#would you blush if I trembled real hard

[chansdoll]

필릭스 ─── hands on me

[ ⟡ ] ── NSFW, MDNI!  ✁ tattoo artist!felix x afab!reader , sliiight buildup , oral (f. rec) , unprotected p in v (don't be silly) this was a request ♡ i hope you like it ! ♡ masterlist

smut below the cut - minors gtfo.

it wasn't your first tattoo, but it was your first time going to this shop. 

what made it nerve-wracking was the fact that your tattoo artist, felix, was absolutely stunning. you had heard about him through a friend, and now, seeing him in person, it was impossible not to feel a little flustered.

felix was everything you imagined—and then some. his black hair, slightly tousled, framed a face that could've been carved by a master sculptor. the tattoos that covered his arms, neck, and chest were intricate and bold, each one telling a story. 

he also had a variety of piercings—small hoops and studs that caught the light in a way that was somehow both edgy and captivating. his warm eyes, though, were what really threw you off guard. despite his tough exterior, there was something soft, inviting, almost comforting about them.

but it wasn’t just his eyes that drew you in. you couldn’t help but focus on his lips, which were perfectly shaped—plump and naturally a little shiny, likely from the chapstick he kept applying. you found yourself getting lost in the way he spoke, your eyes lingering on his lips as he explained the tattoo process, trying not to blush every time he glanced your way.

he looked so damn good. and that only made your nerves skyrocket.

the tattoo itself wasn’t huge, but the idea of being alone with him, vulnerable as he worked on your skin, had you second-guessing everything. you had no idea how long you could stay still, especially with his hands so close to you.

after you filled out the paperwork, felix returned shortly, holding a few sketches he’d worked on. you had opted for a bite mark design on your inner thigh—something subtle but realistic, something that would look almost like a real imprint. you’d spent hours online researching, and now it was time to make it real. you looked at the options, your hand shaking slightly as you reached out to point at the one you liked the most.

“this one’s perfect,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. your gaze lifted to meet his, feeling heat creep up your neck. you tried to push the nerves down, but it was hard when he was standing so close, his presence overwhelming in the best and worst ways.

felix chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noticed your discomfort. his expression softened just a little, and he leaned in slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the spot you had pointed to. “don’t worry,” he said, his voice low and calm, almost teasing. “we’ll take it slow. you’ll be fine.”

you nodded, trying to calm the storm of butterflies in your stomach. felix’s confidence was reassuring, but you couldn’t shake the mix of excitement and nerves swirling within you. 

felix slipped on his black gloves, the latex stretching over his fingers with a soft snap. he looked up at you, his gaze shifting between the paperwork on the counter and the spot you had indicated for your tattoo. "so, where did you say you wanted it again? your inner thigh?" his voice was steady, but there was a slight curiosity in his tone, maybe even a hint of hesitation.

you nodded, setting your bag down on the table next to the tattoo chair, your hands slightly trembling from both nerves and anticipation. "yeah, the inner thigh."

felix seemed to hesitate, his eyes flicking to your leggings. you could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to phrase his question just right. "um... are those rollable?" he asked, gesturing vaguely toward your leggings.

your stomach sank, realization hitting you. you had completely forgotten to bring a pair of safety shorts, the kind that would make this whole process a lot easier for both of you. you felt a knot tighten in your chest. "uh... no. they're not," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you avoided his gaze, suddenly very aware of your clothing.

felix's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly, clearly understanding the situation. he seemed to be weighing his words, a slight furrow of uncertainty crossing his brow before he spoke again. "are you comfortable with... taking them off?" his voice was gentle, yet there was a note of hesitation there, as if unsure how you might react. "if not, it's okay. we can always reschedule, do it another day."

you felt the pressure of the moment, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. you knew you had to get this done—work was about to pick up, and you didn’t have much time to spare. you couldn’t afford to reschedule. after a brief moment of internal conflict, you sighed softly and gave a small, reassuring shake of your head. "i can take them off. it's fine," you said, your voice a little more steady now. you offered a smile, though it felt slightly forced.

felix's expression seemed to relax at your words, the tension in his shoulders easing. he gave you a small, reassuring smile in return, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "okay," he said gently. "i'll give you some privacy, then."

with that, he turned and made his way toward the door. his footsteps were quiet, almost deliberate, and before leaving, he glanced back at you once more. "let me know when you're ready," he said softly before closing the door behind him, leaving you in the room alone.

you stood there for a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through you. you knew it was just part of the process, but it felt more intimate than you anticipated. still, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what came next.

you called out softly, "i'm ready," your voice steady despite the storm of nerves coursing through you. moments later, the door creaked open, and felix stepped back in, his gaze carefully neutral as he approached.

"alright," he said warmly, his tone professional yet kind. he kept his focus on your face as he moved to his workstation, ensuring you didn’t feel self-conscious under his gaze. "let me just get everything set up."

you nodded, clutching the edge of the chair lightly, your palms damp. the air felt cooler against your exposed skin, heightening your awareness of the situation. you reminded yourself that this was just part of the process—felix was a professional, and you were in good hands.

felix busied himself organizing his tools, laying out the stencil, and double-checking the placement. when he turned back toward you, he knelt slightly to meet your eye level, his tone gentle. "alright, i’m going to place the stencil now. let me know if it feels off, okay?"

you swallowed hard and nodded again, your throat feeling tight. "okay," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix moved closer, his gloved hands brushing lightly against your skin as he positioned the stencil on your inner thigh. his touch was firm yet delicate, and the closeness of it all made your heart race even faster. you forced yourself to stay still, focusing on your breathing.

"how does that look?" felix asked, pulling back slightly to give you space to examine the placement. his eyes met yours, soft and reassuring, as if sensing your nervousness.

you glanced down, grateful for the chance to break eye contact. the stencil looked perfect—exactly where you’d envisioned it. "it’s great," you said, trying to sound more confident. "right where i wanted it."

