#unless claw grip???? but even then you only have a finger on it

[foxstens]

yea i dont get how ppl play rain world with controller

[shenachigans]

LITTLE ONES | Ningguang

PAIRING: Amab!Ningguang x Fem!Reader

CW: smut, angst, fluff, unintentional baby-making (or breeding) at first, unprotected sex, readers is ill but illness is unspecified only that pregnancy is a risk, a lot of pet names ig, bottom female afab reader

SUMMARY: Ningguang has been wanting children of her own, but she must hold her desires back during a night of pleasure, or does she?

A/N: I cringed and almost got sappy writing the fluff part but whatever, I barely do fluff for a reason. Also, this is my first post of the year :> I wrote and posted this past my bedtime, excuse my mistakes…

WORDS: 1,928

(FANFIC IS UNDER THE CUT!)

There are rumors that Lady Ningguang had a soft spot for children. You can confirm that. The children of Liyue Harbor adore her just as she adores them. She had a motherly side, giving the kids irresistible sweets to see them smile. Of course, Ningguang gains something in return, but being around the little ones relieves her from her duties and the harsh business world. 

Ningguang isn’t the Tianquan of Liyue nor a ruthless businesswoman. She was merely a friendly elder sister who mingled with the common folk, and the children were the only ones who could give her that satisfaction without calculating moves — unless creating schemes to get the most sweets from her counted.

You can see joy in your lover’s eyes when she sees the children light up whenever they see her and receive delicacies. You remember the kids almost fighting each other for Ningguang’s head pats and praises for doing well in their missions (informing her about the latest news in the Harbor). 

There was a time when one of the children accidentally called her ‘mom’ instead of ‘big sister.’ Ningguang wasn’t fazed and instead responded as if she were their mother. It was such a wholesome sight that it brought you to your countless dreams of having her own flesh and blood where you lived as a happy family. 

The conversation of having children has yet to be brought up, but Ningguang’s eyes say more than her lips can. Even if she mastered the art of putting on a perfect facade, you can see through her. There is a visible glimmer of longing whenever she’s with the kids; it makes your chest ache.

Ningguang wants to have children with you. She does. She wants little versions of yourselves running around the floating palace and experiencing what it’s like to become a mother. But she holds back. She stops herself from painting your womb white, risking getting you pregnant. She doesn’t want you to carry her child, even if a baby bump on your tummy would make her heart swell from joy. 

You always blame yourself for preventing your lover from getting what she desires, for your weak disposition makes it a risk of surviving childbirth. You were already struggling with your illness. It was a gamble she didn’t want to take. But she doesn’t know you would gladly give your life to your little one because you have been wanting children with her as well.

It was a night of pleasure. Ningguang’s hips thrust into yours, her girthy cock stimulating your slick walls. Manicured nails created light crescents on your thighs as she gripped them for leverage, slowly losing herself in the song of your moans and whimpers harmonizing with the squelching created where you two are connected. 

You were ravishing in her hooded eyes, clawing onto the sheets below you, and tears rolling down your cheeks as pleasure coursed through your veins. Only Ningguang can see you like this. But her eyes subconsciously dart to your belly, imagining something she mustn’t. She longs to touch your empty womb — feel your skin on the pads of her fingers — but it will only indicate her want, and she doesn’t wish to make you solemn in the midst of pleasure. Unfortunately for her, you knew everything a long, long time ago.

“I want to embrace you,” you say, albeit interrupted by grunts from the ecstasy between your legs and your lover’s pleasured disposition. Ningguang slowed her ruts, complying with your request and letting go of your plush thighs, opting to grip the soiled bed sheets as you wrapped your arms around her neck, her free hand holding your waist. 

Your lover was a sight to see. Tinted cheeks and hooded eyes — a woman lost in pleasure — which juxtaposed her usual professional disposition. Ragged breaths and relentless pounding made her seem desperate to bring you to your peak as if she were a servant pleasuring her master — and she was because everything she did was for you, all for you, even if it meant denying herself something she wanted all her life.

Ningguang could feel herself at the edge of the newfound angle as she resumed her previous pace, ensuring you were comfortable. Her body tensed and shivered at how you moaned in her ear, bringing her senses into overdrive. But she must contain herself. There have been many times when her reasonings almost slipped between her fingers, but she always triumphed in gaining control.

Your bodies hugged every part of each other’s skin, her chest against yours, erect nipples rubbing against each other. She held you close, kissing your forehead, down along your jaw, until they settled on leaving bruises on the crook of your neck as a form of gratitude for taking her so well. 

Nails clawed against Ningguang’s back as you bucked your hips to meet her thrusts, back arching, and your throat now sore from your sinful noises. You were beginning to writhe under her, subconsciously wrapping your legs around her waist, your walls fluttering against her cock.

“I’m close,” you moan, your body trembling as if preparing for your upcoming orgasm. Fingers clutched into Ningguang’s hair, pulling her into a passionate kiss where your tongues languidly danced against each other. Her lips swallowed your sinful noises until a string of saliva stretched between you two as your lips reluctantly parted to heave for fresh air.

“Me too, my love,” she huffs, hips stuttering, her tip on the verge of spilling her load. Her open-mouthed kisses littered your neck and shoulders once more. A sultry, airy chuckle left her lips as she maintained her pace, guiding you to your climax. She dared not change her pace and edge you, not tonight. 

The deep, moderate thrusts of her girth drove you insane as the veins of her cock pulsated against your walls. You felt so full. Ningguang's praises and constant rutting brought you to your peak with a high-pitched moan of her name. Her back would be displayed like a canvas the next morning from her dress, showing your love hold with scratches and brushed crescents.

Her free hand slithered from the soiled sheets to your sore clit, rubbing it with her thumb to elongate your orgasm. A flash of white clouded your vision as a white ring coated the base of her cock as you came, further lubricating your walls. You became a huffing mess as you recovered from your high, but Ningguang has yet to cum, and you’re overstimulated. 

Ningguang became rather impatient now, she could feel her release edge on the tip of her cock. But she has to cum on your stomach. She tapped your thigh once — an indication for you to let go so she could pull out — but you refused. Another gentle tap soon turned into a slightly painful grip as she tried to unwrap your legs forcefully.

“Release your legs, now, dear…” she whines, grunting and fingers twitching from being denied of her high as she slows her thrusts. “I can’t cum like this,” she says, but her heart says otherwise. The tone of her voice shows how much she’s holding back. 

“Yes, you can.” You counter with a smile, arms unwrapping around her neck to cup her face, and soothingly rub her cheeks with your thumbs, feeling her porcelain skin under the pads of your fingers. A hearty, tired chuckle left your lips when she leaned into your touch. “Why don’t you indulge yourself just once, hm? Doing it once doesn’t guarantee anything, Ningguang. Please?”

Ningguang’s thrusts slowly halted as she felt a change in the lustful atmosphere. She presses your foreheads together and closes her eyes. “I can’t take that risk, we both know that…” she sighed and suddenly you see a pair of scarlet eyes pleading at you. 

“But you want to — to take that risk — and there’s nothing wrong with that, my love.” You smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes as Ningguang avoided your gaze, eyes now looking elsewhere. “Hey, look at me,” you urge and gently tilt her face toward you. “It pains me to see you like this, dearest. I…I shouldn’t have brought it up, especially right now. I’m sorry.” 

Guilt washed her features as you spoke. Was her longing so obvious? It didn’t mean you needed to give her a child. But your face expressed genuine want, no fear or hesitation in your eyes. However, you were frail, and she didn’t want to risk losing you and the baby. Ningguang can live without children of her own but she can’t live without you. 

If only she had an option to have both.

“No, don’t I apologize, my love. If anything, I should apologize for making you feel like you needed to give me children to make me happy,” Ningguang starts, giving you a sad smile, eyes downcast as she still ignores yours. “You make me the happiest person in the world, and having a family is only a bonus. I can’t force you to make any sacrifices. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You weren’t forcing me to do anything, love, and I appreciate that. I want to start a family with you, dearest. I’ve always had. You would make the best mother in the world,” you hum, pecking her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “Whatever happens, happens in the future and we will tackle them together, alright?” 

“How did I deserve you?” Ningguang says with a smile, her heart leaping from your words, still, her stomach churned from the unknown future. It was a bittersweet feeling. Scarlet eyes observed your tired face. You see hesitance in them, but they expressed want. 

“You deserve everything in the world, my love.”

Her smile widens and gently kisses you before holding your hips for leverage as she starts to pump her hips in and out slowly. “Push me away if you change your mind,” Ningguang starts, pushing the damp, stray hair from your face. “I don't wish to force you.”

“I won’t. I want all of you.” 

“Mama! Mommy is being mean to me!” a child whined, pouting as tears of frustration were apparent in their scarlet eyes as they ran toward the bedroom. “She doesn’t wanna share Mama with me!”

Ningguang follows them, hiding an amused smirk with her hand. It was fun to tease them, even more now that they’re in the ‘possessive of mommy’ stage.

“Now, now, little one, your Mama might be asleep,” Ningguang said, but it was too late. The door slid open with so much force that you woke up. She grimaced, giving you an apologetic glance.

“Teasing them again?” You say groggily but flash a small smile as you lie on the bed’s headrest. The little one immediately clinging to your side with a smirk. “This teasing is all too frequent…” You pretend to ponder before your eyes light up. “Are you perhaps envious, dear?”

“I am not envious,” Ningguang said almost too quickly, but she narrowed her eyes at the cheeky child before her, clearly showing off by scrunching their nose and sticking their tongue out. 

The audacity for them to mock her.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you chuckle before patting the spot beside you on the bed and cradling your belly. “Why don’t you two come here? I could use some cuddles.”

The child beams at your words. Nothing can be greater than cuddles. “Mommy, can I be in the middle?” They say, looking at Ningguang for permission.

Ningguang’s heart swells and she smiles. 

“Of course, my little dove.”

© shenachigans — do not plagiarise, translate, repost, or copy.

[stayinlimbo]

love at your fingertips

pairing: lee minho x reader genre: established relationship, fluff disclaimers: tooth-rotting fluff, will (hopefully) make you smile, slight suggestiveness, lowercase intended, slightly unedited word count: 681 note: i had this idea and just had to do it. i love love ♡

minho has never been good with words.

it’s a fact he’s had to accept throughout his entire life. sentences spew past his lips before he has time to process what he's saying and his mouth won’t form the intended words clawing at the back of his throat. his attempts at conveying emotions fall flat due to his dry tone of voice, the only noticeable tells articulated by his ever-changing demeanor. 

it must be ironic that he considers himself an extrovert. 

or maybe it isn’t, because although minho may not be able to express himself verbally in his native korean, he is fluent in the universal language of love through touch (as if his obsession of slapping his friends’ butts wasn’t proof enough). and now that you’re in his life, it has become one of his primary means of communication. 

“i love you” is one of the phrases minho will never have trouble saying. not when the simple brush of the back of his hand with yours hints at his affection for you before starting dating. not when he clasps your hand with his to carefully guide you through a crowded area, occasionally looking back to ensure you’re okay and always to be met with a smile that melts his heart.

he expresses it in the way he ruffles your hair when he stands behind your seated form on the couch, laughing as he defends himself against your playful swats. minho remains tied to you, playing with your fingers under the restaurant table when on a group date with your mutual friends.  

careful love as his hand presses against the small of your back, letting you walk slightly in front of him on the sidewalk at night, making sure you’re always in his line of sight. 

passionate love as he pushes you against the bedroom door, the grip on your hips tightening when your mouth detaches from his and trails down to his neck. he radiates it through the act of intertwining his fingers with yours by your head as he pants into your ear, pressing a sloppy kiss to your temple, a silent thank you for vulnerability you’ve never hesitated to unveil for him. 

unconditional love when he pulls you in for a firm embrace after one of the worst arguments the two of you have ever had in your relationship. his thumbs wipe your tears away, an unspoken apology for making you cry. 

it’s the love minho knows will be there when he wakes up in the morning as he stretches his hand out towards the middle of the bed, close to where your half-asleep figure peacefully lays. 

it’s the love he knows is reciprocated, for you speak the language of love too. 

minho hears it, sees it, in the way you took his shy hand in yours, intertwining them together with a beam on your face at the way his face flushed from your confident action, and it’s the way your fingertips dig into his shoulders, kneading away the tense muscles after a stressful day. 

you make his annoyance at the world disappear when your fingers card through his wet hair, creating spiky towers pointing in every direction that he can’t help but laugh at himself at how ridiculous he looks (yet never smooths them back down unless you do it for him). 

it’s your careful love too, existing in the lip tint you applied on him transferring onto your lips as you tilt his head and pull him in for a sweet kiss. it’s worth the smudged kiss stains adorning his face when he sees you admiring your work, squishing his cheeks together because he’s just “so cute.”

you love every extension of him, including his cats that yowl and parade around your feet until you give them all equivalent attention with gentle pets. 

love is imbued in your touch, even when you’re half-asleep, yet still reach out to meet his open palm to loosely interlace your fingers.

no, “i love you” is one of the phrases minho will never have trouble saying. not if it’s with you.

