had heard from a few of the underlings they had been introduced to. Bah-blk. Human.

Shit.

They snuck a glance towards the group very slowly to view Kirtch's expression, worried they may have angered him by interrupting the meeting. And indeed, his almost perfectly flat face was pulled into a scowl, but it wasn't aimed at (Reader).

"(Reader), pet, could you come here for a moment?"

His voice was light and smooth, as it always was when speaking to (Reader), but Kirtch's face was grave as he refused to break eye contact with the alien in front of him; said alien's shell glistened like he was sweating under Kirtch's glare. (Reader), not wanting to be punished later, left their spot on the floor and shuffled over to their owner. Kirtch pulled (Reader) into his lap the second they were within his reach, still staring daggers at the poor alien across the table.

He spoke to the offender, holding (Reader) lovingly with one arm as if to make a point. The man was panicked, waving his arms and sweating profusely, sounding apologetic. It wasn't enough, whatever it was he was saying. He referenced (Reader) as Bah-blk again, and then he was dead.

Before (Reader) could understand what it was that Kirtch had pulled out of his robe, a soundless shot was fired across the table, green blood splattering across the wall as the alien's head was pierced by some kind of projectile.

Everyone turned away, unsurprised by the killing. It was a lukewarm reaction, as though this wasn't the first time they witnessed someone die at Kirtch's hand. The body fell, head slamming into the table with a wet thud.

(Reader) didn't know what he had said, but to kill him... It was jarring. The young adult hadn't payed any attention to the tears dripping down their chin until Kirtch wiped them off. The roughness of his hand startled (Reader), making them flinch away from his touch.

For the rest of the meeting (Reader) couldn't pry their eyes away from the dead body lying across from them. It was a nightmare seemingly without an end, staring at a corpse while his murderer held (Reader) tenderly, rubbing his thumb on their side absentmindedly while discussing business with colleagues like it was a regular Tuesday.

If (Reader) was more aware, they would be disgusted with themselves for not fighting Kirtch as he picked them up to go back to their room, but they just wanted to go back to the safety of their *bed*, and couldn't force their brain to focus on anything else.

The bed was more like a twin sized pillow nestled in a metal cage, but it was soft and felt secure, like when (Reader) was young and thought that hiding under their blanket would protect them from the shadow people in their closet.

"Are you alright, (Reader)?" Kirtch asked, his voice full of concern.

(Reader) curled up, pulling the blanket tight over their face.

Kirtch sighed, and crouched down by (Reader's) bed. "(Reader), please don't be upset with me. If this is about my colleague, please know that what I did was necessary."

"Murder is never necessary."

"He tried to accuse me of not being.. as invested in the job as I should be. And that the reason for my lack of dedication was you. He used very strong language." Kirtch placed a hand on (Reader's) back. "I told him not to disrespect you. Yet he continued."

(Reader) began crying, shaking under Kirtch's touch. "Are you saying that I'm the reason he's dead?"

"Oh, pet.." Kirtch sighed again, pulling (Reader) out of the fetal position and into his arms. "I've always been incredibly interested in humanity. When I was a young child, there was a 'book' in my father's study about primitive species, and that's how I learned about humans. Did you know that you and I experience life differently from one another? Our brains function differently. We have different pain receptors; our brains' physiology are almost nothing alike; the diseases humans are capable of developing simply for existing are concepts we've never had to worry about. Even how we perceive the color spectrum, humans are so unlike any other sentient species I have met."

"I was so fascinated by Earth, especially by humans. We are not allowed to visit Earth as it is a restricted area, so much of what we know is recorded knowledge from captured defectors. My chances of meeting a human were next to none. Then, we had to dock in Dol-Hu, a shady planet only inhabited by criminals and those in hiding. And wandering through the market, I saw you."

"The one thing I've always wanted, for the past seventy years, I recognized you as a human immediately, even though you were so much cuter than I could have expected. You're so soft, and fragile, in comparison to my armoured flesh. You were bent over, but I knew from descriptions I had memorized what you were. As one who has always loved Earth, I am fluent in every Earth language we know of, so I was excited to communicate with you. I was so eager to have a piece of humanity. And now here you are."

(Reader) rolled over, their heart clenching painfully as they looked up into Kirtch's sadly smiling face. "I wonder what I look like through your eyes."

Their heart began doing somersaults in their throat as the tears continued flowing.

"You may have been the only human I've ever known, but I can say with confidence that you must have been the best humanity had to offer. I only want to give you the best life possible."

(Reader) wrapped their arms around Kirtch's midsection, sobbing loudly. His body didn't bend or squish under the full strength of (Reader's) embrace. And that was how (Reader) fell asleep, crying themselves into a nap.