"good," felix replied, smiling slightly as he stood up. he moved to adjust his machine, the hum of it filling the room a moment later. "you ready to get started? i’ll go slow at first, so you can get used to the feeling."

you nodded, gripping the armrests of the chair a little tighter. "yeah, i’m ready."

felix leaned in again, his presence calming despite the anxiety bubbling within you. his voice was gentle as he spoke. "just let me know if you need a break, okay? you’re doing great so far."

the first touch of the needle against your skin was sharp, but it was the kind of pain you could endure. you tried to focus on the steady hum of the machine and felix’s soft, calming instructions. still, his closeness made it hard to relax—his body angled toward you, his breath occasionally fanning over your skin, and the subtle brush of his hand near your inner thigh sent your heart racing.

felix worked with a laser focus, his movements precise and practiced as he outlined the stencil. his professionalism was clear, but the proximity made it impossible for you not to notice every little thing—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands through the gloves, and the way his dark eyes stayed intently on his work.

lost in his task, felix leaned in further, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. his knuckles brushed the outside of your underwear, a touch so light it could have been accidental, but it sent a jolt through you. the sensations from the needle—the sharpness, the vibrations—only seemed to amplify the growing heat in your core. you pressed your lips together, willing yourself to stay still, but the ache was becoming impossible to ignore.

as felix adjusted his position, his hand grazed just slightly closer, his knuckles brushing against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. the contact was brief but electric, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it. the sound was barely audible over the hum of the tattoo machine, but felix froze instantly, his head snapping up.

his dark eyes locked onto yours, a mix of concern and something unspoken flashing across his face. “you okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care as he set the machine down on the tray beside him. his gaze flicked over your face, searching for any sign of distress.

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. the weight of the situation hit you all at once—the intimacy of the moment, the vulnerability of being in this position with someone like felix, and the fact that he had noticed your reaction. you nodded quickly, your face burning as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m fine," you said, your voice a little higher than usual, betraying your flustered state.

felix’s brows knitted together briefly, as if he wasn’t entirely convinced. he tilted his head slightly, his tone softening even further. "you sure? we can take a break if you need."

you swallowed hard, shaking your head more firmly this time. "no, really, i’m okay. just... sensitive, i guess." you gave a nervous laugh, hoping to brush it off.

felix’s lips curved into a small, understanding smile, though there was still something unreadable lingering in his expression. "alright," he said gently. "but if anything feels uncomfortable, you let me know, okay?"

you nodded again, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment as he returned to his work. his focus shifted back to the tattoo, but the tension in the air felt heavier now, charged with an energy neither of you acknowledged. you closed your eyes, willing yourself to stay composed, though the sensation of his hands and the steady vibrations made it a challenge you weren’t sure you’d win.

throughout the duration of the tattoo session, you tried your best to maintain a calm composure, hiding the telltale signs of your arousal as you and felix talked about random things. but felix could see and smell it all too clearly. the scent of your desire wafted through the air, filling his senses and causing an immediate reaction in his jeans. his member began to thicken and strain against the fabric, already tight on its own.

though he knew he needed to remain professional, the sight and smell of your arousal was impossible to resist. he couldn't help but lean in closer, selfishly inhaling more of your intoxicating scent as he worked deftly on your skin. as his breath brushed against your core, a shiver ran down your spine.

but then he caught a glimpse of your slick glistening through your panties, and he almost let out an audible groan. it was clear that you were completely turned on by him and his touch, and he couldn't resist pushing the boundaries just a little further. 

you squirmed slightly, the movement catching his attention. "still doing okay?" felix asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. the words were laced with a subtle edge, a hint of something more.

"y-yeah," you stammered, your voice unsteady. your face felt hot, and you avoided his gaze, knowing that if you looked at him now, you might lose whatever shred of composure you had left.

felix's lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he refocused on the tattoo. he told himself to stop, to keep this professional, but the temptation was maddening. his hand brushed against your thigh again, his knuckles grazing higher this time, and he swore he felt you shiver.

he glanced up, his dark eyes locking with yours. the room felt unbearably small, the air thick with tension. felix hesitated, his professionalism warring with the primal desire that had been building since the session began.

he leaned back slightly, setting the tattoo machine down. his gloves flexed as he adjusted them, his voice soft but firm when he finally spoke. "you’re... really sensitive here," he said, his words carrying more weight than their innocent meaning should have.

you swallowed hard, your breath quickening. "yeah, i guess so," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix leaned in again, his face so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "if this gets too much for you... or if you need anything, just say the word," he said, his tone almost daring you to admit what he already knew.

the tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with unspoken desire. felix's hand had just brushed your slick panties again, his breath hot against your inner thigh, when you jolted slightly, a soft gasp escaping your lips. your body was trembling, the sensations overwhelming as your arousal built to a point where you could barely think straight.

"felix," you breathed, your voice unsteady as you placed a hand on his wrist, stopping his movements. "i... i need a second."

he froze immediately, his dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, filled with concern. his hand withdrew gently, and he sat back slightly, giving you space. "are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with worry.

you nodded quickly, swallowing hard as you tried to steady your breathing. "yeah, i’m just... it’s a lot," you admitted, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. you couldn’t meet his gaze, but when you glanced down, you caught sight of the prominent bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric. your breath hitched at the realization, and your eyes darted back up to his.

felix followed your gaze and cursed under his breath, running a gloved hand through his dark hair. "i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice rougher now. he shifted slightly, as if trying to relieve some of the pressure, but it was no use.

your heart raced at his words, a mix of embarrassment and intrigue flooding through you. "felix..." you started, your voice trembling.

he leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours, his expression equal parts hesitant and desperate. "if this is too much, we can stop," he said, his tone sincere. "but... if you want, i can help you." his words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

your lips parted, your mind spinning at the offer. "help me?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

felix nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "you know what i mean." he said, his voice dropping an octave, "i can take care of it. only if you want me to." his gloved hand rested lightly on your thigh, his touch both comforting and suggestive, and his eyes were pleading.

you hesitated, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you considered his words. the ache between your legs was unbearable, and the thought of his skilled hands—or more—bringing you relief was almost too tempting to resist. but the intensity of the moment, the sheer intimacy of what he was offering, made you pause.

"only if you’re sure," felix added, his voice softer now. "i don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with."

you gave him a nod, your voice wavering. “words, y/n.” he said, setting the tool down and taking his gloves off. “i-i’m sure,” you said nervously.

that was all felix needed. he yanked off his gloves, tossing them aside in a hurry. a growl rumbled low in his chest as he leaned in, his hand sliding higher along your thigh, skimming the edge of your panties. his lips were tantalizingly close to your skin, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. 

his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties, a teasing, feather-light touch that made you gasp softly. felix smirked, his eyes darkening as he saw the effect he had on you. "so wet," he murmured, his thumb pressing lightly against your clit through the fabric, drawing a whimper from your lips. "is this all for me?"

you nodded, your body arching into his touch as a soft moan escaped you. felix groaned, leaning down to press his lips against your thigh, his kisses slow and deliberate.

 he tugged your panties aside, exposing you fully to his gaze. your pretty lips were glistening, sopping wet with your essence. his eyes drank you in, and he licked his lips before looking up at you. "i want to make you feel good," he said, his voice husky with need. "will you let me?"