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liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz

[kokonoisgf]

jealousy - chuuya nakahara

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

☆  character: Chuuya Nakahara

☆  tw: MINORS DNI 18+ sexual explicit content (fem reader) : jealousy sex, "princess", "doll", praises, idk yo I just love that man

☆ note: been ages lolz, anyways i'm trying to get back into writing so sorry if this is rusty UGHHH enjoy my loves *: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*

☆ word count: 3.8k

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Intimate hues of the lights adorned the halls were oh so perfectly framing your face as you talked - or rather extracted information - from  a member of the X party. Abundance and richness dripped from every corner of the rooms: candles flickering lazily, buffets on silver platters filled with caviars, smoked meats and fruits, champagne, and lots - oh yes lots of diamonds. It looked as if everything was too good to be true, a glittering illusion masking darker secrets beneath. And that’s exactly why you were there with Chuuya by your side on a mission to gain crucial information about X- said information specifically requested by Mori. There had been news going around town that they had been stealing shipments late at night, and that meant stealing from the Port Mafia’s ground. Crossing lines that they should've never crossed, unless they wanted to end up six feets under. 

You walked through the crowd, the slit of your dress went  up your soft thighs, as it almost reached your waist, letting people swarm over you like moths enamoured by the brightest flame.  It was as if all the lights in the room were on you, your gaze looming over the executive, needing just that last piece of information to finally call it a night.

The mission went even more smoothly than you thought, your hand slowly touching the man’s arm, a sweet laughter dripping from your parted lips at his joke. Every gaze was filled with a desire to touch, to know, to possess.

His attention was easy to catch. He leaned in closer, clearly infatuated, eager to please. But you kept your smile soft, your tone disarming, and yet beneath it all, your gaze was sharp, ready to extract the information you needed. You were so close, one more well-placed word, one more laugh, and you’d have the final piece of the puzzle.

Chuuya, who was sitting at the bar a few seats from you, narrowed his eyes, sharp canine poking from between his kissable lips. Downing a drink in silence,  his eyes held a barely restrained fury ‘Fuck’ He cursed under his breath, low enough that only the nearest patrons might hear, eyebrows cocking as the man seemed to be about to devour you whole. Leg shaking under the table, he impatiently taped the side of his glass with his gloved fingers. Said gloved fingers slick from the condensation of the drink. A droplet slid down the side of the glass, slow and deliberate, before landing with a quiet plop on the polished oakwood of the bar. He could hear everything: the ticking of the clock, the chatters all around him, but more so how your sweet voice responded to the man. 

He was losing control, and he knew it. This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. It was about you, and the way this man had dared to even look at you, there was no way he could ever get away with it. Chuuya had to remind himself over and over—it’s part of the plan, it’s part of the plan—but the jealousy clawing at him was winning. The thought that maybe you didn’t see him the way he saw you ate at him, and he was two seconds away from tearing the whole operation apart.

And then it happened. The man, charmed  by your smile, your attention, let his hand slide lower, reaching out to grip your thigh. You could feel the roughness of his fingers skimming across your skin, and your body tensed instinctively. Before you could even react, a sharp sound cracked through the tension—a gloved hand smacking the man’s away, so forcefully the slap echoed across the room.

‘Sir!?’ Confusion filled  the executive’s  voice, as his eyebrows raised, clearly not ready to back out so easily. You could  only sigh internally, it had always been like that. Every time you worked to get close, Chuuya lost his cool just before the crucial moment.  It would have been a blatant lie to say that it annoyed you, in fact you found his jealousy strangely endearing.

‘Back off asshole, she’s with me’’ Growled Chuuya, Cerulean eyes boring into his. His arm was  firmly wrapped around your waist, bringing you even closer, gloved fingers digging into your soft exposed  skin as if to reiterate his point. He looked absolutely breathtaking like this -  when his possessive side showed like that, you thought in a haze. His cologne mixed with his natural scent only made your head spin even more. 

‘I believe we were having a discussion - ‘ The executive stammered, trying to assert himself until he was cut by Chuuya’s rough voice. 

‘Shut the fuck up’

The Mafia executive spat, cutting him off mid-sentence. He clearly was not having it, and before the man could even say another word, He whisked you away upstairs in a closed room where he slammed the door shut. He clicked his tongue in irritation, unbuttoning the upper half of his shirt, unveiling a sliver of his ivory-white skin with each pop. He felt  like he was  losing his damn mind, needing to cool down for a second, everything becoming way too much way too quick downstairs. 

Your gaze never left  his, cradling your face in your arms as you laid atop the plush mattress of one of the many many rooms in this mansion. You could see the storm raging inside him, the jealousy, the protectiveness, the raw need. And you couldn’t help but tease him, just a little 

‘Chuuya, focus on the mission, would you?’

Your teasing tone did  not go unnoticed as a faint blush dusted his cheeks, his jealousy so clearly put on display. Freezing for a moment, he was suddenly hyper aware of every breath he took.Turning  around to face  you, he frowned.

‘I can’t stand seeing any of those pieces of shit touch you’ He was more than bold, cornering you against the bed. ‘Would you understand that?’ He raised an eyebrow, playing with your words. You couldn’t help but enjoy this. This desperate jealous side of him that you always saw on missions like these. Flickering your eyes to his lips, you smiled innocently. 

‘It's part of the mission Chuuya, how else do you want us to get that information Mori asked for’

He only gruffed, leaning against the wall beside you.

‘There’s just no way I can see that and stay calm, y’know me’

He raised an eyebrow, as if this was the most evident thing in the entire universe.

‘Besides, I’d rather use my fucking fist then let one of the these dirtbags breath the same air as you’ 

Gosh - It made your heart flutter. You leaned forward, almost tauntingly letting the silky satin drip down your chest, exposing your cleavage. ‘Yea? You would? Tell me more’

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at you, a faint blush back on his cheeks, as his gaze desperately tried to avoid the valley of your breasts so prettily put on display for him. 

‘Cut that crap already’ He paused scowling, regrouping his composure slightly before letting himself sit next to you on the bed. You taunting him was enough to send him to heaven and back. Not to mention the way your dress hugged your curves so perfectly, the material dipping exposing your curves - Stop. He had to control himself. 

‘I mean it…’ You were now the one who was bold. Your hand coming to rest gingerly on his thigh. He tensed, his whole body feeling as if an electric current ran through him. ‘I want to know what’s on your mind right now…’ You cooed, your eyes drinking in the sight of his flustered face. You’d had wanted him since forever, and now it was enough, you could not hold back anymore. Seeing his possessive side shine through in missions always aroused you more than you’d ever admit, but today was your breaking point — The faint glow of the candle light illuminating the side of his face, taunt jaw, pursed lips, and furrowed brow. He was beyond handsome, but that was no news to you.

The tension in the room felt thick, like a cord pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.You shifted slightly, the soft silk of your dress brushing against your skin, reminding you just how far you were pushing him. The material clung to you in all the right places, the slit revealing enough to make anyone pause in their tracks, but it was the way Chuuya looked at you that set you alight. His gaze burned with such want, that he felt himself getting dizzy with need. 

On the other hand,  you couldn’t help it. You loved testing him, pushing his limits just to watch him unravel. The way his jaw clenched, the subtle twitch in his fingers like he was fighting the urge to grab you, it made you delirious with want.

His sharp gaze, usually so bold and confident, held a tinge of timidness in the depth of it. Clearing his throat, his eyes zeroed on the way your thumb gently caressed his thigh, the sensation alone enough to send a surge of heat to his groin. It was as if he was at a loss for words,  a rare sight indeed. Years and years of longing for you coming to crash down on him like waves perpetually hitting the shore. 

‘You know…’ you purred, voice dripping with that teasing edge he loved and hated all at once, ‘if you can’t handle this, maybe I should’ve gone with someone else. Someone who could keep their cool on a mission like this.’ You just wanted to rile him up enough so that he could confess his feelings, and gosh — seeing the look in his eyes as his face snapped to meet yours. It was all too good.

His gaze  flashed, anger and desire swirling together in a dangerous mix. He shifted, grabbing your hand that once rested on his thigh  in one swift motion, holding it just tight enough to make you feel the strength behind his restraint.

‘You’d better not even joke about that’ he murmured, voice low and  eyes dark with barely restrained jealousy. ‘Am’ the only one who can touch you. Got that?’ His hand gently grabbed ahold of your chin, tilting it up to meet the seriousness of his gaze - and at that moment, you  wondered  if you pushed it too far. 

‘Touch me right now then..’ Your voice sent a deep shiver through every pore of his being. Chuuya's keen eyes flashed, pupils dilating with sheer lust as he took a moment to register your words. 

‘Yea? Sure’ you can handle it?’ His grip on your chin faltered until he pushed you down gently on the bed. You almost melted into a heap on the mattress, his nervosity seeming to vanish in one-go and you knew you were in for a ride. Chuuya did exhibit such a calm demeanour before you, yet his insides were twisting with a mix of want and apprehensiveness. Truthfully, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t been dreaming about this moment for so long, and now that words had been spoken, holding himself back was not an option anymore. 

You felt your insides burn and turn as he lowered himself on top of you, cornering you between his body and the plush mattress. Your plump lips parting to voice your thoughts, but you remained silent as if in awe of the man above you: long ginger strands cascading atop his shoulder, cerulean eyes swirling with a twinkle of lust and his white button up slightly — oh so deliciously unbuttoned exposing the fair skin of his collarbones. 

He hummed, eyes taking in the sight of you sprawled below him, completely at his mercy. 

‘Hmm why you so silent now? Seems like just now you had so much to say’ He purred teasingly, leaning down to whisper against the shell of your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“So what is it? Cat’ got your tongue princess?’ You just looked so damn edible underneath him, that the Executive couldn’t help but trail his gloved hand down your face, until his thumb rubbed soothing patterns on your cheek, tilting your face slightly to make your gaze meet his. The way you gazed at him, looking utterly vulnerable beneath him, lit something inside him as he gulped down, eyes racking over your whole body, until it met yours again.

Even though his teasing tone, his eyes held such pure and raw affection for you, that you felt time stop for a mere moment. Swirling in his sapphire gaze was years of love, jealousy and pure lust.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He blurted out, biting on his lips as if using all his crumbling self restraint to wait on your answer. Chuuya would never do anything to displease you — you were his muse, his reason to go on, his soulmate: all he did in life was for you, to one day be able to call you rightfully his. He was a romantic at heart, but just for you.

 Leaning his forehead on yours, he held your face affectionately pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead 

‘You don't know for how long I’ve wanted this- how long I've wanted you.’ He exhaled, eyes closing as he felt you nod, allowing him to finally seal his lips with yours, and gosh at that moment he swore the heavens made you just for him. 

Fishing a hand through his strands, a desperate whimper of his name caresses your lips as his tongue delves into your mouth wasting no time. He smiles into the kiss pressing himself against you, his hand moving to grasp both your wrists, pinning you against the mattress. He doesn’t want you to move nor do anything, he just wants the whole mansion to hear who you belong to. 