When they awoke, they were alone, lying in the bed with the cat tucked into their arms. (Reader) left the room to find Kirtch at his desk, working on paperwork. The giant heard (Reader) behind him, and turned his attention on them, smiling as he held out his arms in an offer to pick them up. And much to his surprise, (Reader) willingly entered into his embrace, and allowed him to set them on his lap without pouting or making a fuss.

"I have a few more documents to look over, then I can play with you, okay?"

"Okay." Their voice was quiet and monotone, (Reader's) mind still fuzzy from crying so much before falling asleep.

"Are you still upset? Is there anything I can do to make you happy?"Kirtch laid down his work, trapping (Reader) in his arms.

"No.. you can continue working."

"You're more important than my work. I consider your unhappiness to be a crises."

Worry began to prick at (Reader's) skin. "I'm really fine, we don't need to play!"

"Need?"

Memories of the day (Reader) was bought flashed through their mind, causing them to go red and hot as they started to squirm in Kirtch's embrace. "I-I- didn't mean it like that!"

One hand left (Reader's) body to grab something from Kirtch's desk. "Don't fret, I recently purchased a new toy I thought would bring you joy."

(Reader's) eyes bulged out as they froze in anticipation, their heart hammering in their chest. But what Kirtch retrieved did not appear safe to go near any genitalia, a strange contraption formed of multiple thin prongs on a handle. Embarrassed that they had assumed something sexual was about to happen, (Reader) bit the inside of their cheek, puzzling over the strange discomfort they were feeling. "What's that?"

Kirtch raised (Reader's) shirt, and dragged the device across their skin, causing an involuntary shudder. It tickled.

"Ah! No!" (Reader) accidentally laughed, trying to push Kirtch away. He trailed the toy from their pelvic area visible above their pants to their left armpit. The light tingling sensation forcibly clenched their stomach muscles as they let loose a howl of laughter.

They couldn't breathe correctly, laughing so hard that their spasming abdominals made it feel like they were choking. But they couldn't stop, begging Kirtch to "knock it off" while their cheeks hurt from the smile they had. That damn toy tickled every inch of their body, not even noticing when Kirtch removed their pants. They kicked futilely, unable to break free from the assault. Their sensitive skin was almost becoming painful to the touch, but the laughter only got louder.

"pleASE! KIRTCH, stop!!" (Reader) heaved. Their whole body felt tender, highly reactive to each touch. Which made them aware of the fact that the only thing separating them from Kirtch's lap was a thin pair of underpants. With how they had been writhing on his lap, they were relieved that Kirtch didn't seem to have a dick that could become aroused from such movements.

(Reader's) smile fell. I have no idea how Kirtch's species reproduces. Maybe he can get erections, but he won't get one for me because he sees me as a pet. An animal. Their heart turned to concrete as it dropped out of its cage.

Kirtch halted his attack when he saw (Reader) go limp. "Are you tuckered out, pet?"

(Reader) tried to slide off his lap like jelly. "I'm done playing. I want to go back to bed."

"Alright, my stubborn little grump, what is it now? You were all smiles but a second ago, so what is it plaguing your mind?"

They tried to scrunch up their nose to prevent more tears from sheepishly forming. "I'm not a pet. I'm a human. I want to be treated like an equal!"

Kirtch's smile was replaced by a hurt scowl. "Is it so unpleasant being my pet?"

"No!" (Reader) interjected, not understanding why it pained them so much to see Kirtch upset, "I just want to, I just.. I don't know. This is confusing, and it feels.. weird. You're really nice to me, and sometimes it feels like... but then other times you treat me like I'm a cat. This isn't what I want. Either be a bastard and treat me like an animal or treat me like-" Their words caught in their throat. Treat me like what?!

A fearful kiss was placed on their forehead, ghostly with hardly any pressure. Kirtch's hands trembled on (Reader's) sides. "All I wish is to adore you for the rest of your life."

He pulled (Reader) into his chest, petting their back in a comforting manner. "I'll give you anything you ask for, I'll do anything you ask of me. Just to keep you happy, with me. You are all that I've ever wanted. All I wish is to care for you, and spend all my attention on you. If there is anything you want, please ask me. I need you to love me."

(Reader) felt so confused. Like a squid was destroying their gut, everything was uncomfortable and scary. They knew that Kirtch viewed them as a pet, he loved them how (Reader) loved their family dog as a child. But when they heard him begging for their love, it made them wish for an odd moment that he wasn't an alien. That (Reader) was sitting on their boyfriend's lap right now, a strange human man who sometimes infantalized them but only out of affection. Why couldn't this be simple? Why did (Reader) want him to kiss them right at that moment?

"I want to go home. I want to meet someone kind and fall in love." (Reader's) words stabbed Kirtch in places he never knew could hurt.