"please," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

felix didn’t hesitate. he dropped to his knees in front of the chair, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer to the edge. 

his touch was gentle and careful as he moved your thighs apart, mindful not to disturb your freshly inked skin. with one hand holding your panties to the side and the other spreading your lips open, he marveled at the sight between your legs. "fuck, you're so wet," he murmured before leaning in for a taste.

the sensation of his tongue piercing against your sensitive flesh caught you by surprise, but it was a welcomed one. a wave of satisfaction rippled through you as he flicked his tongue against your clit with skilled precision. your hand found its way to his head, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging occasionally in pleasure. he looked up at you, a hand running along the inside of your thigh as he lavished attention on your bud.

a deep growl rumbled from his chest as he buried his face deeper into your cunt, sucking and licking with fervent desire. you couldn't hold back the loud moan that escaped your lips or the way your body arched towards him. "just like that," you praised him through heavy breaths, hips bucking against his face desperately.

it was too much. the sight of felix between your legs, his nose buried in your mound and the wet, sloppy noises of him eating you out sent a sharp pang to your core. with a few more sucks from his mouth, you came undone - stars exploding behind closed eyes and pleasure coursing through every inch of your body. felix eagerly lapped up every drop of you, not pulling away until you gently guided his head off of you.

he stood up in front of you, smiling down with pride and lust in his eyes. "feeling better?" he asked playfully. you could only nod, cheeks flushed darkly from the intense encounter that had just occurred. your gaze drifted down to the prominent bulge in his jeans, knowing that he needed release too. "let me help you," you muttered, eagerly reaching for him.

felix’s grin faltered for a moment as your words sank in. his dark eyes widened slightly, and then his smirk returned, this time tinged with a hint of surprise and desire. "you don’t have to do that," he said softly, though the way his voice betrayed just how much he wanted you to.

you swallowed hard, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm, but your gaze remained fixed on the straining bulge in his jeans. the thought of him, thick and hard, made your core clench again. you shook your head, your voice steadier now. "i want to."

felix’s jaw tightened, and he let out a low groan, as though he was fighting every instinct he had. "are you sure?" he asked, his hands flexing at his sides. "this wasn’t supposed to go this far. i... i don’t want you to feel pressured."

you stood slowly from the chair, your knees still a little shaky, but your determination unwavering. your hands reached for his belt, and when you looked up at him, your eyes were full of intent. "i’m sure, felix," you said softly, your fingers working the buckle open. 

he let out a sharp breath, his restraint snapping as he nodded. "fuck," he muttered, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "i’m not going to hold back, then."

with that, felix helped guide you as you undid his jeans, his cock springing free, the sight making your breath catch. he was surprisingly thick, the head flushed and already leaking precum, and the sheer size of him only made your arousal spark anew. felix leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he pulled you flush against him. 

“bend over that counter for me.” he instructed you, patting your barely clothed ass. you did just that, bending over the counter and arching your back for him slightly. he yanked your panties to the side again, getting behind you hurriedly. he rubbed his fat tip against your wet lips, coating himself with a groan. he pushed himself inside you slowly, as if savoring every inch being swallowed by your cunt. each second of his cock filling you was pure bliss; he felt divine. 

he buried himself to the hilt, a low, throaty groan leaving his lips. he ran his hands up your back, catching your shoulder to pull you back against him. “oh, you feel so good,” he grunted, slowly pistoning his cock in and out of your cunt. he lifted your leg carefully, helping you rest it on the counter so he could fuck you better. 

his hands roamed your body as he fucked into you, one of them resting in the crevice of your thighs and your hip, squeezing into your flesh. he sped up quickly, rutting into you with low growls and curses. his thick tip massaged your g-spot so deliciously, making a pit form deep in your stomach. you whined loudly, crying out in bliss as he stretched you fully.

felix abruptly halted when he heard a sharp knock at his door, and he cursed under his breath. "i'm with a client," he hollered, his hands still kneading your flesh while he paused inside you. the sound of footsteps retreating from outside his door made him exhale heavily with relief. he quickly returned to thrusting into you with renewed vigor, the thrill of almost getting caught fueling his actions. 

as he continued to fuck you senseless, you whimpered in excitement, knowing that any minute someone could walk in on you both. "you almost got us caught," felix growled, increasing his pace to an unrelenting one as he whispered dirty words in your ear. the possibility of being caught only heightened the intense pleasure pulsating through your body, and you couldn't help but moan louder with each powerful thrust.

felix moaned loudly as your pussy tightened around him, fluttering and milking him with every delicious movement. "f-fucking...shit, you're gonna make me cum already," he choked out hoarsely. his fingers dug into your skin now and his hips were moving quickly and urgently as he chased his release.

your ass slapped against his waist, the loud clapping sounds echoing in the room. "cum in me," you whimpered, glancing back at him over your shoulder with pleading eyes. he didn't need to be told twice and obliged, your words sending him over the edge in no time. with a deep growl, he threw his head back and bit his lip as he emptied himself inside of you. he pumped you full with his load, his cock twitching with each spurt of cum.

you whined in pleasure, your eyes fluttering closed as he continued to thrust slowly in and out of you, mixing his release with your own essence. his gaze never left where your bodies were connected, as if he was in a trance from how thoroughly fucked out he was. 

he finally pulled out wetly, helping you stand back upright. “are you okay?” he asked, tucking himself away quickly and helping you fix your panties. you nodded, still dazed from the thorough fucking he gave you. “yeah, th-thanks for helping me,” you looked up at him, a dark blush on your face. 

he grinned and zipped his pants back up. “don’t mention it,” he nodded toward the chair. “should we continue?”

needless to say, you continued. and you definitely would be coming back.

tags: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek

©chansdoll do not repost, translate, or copy my works in any way, shape, or form.

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: degradation with sub!gojo

kinktober masterlist

The strongest, the fastest, the greatest.

Satoru Gojo knows that he is all of those things—he's told it every day. People dote on him, idolise him, praise him like he's holy—and lavish worship can only go so far before it starts to feel hollow.

Satoru likes being loved, don't get him wrong, he revels in the praise he gets. To know he's so admired, such an effigy of power, is intoxicating. He's constantly in a state of egotistical bliss—which is why it's so rejuvenating when you take him down a notch.