‘Fuck-’ He cursed under his breath, letting off a breathy exhales, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his. At that moment you can truly say that Chuuya has never looked so gorgeous.

‘Need to taste you on my tongue doll- right now. ’ Oh- now he’s even bolder. Kissing was more than enough to send electricity racking through his being, but Chuuya was a greedy man when it came to you. After spending countless nights fisting his cock to the idea of his tongue buried deep into your soaked pussy he really can’t seem to be able to hold himself back anymore. 

Cutting straight to the point, all he cared about was tasting you, your own pleasure building his brick by brick. Besides, he swore he could most likely get off to pleasuring you—your pleasure his own.

You’re quick to hitch your leg up his shoulder, Chuuya’s breath hitching in his throat, fingers letting go of your wrists to instead dig into the subtle skin of your thighs. 

‘God- I could cum just from looking at you’ He cursed, and you see it in his eyes that he’s being truthful and it stirs the deepest blush onto your cheeks. Another moan of his name slips past your lips as he presses a series of kisses on your inner thighs, his eyes looking like he’s teetering on the verge of insanity, high on you and your scent. Lashes fluttering closed, he skillfully hooked a finger under your pantie moving it aside giving him prime view of your soaked cunt. 

‘Fuck- this wet just from kissing me, huh?’ He felt himself spinning, mind unravelling at the sight before him. You, on your back with your dress hitched up to your waist, a leg comfortably resting on his shoulder with your pretty pussy just waiting to get tongue fucked by him. 

‘How long you been wanting this, tell me princess’ He cooed such tease dripping from his tone as his eyes drank in the sight of your flushed face. 

‘Years..’ you confessed, as he chuckled the air that exited his lips caressing your drooling folds.

‘That’s it… that’s my pretty girl’ he purred, completely and utterly drunk on you, feeling you throb against his index finger collecting your slit, bringing it to his lips. He felt your fingers grasp his locks, gasps resonating throughout the luxurious room, before he slowly manoeuvred his finger up and down your slit, index delving into your cunt. His mouth gaped, as if entranced by the view of his finger disappearing into your pussy, your juices drenching him. It’s not long before he adds in his middle finger, almost salivating at the sight. 

‘Taking my fingers so well baby’ Chuuya praised, his tongue locked onto your pearl, pretty lashes of his fluttering shut, his hips grinding into thin air. Flicking his tongue against your poor fucked-out nub, Chuuya’s fingers were skilfully moving inside you, wasting no time to repeatedly abuse your sweet spot. 

’Mine — all fucking mine’ He possessively whispered, lips hungrily latching onto your clit, fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of you. You were bucking into his hand, à thin ring of cum coating his fingers. Eyes zeroed on your cunt so greedily swallowing his fingers, he babbled drunk on your pussy

’Made for me’ all of you, - Fuck’

Your body arched under him, every muscle tightening as the pleasure built and built, coiling inside you like a spring about to snap. Chuuya's fingers moved with such skill, as if he'd memorised your body long before tonight, knowing exactly how to bring you to the brink of release. His mouth on your clit, hot and demanding, had you squirming against him, but his strong hands kept you firmly in place.

‘Chuuya—’ you gasped, voice cracking with desperation. You were so close, oh so close to an  overwhelming climax. His name left your lips like a prayer, which only seemed to fuel him more, his grip on your thighs tightening as he fucked you with his fingers and  greedily ate you out like a starved man. 

Then suddenly, the  tension in your body snapped like a cord pulled too tight, and your orgasm washed over you in waves, pulling you under with such force that you could hardly breathe. You tried warning him, but you could babble moans of his name as your body trembled against him, and Chuuya never let up, his fingers still thrusting into you, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure until you were a shaking, gasping mess beneath him.

He groaned, feeling the way your walls clenched around his fingers, his hips grinding down against the bed in search of some kind of relief. He looked utterly drunk on lust—his face flushed, his lips wet with your juices, his eyes blown wide with lust and satisfaction.

‘You’re so fucking beautiful like this’ he rasped, pulling his fingers from you slowly, and bringing them to his lips to taste you again. He licked them clean, savouring the flavour of you as if it rivalled the finest wine.

You were still panting, your chest rising and falling with each laboured breath as you tried to come down from the high of your orgasm. Chuuya hovered above you, his body shaking with need, but he didn’t push you didn’t demand anything from you. He simply looked at you, as if the sight of you in this state of bliss was enough to satisfy him somehow.

Although,you wanted more- you needed him. After catching your breaths, you pushed him down, climbing on top of him. His eyes widened at your actions, a blush dusting his cheeks up to his ears as if he wasn’t just eating your pussy two minutes ago.

‘Need you inside me’  your hands made quick work of his dress pants as he sucked in a breath, eyes darkening further at your words. You could feel the hardness of him through the fabric of his underwear, the bulge leaving little to nothing to the imagination. 

‘A-Ah Fuck- wait-’ He cursed again, a whimper threatening to escape his lips as his gaze flickered between your beautiful angel-like face and your hand positioning him into your greedy cunt. A few strand of his long ginger hair stick to his face, cock already throbbing with anticipation to cum.

‘Won't last long I- got me so riled up earlier eating you-’ He bashfully mumbled, feeling beyond embarrassed only wishing that earth could open up and swallow him whole, looking off to the side. Cheeks now almost matching his hair. Truth was, he almost came from eating you out earlier, your soft moans of his name way more than enough to send him over the edge 1000 times over. 

His cock was so beautiful: flushed and leaking his precum dribbling down its shaft. Rubbing his tip against your soaked folds, Chuuya threw his head back against the pillow, eyes rolling into the back of his skull. His hands gripped onto your hips as if holding untold ear life, leaving crescent moon indents into your plush skin. He was desperately trying to suppress his moans and whimper, biting down on his lip almost drawing blood, until you slowly sank his length into you, seating on him.

A choked out gasp escaped his lips, curses filling the room, his hips gyrating upwards to meet your movements on top. 

‘S-So good to me’ He babbled out, drunk on your pussy, milking him, as if it was made to take him in. Cockhead kissing your cervix, he’s merciless, feets digging into the mattress to push his hips upward meeting your every thrust. Chuuya could revel in the feeling forever, whether it was the grip of your velvety wall around his pulsating cock, the way your lips parted shamelessly moaning his name like a mantra, or the way your tits bounced with every movement on his length. The pleasure was unbearable for the both of you already feeling your second orgasm creep out, impaling yourself on his cock at a faster and harsher pace. Your hands pressed against his chest leaning forward to bounce on him, and Chuuya swore he had been sent to the afterlife. 

‘C’mon baby- let me feel you cum on my cock-’ He choked out,and the words nearly sent you over the edge. His eyes met yours, and it was the way he gazed at you with such love  that finally gave you the slight push you needed to come undone on top of him. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every thrust of Chuuya’s hips upward  sent shockwaves through your body, and you finally came on top of him. Fucking you through your orgasm, the redhead finally halted balls deep, knuckles turning white as he gripped your hips with sheer force enough to leave bruises indicating he reached his limit too. 

‘’C-Cummin-’’ He gritted through his clenched teeths, body twitched releasing thick long ropes of cum inside your pussy, his release flooding you with warmth. Collapsing on top of his chest, his hand tangled into your locks, slowly trying to catch his breath. He felt like his heart was right about to burst straight out of his chest. 

For a moment, everything was still. The world outside didn’t exist—there was only you and Chuuya, wrapped up in each other, your bodies still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened.

And then, slowly, he cleared his throat, his eyes soft as they met yours. He wanted to say so much, yet his lips parted and his mind blanked looking into your eyes—your flushed face, parted glossy lips and doe eyes piercing right into his soul.You were so breathtaking, it completely made him lose his mind. Your fingers grazed the skin of his collarbone before you smiled softly speaking in a hushed voice

‘You wanna know something?’

‘Yea?’ 

‘If this is what happens when random creeps flirt with me on missions, I just might have to let it happen more often.’ 

Chuuya only chuckled, rolling his eyes, as his hand came to caress your hair lovingly. Pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead, he nuzzled your locks swearing that one day he’d make you his, and that this was only the beginning.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

+ back to masterlist

⋆ likes and reblogs are always super appreciated ⋆

[byechristopher]

it's always you.

–MATT STURNIOLO DRABBLE.

Author's note: just a lil' something; Matt realising you're the one he wants. Give me requests. Now.

Warnings: none.

⠀

The claw machine hummed softly as I focused, squinting at the stuffed bear dangling inside, just out of reach. My fingers gripped the joystick, but I couldn’t quite get the angle right.

“I think you need to move it a bit left,” a voice said, low and warm, right behind me. Matt's voice.

Before I could react, he leaned in, his hand brushing mine, guiding it. My breath caught — the closeness of him sent a rush of warmth up my neck. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, his arm slightly grazing mine. It was impossible to focus on the claw now, but I didn’t move away.

"Like this?" I whispered, trying to sound casual, my voice betraying me.

“Yeah, right there,” he murmured, his hand still over mine. We were both staring at the machine, but it felt like everything was moving in slow motion.

The claw descended, but I barely noticed. My heart was thudding louder than any arcade noise. It caught something — a flash of fur, and before I could blink, the bear was dropping into the prize chute.

“We did it,” I said, but my voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah..." he stepped back and handed me the prize, but his fingers brushed mine again and his smile made me lose my breath.

Matt was undeniably attractive but we'd been friends for so long, I couldn't even imagine me and him together. Not that I haven't thought about it. There was something between us, something way above us, unspoken words that would forever stay hidden unless we actually did something about it.

We were now in his room – he was sat on the couch, and I was laying next to him, my legs on his lap. There was a comfortable silence between us that only the playlist he'd put on was allowed to interrupt. His room was dark, small fairy lights just above us, I could barely see his face and the little bear that we'd won on top of my tummy.

"Dancing through the night, a vodka and a sprite.."

I opened my eyes to look at him, "I love this song".

"I love this song too." he said and drew invisible circles on my leg with his index finger.

"A glimpse of the silhouettes, a night that they never forget.."

Matt threw his head back, his boney fingers massaging my calves, "I've been wanting to kiss you all day." he blurted out, still looking at the ceiling, his fingers successfully distracting me.

"What.. what?" I said, I have never been so quiet in my life, but he turned to look at me and leaned in to place the softest kiss on one of my knees.

"I've been wanting to kiss you. All day." he said, loud and clear, his dark blue eyes that were now sparkling never leaving mine.

"And he had said, daring your looks can kill.. so now you're dead.."

Matt slowly sat up, gently taking hold of one of my legs. With careful movements, he guided it behind him as he shifted his position, gradually sliding in between my legs. He grabbed the bear that was on my tummy and placed it carefully on the floor – he never broke eye contact. Everything seemed as if it was in slow-motion.

"Touch me, yeah.."

As the song went on, I felt the tension and temperature rising. He was in between my legs, pressing his body against mine as I wrapped myself around him, his lips so close to mine.

"I want you to touch me there.."

Matt leans in slowly, his breath warm against my lips, every movement deliberate and charged with anticipation. Time seems to stretch between us, the air thick with a tension that tightens my chest. His lips brush mine, feather-light at first, then deepening as his hand gently wraps itself around my neck. The kiss is slow, languid, like he's savoring every second, every touch.

My pulse races, but everything else feels unhurried, his mouth exploring mine with a quiet intensity, each second filled with a passion that simmers beneath the surface, leaving me breathless – same as the hand that was on my neck, his rings digging into my skin in the most delicate way.

"I need you." I muttered against his lips and I saw his eyes sparkle before he dove back into the kiss.

⠀

[gladiatorcunt]

Literally begging you to please write more Patrick Zweig x Reader fics 🥵🥵

cw: 18+ MDNI, afab reader, hints of patrick x art / patrick x reader x art, consensual and accidental somno, gross patrick, hint of breeding kink, college era ish, mention of ass play, unedited

Tired Loser Bf!Patrick who hikes one of your thighs over his, pressing up against you and sinking back into your already wet pussy. It’s so early in the morning, but sometimes he gets in a mood where he just needs to go lose himself in your cunt even if you’re not contributing. You hum and snuggle further into the silk pillowcase, relishing in the too tight grip of your plush love handles and the sloppy sounds his balls make against your ass. You hardly spend any time together due to his career rhat’s been on a bit of a decline, so you’re more than happy to be his toy if that’s what makes him feel like he’s worth anything. Like he can only find meaning in the warm walls of your pussy, and ass, on occasion.