"I can't do that, (Reader)..." Kirtch's embrace constricted almost painfully tight. "You're all I've ever wanted. You can't ask me to let you go. I'll take such good care of you, you'll see. I have the rest of your life to make you fall in love with me."

They sat there, holding one another in agonizing silence, both loving each other in a way that they couldn't explain. The way their brains functioned didn't just mean that Kirtch could see a wider range of colors than (Reader), but the way their species experienced love was too vastly different for the other to comprehend. Despite Kirtch wanting to own (Reader), that was the greatest love he had ever felt, since his species did not pair bond and only mated when two beings agreed amicably that they wished to procreate. He knew that humans felt many forms of love, love for a mate, love for their offspring, love for a friend.. but to something that never felt any of those forms of love, Kirtch couldn't understand the difference between them.

"I love you, my little pet. And I will always love you."

[f0ofishies]

first times w/ bllk men. pt.2

To think you could pull the Italian soccer player was a far fetch, but no.. you've been dating Marc Snuffy for a few weeks now. Honestly, he's been such an upgrade to the past relationships you've had, considering you were only a few years younger than him.

He's such a well-spoken man. Speaking with such intellect could make you go haywire, might even turn you on. But, you'd never admit that, no no.. you couldn't let him think how sex-craved you are about him, considering how polite he is.

You'd been invited to one of the gatherings for Ubers, a plus-one with him. He even took the time to get you a new outfit on the ordeal, "Baby, I need to measure.. could you—" You looked up at him, then quickly held your hands up. "Oh right.." He did all the measurements for your body before you could get a new outfit tailored for it.

His calloused palm held the measuring tape across your hips, shit..! He was such a respectful man. He didn't know the effect his hands all over felt so nice, biting your lip in the process as his hand on your lower back guided you over somewhere. "Amore mio, are you okay?" He whispered into your ear, his words left a trail of shiver down your back.

"Don't worry, 'm fine.. marc.." You stare at those orange colored eyes of his— he proceeded to give you a small smile. "I promise you tonight is going to be great." He held your chin up, it was almost like he was holding back to kiss you.

As you were about to tiptoe– he'd pull away. The hushed voices of him and the tailor could be heard, but all you heard was the fast-paced beating of your heart.

The event itself was boring, most conversed in Italian.. not that you can't understand at all, you weren't fluent in the language at all. Marc was there with you, sticking close by knowing full well you had not fully met the rest of the members of Ubers. More small talk and more made you even more annoyed– at the second and the way your lovely boyfriend was caressing your thigh like nothing.

You bit your lip as you tapped his shoulder. He pulled away from talking and raised an eyebrow, squeezing your thigh. "Marc, don't do that.." You whispered close, only letting him hear your voice.

"Hmm.. but cuore mio..?" He slid his hand to your upper thigh as you trembled. "Don't you get it.. you're making me.." His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then his eyes held a glint in them.

You swear you didn't mean to turn him on, you knew how much of a rational man he was. But the fact he had pulled you two back to your hotel– "Marc, love..?"

He crashed his lips onto yours, feeling his tongue slip past your mouth. "Mmph— what's gotten into you..?" The words echoed along the hotel room as he pulled away. "I can't handle it anymore, l'anima gemella.. I need you." You swear you felt yourself clenched around his words.

"Agh—!" The groan you let out as he was taking his time to prep you was making you go berserk. "Marc, baby.. I'm ready for you.. please just fuck me!" Words spewing out of you like you weren't about to climax the second time tonight. "fuck you..? don't ever call that.. we're.." You gasped once more as you felt his engorged tip pressing onto your hole.

"sshit– Marc..!" Your eyes widened as he pressed on further, fuck it was such a stretch for you. "we're.." another inch passed against your walls. "making.." another one– and when he finally bottoms out of you. "...love." Your legs on either side of your face as he thrusts slow and deep made you scream louder.

"Cazzo— mmngh.. la mia dolce metà.. you're being so sweet.. to me."

The egocentric English football man? Chris Prince, the world probably already knew him.. but you know him best. You've been by his side for as long as you know, and yet– you weren't dating at all.

The white-haired male had invited you out of nowhere for drinks, you didn't mind.. but it did pulled you out of your work even earlier than ever.

You found him at the entrance of a private bar, not even realizing how much celebrities were even counted here. You couldn't help but be amazed.

"Damn, you dragged me out here.. for drinks.." You teased the man as he chuckled. "What can I say, I like to treat the women in my life with the utmost—" "Shut your mouth, dickhead." The way his mouth dropped so fast made you giggle at him. "Gee, you know I'm treating you right now?"

You did know that, the way you held a damn martini was way more expensive than what you'd even pay for a night out. "Yes, thanks, Chris.." Your voice cooed at him— "Now tell me why'd you drag me out here.."