Because as strong and tireless as he is in the real world, your Toru is the opposite in the bedroom. It's the place he gets to relax, to melt, and he takes full advantage of shedding the title of strongest, even if only for a night at a time—because god does the way your chiding roll from your lips turn him on.

You can't help but smile at the beautiful blush that dusts his cheeks, it matches the pink tip of his throbbing cock that pulses in your hand. His hair, soft and lovely, rests in a mess against the pillows as you stroke him lazily, sitting on his thighs, lips curled into the wickedest of grins. He frowns, whiney pleas escaping form his throat.

"Please, just fuck me," he's so hard it hurts, and the delicate stroke of your fists over his cock isn't enough. He needs more of you, he needs all of you.

But you just hum, "so needy. This isn't good enough for you, Toru? You think you're worth my time, honey?"

Honey. So sweet in comparison to the sickly tone you use with him. He's not worthy, not of someone like you, and the suggestion makes his hips buck. "Please," he bites.

"Fucking desperate," you let go of his cock entirely and instead ghost a nail from his base to the tip. He gasps, face scrunching up, "you know you're pathetic, right baby? What's all this about you being the strongest—you're barely holding yourself together."

A pause. Satoru swallows. His dick twitches, his cock growing thicker and harder than he thinks it ever has been. "Please, you're… too much," it comes out hoarsely. He feels pathetic and small as he begs, but you ignore him, fingers still circling his sensitive head until it throbs painfully.

"What do you want to hear?" You purr, leaning down to press a kiss to his tip. "That you're being so good for me? Because you really aren't, Toru—not until you break for me. C'mon, baby, I know you, what you are."

You reposition yourself to sit over his cock, lining him up with yourself, smiling at the ay he squeezes his eyes shut in carnal need. You lean forward a little—enough to emphasise your words—"you're my Satoru, who needs to get fucked like the desperate whore he is."

And as you seat yourself on his cock, not bothering to hide just how blissful the stretch of his overbearing size makes you feel, Gojo swears he could cry. You're right, he is desperate, a whore—achy and teary-eyed and already close to cumming with just how good you feel wrapped around him.

"Not without permission," you read the tremble of his lips. Your hips roll against his, the drag and pull of his cock inside of you enough to drive the poor man crazy. "What do you think the masses would think if they saw you like this, huh? All dumb for me, Satoru Gojo—my favourite toy. You think they'd still think you're the strongest, baby?"

"Mm, fuck," his tongue near lolls out of his mouth at your words, you can feel him twitch inside of you. "Y—y…"

"Too stupid to even use your words huh? Can't even get a decent ride out of you. Look at you, I know you're close—can't hide from me."

He's gone red in the face, and avoids the urge to hide behind his hands in favour of meeting your gaze with his beautiful blues. Glossy and pooling with lust, he looks at you like you're the god he is to worship. He wonders how anyone can think he is worthy of praise when you're right there—god, he'd lay himself down for you before any of them could even think to. He's got no choice but to accept your approval though, and if it'll get you to keep fucking him, he'll be grateful for anything.

It's too much for the both of you to handle. Your own orgasm crests just as you think Satoru is going to unravel, and you place a finger in the middle of his toned chest to ground him. "Beg me."

"Ple—"

"No," you shake your head, trying to keep your breath in check as you quicken the pace of your rolling hips. "Thank me, for giving you so much already—more than you deserve. Thank me properly and you can cum."

He doesn't hesitate, he's beyond devoted to you—if he could thank you until the end of time he would. "Thank you," he says softly, voice thick with relief. You feel him shudder underneath you, a few more thrusts of your hips and he'll come undone. "Fuck, thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou, I love you, god I love you."

"Prove it," a moan breaks through your sharp words. "Cum with me, Toru."

Your name tumbles from his mouth like a prayer, raw and desperate, and he gives a shaky nod. You clench around him as you allow yourself to finish, and the sight of your orgasm spurs Satoru on. As his climax crescendos and his body jerks beneath you, he's sure he can never look away from how beautiful you are in your release despite the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and bathe in the overwhelming pleasure that washes over him—nirvana.

You collapse atop him, panting. You lie there while your muscles unwind, waiting for you heart to calm and your lungs to expand enough for your breath to steady. Once Satoru has finished jerking his hips up into yours, and he starts to come back down to earth, you push yourself up to hover over him again. The stern look that had been in your eyes is gone, and replaced with a gentle softness he knows all too well—he replicates your smile with his own.

"Good?" He raises his eyebrows, ready for the onslaught of love you tend to give him after sex like this.

"Perfect," you hum and lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. "You are perfect."

"And desperate," he coos, reaching up to wrap his arms around your waist.

You nod, a smile pulling at your lips. "Yeah—that too."

tags are in the comments, because tumblr is an opp!

[soluversworld]

“𝐁𝐲 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡, 𝐁𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐁𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫” - REDACTED X G.N Reader nsfw

14 DAYS WITH YOU is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!-

Words: long

Genre: Smut

If you find mistakes I'm sorry I did not proof read

(Reader is G.N)-(This one-shot is nsfw!)

Summary : To distract REDACTED, you suggested looking at his damn sports motorcycle, Who knew- this would end up in..fuck

Trigger Warnings (TWs) and Content Warnings (CWs):

Trigger Warnings (TWs):

Graphic Sexual Content (NSFW, explicit descriptions of sex)

Breeding Kink & Possessiveness (mentions of ownership, possessive language)

Past Childhood Trauma (emotional distress, implied separation trauma)

Body Horror Elements (scarring, burns, detailed injury descriptions)

Overstimulation & Aftercare (exhaustion, body weakness post-sex)

Content Warnings (CWs):

Heavy Dom/Sub Dynamics (praise, possessive language, submission)

Affection & Intimacy Themes (nose kisses, hand-holding, childhood romance)

Food Play/Feeding Kink Lite (feeding partner cake, describing sweetness)

Emotional Vulnerability (crying, reassurance, romantic declarations)

It happened too fast, too slow, exactly as it should’ve. That day—you saw past the lie, past the face, past the teeth bared in something not quite a smile.

And today, they’re yours. Almost. A heartbeat away from fiancé, a lifetime away from certainty. It took time. God, it took time.

You wore the ring that day, but not for love, not for promises, not even for the pleasure of peeling back the layers of REDACTED like rotting wallpaper. That’s a story for another day, sweetheart. For now—

You love REDACTED more than Ren, more than the mask they made to hold the world at arm’s length. You love the rot beneath.