It’s either this or quick fucks on the counter or kitchen table, both of you nearly clawing at each other in desperation to all but consume the other. Sometimes it’s softer, slow thrusts angled to perfectly hit the right spot every time as he trails open mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Patrick offers to take a shower after coming home sweaty and disgusting but you always say that you prefer him like that anyway. He whines pathetically for a kiss for you and for him from a best friend you’ve never met into your neck and pounds you harder. Your eyes flutter half open at the impact, the grunts behind you and the thick weight moving in and out of you being the only things you can comprehend.

“Glided right in, didn’t even have to finger you or anything.” He moans too loudly for sleepy sex at 5 in the monring. “Always so ready for me, just how i like you.”

“Uh! Uh huh-“

You sigh and nod into the pillow, lazily throwing your ass back on his cock as he fucks you. His pace is so fast that you’re worried he might throw his back out, it’s so frantic and desperate, like he’s trying to stab your guts and leave a permanent mark on you from the inside. You zone in on his heavy breathing, he grinds his length deeper inside and lifts one of your ass cheeks just to watch it fall and jiggle back into place. It’s almost like he’s on the court, eyes watching the ball like a hawk and giving you the most toe curling punched out sounds when he hits it. His precision and raw enthusiasm has you gasping.

The sun’s not far off from rising, so you give up on getting anymore meaningful rest and drown in the intense smell around you. Sweat, slick, old almost acidic cum from when he bred you in his sleep, take out containers from last night that haven’t been thrown away, sharp and piercing autumn air, Patrick’s horrific axe body spray, your much more pleasant cherry blossom body wash. His thrusts send you rocking up the bed, tits swaying back and forth in the mess of tangled thin sheets. Your still half concious but he fucks you like he’s been awake for hours, eyes wide and crazed and brow furrowed like he needs so much more of you than he thought. He moans two names after quick sucks to both of your nipples, one for each. Yours and that same best friend’s.

The red cap Patrick has stashed away in the nighstand collects dust like a skeleton in a closet. There are sessions where he won’t, or maybe can’t, cum unless you cry and whine for that best friend too. You don’t even know who you’re begging for another cock to steal your voice and ravage your throat, but you do it and take note of the euphoric shout that rattles all the way out of Patrick’s chest, the all too pleased sigh into the valley of your breasts. You don’t ask in the shower or in bed, the buried sadness he carries like a chain gives the impression that the abscence is not his choice. Might be a nice birthday present, a reunion.

You wake up more as he goes insane with his fucking, his arm restrains your thigh and pulls it up so high you can feel the muscle stretching. He doesn’t communicate beyond feral grunts and something primal between a growl and a whimper, making sure you can really feel his thick cock bullying your poor pussy beyond repair. You never mind, in fact some days it’s you who wakes Patrick up by bouncing on him like a cock starved slut. You like when you can’t forget what he’s done to you, when you can raise your head to admire the new necklace of bruises. It’s not like he’s never gentle with you, but you don’t feel ashamed for loving him how he is. The jagged edges and aching need to belong somewhere, to someone.

Sometimes all a relationship needs to work is for the people involved to be the same, deep down or surface level. You take whiffs of his pubes that are too deep to be normal apprection for your partner’s body and he eats his own tangy cum out of your puffy pussy like it’s God’s gift to humanity, spitting the left over jizz and additional saliva into your ass hole and slurping that up too. But in the here and now, he’s fucking you without a goal or an end in sight, heavy balls wetly kissing your lower body with no assurance of being emptied. It could be hours before Patrick lets either of you cum, like it’s one of his games that more closely resembles a heated battle to something that looks and acts like death. Evenly matched, no one being stronger than the other.

So you give him the point and drift off, messily tongue kissing him back and lulling yourself to the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts. Outside, it starts to softly rain, the ambience of the moment softening both of your hearts. You put effort in a real kiss, only for a second, whisper an ‘I love you’ and wait for a resounding ‘I love you too’ before shutting off your brain for the time being.

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Working Ethics

He watched you shuffle out the door as you ignored the 3rd guy who tried to pick you up. He almost went back to people watching when he noticed you leaving and some guy he hadn’t seen before start to follow you, you were drunk but capable. 

You are capable. 

But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you got home safe. 

That’s what friends do. 

He abruptly stood up the drinks on the table sloshing slightly. 

“Where are you off to, pretty boy?” Derek appeared with another drink in his hand. He could finish the bars entire stock if Hotch allowed him to. 

“I’m done, see you guys tomorrow.” Spencer quickly shuffled out before Derek could sink his claws into him. He almost lost sight of you. 

“Come on sweet girl,” He did a complete turn to the alley down the side. “I promise tah treatcha right.”

“Not interested,” he slipped into a corner, he didn’t want to be all hero unless you needed him to. You were an incredible officer. You could whip up your badge and have him down in prison for half his life if you wanted to, maybe you wanted to let him off easy because he was drunk. 

"Hey now, don't be like that I can show you a good time.

“Let go of me you creep.” You sounded alarmed. “Hey, Hey drop the knife-” He didn’t even stop. He came over, pummelling the guy into the alley wall, a switchblade cluttering onto the floor. He dropped the guy and rushed over to where you were. The guy scuttled out the alley, cursing.

“Spencer…” he turns and he meets your worried gaze. Your eyes roving over him. “He didn’t cut you did he?” 

He looks incredulously at you. “Shouldn’t the roles be reversed?”

You were the one about to- so why were you- he-

The confusion must have shown on his face, you smiled. “Yeah but you could have also gotten hurt.” 

“Same as you. Put yourself first.” you looked away. You both know you’re not very good at that. He fully turns to you and you notice how his entire demeanour changes. He seems smaller now. He comes closer and checks you for any cuts. The warmth of the situation goes straight to your brain.

“Thank you,” 

“It’s…” what could he say. Common decency? He paused, “As long as you’re fine.” scratching the back of his head. You moved closer to him before you raised your hand. He froze. He literally stopped breathing. You chuckled slightly. You weren’t the only one going crazy.

“Breathe Spencer, I don’t want my saviour asphyxiating."

“Sorry.” He muttered breathlessly. You wordlessly reach forward and moved your fingers through his hair, careful as though not to startle him. A few knots here and there, you tried to ignore how he leaned unto your touch, how his breath came out ragged, how close you were and how his hands were levitating over your waist barely grazing.

"Thank you for saving me."

You couldn't help overthink everything that brought you here. His gaze was intense, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was trying to read your mind and he just might he’s a damn good profiler after all. You felt yourself getting lost in his eyes, unable to look away, . 

“I’m drunk.” you said leaning into him.

“You’re drunk.” his hands settle on your hips, gripping tightly.  His brain wanted him to push you away but he found himself pulling you in.

“I should leave you alone.” you said wrapping your arms around his neck, despite your words you lean in.

“You should.”

“Should I?” You don’t know what you’re asking him, but he seems to know.

“Don’t but…” you could see his inner turmoil as he grappled with himself.

“But?”

“Working ethics, I don’t know if I can leave you after.” Your lips were so close, his breath ghosted your lips. 

“Maybe I don’t want you to leave?” You moved closer against him, chest against chest, he hissed at the contact.

“Angel, don’t say that, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you tilted your head. “This?” your lips grazed his. “Or this?” pushing yourself against him even more. 

He looked at you with a look so despicable. He kissed you, matching with how he wanted you. Hard and rough. His lips slotted with yours, stealing all your air, his fingers gripped you so tightly it made you dizzy, all you could smell, hear, see, feel was Spencer.

You could feel his heartbeat, his breath, he only had one drink,

“You’re drunk.” he repeated, extricating his hands from you, taking a step back. "I'd be taking advantage of you. I should be leaving you alone.” He kept kissing you though, kissing you silly. “Tell me no, tell me to stop.”

“I’m not leaving you tonight and you’re not leaving me.” dragging him out of the alley.

______________________________________________________________

“Reid, where did you run off to yesterday?” JJ asked from around the corner. Spencer's cheeks tinted slightly as he ran off an excuse.

“Tired, it was a long night.” He nodded as he went back to his files. 

“Really? That’s exactly what she said-” Spencer’s head shot up a little too quickly. Derek’s eyes sparkled. 

“Tsk, you almost got away with it kid.” Derek patted his back. “So your place or hers?”

“What- who’s I don’t know what you both are talking about.” Spencer went on the defensive, he tried to control his movements but unfortunately he was in a room full of profilers.

“Sorry Spence but we got evidence, Derek saw you two on his morning walk.” 

Spencer’s mind floated back to earlier when he was leaving you. 

“I really wish I could drive you instead of dropping you somewhere else.” Spencer whined as he hugged you. 

“It’s okay, I even need to change. I can't exactly go in the same clothes as yesterday, or in your clothes.” 

“I mean, you do look good in my clothes…” his words elicited a blush from you as you remembered last night's events. You couldn’t wear your clothes due to some tears in your clothes which you blame him for. 

“Spencer!!!” he laughs and it’s so soft and hearty you can’t help but laugh with him. 

“C’mere.” he mutters and brings your head closer to his, kissing you so softly you melt in him arms. He pulls away slight;y and smiles at you. “I’m ready to take this however you like, fast or slow, it’s all in your hands.”

“Spencer…” it’s your turn to gush. “How about boyfriend and girlfriend then we move up from there?” 

“I’d like that.” You smile.

“Me too.”

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“Seems pretty boy is reminiscing. So you and her huh? And you didn’t tell us.” Spencer ignores him as he turns to his desk. A door opens somewhere and he instinctively raises his head to catch you entering, removing your hair from your ponytail, you just came back from the shooting range. 

He was mesmerised.

______________________________________________________________

no. 4 of Spencer Reid's firsts

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 16th

leon kennedy x vibrator

a smallish, rubbery, baby pink vibrator. with a suction feature, and 10+ speed and pulse settings. it fits in your purse, it fits inside of you, it fits in the palm of your boyfriends hand. you loved it, you really did — but really, it was leon’s pride and joy.

from spending so much time with you, leon had started to pick up on when you needed certain things. you often got restless and agitated by small things when you were hungry, you’d bite at the side of your finger when there was something on your mind that you weren’t telling him, you’d smile with a certain twinkle in your eye when you wanted something from him — but his favourite and most challenging moments, was being able to tell when you needed to just let go.

sometimes, you’d have a particularly hard day at work. you’d be more teary and quiet than usual upon arriving home, and when you’re ready he’d let you rant and cry it out into his chest. it was like clockwork, and once he’d supported you emotionally, he knew you needed something to make your brain totally black out and forget the day you had, and that’s where the vibrator came in handy.

to the surprise of many, leon wasn’t actually that big on punishments unless you really deserved them — so whilst it might be assumed overstimulating you with a toy would be used for the purpose of reforming a bad attitude or breaking a rule, leon preferred to use it as a reward. a reward for being so brave at work as he’d tell you — enough so, that now he would allow you to forget everything you know until all the negative feelings had vanished.

so that’s how he’d have you, and your only grip on reality would be focusing on sound. your back was to his chest, head resting against his shoulder, his own legs caging your spread thighs with a thick forearm across your stomach holding you to him as he presses the toy against you. you can hear his deep and low breathing in your ear, you can hear the obscene wet clicking noises made by your cunt each time he shifts the vibrator through your folds, you can hear the relentless and incessant buzzing from the toy itself, a lone thought swimming around the back of your brain questioning the durability of its battery life, and loudly — you can hear the uncontrollable noises coming from yourself.

your moans were broken, whiny and bordering on pathetic. your brain was mush by this point, so coherent sentences were something of a distant memory as he pressed the buzzing toy against your abused clit. you poor thing, begging for something and you weren’t even sure what for anymore. it’s a good thing leon was there to look after you. “does that feel good baby?” he has the audacity to coo, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone— god he’s sick.

you try to respond, but it proves impossible, only managing something akin to ‘mhm’ which is good enough for him. “i’d say i’m pretty good at this, isn’t that right? knowing what my girl needs. knowing when that pretty pussy needs to cum.” he soothes and you claw at his thick, strong wrist weakly, feeling yourself near yet another orgasm as your clit pulses painfully.