You burst out in more laughter by the hours gone by, Chris was just updating you about his life– from his football team, Manshine City, then his family, even going as far about the blue-lock program. "Can't believe those kids could catch up to you, huh?"

The way his face shifted into a pout, like a sad golden retriever, made your heart skip a beat. "Hey, they've gone on a hell lot of training to be good." You just hummed at his words, then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Seems like your life has been chaotic as ever."

Chris lowered his arm, grabbing onto the stool leg– then he effortlessly pulled your stool closer to his. The way you turned a bit shy at that. Honestly, you've forgotten how he has no personal boundaries with anyone. "And yours, babe?" He called you out as you huffed.

Fuck, you didn't knew how long you've been making out with Chris. You'd never done this with him, maybe because of all the drinks you've drank. "Chris—" You pulled away as a string of saliva connected you both.

Chris internally grunted at the way you've been straddling his lap. His big palm caressing your ass, grabbing the fat of it. You let out a small chuckle at his possessiveness. "Ffuck, doll.. so fucking sexy on my lap.." After that comment, a fire rose withing you as you rolled your hips down.

He was loud, groaning in your ear— "Baby, look at you.. all ready for me.." You've found yourself laying down at the backseat— the rich leather seats must've been stained from your previous climaxes. "Chris— agh..! not there..!"

You felt his pesky hands already under your underwear, touching you in all the right places. "You know.. I've been fantasizing about you for ages.." You didn't even properly listen to him, loving the pleasure you're experiencing.

"Fantasizing about this body— and nobody compares from you.." That's when your breath hitched as you gripped his neck. The feeling of your arms around him made his dick throb more than ever. "What are you saying..?" You huffed, wrapping your legs around his hips– your crotch angled with his.

"I'm saying I'm in love with you, you idiot." That's when you felt it, it led to your heart skipping another beat once more. "Really?" You heard the zipper of his pants slipped bringing, that fucking girthy of a dick he had.

"Just look at it, it's so swollen all because of you, my love.." Another clenched by you accommodating his girth– could you even fit him?

"Watch it, baby— I'm going to take what's rightfully mines from the start."

[zoe-oneesama]

Are there any other designs from the new seasons you would like to have your hand in, whether they be on the girls or boys? Like for me I can't really get over Juleka's like green lipstick because it just comes out of nowhere to me, I know you did a design where she was wearing it, but at least she wore green in her clothing in the time to match the makeup to her outfit. As for Adrien, his design barely changed, which could be symbolic, but how would you tackle that?

Yeaaaah, Juleka's green lipstick is NOT it for me, and I think her new outfit is really boring. I'll probably wait for a more Juleka centered episode to tackle it since I'll get a better view of the whole thing 360 (kinda why I held off on Sabrina, Rose was an exception). That's kinda how I feel about most of the characters: wait to see it in action. That's how Mylene's whole HEAD fell out of favor for me - longer dreads with smooth bangs and GREEN EYE SHADOW?! Did they think we were ripping on Chloe's blue eye shadow because of the COLOR?! But hey! Pride Flag Pin!

That's what I mean. I can't see the details until they're in the episode. Right now we have "Daddycop" for the top half of the girls and the OP for everything else.

Now for Adrien, I can kinda tell they're going with SyMbOLiSm so I'll let that one rest until we get a full scope of where they're going with it. For my opinion, I only wish it was like worse? Like great his hair is flat now that he's not styling it to Daddy's Specifications, but can we get, like...cowlicks? Chat Noir hair? And the wrinkled, un-ironed shirt with the floppy collar is a good start. I'm not sure how to improve this except to make the wrinkles more noticeable? Some audience members might not notice these details as signs of Adrien being "less perfect" because they might write them off as just quirks of the new animation style, which is why I think they should've pushed it a little harder.

But I'm not gonna totally dunk of them for being subtle in their visuals. I like "aha!" moments that don't take away from the plot if you notice or don't.

[erinfern0]

dating simon "ghost" riley

bf!simon gets picked on by TF141 for never cleaning his gear up properly. Always has some of your hair or the fur of your animals all over it, can't help but smile under his mask every time Johnny points it out.

bf!simon prefers spending time at home to fancy dates. Watching a movie on the couch while eating take-out >>>> dinner at a restaurant, for example. Especially that it brings him more comfort and more possibilities to get to know you, spend time with you and talk.

bf!simon is either extreme friends or extreme enemies with your pets, no middle ground.

bf!simon avoids talking about you during missions, he makes a clear cut between his personal and work life. Silences Soap whenever he starts to ask about you. Might mention you while at base, but outside of it — your name will not fall from his lips.

bf!simon prefers to use nicknames on you rather than your actual name. Even if he loves it, he knows it's safer. That's why most of the time you're just his love, sweetie, angel, baby, sweetheart, or dove.