Realistically? A few years. Maybe forever. Maybe never. Ren’s been rewriting himself since before he even knew how to spell his own name, shaving down the edges of REDACTED into something soft, something pliable, something digestible. Someone lovable.

Because Ren, as he is, isn’t enough. Can’t be. He learned that young, learned it deep, learned it so well it’s a reflex now, a gut reaction. A knee-jerk flinch into being whatever you want, whatever keeps you looking at him. But REDACTED—ah. They don’t care. They don’t need to. They know the truth, and the truth is cruel:

You like a lot of things. You like a lot of people. But you’ll never like him enough. Not really. Not the way he wants. And he’s made peace with that.

Ren is Haruko, and Haruko is sweet. Haruko stumbles over words and tries too hard. Haruko is a puppet carved from borrowed smiles and practiced stutters. But REDACTED—RED is sharp, cruel, jagged in a way no one wants to hold. Cold, empty, tired in the bones. If he ever learned love, it was an imitation, an echo—flat, distant, never quite right.

The blushing? Real. The sweating? Also real. The stammering, the nerves, the pathetic little slip-ups? All him, honest and raw, because fuck, he never expected to have this. Angel wasn’t supposed to see him. Ren was supposed to be background noise, an afterthought, a whisper of a person that never solidified. But fate had different plans, and now he’s in too deep.

And this? This is life now. A life built on strings and careful calculations, on the soft lie of Haruko and the hard truth of REDACTED bleeding through the cracks. And you—you don’t know if it’s guilt that keeps you here. If it’s sympathy, or pity, or something worse. You don’t know if he even wants saving.

He’s shit in the saddest way possible. But he doesn’t care. Never has. Never will.

It’s all just—ah.

You’ve accepted REDACTED now, right? Last time, they held you through it—your own personal shield against every jump scare, every flicker of something too fast, too wrong in the dark. You screamed, clung to them like a lifeline, like a fucking lifeblood, fingers digging in, breath caught, and they—cool as ever—just patted your head. Like you were some trembling stray curled up in their lap.

Now? You’re a pro. A veteran. An unshakable force of—no, fuck that, you’re still scared. Still clutching them like a goddamn koala, half-buried in their chest, gripping the fabric of their hoodie like it might save your soul. And they let you. One hand still in your hair, absentminded, rhythmically soothing, the other loose on your thigh like they aren’t watching people get gutted on screen.

Both of your rings—the rings, the childhood ones—sit snug around your fingers. Like wedding bands. Like something binding. Like something permanent. Ah. Cute.

"Scary f’ ya?" REDACTED barely glances at the screen, more interested in the way you’ve tensed up, knuckles white against the blanket. "Want me t’change it?"

"Shut the fuck up." You don’t even look at them, eyes locked on the too-dark hallway stretching across the screen, waiting for something—anything—to lunge. Your fingers tighten in their sleeve like you’re bracing for impact.

They huff a quiet laugh, all amusement, all smug, before shifting. Heavy. Comfortable. Head dropping onto your lap like they belong there. "Suit yourself."

Their warmth sinks into you, grounding. Distracting. You don’t relax, not completely, but you loosen just enough to card your fingers through their hair. They hum, pleased, tapping lazy fingers against your thigh.

You flinch at a sudden jump scare.

They don’t even pretend not to notice.

They hum again, but this time, it’s different—deeper, slower, something deliberate curling at the edges of their voice. The kind of sound that sends a shiver through you, pooling low in your stomach. Their fingers, lazy against your thigh, trace an absentminded pattern, dipping beneath the hem of your shirt, just barely grazing skin.

"Y’really that scared?" they murmur, turning their head just enough to glance up at you, half-lidded, half-smirking. "Ain’t even watchin’ the movie no more."

"Maybe ‘cause someone won’t shut up," you fire back, but your voice is softer than you meant it to be, breath catching when they press their face into your stomach—right there—like they know exactly what they’re doing.

"Mm." They exhale slow, warm, lips brushing fabric. "Or maybe y’jus’ need a better distraction."

Their fingers ghost higher. Their grip tightens, just a little. Your heart skips.

Yeah. Fuck the movie.

Their lips are warm—almost searing—the weight of them pressed against yours stealing the air right from your lungs. It’s slow at first, teasing, like they’re testing the waters, but the second you start to lean in, the second your fingers curl in their shirt, they take it as permission to devour.

"Mm—" You barely get a sound out before they tilt their head, deepening it, a slow, deliberate slide of lips and tongue that has heat creeping up your spine. Their hand finds the back of your neck, fingers pressing just firm enough to make you shudder.

"Y’kiss back real pretty," they murmur, breaking away just enough to speak, their voice dipped in amusement, something smug curling at the edges. "S’good f’me, yeah?"

You barely get the chance to respond before their teeth catch your lower lip—a sharp little nip that sends a jolt right down to your gut. Your grip on them tightens.

Then your heel catches on the floor, and suddenly, you’re tilting back, balance slipping—

But they’re already moving, already got an arm wrapped around you, holding you steady before you can even process the fall.

They click their tongue, half-laughing, half-scolding, pulling you flush against them like you belong there.

"Clumsy," they chide, and you can hear the grin in their voice, the way it stretches, smug and sharp. Their fingers trace slow circles against your lower back, dipping just under the hem of your shirt. "Y’like bein’ held this close, huh? Don’t even gotta ask—jus’ throw y’self at me next time, sweetheart."

Your face feels like it’s on fire. The warmth creeps down your neck, settling deep in your chest, and you hate—hate—how easy it is for them to get you like this.

"I—shut up," you grumble, voice barely above a whisper, but it comes out embarrassingly shaky. You’re still pressed against them, still close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of their breathing, and god, their hand hasn’t moved from your back.

They hum, tilting their head, eyes scanning your face like they’re drinking in every little reaction. "Angel, y’okay?" The nickname comes soft, almost reverent, but there’s something else in their tone, something knowing. They’re enjoying this—your flustered little stammers, the way you can’t meet their gaze for too long without feeling like you’ll combust.

"I—I’m fine." You try to sound steady, but it’s hard when their fingers drag slow, featherlight up your spine. A barely-there touch, but enough to send another shiver rolling through you.

"Mm." They don’t sound convinced. If anything, they sound amused. "S’that so?" A pause, and then—"Y’look real cute like this, y’know."

You whimper. Actually whimper.

And they hear it.