“another one? alright sweetheart, let’s hear it.” he purs, continuing the repetitive movements around your clit with the toy until you’re squealing, tensing up and completely blacking out as you feel yourself gushing.

“take what you need, i’m right here.” he calms you as you ride it out. leon was right, as always. he did infact always know what you needed.

added extras: there’s times where you get needy, and just wanna play with your exhausted boyfriend after he returns from work— you being all hyper and giddy as he lounges back on the couch. he lets you play with his cock, dragging your vibrator over his wet, pink mushroom tip, staring up at him with glassy eyes eager to please as he tips his head back, casually spreading his thighs with a groan. “fuck, you’re good at that baby. didn’t know it would feel so good, damn.” he strains out, and you can’t help but place a kiss to his tip as you run the vibrator down his shaft. “j’st wanna look after you, like you do for me.” you hum, and he runs a hand over your head appreciatively.

“my girls too sweet.”

[melodic-haze]

alright think about this jealous sex with arlecchino. Maybe she’s been hanging out with columbina too much.

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Thr briefest mention of petplay, rough sex ig, that's basically it 🤷‍♀️

Ohhhhmygod the way Arlecchino talks of her so very fondly too like it's VERY easy to be jealous I think. Like I'm not really a jealous or a possessive person but even then I'd give like a slight side eye

The Knave was just spending a BIT too much time with Columbina for your tastes. You ask if you could hang out w her, she tells you she has a prior engagement with the other Harbinger. You go to talk to her, she's already talking with Damselette. Frankly, she's acc taking the piss❗️❗️❗️

It just. Drives you up the FUCKING WALL but yk. "Do unto others what you want done to you" or smth like that idk the saying

"I-- I'm going to--"

"You are not doing anything unless I tell you to."

You feel her hands grip onto your hair as you practically abused her cunt with your fingers. If you weren't pinning her to the wall and holding her up, you were sure that as formidable as she was, her legs would've buckled down from the overwhelming stimulation and the lack of release whenever she reached her very peak.

(With the strength of her grip, youu also thanked archons above that despite everything, she was careful enough to not claw at your scalp. That wasn't the most important thing right now, though.)

"You know," you idly mused—taunted, even—as you curled your digits within her, "we could've been doing something better. We could've been having tea, tending to your children, having so much more fun than this. And yet what do you do?"

You pulled your fingers away, slick glistening and forming a faintly connecting line before snapping, and you hear a desperate whimper that you pointedly ignore, "You pass all that up for your fellow Harbinger."

"But she can't make you feel good like I do, can she?" You slapped her thigh harshly, to which you ignore her surprised gasp too—you knew she could handle much more anyway, "Nobody else can have you all pliant and breathless like this. Not her, not anyone."

Arlecchino actually makes a move to nod instead of standing there all dumb, "Only.. Only for you.. my love, I--"

"Only for me?"

"Yes..!"

Answering like an over-eager dog. Actually hilarious.

You stand up and press your fingers harshly inside of her, and just when she feels utter delight in tbe thought of you finally granting mercy on a sinner such as her?

"Move."

"..What?"

"You heard me, my love," the affectionate pet name overshadowed by your mocking tone, "if you want to get off, then move. Surely you can manage such a simple task, right?"

It's unsaid that you want her to move on her own to show her dedication to you...

But either she caught on or she was desperate for the feeling of you inside her, for she leaned her head and started to grind her pussy onto your offered hand.

Only you were allowed to command her like this.

Need to constantly alternate between edging her and overstimming her, both to such UNBEARABLE levels bc SURELY she can handle it 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Absolutely use her in ANY way you could think of; by this point she's a hole for you to use and vent your jealousy to, all while repeating some kinda mantra about how Columbina could never do the things you do to her

Remind her that only YOU could make her feel the things she does, remind her that only YOU could have her bend to your will, both literally and metaphorically. Doesn't matter to you how powerful she is!! Could be an eldrich horror and you don't gaf

At the end of the day, you have utterly corrupted her—trained her—in the ways that she (or anyone) had never imagined. You've absolutely ruined her for everyone else

You just. Need to remind her with a LOT of torture 🥰 break this supposed monster all over again, make her remember just who, exactly, tamed her 🥰🥰🥰

Whether it's by stuffing her with so many toys all in the lowest settings or absolutely filling her up over and over and over and OVER until all traces of the angel-like Harbinger is completely fucked out of her mind 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[thesassypadawan]

Distracted (Master Anakin x PadawanFemReader)

Summary: During a sparring match with your master, you get just a little distracted.

Warnings: 18+, because all the lovely smut. Size difference, age gap (about 20 years), and Ani’s magic fingers. Padawan reader is of age.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber. “All right, padawan of mine, why don’t you show me what you got,” he said with a sly smirk.

“With pleasure, master,” you practically purred, igniting your own.

It was hours ago that Ani and you had started your friendly sparring match. You were both panting and sweating, you more so than him. And, despite the feeling of exhaustion setting in, you continued to dodge his attacks. Striking at every possible opportunity, even though your arms were growing heavy.

Pausing for a moment, you stared intensely into each other’s eyes. Sensing his own fatigue, you boldly go in for a feint attack. Thinking you would be able to finally finish him off and end this. “It’s over, old man!”

But Anakin being Anakin… With a powerful pull from the force, your saber was torn from your hand and sent sailing across the empty training room. Effectively catching you off guard and allowing him to easily pin you to the mat.

“Care to say that again?” He playfully scolded, a look of satisfaction on his handsome face. One of his big hands wrapped around your wrists, the other with a firm grip on your hip.

“Get off me,” you whined, wriggling beneath him. “You’re too heavy, you’re squishing me.”

Leaning down, he teasingly brushed his lips against yours. “Only when you address me properly, little one.”

You wanted to kiss him back so badly, but the chance to give him a taste of his own medicine was too great. And Ani always said that you should use every opening to your full advantage. “Fine,” you pouted. “Get off me…daddy.”

That certain spark flashed in his eyes. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he chuckled, beginning to shift his weight off you. “Now, let’s go-”

With the combination of a swift movement of your limbs and a quick summoning of the force, you turned the tide. “Losing your touch?” You asked coyly, enjoying the sight of his large form sprawled out under you.

“You think so?” Anakin muttered, running his hands up and down your thighs. “Guess, I’ll just have to show you how wrong you are.” He emphasized his point by cupping and squeezing your breast tenderly.

A soft whimper escaped you as you felt the warmth build between your legs. Craving more, you began to slowly grind yourself against his very hard and very prominent bulge. “Daddy…”

“Naughty girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips upwards. “I should punish you for such behavior, but I think I’ll reward you instead.”

In an instant, you found yourself pinned once more. His organic hand resting on your needy pussy. Rubbing it gently, making you squirm and mewl desperately. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He skillfully slipped his hand under your skirt and past your lacey underwear, fingers brushing against your clit. “I’m going to take real good care of you.”

Shivering at his touch, you let out a loud moan. That was quickly silenced with a searing kiss. “Sshhh, got to be quiet…don’t want the whole temple to hear you scream like that.”

Part of you really could care less. In fact, the very thought of someone discovering the two of you like this excited you even more. But you were daddy’s little girl, and you didn’t dare to disappoint. “Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my sweet baby,” Ani cooed, sliding a finger into your sopping cunt. “Unless…” He slowly began to pump in and out. “You do want everyone to know that you belong to me…”

Another thick digit and you were practically a writhing, hot mess. Gripping tightly to his broad shoulders, clawing at him frantically as you bit down on your lip.

“And only me,” he growled, the sound deep and husky. All the while curling his fingers teasingly against that wonderful spot deep inside of you. Trying to make you cry out as his pace quickened.

It was all so blissfully overwhelming and yet you still hungered for… “More,” you whispered, gazing up into his blue eyes pleadingly. “I need more.”

“More, huh?” He added a third finger, his thumb pressing down and rubbing small circles on your neglected nub. “All right, whatever my little girl wants…she gets.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you were so deliciously stretched. The burning ache made you clench around his digits, your release so painfully close. “Da-Daddy, m-may I…”

“Cum?” Anakin sped up more; his gloved hand covering your mouth, anticipating what would happen next. “Yes, you may…cum.”

Pounding hard into you one last time, he drove his fingers even deeper. Your back arched off the ground and your vison filled with stars. Your cries muffled as wave after wave of raw pleasure crashed over you.

Once your breathing returned to normal, he removed his hand from your mouth and his fingers from your warm pussy. Groaning as he licked them clean of your slick. “Come on, angel baby,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go finish this match in our quarters.”

“But, Skydaddy,” you huffed. “I want you right here…right now.”

Scooping you up off the ground, he effortlessly tucked you under one arm. While using the force to bring both sabers to his free hand. “Hey, now,” he swatted your butt with them. “None of that sassiness or else you’ll get a good spanking.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he really was. “Promise?” You giggled, smiling up at him.

A wide grin crossed Ani’s face and he gave you another swat. “Yeah…I promise.”

[moonselune]

Mizora x Reader | Flirt.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Elfson Tavern is buzzing with life tonight, and you find yourself at the center of it all, a drink in hand, surrounded by a crowd of new friends and curious faces. The evening had unfolded with easy laughter and a touch of reckless abandon; it was one of those nights where your worries felt like faraway troubles, and the warmth of the tavern seemed to melt away any need for caution or restraint.

And yet, it seems Mizora has other plans.

She had, you thought, been nothing more than a passing pleasure—someone you’d enjoyed in the way you’d enjoy a rare wine, something heady and intense but ultimately fleeting. She’d seemed satisfied enough by that arrangement too, always aloof, quick with a coy smile or a snide remark before vanishing into thin air. But tonight, there’s an energy about her that surprises you.

She’s watching from the shadows at first, lingering by the door with a glare sharper than any blade, and when she finally approaches, it’s with a determined stride and eyes fixed only on you. Her heels click sharply on the wooden floor, the sound slicing through the laughter and chatter. You assume she's put on her human guise for everyone else to see, her devilish form reserved only for you.

“Having fun, are we?” Her voice is a low, sardonic murmur as she stands before you, gaze icy and arms crossed.

"Always," you reply, flashing her a casual smile as you lean back in your seat, undeterred by her obvious irritation. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.”

Her eyes narrow, and there’s a glint of something—resentment, maybe jealousy?—beneath her icy exterior. She scoffs, though it doesn’t quite mask the tension in her posture.

“There is a city to save, or did you forget?” she says, voice laced with disdain.

You shrug, smirking slightly. “Right now, there’s only one thing I’m interested in saving.” You raise your glass with a faint toast, letting your eyes sweep the now-quiet tavern. "Unless, you are jealous, Mizora?”

She clenches her jaw, her grip tightening around her arms. And then, with a snap of her fingers, the tavern shifts. Every patron, every distant laugh, every clinking glass, vanishes in an instant, leaving only the two of you surrounded by silence and the ghostly remnants of revelry.

“Much better,” she remarks, though her voice trembles slightly with suppressed anger. “Now, go back upstairs and rest, quick-quick. We can’t have our hero too worn out, can we? Wyll's only a pup, after all, we cannot solely rely on him and my benevolent generosity.”

But you merely raise an eyebrow, leaning in with a sly smile. You can see her wings twitching to wrap around you.

“Who’s giving the orders here, Mizora?” you say, voice soft, challenging. “I thought you came for a good time, not to ruin one.”

She stiffens, clearly unaccustomed to being defied. Her eyes flash, that burning ember of control she clings to so tightly flickering, just for a moment, as she tries to gather herself. But you’ve already closed the distance between you, your voice a low, provocative murmur as you run a finger across her sharp jawline, to then brush your hand against her cheek.