bf!simon doesn't carry a picture of you around, it's too risky. He prefers something easier to hide and harder to recognize. Usually, it's a charm, a bracelet, a hair tie if you use them — something only he might connect to you.

bf!simon doesn't easily get jealous of your actions. If he's with you — he fully trusts you and believes you know better. Other people tho? Doesn't trust for shit. Whenever you're together in public and he spots you talking to a stranger — he makes sure they know to watch their mouth.

bf!simon will encourage you to wear whatever outfits you might think of. Easily scares creeps and critics away from you.

bf!simon loves to watch you do various of boring things. The way you just normally live your life, taking care of any chores or work. Painting, cleaning, reading, watching movies, doesn't matter, his eyes are on you non-stop.

bf!simon likes a good book, especially the ones you recommend to him. If he ends up hating it — he believes it was still important for him to read it just to know more about the things you care about.

bf!simon will definitely listen to you ramble about your current fixations, especially if you're passionate about them. Might fall asleep if you play with his hair while talking.

bf!simon doesn't usually go for kissing. Mostly just holds you close to him, and nuzzles his face into your neck. Some short pecks on the lips or on the cheek are fine, tho. Very rarely makes out with you, just because he thinks it's so intimate and vulnerable.

Later on in the relationship, he finds comfort in feeling your lips on his. Especially when he can hold your face with his palms.

bf!simon doesn't wear the mask around you. It's hidden, somewhere in the bottom of his duffle bag that's hidden under the wardrobe. He'd never allow Ghost to take over around you, you don't deserve to be exposed to that side of his life.

bf!simon hates to argue. He thinks communication is key and will gladly listen to anything you have to tell him. Tries to keep his cool at all times, which sometimes causes him to leave your place for a couple of minutes, so he can just take a quick walk and think about what's next. Then, he sits you down and continues talking. Uses it more to give you space.

bf!simon adores to shower with you. Hates baths tho, don't even try that.

bf!simon draws tiny skulls on the notes he leaves around your place instead of a signature.

bf!simon constantly jokes around you, sometimes mocks you, but will stop if you don't like it. Nerdy and cheesy comments on daily.

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[lovebelphie]

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ★ !!

featuring. solomon, asmodeus, leviathan

synopsis: they stumble upon some devilgram pornstar’s page by accident only to realize she looks extremely familiar

content warnings: pornstar! reader (female), watching porn, getting hard to porn, nsfw cosplay (levi), emphasized tit lover asmo, explicit photos described, dirty talk

author-note: there’s something about the idea of pornstar reader that i want to expand on — might make another ♡

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐎𝐍 ✩ ‧₊˚ ✩

he had been scrolling so much on his phone, to the point it was just suggested posts on his devilgram. it was only for a bit to pass some time since he was bored, until a post caught his attention.

it had been a spell post but before he could click on it he misclicked. opening another that showed a girl in an extremely sexy but revealing lingerie set. her face was hidden behind a fox mask. something about her drew him in as he explored her page.

there were so many pictures. until he spotted one that was a short video, clicking on it his eyes widened at the voice. “mm, i’m so wet for you right now… why don’t you come over here and please me.”

that voice… he recognized that voice. holy fuck, it was you. his pupil and friend. he was getting hard and frustrated over you.

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ 𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 ✩ ‧₊˚ ✩

he was taking pictures and looking for new ideas to update his devilgram page. he was having a hard time finding something he liked, being rather picky. for some reason he thought it was smart to search up: ‘sexy pictures.’

unsurprisingly enough, clear pornstar pages popped up. before he could exit though, one caught his attention. she had her breasts squished together by her hands as she sat on her knees.

it was captioned: “come get a taste.” which only had him getting hard instantly. he began scrolling through picture after picture. until he came up to the most recent which was a video. no sound.

she was on her hands and knees crawling to the camera, showing clear cleavage. until he noticed something, while he was staring at her tits. the necklace dangling, it was the same one he knows you wear. not to mention, it has your exact initial.

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 ✩ ‧₊˚ ✩

he had only been searching for news on an anime being released soon. wanting to make sure he got all his information just right. plus he wanted to set an alarm for when it aired at the exact time.

so while he scrolled through he was surprised to find a porn page. except the girl was cosplaying the love interest in the anime he was searching information on. it was lewd with the outfit being more revealing, exposing heavy cleavage and her clear wet panties.

he’s never been more turned on by anything else. that he couldn’t help but go through the account. specifically looking at the lewd cosplay posts she had.

however one specific one caught his attention the most. she was posed, teasingly as if looking to finger herself. only to notice the background, it was purposely blurred but he could very easily make out your bedroom. seeing that plushie he gave he sitting on the edge of your bed.