Their grin stretches, slow and lazy, all dimples and sharp teeth. "That a little sound y’jus’ made? Cute."

"Shut up," you try again, swatting at their chest, but they just catch your wrist, bring it up between the two of you. Their fingers curl around it, thumb smoothing along your pulse.

"Y’really nervous, huh?" Their voice drops, honey-smooth, coaxing. Their grip is loose, easy to pull away from, but you don’t. You can’t. Not when they’re looking at you like that.

"...No," you mumble, and it’s a horrible lie.

They chuckle, and before you can think, before you can even breathe, they bring your wrist to their lips, pressing the softest kiss against the inside of it.

"You’re adorable," they murmur against your skin, and it’s unfair, unfair how easily those words send your heart into a frenzy. "Y’don’t gotta be shy with me, angel."

You’re going to combust.

You barely have a second to catch your breath before REDACTED tilts your chin up, their lips grazing yours again—slow, deliberate, teasing. They’re watching you, gauging every little twitch, every sharp inhale, every way your body reacts to them like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“D’you want more?” Their voice is low, a lazy drawl against your mouth. “Y’gotta tell me, angel.”

Your fingers clutch at their sleeves, grounding yourself. The way they speak—it’s like they already know the answer, but they want to hear it. Want to pull it from you.

You swallow, heat curling in your stomach. “Yeah.”

A quiet hum vibrates against your lips before they press another kiss there, just as slow, just as consuming. Their fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, gliding over your waist in a touch that barely lingers but leaves fire in its wake.

“That feel good?” They murmur between kisses, voice dropping an octave. “Tell me where.”

You almost forget how to breathe, arching just slightly into their touch. Their hands are so big, so warm, and when they drag their teeth along your lower lip, you can’t stop the way your fingers tighten in their clothes.

They chuckle, the sound deep and pleased. “Y’can’t even think straight, huh? S’cute.”

Your face burns hotter, and you bury it against their shoulder for a second, trying to compose yourself. But they’re not having that. Their hand slides up your back, pulling you closer, their lips brushing your ear.

“I don’t think y’can take all of me, angel.” Their voice is velvety, teasing, full of that patient kind of amusement that only makes it worse. “You’re practically stuffed full already.”

A whimper catches in your throat, and their hand tilts your head back, forcing you to look at them.

“Mm. Look at you.” Their thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and their eyes flicker down to where your lips are definitely a little wet from their kisses. Their smirk turns downright sinful. “You’re droolin’. Feels that good, huh?”

You can barely get a word out before their lips are back on yours, deeper this time, and—god—they’re not letting you go anytime soon.

REDACTED's mouth is still warm on yours, their breath mixing with yours in a way that makes your head feel light, like you’re toeing the edge of something sharp. Their hands don’t leave you—not yet, anyway. A thumb tracing lazy circles at your hip, a palm firm against your lower back. Secure. Unmovable. Like if they let go, you’d slip away. Like they don’t want that.

But your brain is drowning, so you do what you do best: open your mouth and let words spill out like you aren’t just trying to distract yourself from the way they have you pinned.

“…You have a motorcycle.”

A beat. Then, a slow blink.

“…Yeah.” Their voice is still low, still rough, like they haven’t quite left the moment behind. But their brow lifts, bemused, like they’re trying to understand how this is what you’re thinking about right now. “What about it?”

“I wanna see it.”

They stare at you. Like you just asked them to pull the moon out of the sky and hand it to you on a silver platter. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them look so…confused.

“It’s just a bike.”

“It’s your bike.”

Another pause. You watch the way their mouth twitches, some unreadable thought flickering behind their eyes. “You’re not thinkin’ of ridin’ it, are ya?”

You scoff, dramatic. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“Not even a little.”

You gasp. They smirk. The moment is broken—mostly. Their hands are still on you, after all. Their voice still has that drawl, like they’re tasting every word before they let it leave their mouth.

“Fine,” you huff, shoving at their chest (not that it moves them).

“…Alright,” they say finally, giving you one last kiss—slow, lingering—before pulling back. “Let’s go.”

REDACTED takes your hand like it’s second nature, like they don’t even think about it—just interlaces their fingers with yours and leads you through the mess of their garage.

It’s a wasteland. A graveyard for things they once cared about and then didn’t.

You see the car first, buried under dust, the tires slightly deflated. You remember when they bought it—thought they drove one, figured they might need it for you. But you should’ve known. A car was too…normal. Too practical.

The motorcycle, though—that fits them like a second skin.

Sleek black, polished even though they barely take it out. It suits them in a way the car never could. The sharp edges of it match the sharp edges of their jaw. The deep black mirrors the ink on their arms, the piercings that gleam under dim garage lights. And then there’s their eyes—blue, cutting through the dark like high beams. Jesus.

“I knew you’d be into it,” they murmur, watching you take it all in. There’s that teasing lilt in their voice again. The one that says they know what you’re thinking.

You roll your eyes, but your fingers twitch at your sides. You wanna feel it.

So you try to climb it.

And immediately almost fall on your ass.

REDACTED catches you like they knew you’d do that too.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, angel,” they laugh, hands firm at your waist, pulling you up like you weigh nothing.

“I got it!” you insist, except you don’t because this thing is heavy as hell, and you don’t know the first thing about handling a bike like this.

“Uh-huh,” they hum, clearly not believing you at all, but still helping you settle onto the seat anyway. Their hands linger at your hips, warm, grounding. They lean in, just a little, just enough for their breath to brush against your cheek.

“Y’look real sweet up there,” they murmur, lips just barely grazing your ear. “Too sweet.”

You swallow. Your heart does something weird in your chest.

“…Are you gonna show me how to ride it or just stand there flirting?”

They grin, slow and sharp. “Can’t do both?”

REDACTED chuckles, low and warm, like they heard the sound you just made—like they felt it vibrate against their chest.

They climb on behind you, and suddenly, you’re caged in. Their legs bracket yours, their arms reach past your sides, hands covering yours on the handlebars. You feel the weight of them, solid and unshakable, and then—

Their hands slide to your waist. Adjusting. Correcting. But fuck, they don’t have to be this slow about it.

“S’posed to sit like this,” they murmur, pressing you back against them, firm, like they know you feel everything. Their breath is warm at your ear, their lips barely brushing skin as they lean in to reach the ignition.

The bike rumbles to life. You feel it first in your fingertips, then up your arms, then—oh. It sinks into your thighs, a steady hum between your legs, and you swallow down the noise that threatens to escape.

REDACTED notices. Of course they notice.