Then, with a surge of boldness, you pull her into a deep kiss. It’s a searing, fervent touch, catching her completely off-guard. For a heartbeat, she goes utterly still, hands clinging to your shoulders as if she’s torn between pulling away and giving in. But when you pull back, her face is flushed, her eyes wide and her confidence faltering.

“M-Mind yourself,” she stammers, attempting to recover. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, a soft chuckle escaping as you gaze at her, meeting her flushed cheeks with a faint smile. “Then why did you come, Mizora?”

A flicker of doubt crosses her face, and she averts her gaze, struggling to maintain her usual composure. There’s something vulnerable, almost unguarded, in the way she grips your arms, her claws sinking into your sleeves as if grounding herself.

“You’re so easy, mortal” she mutters, though her voice betrays her. “Just because I humor you once or twice, you think—”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Mizora.” You reach up, tucking a stray lock of her crimson hair behind her ear. “You’re here because you want this.”

Mizora’s eyes glint with a dangerous flicker, her attempt to remain aloof slipping as you brush your fingers along her jaw, pulling her back into your hold. Her composure begins to fracture, and as your lips meet hers again, she melts, her control unraveling beneath the kiss. Her sharp nails press into your arms, her attempts at resistance weakening as she gives way to the passion simmering between you.

As your mouth trails from her lips to her throat, you can feel her breath catch, her frame tense against you before she lets out a quiet, unbidden moan. And just when you feel her giving in entirely, you pull away, stepping back with a smirk as you take in her disheveled appearance: flushed cheeks, parted lips, a look of intense frustration and want in her gaze. Her composed, icy exterior is now thoroughly cracked, her frustration evident in the way she clenches her hands into fists, biting back a snarl.

"Why did you stop?" she snaps, her voice edged with annoyance as she glares at you, her lips still tinged with that reluctant, almost guilty pleasure. “Getting cold feet, mortal?”

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you give her an unimpressed once-over.

“If you want more, come here,” you reply calmly, challenging her with an unwavering stare, arms folded as you lean against the bar. Mizora’s jaw tightens at your demand, her wings flaring slightly as she wrestles with the audacity of being ordered around. Her pride wars with her desire, and the anger in her gaze falters, replaced by something darker, almost needy.

For a moment, she seems on the verge of refusing, her lips pressed into a defiant line. But that inner struggle lasts only a moment before she lets out a begrudging, irate huff, taking a step toward you, heels clicking as she closes the distance with a sharp glare.

“You’re insufferable,” she mutters, but there’s no venom in her tone, only the reluctant vulnerability she’s trying so hard to hide.

“Good,” you murmur, pulling her close with a firm grip, letting your fingers slide along the curve of her waist. You press her back against the bar, savoring the way her breath hitches, her usual elegance now a flickering ember in the intensity of the moment. The confidence she usually holds so firmly has slipped, replaced by a begrudging surrender, her sharp nails finding purchase against your back as she lets out a low, breathless sigh.

Your hands explore her with the same deliberate pace, fingertips trailing over the delicate points of her wings, tracing the sharp curve of her horns as she arches into your touch. Her protests melt into the air as your lips find her throat again, tasting the warmth of her skin, drawing out the kind of sigh that she’d likely deny to anyone else. She shifts under you, caught between irritation and desire, muttering insults in a breathy, strained voice as her control continues to slip, each word softened by the needy edge to her tone.

“You think you’re so clever,” she gasps, her voice a defiant whisper, fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, her wings twitching in a last attempt at resistance. "An audacious, insolent—”

But her words dissolve into a moan as your hands move lower, each touch calculated to keep her at the edge, to tease her into letting go of the last shred of her dignity. Her usual snide remarks falter, her scathing tone softening as you press her against the bar, bringing her to the edge of her restraint, making her feel every moment of her own desire. And when you finally close the distance between you, Mizora is forced to admit to herself that, for all her pride, she wants this more than she’d ever admit aloud.

For all her power, her deadly confidence, Mizora shudders beneath you, gasping as you press her into the bar, showing her exactly who’s in control. The air between you is charged, and she has no choice but to submit, even if only for a moment. With each touch, each kiss, you leave her less composed, less certain, and when she finally gasps your name, it’s almost a plea, her voice heavy with need.

You smile against her lips, your own satisfaction mingling with the thrill of seeing her pride reduced to this—reduced to the very pleasure she’s been so determined to deny. And as you pull back to meet her eyes, the flicker of surrender in her gaze is unmistakable. For tonight, at least, she is no longer the proud haughty cambion, but a quivering mess beneath you. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

She's here ladies, gaydies and theydies; just a little snippet to keep y'all fed. And I had a Mizora brainworm that was just taking over my life. Hope you guys enjoyed it and I may do more of these spontaneously but I will not be taking any Mizora requests until the inbox is open - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[botnasty]

Miguel O'Hara X reader

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara X Reader

Summary: You've finally moved on from the man, but did he?

Words: 1,3k

Warning: Angst, mention of miscarriage, big intimidating man, it's just sad people.

Note: Thank you so much character Ai for giving me the idea. Go check out @ fairybaby on c.AI. Also please do tell if I am missing some warnings^^

MAIN MASTERLIST

Please DNI if you are under 18! This is an 18+ blog!

Also, please don’t steal my work, on any other platform, unless you have my authorisation

It happened so fast. One moment you were kissing your new boyfriend goody-bye and the other you had a big scary spider in your living room. Well, a “wanna-be-scary" spider, because that man was your ex-boyfriend.

You sighed removing the high heels you wore to that date. “What are you doing here, Miguel?” When he said nothing, you scoffed. “Can you even have the decency to remove your mark? It’s not like I don’t know your secret.”

“You left your window unlocked.” He said in that deep voice of his that used to make you melt on the spot. He removed his mask, His eyes were glaring at you. He looked the same as the last time you had seen him, which kinda made you sad. You thought that the break up would affect him as much as it did you, but you should’ve guessed. Nothing fazed Miguel O’Hara except for his Spider business. “How many times have I told you to lock it?” You rolled your eyes, but said nothing. instead you stepped closer to him and looked straight in his eyes, something not a lot of people were able to do from how muscular, tall and intimidating the man was.

“You already found another boyfriend?” Miguel asks, there’s almost a sneer on his face. “You can’t even handle being single for a month.”

He doesn’t even mean what he’s saying, but he hates seeing you move on. Miguel’s self-aware enough to know he’s in the wrong. He wasn’t a good boyfriend. That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to move on, though. Isn’t it obvious he still wants you? Why do you need some other guy? Just come crawling back to him like you always do.

You took a step back, fighting the glare of the man with our own. “You are not my boyfriend anymore. You can’t dictate what I do in life.”

When he hears that, Miguel has to bite back a snarl. He's livid that she's not giving an inch - he's not used to that. He's always been able to be the dominant one in the relationship.

"Sure, sure. Fine," his tone is cold and bitter. "Do whatever you want."

“Yes, I will. Good bye, Miguel. Please close the door once you’ve left.” You turned around and started to walk to go get a drink. You were in deep need of one after seeing him.

“Come home.”

‘No.”

He hates this so much. He doesn't want to be the one to lose control, but it's happening anyway. And it's all his own fault. Miguel can feel himself start to boil with rage. His fingers flex as his fists clench.

As you turn to walk away, Miguel grabs your wrist, spinning you around. With a sneer on his face, he glares down at you. "I told you to come home. I am not a man who begs, so just do what I say. And come back home with me."

You tugged your arm off his hold. “And I told you that I don’t belong to you anymore. You can’t control me Miguel. I’m not like all those other Spider people you can just control around to do whatever you like. I am my own person and that is why we aren’t together anymore; because you only see me as this doll for you to manipulate.”

His head snaps back a little bit as you yank your arm away, but he doesn't let go and instead he steps forward, his eyes blazing. Miguel's never been in this situation before - losing control to someone other than himself. His hands wrap around your wrists with a painful grip as he glares down at you.

"You think you're better than them?" He growls. "You're nothing but a pathetic human, and you belong with me."

“You’re hurting me.” Your eyes started to get glazed with tears. Your wrist hurting from his powerful hold and by his claw digging into your skins.

Miguel's eyes widen when he realizes he's hurting her. He lets go and steps back, taking a second to regain himself and calm his temper. "I'm sorry." He says, but he doesn't know if he really means it, or if he's just trying to be a good person.

You rubbed your now slightly bruised wrist, trying to soothe the hurt. Fury and pain were clashing inside of you. You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or slap the man for having the audacity. “I know you aren’t, Miguel. Please leave me alone. This is the exact reason I broke up with you.”

"You broke up with me because I get angry easily?" Miguel repeats, with a scoff. "That's ridiculous." He steps back to cross his arms across his chest, glaring down at you. "You just don't like people standing up to you - and I was the only one who did."

“You call that standing up to me? I call this abuse and over-protectiveness. You weren’t in love with me Miguel. You just liked knowing you had someone you could control.” Your eyes were frantically looking in between his brown one you used to love staring at in the morning.

Your words sting. Miguel winces, taking a few seconds to let out a frustrated growl. His head snaps back for a second before he takes a deep breath. His tone is calm, but cold, "I did love you."

"You just never let me prove it."

“I gave you plenty of chances, Miguel. And every time… you just proved me the opposite. Where were you when I had my miscarriage? Where were you when I needed you the most? You were just out there being Spider-Man, Miguel.” Tears were now flowing down your eyes.

He knows you are right, but part of him doesn't want to admit it. Miguel felt his temper start to boil again, his eyes narrowed in anger.

"That's what I had to do," he growled, defensively. "I have responsibilities. I couldn't be there for you."

Miguel knew he was wrong. He was terrible to you. But that didn't mean it was easy to admit that she deserved more.

“You are right. That is what you need to do… Spider-man has taken a big part of your life, Miguel. I don’t see where I fit in anymore.”

You sighed. “I'm done with this conversation. Good bye, Miguel.” You pointed at your door.

He's left with two options at this point: he can either let you leave, and face the reality that he's lost control over you... Or he can try to stop you, and maybe, somehow, get you back. And that's the option he chooses. The more he thinks about it, the more it seems like he can't stand the thought of walking out of that door.

"Wait!" he calls out, stepping towards you. "Can I- We can talk about this-"

‘No, Miguel. There is nothing to talk about this. Please.” You placed a hand on his biceps with a sad smile. “If you love me like you say you do… let me go. Let me be happy.”

He wants to argue, but he knows she's right: he can't keep her against her will. You have good reason to leave him - and you really want to.

Miguel lets out a pained sigh and steps back, crossing his arms across his chest. "Fine." He says, in a bitter tone. "Do whatever you want. Just... take care of yourself." He's obviously holding a lot back - he wanted to tell you everything - but he's not going to force you to listen.

“Thank you… this is goodbye, Miguel. And don’t worry, your secret is safe. Take good care of yourself.” You smiled at him one last time then opened the door and left.

Miguel watched her go for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest, before sighing and burying his head in his hands, a mix of emotions running rampant through him as he contemplates what's just happened.

After a while, he sighed, and looked to the open door, looking out into the city that he's spent so little time in these days. He knew that, if he didn't want to lose her... He had to make some changes.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Bleach

Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel wakes up in the middle of the night... not that he actually feel asleep to begin with.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral!reader, allusions/depictions of joel's sleep problems (insomnia, apnea, nightmares), hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: ??? i was writing off tangent again???? so much so that i couldnt finish the fic and had to restart ???? help me T_T Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

Joel always restarted his count at a hundred.

58, 59, 60...

He probably counted to a hundred a hundred times by now. He rubs his cheek against your chest. His bad ear beholds the thump behind your ribs.

If it wasn't official hours ago, it was official now. He couldn't fucking sleep.

Normally, he would fall asleep to your humming and hair combing. It worked like a charm, normally. But then again, normal and he were long strangers. He was best friends with fucked-up and hard though.

Joel sighed, pulling his head up to look at your face. Your face. His person's face. His person. The hand you tucked in his hair spilled to the side, brushing haphazardly on his cheek.