[graveyardcuddles]

The Space Between - NSFW Reader x Astarion one-shot

18+ MDI

Summary: blood drinking and other fun activities in front of the mirror.

Word Count: ~ 2800

tags/warnings: post-canon, established relationship, porn with feelings, afab reader, gender-neutral reader, shameless vampire smut, blood-drinking, scent kink, mirror play, body exploration, fingering, PiV sex, unprotected sex

Astarion rarely ever mentions his lack of a reflection these days. Whenever the topic is brought up it's normally in his trademark sense of humor: a casual "You're blocking my view, love," when you enter your shared bathroom to preen as he's washing his mouth out with mint and rosemary water in the mornings. One of the many new habits he's picked up in the months since the two of you moved in.

He'll occasionally sneak up behind you to wrap his arms around you unexpectedly while checking over your outfit in the mirror, scaring the daylights out of you more than once. "We do look good together, don't we?" playfully whispered to you as his cool breath tickles your ear before proceeding to break out into heady laughter at your frightened reaction.

Your lover has had so many things taken from him. You could hardly blame him for holding onto his rage. Wrath was all he had for so long. Enabled him to survive before you came into his life and shared your blood with him. Gave him hope that despite everything he lost, he might one day at least have revenge. After achieving said revenge, for the first time in nearly two centuries, he could imagine more.

Adventures with you in the years following the fall of the Absolute only brought you two closer, intertwining his life with yours. The feeling of belonging to someone without being possessed by them. It was overwhelming at times for him. Most of the time on your travels together, he was happy to sit or stand back while you planned out the finer details of travel routes and provisions around the campire, carefully mapping out the following day. Yet it was usually never very long before he decided ne needed your attention, using his vampiric stealth to his advantage to startle you into breaking your concentration with a cold kiss to your neck.

You weren't all that surprised to how well he took to his freedom, having had faith in him and his resilient nature. But sometimes you were taken aback how easily Astarion accepted the daily monotony of everyday life. Oh sure, he had much to complain about and many eye-rolls to give every time he mentioned how terribly boring the whole prospect sounded. At first, he was resistant to routines. Too restrictive. He was free now. He wanted to do whatever he wanted when he wanted. You assured him you weren't about to give a vampire a sleep schedule but that he should at least pick up some hobbies during your off-seasons of adventuring.

Eventually, the two of you settled into something of a routine, and over time, you found yourself unable to imagine a life without him. The way his laughter filled you up with joy. The sound of him practicing on the recently-aquired piano in your living room, shy and tentative at first. He now plays almost daily. The way the scents of the perfumes he crafts fill your home. Everything about Astarion seemed to fit perfectly into your life, even if it took patience and time.

You had just finished a bath and were going through your nighttime routine as you stood before the full-length mirror in your bedroom. Letting the towel fall away, you combed your hair and applied perfume to your wrists and clavicle. It's a new blend of fragrancs Astarion had spent a tenday perfecting. Floral with warm undertones and a hint of sweetness. It was easy to lose yourself in it. Close your eyes and let it's aroma warm and dissipated across your skin. You feel relaxed and light. If Astarion wanted to be particularly cheeky, he could startle you quite badly if he wanted to. Instead, he announces his presence softly.

"Hello, darling," he purrs to you as he steps up behind you.

You smile as he places the tips of his fingers on your shoulders, touching you so lightly you can barely feel them. Letting yourself lean back a little, you relax into his chest and run your fingers through his hair, inviting him to touch you further.

"Fond of the new blend, are you?" He lips leave cool kisses in the crook of your neck as breaths in your scent. You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

"As a matter of fact, I am. I think it might be my favorite so far." He grins in that unique way he does when you know he's hiding something.

"What is it?" You query as he kisses your shoulder and runs his hands down to ever-so-lightly hold onto your hips. "Oh nothing," he says nonchalantly as he kisses up your neck, kindling warmth throughout your body.

"Right... you're just that giddy I enjoy the new scent, is it?" Your hands wander through his silver curls and gently brush against the tip of one of his ears. His fingers dig into your hips, and he buries he groans softly into your neck. "Mmm, I might have made it with you in mind," he mumbles into your skin.

You watch in the mirror as invisible digits dig into the pads of your hips, skin on your lower belly pulled taut from how hard he was gripping you. It was nearly painful. You inhale sharply give his ear an extremely soft tug, determined to give as much teasing as you got.

"Oh? Do you mean it compliments my natural pheromones is that it?" Astarion hummed and kissed along your neck mercilessly. "Something like that," he says melodicly as he grazes his fangs across where your jugular throbs, tantalizing him.

In the mirror, your arm seemingly floats overhead, caressing your unseen lover. You turn to actually look at him, and his eyes are full of lust and longing and vulnerability. "It's inspired by the scent of your blood," he whispers as those big crimson eyes stare at you through silver lashes. "Meant to pair with your impossibly delicious bouquet." One of his pale hands comes up to cup your breast.