“You feel that?” they murmur, voice all honeyed amusement. Their grip on your hands tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. “S’nice, huh?”

You nod, maybe too quickly, because their laughter comes slow and smug against

You turn. Maybe too fast, maybe too eager, but REDACTED doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, they welcome it—because the moment you do, their hands are already there, steadying you, holding you like they knew you’d come to them.

And then—

Their lips.

Soft. So much softer than you expected, given everything else about them—the weight of their body, the roughness of their hands, the way they talk, lazy and deep, like they’ve got all the time in the world. But this? This is different. This is gentle.

Like they’re savoring it. Like you’re something to be tasted slow, something they don’t want to rush.

Your back meets the sleek body of the motorcycle, and they follow, leaning in, caging you in, their weight pressing into you in all the right ways. You feel them—all of them—towering over you, surrounding you, drowning you in their warmth.

And then their fingers curl under your chin, tilting your face just right, deepening the kiss, making you feel it, and fuck—

They break away first. Just barely. Just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go.

“Y’taste sweet,” they murmur, thumb brushing slow over your lower lip. Their eyes are half-lidded, like they’re already thinking about going back in. “Knew you would.”

You’re breathless. Maybe a little dazed. Maybe a little—

Their lips ghost over yours, teasing, like they want to make you beg for it. Like they want to hear you say it, admit how badly you want them. Their hands? Firm on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles against your skin, like they’re mapping you out, like they’re memorizing the feel of you under their touch.

“Y’should see yourself,” they murmur, voice like a lazy drawl, all heat and hunger and patience that makes your skin burn. “Spread out on my bike like this. Look so fuckin’ pretty.”

The way they say it—like they own you, like they’re claiming you—it sends something hot curling low in your stomach.

Then their hands slide up, up, teasing under your shirt, knuckles dragging against bare skin, slow enough to make you shiver. “Feel good, angel?” They dip lower, fingers playing at the waistband of your pants, like they’re waiting for permission.

And then—fuck—their teeth. They nip at your jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. You feel the way they smile against your skin, feel the way they hum in satisfaction, like they love marking you up.

“Want my hands on you?” A little squeeze at your hips. “Y’gotta tell me where.”

Their fingers press in slow, teasing, just barely skimming where you need them most. It’s intentional, the way they hold back, the way they make you feel every inch of the wait.

“Fuck,” you breathe, hips twitching, chasing the contact, but they don’t give in. Not yet.

They chuckle, low and dark, a sound that sinks into your skin. “So impatient,” they murmur, dragging their knuckles up your inner thigh, agonizingly slow. “Y’been thinking about this, huh? How long?”

Their words feel like a game—like they already know the answer but want to hear you say it anyway. You swallow hard, your breath uneven as you try to focus, try not to let them see how wrecked you already are.

Their lips return to your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse, while their hand—fuck, their hand—finally moves where you need it, fingers pressing firm and knowing. A sharp gasp leaves you, your head tilting back against the bike, exposing more of your throat to their teeth, their tongue.

“That’s it,” they murmur against your skin, voice thick with satisfaction. “Take what y’need, angel.”

And then they press in deeper, their touch turning slow and deliberate, coaxing out every little sound they can pull from you. Their other hand drags up your side, pushing beneath your shirt, fingers spreading wide as if they want to feel every inch of you.

It’s overwhelming—the heat of their body against yours, the steady rhythm of their touch, the way they watch you, like they want to memorize every reaction, every shudder.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” they rasp, pressing their forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “Could keep you like this all day.”

And from the way they’re touching you—like they have no intention of stopping—you’re starting to think they mean it.

You're not sure when you started shaking. Maybe it was the moment they first pressed you down against their bike, the cold metal sharp against the heat pooling in your stomach. Maybe it was when their lips barely grazed yours, teasing, promising, making you desperate. Or maybe—fuck—maybe it was when their hands started to roam, those strong, practiced fingers dragging slow over your skin like they were memorizing every inch of you.

And now? Now you’re undone.

They’ve got you caged in, their body flush against yours, their hands firm but patient as they press against your stomach, fingers spreading wide, palms warm as they pull you closer like they don’t want a single inch of space between you. Their breath is heavy against your lips, teasing, tempting, but they don’t kiss you yet. Not properly. They’re waiting. Watching.

They love watching.

“Y’know how fuckin’ pretty you are?” they murmur, dragging their fingers lower, pressing into the soft dip of your stomach, just enough to make you feel the possessive weight of their hands. “Could spend all night just lookin’ at you like this.”

Their words make something tighten low in your gut, an embarrassing whimper slipping past your lips before you can stop it. Their smirk sharpens, dangerous, and their hands move—one sliding down to squeeze your thigh, the other trailing up to your wrist, fingers brushing against your palm before lacing with yours.

Yeah. They love your hands too.

You feel the press of their lips against your knuckles, slow and deliberate, their tongue flicking out just slightly before they sink their teeth into the sensitive skin. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to mark.

“Mine,” they murmur, voice a little rough, a little distracted, as if the word just slipped out without them meaning to say it.

Fuck.

Your breath stutters as they lean in, their teeth dragging over your throat, nipping at the skin before soothing it with their tongue. They don’t stop there. They trail lower, their mouth finding your collarbone, then your chest, their hands still mapping you out, still pressing and teasing, like they want to touch everywhere at once.

Their grip tightens on your thigh as they spread you wider, their other hand still locked with yours, fingers squeezing tight. Their lips move lower, kissing a slow path down your stomach, mouthing at the sensitive skin, sucking, leaving marks, branding you as theirs.

"Y'feel so good," they breathe against your skin, voice thick with something raw, something real. "So soft. So perfect."

Their breath fans over your stomach, and they press another open-mouthed kiss there, their tongue flicking out to taste before their teeth sink in, leaving another mark—deeper this time. You shudder, a helpless moan slipping out, and they groan at the sound, their grip on your thigh tightening.

And then—fuck—then you feel it.

The cool metal of their piercing drags against your skin as they mouth lower, teasing, biting, before pressing their hips flush against yours, letting you feel everything. The sharp contrast of heat and steel makes you gasp, your fingers tightening in theirs, and they smirk, pleased with your reaction.

“You like that?” they ask, voice pure sin, hips rolling just slightly to let you feel the full weight of their arousal against you. “Y’like feelin’ how fuckin’ hard you make me?”

You whimper, head tilting back against the bike, but they don’t let you escape. Their grip on your hand tightens, grounding you, making sure you stay right here with them.