He presses his palm atop of your fingers as he shifted. He cups your hand cause it was holy. He brings his nose to the crook of your neck and sprawls over you, sealing you beneath him, arm coming around your form.

He rubs his cheek against your skin but then he stops himself when he remembers your complaints about beard burn.

He sighs, mentally noting he had to shave; he had to shave, he had to shave, he had to shave for you.

He purses his lips at the memory, the sound of you laughing, telling him you didn't actually want him to loose the facial hair; you like him like that, how ever he let you have him. You told him you only tell him to shave cause you know he'd never remember to actually do it, i.e., to grind his gears.

Joel doesn't have a bad memory. He knows he doesn't have memory problems. It's just that he doesn't care enough to remember something like that, to shave. And maybe that was a problem.

He freezes when you stir beneath him. He holds himself up as you push deeper beneath him, limbs wrapping around his body. He grunts then holds his breath as you maneuver the way you did every night like clockwork, clawing at him like he was a teddy bear, a big ol' teddy, cradled close to heart, close to your pulse, between your arms and your legs.

He relaxes after you still. Slowly, he allows himself to shift his body weight all the way down on you. He moves slowly, hands gripping your thighs as he made himself comfortable, flush on your form.

"Joel."

He is instantly stone.

He doesn't speak.

He waits.

He waits for you to continue, to say something.

He slowly lifts his head up and looks at you.

Your lashes are pressed together, your lips, so very slightly parted, your nose pointed to his, still, just like the rest of your body. You were very much asleep; you had just called out to him in your dreams again.

He gently shimmies down and sinks his face in the crook of your neck. He takes in your scent and lulls himself with you. He peppers kisses on your skin, mostly for himself.

Himself. He smells himself on you. He smells the bleach you used to get the blood stains off his shirt. Joel told you not to bother. It was a shirt, just another shirt. There were many more shirts. He didn't care at all for this one. But now-

He reaches out to your cheek and kisses your jaw.

-now it was special. Now, it was sacred. Now, he couldn't wear it unless he knew he wouldn't get it filthy. Now, he wore it like as his Sunday's best, though it was a beaten up grey tee from an obscene college that he knew nothing of. It hadn't even fit him well when he found it--it was too tight-- but after over-wearing it, it fit him like a glove, then it didn't fit him properly at all.

He wonders if he'll wear you out like his t-shirt, if one day he catches you frayed and tired, all cause of him. All cause of him.

You deserved better. You deserved so much better than him. You had light behind your eyes. You had hope. You still cared.

And he?

He was himself. He was Joel. He was tired. He was angry. He was cynical. He was him. Before and after the world had gone to shit.

You deserved better.

"Joel?"

He sighs at the soft sound that escaped your lips. He closes his eyes and brushes his nose against you.

He wonders what you dream about when you call his name. He wonders if he makes you laugh, makes you feel good, or if he just screams and bosses you around. He didn't mean to be so jagged. He doesn't mean to be so rough. He enjoys it about as much as you do; you don't. He can't help himself though. It's better this way. It keeps you both alive. It keeps him-

"Joel, how long have you been awake?"

Joel freezes.

You shift beneath him. He feels you look at him.

"Joel," you croon, rubbing his cheek with your thumb.

He keeps his eyes closed. He stays still. He can stay still. He can fake it.

"I know you're awake," you mutter, moving your hand, placing it on his, "you're rubbing my side."

Joel's hand stops moving.

You sigh, leaning in to kiss his head, "you should have woken me up."

Joel is tempted to retort. He doesn't.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

Nothing. He says nothing.

You tighten your arms and legs around him. You dig your fingers into the roots of his hair. Usually, this made him burn, this made his insides rage, he saw it as a challenge, a challenge he so greedily was receptive to in his desire to break you against him. It was his trigger, his go signal. And yet tonight he just wants to keep you close, to keep you in place, to record the beats of your heart in his head.

"If you want me to believe you're asleep, you should have started snoring."

Joel sighs. "I don't snore."

He can hear your smile. He can see it exactly in his mind.

"How would you know that?"

"I know I don't cause you keep moving me in bed."

Joel's body vibrates with your chuckle. He feels the smallest of smiles creep unto his lips.

"You snore really bad," you add.

"Maybe for a few seconds," he mumbles.

He feels himself begin to go drowsy. Your giggles cease.

"You want me to sing for y-"

"I'm fine," he mutters tersely, "don't worry about me."

He feels you shift to get a better look at him. He denies you this and holds you back. He is selfish, he wants to keep you close. He is scared, he doesn't want you to see how desperate for sleep he must look.

He don't fight him. He is glad for it. He feels you relax beneath him. You rub his back. You sigh, "I'm always worried about you."

Joel breathes deeply, "you shouldn't be."

"I want to be."

He finally opens his eyes, "you want to be?"

"Mmm."

"Who in hell wants to be worried?"

You draw stars on his back. You want to tell him he's your north star. You don't. He'll fall into his self-loathing. You wish he'd stop doing that. So, instead you say, "because I love you, you dummy."

You don't receive a response.

But Joel heard it. He hears it. He knows it. He doesn't acknowledge it. He never does. He never will. Not right now, very much not right now.

You don't mind. You know his heart. You love his heart, though he tries so hard to hide it from you.

A long moment of silence passes. It lasts so long that he thinks you're asleep, but you're not; you're drawing on his back, soothing him with it like you always do.

Joel begins to count again.

1, 2, 3...

"You know I dreamt we were abducted by aliens. Like the ones with Sigourney Weaver."

"Aliens?"

"Mmm."

"..."

"..."

"What'd I do?"

You snort, "what do you think? You killed them all."

"..."

"Then we banged."

"Heh."

You rub your face against his, "you wanna know a secret?"

Joel closes his eyes, "tell me."

"I wish you gave yourself more credit."

He slowly draws his eyes open.

"You're temperamental, scary, and mean, and you're well-abled, strong, and capable, but it's okay if sometimes you're patient, pleasant, and kind, and if you're hurt, weak, and struggling," you link your hands together over his back, "doesn't make you any less, doesn't make Joel any less Joel."

He lets his eyelids fall.

You close your eyes and listen to his breathing.

He counts your pulses.

He was really sleepy now.

"Worrying makes us human," you mutter, "let me worry about you the way you worry about me."

Joel wants to disagree. He wants to tell you not to worry or else you'll go gray like him. He doesn't though. He knows it pointless. And he knows he'll never win. Not against you.

Okay, he says in his head, you win.

... at least tonight.

[cherubispunk]

BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry. 

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.  

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses. 

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness. 

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?” 

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you. 

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him. 

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!” 

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence. 

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second. 

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first. 

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger. 

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt. 

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long. 

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly. 

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink. 

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance. 

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet. 

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed. 

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again. 

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure. 

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile. 

“What?” 

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question. 

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again. 

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out. 

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down. 

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night. 

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him. 

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red. 

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease. 

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash." 

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance. 

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you. 

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you." 

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further. 

“You keep doing that.” 

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste. 

“I’m not following.” 

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?” 

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.” 

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal. 

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.” 

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies. 

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.” 

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide. 

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss. 

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness. 

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.  

“Yeah.” 

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs. 

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you. 

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.  

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive. 

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath. 

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..” 

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm. 

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes.  The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts. 

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind. 

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence. 

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been. 

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝕾𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖊

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This one, I have mixed feelings about.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.

𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊: I do NOT condone these actions. The process of these actions or the after effects of these actions. Read these types of story’s advisedly.

TW // SMUT/NSFW, Noncon, Biting/Marking, Cervix, Mating Press, Overstimulation, Body Horror, Death, Yandere Themes, Jumps Straight Into It.

|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

You cry out, sobbing into the sheets. Your hands gripping and twisting the silky fabric. The scent of woody amber choking you as your body bounces at his harsh thrusts. His hands on your waist pinning you in place.

“Xa’Vor! Please!” You beg at the captain in front you, attempting to stop or at least slow his brutal pace with your hand. Your fingers barely skimming his scarred thigh before he growls out. Taking your hand in one of his that gripped around your waist and pinning it above you, his sweaty, scarred chest pressing up against your breasts.

“No pleas will save you from your foolishness.” Xa’Vor snarls into your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck unwillingly picking up at his dark tone. His fingers threading through your own above you. Keeping you pinned in both places.

“I-I had to!” You whined, trying to reason your own “foolishness.” Whimpering out when he snarls again and pistons back through your burning walls. Your jaw clenching at the overwhelming pleasure and pain that he gives you. “I-can’t be bonded t-to you!”

He snarls again, giving you a hard thrust up against your cervix while you cry out. Your back arching into his chest. Your body shaking with tears running down your cheeks as you whimper at his tone. “You are in no position to spill such ill judgement. I am your bonded. Don’t reject that from me.”

Your eyebrows scrunch up in pain and pleasure. One of your hands clawing at Xa’vors hand that pinned it down. No doubt creating some pressure marks into his calloused fingers while your other hands grips and pulls at his bed sheets. Your moans and whimpers of pain being suffocated by his own mouth.

You haven’t meant to find these… legionnaires on your way to complete a mission. It was never the goal, the intention. It was never to have happened. To be bonded to an Astartes. It was a very strict rule.

‘Never have a bond.’

That was one of the many rules of the foundation. Said it was to even the “playing field” of war and operations and it was correct. There wasn’t a time where there was an Astartes in the way, cutting people down like “grates of cheese” the commander had put it. It made it much easier to get your tasks done without the influence of a Space Marine, Chaos or Loyalist.

‘If you find yourself with a Space Marine that wants to be close, leave them. Break that bond. Even if it’s not a bond, you are not to be around any Astartes.’

You remember what your instructor would say. Permitting many to never even look at a Space Marine unless suspicious of them of having a bond with you. That was the only time the people were permitted to look in the direction of a Space Marine. Other times they were just training with one another or simply being tasked with going out and surveying the area and people.

They were not to look back either, but it was incredibly hard to do so with a whole warband, 5 to be more precise.

No one knew where they had come from then. Possibly too focused on getting the mission done quickly. Their black, armored body’s launching out of the thick fog like some sort of phantom. Their talon-like gauntlets extending out as they roared out. Spooking the rest of the group when they turned to looked at their fellow soldier that was once alive. Their body being impaled onto the metal talons of the Space Marine, making many realize why they didn’t want us to be bonded to one.

Their power is unfair.

You saw the group being slaughtered that day with unnatural ease. Their limbs splayed all around you, still fresh off the torso. Some even being ripped into half by the waist and ribs, guts still pumping near the body or up in a dead tree. It was an experience you did not wish you were in, even for an enemy. It was like stalking through a horror forest; still does. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where they would come from, but they certainly can. That part was very clear.

You look away for one second and suddenly the person protecting your back is gone. Their gasping screams being the only thing you can hear out in the distance before their body would plop right in front of you. The face of deathly fear stoned onto all their features. Their limbs somewhere else as they would bleed out from where the limb was ripped from, despite being already dead.

‘If you find yourself trapped; cornered. Sacrifice is your only way out. Do not attempt to talk. Explode yourself. Leave no meat left to provide of yourself.’

You remember another saying from the instructor. Your hand quickly digging through your vest for the grenade while you took very quick, but cautious steps around you. Your eyes looking all around you for anything that didn't seem normal in this damned forest. Your heart beating in your chest as the same sentence replayed in your mind.

'Explode yourself.' 'Explode yourself.' 'Explode yourself.' 'Sacrifice is your only way out.' 'Leave no meat left to provide.'

Your gaze focuses on the big shadow emerging from the fog with a low growl. Your hand gripping onto the grenade in your vest and pulling it out, fingers threating it to pull the pin when the rest of the group decides to show themselves, surrounding you with their own warning growls. Their talons twitching in anticipation.

Keeping a close eye on them. You watched as they circled you, making you really feel like you were being hunted and played with. Your fingers itching to just pull the pin, but you were not going to unless you could take at least one down with you or maybe they can leave you alone and let you continue your mission.