You sigh at his touch. "Would you like to test how well they pair together, then?" He begins to trace lazy circles around your nipple with his forefinger, and you inhale sharply as you watch its reflection wiggling and twitching in the mirror. The sight alone was making you quickly lose your composure, his fingers sending cold shivers across your skin.

Your excited heart begins pounding rapidly against your ribs, and you're certain that Astarion can hear it. Probably smell it. He once told you the scent of someone's blood becomes stronger the faster it rushes through their body.

"In fact," he leaves a deep, bruising kiss on your neck, and the imprints of both of his hands sink into the flesh of your breasts as they dig into you. His needy grip on them has you bracing against him. "May I please indulge, my love? We can move to the bed and get more comfortable."

You were rapidly losing your will to continue teasing him. Leaning your head back, you offer your neck to him in answer. "Mmm, no. Wanna watch you drink from me here," You lean back further and stare up as him adoringly. He smiles with a wicked sort of pride that's normally reserved for combat. "Well, how can I say 'no' to that?"

With practiced lips, he feels out your pulse point slowly, taking his time. The burning in your core that's been building for a while now is nearly painful. You watch your nipples continue to be pintched and stretched seemingly on their own. Astarion licks up your artery, and you can see his saliva glistening on your neck just as you feel it.

Despite your best efforts to maintain your composure, you squirm a little in his hold. He laughs, kissing your cheek. "You know better than to flail about, darling. Let's not have an accident, hm?" Gently, he tilts your head back and to the side, holding you firm by the jawline. His forefinger and thumb rub your chin tenderly as his fangs line up with your neck. His other hand comes up to rest his palm over your heart, feeling it hammer underneath his touch.

You watch as the side of your neck, slick, wet, and rudy from hickeys and love nips, forms two tiny indentation marks. He ghosts his fangs over the spot, creating pinpricks marks over where your blood pounds just under the skin.

The tension builds as those twins dots dig deeper into your skin. The burning icy bite turns into a sharp sting as you hear the soft mutted 'pop' of your skin being broken. You exhale a strained moan as the marks on your neck erupt, and crimson ichor wells up and washes over your flesh. Your neck is painted in red as his velvety tongue works over the wounds, each roll licking up more maroon gushes.

Mouthfuls of your blood vanish before your eyes as he drinks you in, making you a part of him. Invisible lips and teeth tug and suckle at your flesh, drawing out more blood. In your ear, you hear the sound of your blood on his lips, every greedy gulp from his throat, and every little satisfied exhale from his nose. You begin to lose your balance as your head gets light, but his hold on you remains firm. Just as you feel yourself growing weak, he withdraws his fangs and laps at the bite to close the wounds.

Without warning, he uses his supernatural strength advantage to lift you off of your feet, hugging you by your waist. You lean back against him and watch as you float midair, your feet hovering a few inches off of the floor. A trickle of blood flows from your neck down your torso. Your head is spinning, your toes curl, and you feel as though you might pass out. Luckily, he takes mercy on you and slowly sets you down. You stumble a little on your feet. "Ugh, asshole," you mutter. Astarion can only laugh.

"Delicious as always," he says to you, voice low and rumbling. "You are always full of such brilliant ideas, you know that?" he giggles as he nuzzles into your neck, keeping a firm hold on you. Turning your head to look up at him, he traces the edges of your face as he smiles, a bit loosened up from your essence.

He pulls you into a bloody kiss, mouths open, and tongues overlapping one another. His hand cups between your legs as you kiss, and you moan loudly into his mouth. When he pulls away, he gives you a playful look. "Sit, love," his eyes are full of anticipation as he gingerly pushes you down by the shoulders.

You sit back on your knees, and he settles down behind you, keeping an arm around your waist. "You like seeing yourself like this, darling?" He pulls you flush against him to sit on his lap, back flushed against his chest and legs straddling his thighs. You feel his arousal pressing into your ass as your reflection hovers just off the ground in the mirror, leaving you exposed to him. "Because I adore you like this. So wanton," he kneads one of your breasts while his other hand holds you still against him.

Your core throbs with need, and Astarion watches you over your shoulder eagerly. He tugs on your nipple some more, causing pleasure to shoot down your body. You feel your cunt fluttering around nothing as he mercilessly draws out your pleasure. Your pelvic muscles contract involuntarily as you stiffle back a whine.

"Aw, does it ache, darling? Do you need to be filled so badly that it hurts?" He keeps playing with your breasts and your body heaves and pants from your nipples being overstimulated and your pussy being neglected. You loll your head back, aching with arousal. "No, no," he scolds, taking you by the jaw and making you watch yourself. "Just look at the mess you made, naughty thing." He wasn't lying.

Your cunt was desperate for attention, pulsing and leaking slick down to the bulge of his pants. You're beyond trying to keep yourself quiet and you moan desperately as Astarion applies pressure to the flesh just above your clit with his fingerpads, just barely tugging on the sensitive bud. He was torturing you, so close and yet so far. "Ugh, Astarion pleeeaasee." You grind your ass against his erection, trying to convey your desperation. But feeling him throb underneath you as he groans your name only drives you more crazy.

His fingers move down to finally run along between your legs, tracing light circles slowly around your bud. Taking his time. You moan openly for more. As you wriggle in his lap, he plays with your pussy, admiring how it pulsates so frantically, begging to be filled.

He finally gives you some relief as he presses two fingers inside you, your body more than ready enough. His silver curls tickle the side of your face as he leans his head forward to get a better look. As you feel the familiar, wonderful stretch of his cool fingers, he gasps softly in quiet astonishment.

"Look, love," he whispers to you. Looking in the mirror, you see the ringed muscles around your cunt quivering as your pussy is gapped open by his fingers. Two fingers become three as he plunges even deeper and wider into you. Your lips are pulled and pushed back and forth by unseen forces as Astarion whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Your body is unbearably hot, yet his cool frame and fingers provide relief even as he simultaneously makes it worse.

"You're so beautiful like this," he says softly, his teasing demeanor beginning to fall away. "Your body is so open for me. It's so lovely, so gorgeous. All for me." He kisses you on the side of your face as you lose yourself to the sensations. "Fuck," he pulls his fingers out of you and pushes you off of him to undo his pants. "You'll be the second death of me."

Astarion pulls you back onto his lap, shifting your hips so that his cock is nestled between your folds, parting them and rubbing up against your clit. His lazy rocking motions are meant to further edge you, but you can hear him breathing heavily in your ear, trying to maintain composure.

You rolled your hips in turn, increasing the friction and causing lewd sounds to fall from both of your lips. Astarion makes a high-pitched whining sound that he fails to stifle, making him bite his lip and knit his brows together in desperation. He was adorable like this.

You reach down between your legs and stroke up and down your folds and his shaft. Grabbing onto his length, you turn back to look at him, seeking permission. He nods, gripping your hips tighter.

You line him up with your entrance and watch as your pussy stretches again, the pressure pushing inward as the head spreads you open. Lowering yourself over him slowly, you savor the sight of him filling you.

"Gods," his chin digs a little into your shoulder as he watches along with you, his breathing heavy. He openly moans as you sink down on him fully, feeling the base settling around you. He whispers your name and pulsates within you, causing the ring between your legs to flutter.

"Fuck," his digits sink into the soft flesh of hips and he struggles to form words as he observes your body. "So full of me," he pants.

Holding the position, you can see at least a few inches within your body, your pelvic muscles hugging Astarion tight. You tilt your head over to look at him, how he watches your body react to him. He looks almost dizzy, his mouth hanging open in a haze of lust. You run your fingers across his cheekbone gently, breaking him from his concentration on your reflection.

His eyes hold your stare as you simply feel one another. Your arms wrap around his head as you pull him into a kiss, this time gently. Still full of passion but slow, burning, lips and tongue softly brushing against one another as your faces nuzzled together. "I'm yours," you break the kiss to say to him. Within you can feel his cock throbbing, causing you to gasp and tighten around him.

"Say it again," he growls softly, pressing his forehead into yours and moving a hand down to just above your pubic bone. He applies counter pressure on where his cock is already internally pressing on your g-spot.

He rocks just enough to move in and out of you by a few inches, keeping himself inside. "I'm yours, Astarion!" The bow drawn tight inside of you was threatening to let loose. You were babbling more than dirty talking as Astarion turned his attention once more on your pearl. As he bounces you roughly in his lap, he presses onto your lower abdomen while rutting into you.

The rough fucking along with the stimulation of your g-spot and clit have you cumming around his cock, your muscles contracting wildly. Astarion praises you breathlessly as he watches you flex around him in ecstacy, and his voice is quickly cut off with a succession of whines, which become moans as your climax pushes him towards his own.

His cock throbs, filling you up as he clutches onto you, pale fingers digging into your ass and hips. In the mirror your messy and swollen pussy pulses rhythmically as it leaks with his cum.

You relax into his chest as you let him slip out of you, his arms wrap around you and hold you close.

You sit there together for a long while, kissing each other tenderly. His lips delicately kiss each finger on your hand, and then the back of your hand and up to your shoulder before kissing all over, adorning you with affection. He kisses you as if he's trying to trace constellations on your face. You shift to sit on his lap and cup his face gently. Sweeping a lock off of his forehead, you lean forward to kiss his brow. "We fit together perfectly."