The smaller one suddenly shoots forward, your fingers instantly pulling the pin, taking a step back. Your body falling back in effort to keep the grenade close to your body when the Space Marine pins you down to the ground and snatches the grenade and throws the grenade off somewhere else.

You give your own growls and snarls at the Space Marine while he has you down. Sudden dread being washed onto your shoulders. Your hands struggling to get anything through his black armor, cutting them on the sharp edges of his armor as the grenade explodes somewhere off in the distance. Your desperation to get out of his hold growing.

“Your thoughts are elsewhere. Bring them back to me.” Xa’vor growls. Moving his hand from your waist to thread and grip at your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your neck to him.

“I’ll r-reject you as I please.” You growl out between your pitiful moans. Pissed from the memory of your team being killed around you. Pissed that you couldn’t escape their grasp once more. Having to be pinned underneath their bodies like a whore.

“You’re boldness is—”

“Reasonable, you think I could care for you?” You snap, your eyes looking down into his own and seeing the hurt in his deep red eyes, his hips stilling. “I do not care. I am simply to complete a mission, that is all. I’m not here to care, to provide, to love.”

“I’ll never be bonded to you or the others. Not you, not Atherth, not Vai’ssir, Zervos or Xekon—!”

You suddenly choke on your own breath, your head being pulling back to its limit. His teeth dangerously latched very close to the soft part of your neck, drawing blood as his cock pushes up painfully up against your cervix before dragging all the way back out and all the way in again. His arms wrapping around your body tightly, trapping you to him, putting you in a type of mating press. His hand still holding your hair in place.

Breathless moans leave your mouth as his pace is absolutely brutal, hitting up against your cervix every time. Numbing your legs with each deep, quick thrust. Savage growls hissing through his teeth as he inches them more into your skin. Feeling like daggers were being stabbed all over your body. You couldn’t tell if you should breathe or scream out at such brutality.

You couldn’t even tell when his stilled inside of you. All your nerves too focused on the pain sprouting all over your body like fire. You could only hear as he groans and growls. His hips rolling out his climax as far as he could. His seed marking your fluttering walls and dripping down his cock and balls, onto the bed sheets.

“That’s is not your choice to make.” Xa’vor quietly rumbles, carefully taking his teeth out of your shoulder as you twitch at the feeling. His tongue lapping up all the blood he has smeared across your chest and his sheets. “No matter how long you refuse our bond.”

“You are still ours. I will make sure of that.” He states; promises. Slowly dragging his cock out of your walls with a groan and a whisper in his language.

“X-Xa’Vor.” You whine at him in pain at the movement of anything. Body prickling in overstimulation as he purrs at you, trying to put you at ease. His head gently nuzzling into your neck.

“No matter what it will cost me.”

[voxofthevoid]

Time for Role Reversal Fem!Goyuu Wednesday #3 📢

Shocker of shockers, the chapter count has climbed from 7 to 8, though admittedly because I added a new scene in between. I'm currently a few hundred words away from the end of Chapter 4, and the full fic has crossed 26k. I continue to need to take breaks between writing to wank.

Now, who wants gratuitous pussy shenanigans? You, I hope.

It takes Satoru several seconds to realize that the heavy breathing echoing in her ears is her own, her lips parted and her chest heaving around every breath. Sweat slicks her skin, the worst of it down her spine and under her arms and inside her thighs. It’s a simmering blend of warmth and heat, growing claws and teeth with every passing second.

Her cunt grows wet too.

The Six Eyes let her cheat; Satoru looks down at her exposed crotch without breaking eye contact with Yuuji.

It backfires.

The satin strip covering her cunt has darkened, unmistakably damp. Yuuji can’t not have seen it. Her secondary eyes haven’t wavered from Satoru’s little show, and they don’t show anything, their shape and position too much to the left of human to emote in any way Satoru can understand, but they’re red, the lurid color of freshly spilled blood, and that’s telling enough, isn’t it?

“You’re panting like a dog,” Yuuji says suddenly.

Satoru jolts in place. “Sensei!”

“Making a mess like one too,” Yuuji continues, and there’s nothing mocking or even mean about her tone, only amusement bordering on indulgence—familiar and a thousand times more devastating for it.

“You can’t—” Satoru bites her tongue, cutting off that shrill protest. She drags in a deep breath and lets it out slow, and it costs her, her lungs burning like they’ll shrivel unless all the oxygen in the room is shoveled into them, but Satoru does it again and then one more time, till she’s reasonably sure she can speak without sounding like a clown. “Yuuji, you can’t just say this shit.”

“I can’t do a lot of things, according to you,” comes the placid response. “Seems hypocritical, again, but we’re working on that, aren’t we, Satoru-chan?”

“Are we,” Satoru says flatly.

Yuuji’s eyes grow hooded, her smile growing soft and dangerous without wavering at all. “We will. For now, you have more to show me, don’t you?”

Satoru swallows wetly; her throat stays dry.

She can’t help looking at the door and the windows again, not even trying to hide the trajectory of her gaze. There’s nobody outside. She can’t hear anything. More importantly, she can’t sense anything, the closest pockets of cursed energy in a whole other wing of the building.

It’s not very reassuring.

Yuuji looks the same when Satoru’s eyes inevitably return to her, her expression that same placid patience and her posture that same lazy slouch. Everything about her screams she’ll stay there, just like that, for as long as it takes for Satoru to behave.

Satoru tries to call her bluff.

The seconds shudder into minutes.

Yuuji waits.

Satoru burns.

Her cunt throbs needily, more and more slick drenching the panties as if it’s trying to lure Yuuji in. Maybe it’s working, with the way Yuuji’s eyes don’t once waver from there, but the rest of Yuuji doesn’t waver either, so all her attention does is turn into heat waves inside Satoru’s veins, till her whole body is a thrumming ache, the core of it caught between her legs.

Satoru becomes aware of motion—her own arms, her own hands. She watches from somewhere far above as her hand uncurls from her skirt and reaches down between her legs. Her fingers feel thick and clumsy.

Lace grazes her little finger, sending a jolt up the whole arm. Satoru blinks, slamming back into herself.

She blinks down at her hand, curled in between her legs. Slowly, she grips the edge of her panties. It’s dry there, but she’s acutely aware of the wetness soaking the fabric only a few centimeters to the side.

She yanks it to the side, baring her pussy.

All of Yuuji swells with a deep, silent breath; she lets it out without a noise, every one of her eyes now fixed on Satoru’s cunt.

“Hungry little thing,” she murmurs, her voice husky in a way Satoru’s never heard. They make the words even filthier than they already are, and Satoru’s body reacts predictably, throbbing hot and wet. “I’ve only known one other woman so bold in her hunger.”

“Sukuna,” Satoru breathes. Her whole mouth is dry now, like all the moisture in her body has been pulled to one pulsing spot.

“Sukuna,” Yuuji confirms. “And I ate her alive. Should I eat you too, Satoru-chan?”

Satoru’s cunt clenches hard enough to send dirty heat bolting up her spine. “Please.”

In less than the blink of an eye, Yuuji’s there, her colossal body forcing Satoru’s legs wider apart to make space for itself, and Satoru barely has time to register the marked absence of the haori and the look on Yuuji’s face—the live, livid hunger—before there are hands on her hips, digging into her skin through her skirt as it yanks her to the edge of the chair, right into Yuuji’s waiting maw.

Satoru shouts, lightning tearing through her body.

Yuuji pushes her face more boldly into Satoru’s cunt, mouthing at her through the lace and satin, and it’s just heated air first, every breath soaking into the slick fabric there, but then there’s pressure, a bone-curling affair Satoru takes several long seconds to recognize as Yuuji’s tongue dragging over the wetness there. Satoru’s cunt obediently gushes some more, and Yuuji sucks.

A lewd slurping noise cuts through the silence, and then it’s drowned out by animal keening.

That’s me, Satoru thinks, dazed. I’m making that noise.

Yuuji licks upward, her mouth closing hotly over—

“Sensei!” Satoru cries out, her heels digging painfully into floor as her back snaps into an arch, and it doesn’t save her from Yuuji’s mouth on her clit, fresh heat soaking into it while she sucks on it through the fabric, and it’s like nothing Satoru’s ever felt—nothing like her hand, like Yuuji’s hand.

Pulsing pleasure consumes her, the verge of an eruption.

Satoru pulls on Yuuji’s hair, but that thick mane just swallows her fists like they’re nothing, and Yuuji pushes even more firmly into Satoru, her tongue digging into the clit like she’s trying to stab through the fabric, and it’s a scorching hell, the pressure and the motion of that muscle over torturous fabric, and then it’s gone and Yuuji’s sucking, her mouth a holy hell even through the wet fabric, and this time, Satoru arches into her mouth, as helpless and violent as the last time.

Teeth dig into her mound; dirty heat assaults her clit.

Satoru comes with Yuuji’s name mangled on her tongue, her whole body shuddering violently on the chair. Molten fissures crack her open, a rippling wave from gut to skull. Satoru’s hips keep moving even as she shudders and whines, pushing her cunt into Yuuji’s face, and there’s no real space for it, Yuuji still mouthing viciously at Satoru through the fabric, and that doesn’t stop even when Satoru does, the bite of pleasure growing a little too sharp, except that doesn’t spare her the mouth now again attached to her clit, the slick drenching the fabric there making it easy for the deft heat of Yuuji’s mouth to lance into those overworked nerves.

“S-sensei,” Satoru gasps, pulling on Yuuji’s hair, and it’s just as useless as before, all of it, and all Yuuji does is make a noise into Satoru’s cunt, wicked vibrations lashing through it. Satoru tries to pry her off, all desperate reflex, and then Yuuji’s sucking in earnest, coaxing the dying sparks of Satoru’s climax into a raging fire, and her leg kicks out, meeting empty air and somehow landing on Yuuji’s shoulder.

Yuuji only lifts Satoru’s hips to better assail her cunt.

The second orgasm feels like the furious ghost of the first, clawing open the same nerves to pour fire into them. Satoru chokes on a noise she didn’t even show she could make, some wet, wretched thing that echoes through the classroom.

Yuuji—

“Hurts,” Satoru whimpers, too sensitive to give a fuck about pride or shame. “Sensei, please, it’s—”

Yuuji draws back, her mouth detaching from Satoru’s cunt without ceremony. The eyes that peer up at Satoru are a devouring dark, plain brown and ringed red both dominated by their pupils, and Yuuji’s mouth is wet, her lips gleaming a dirty pink, and Satoru doesn’t whether it’s spit or slick or both, and it doesn’t matter because her body reacts with another wave of wetness, which soaks her already throbbing cunt.

Her panties feel like a fucking swamp.

“I’ve been wondering,” Yuuji says, her voice all gravel, “if you’d be sweet all over.”

Satoru’s soul makes a spirited attempt to exit her body. “Yuuji.”

Yuuji licks her lips, and her eyes slide down Satoru’s body, lingering on her heaving chest for a moment before settling on the filthy wet flesh right in front of her face, and then she licks her lips again, a slow, deliberate gesture that Satoru feels somewhere deep.

“No,” she says weakly, yanking uselessly at Yuuji’s hair. “Don’t even think—”

Yuuji peels her panties to the side, leaning in close so her breath falls hot on Satoru’s cunt.

Satoru freezes, a whimper and worse stuck in her throat.

Yuuji closes her eyes and breathes in.

Satoru discovers new dimensions of embarrassment.

“Sensei!” she snaps. “The hell are you doing?!”

“Can’t I savor you?” Yuuji asks, her voice dangerously soft, not just because of the tone but also because it’s so close to Satoru’s cunt, every word a heated huff against those throbbing folds. “You’re very delicious, Satoru-chan.”

Satoru strangles another pathetic whine. “S-shut up, just—”

Yuuji laps at her, with enough space between her mouth and Satoru’s cunt for Satoru see the gleaming pink tongue that drags through her folds, wet against wet.

The sensation hits a second later, like Satoru’s mind was trying to protect her.

“Oh,” she gasps, every cell in her body narrowing down to her cunt—to Yuuji’s mouth on her bare cunt. “Oh, fuck.”