“Tell me,” they murmur against your stomach, lips brushing over each mark they’ve left, soothing, worshiping. “Wanna hear you say it, angel.”

Your breath shudders, your free hand moving to tangle in their hair, tugging just enough to make them groan. “EH- REDACTED? I love it.”

Their reaction is immediate. Their hips press against you again, firmer this time, more deliberate, letting you feel the piercing drag against you as they grind down slow, savoring it. Their mouth trails up, capturing your lips in a deep, heated kiss, their tongue teasing past your lips, taking, tasting, claiming.

“Good,” they breathe between kisses, pressing their forehead to yours, panting against your lips. “Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, angel. Just lemme take care of you.”

Got it. Buckle up.

The metal of the bike is cold against your burning skin, but you barely register it over the heat of him. [REDACTED] has you spread over his lap, thighs trembling where they bracket his, hands gripping the handlebars behind you for balance. You can feel him, hot and thick, stretching you open inch by inch—again. Your legs are shaking, overstimulated from how long he’s been toying with you, but he just won’t stop.

“Y’make the most lewd fuckin’ sounds.."

His voice is a slow, honey-thick drawl against your ear, and then—fuck

You try to turn your head away, but his free hand is already gripping your jaw, keeping you locked in place.

“Nuh-uh, angel."

He pulls you down hard against his lap, forcing every inch of him deep inside you, dragging that metal along your walls just like before. The sound you let out is shameless, and he groans at the way you squeeze around him.

“There it is,” he murmurs, smug as sin, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Knew I could make y’sing like that again.”

His hips roll slow, lazy, dragging out every second of your torment. You can feel every piercing along his cock, the cool bite of metal making you jolt, overstimulated and desperate, but he’s barely even paying attention to you—like he’s just using your body for his own pleasure.

“Look at how fuckin’ good y’look on my cock,” he drawls, watching your reflection in the mirror across the garage, watching your lips part and your lashes flutter as he thrusts up again. “You were practically droolin’ before. Y’must love bein’ stuffed full, huh?”

You whimper, but that’s not enough for him.

“Go on. Say it.”

He punctuates the command with a sharp snap of his hips, grinding you down so deep you feel him press against that perfect spot inside you, and your head thumps back against his shoulder.

“I—I love it,” you gasp, back arching, thighs squeezing around his waist.

His chuckle is low and dangerous, and then his mouth is on you—kissing, sucking, nipping at the base of your neck as he starts rolling his hips in earnest.

“My angel always does such a good job,” he purrs, barely above a whisper. His hands trail down your thighs, squeezing, teasing, spreading you open just a little wider. “Y’already know that, don’t you?” His fingers dip between your legs, pressing just where you need it most. “’Course y’do. Can feel you squeezin’ around me right now.”

Your fingers dig into his arms, nails leaving little half-moon imprints in his skin as you rock against him, chasing your high, but he tsks, stopping all movement entirely.

“Ah-ah. Not yet.”

You whimper, hips stuttering in desperation, but he just smirks.

“Be patient, angel.” His hands slide back up to your chest, pinching, teasing, making you whine. “Y’can cum when I say so.”

And if you start rutting against him for friction, panting and desperate, he just chuckles, smug and infuriating.

“Look at you. Y’just can’t help yourself, huh?” His breath is hot against your ear, teasing, taunting. “S’alright. S’what I made you for, ain't it?”

And when you finally fall apart—when you finally shudder and break, crying out his name as your whole body trembles—he groans, dragging you down hard against his cock, pushing himself as deep as he can go.

“Fuck,” he rasps, breathless for the first time all night. His hands slide up, one tangling in your hair as the other grips your hip, keeping you locked in place, making sure you feel everything. “Y’took me so fuckin’ well.”

His lips press against the curve of your jaw, almost tender, before he murmurs, “Y’did so good for me, angel. So, I’ll let you pick.”

His fingers trail down your stomach, teasing, possessive.

His words curl around your brain like smoke, thick and intoxicating, clouding out anything but him. Your breath stutters—just enough hesitation for his smirk to sharpen.

“Aw, angel.” His voice is a slow, rolling drawl, lazy and smug. “Y’can’t even pick, huh?”

His fingers drag along your stomach, teasing, possessive. The motion sends a shiver straight down your spine, your overstimulated body twitching in his grip. You’re still stuffed full of him, stretched wide and trembling, but he waits. Like he enjoys watching you struggle to speak, to even think through the haze he’s wrapped you in.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your temple, deceptively soft. “Which d’ya want more?”

Your mouth opens, but all that escapes is a shaky breath. His fingers flex against your hip, gripping, kneading—waiting. And then, slowly, deliberately, he rolls his hips.

The noise that leaves you is barely human.

“Fuck—”

The sound of his chuckle is all teeth.

“There it is.”

His hand slides up your throat, tilting your chin so he can watch you—your dazed eyes, your parted lips, the way your body twitches at every lazy, deliberate grind of his hips. His gaze is half-lidded, burning, drinking in every inch of you.

“Feels good, don’t it?” His voice is syrup-thick, dragging down your spine like a physical thing. “Being stretched open like this, takin’ everything I give you…”

You swallow, barely nodding—too lost in the heat, the weight, the slow, devastating drag of him inside you. And he sees it.

His grip tightens.

“Y’can’t even fuckin’ talk, can you?”

You shake your head, eyes slipping shut, body keening against him. He hums, low and satisfied, kissing just below your ear.

“Don’t worry, angel.” Another slow thrust, dragging against that perfect spot inside you, making your whole body jolt. “I’ll decide for you.”

He shifts, pressing deep, locking you against him—and stays there, buried to the hilt, his breath warm against your neck.

“Be good,” he murmurs. “And take it.”

And then—heat. Possession. His arms tighten, his breath shudders, and you feel him let go—deep, slow, branding you from the inside out.

He groans against your skin, dragging his teeth along your pulse, and fuck—he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull out, just keeps you there, completely filled, his cock still throbbing inside you.

“Guess we gotta keep goin’ till.."

His fingers trail down, smearing sweat across your skin, touching and teasing as he shifts beneath you—still hard, still inside.

And from the way his smirk curls against your jaw, he has no intention of stopping anytime soon.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, kneading, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Your whole body shudders as he grinds against you, still buried deep, his cock twitching with every shaky breath you take.

“Fuck, angel,” he groans, voice thick with heat. “Takin’ me so well—so fuckin’ deep—”

His hips roll, pressing just a little further, like he’s testing how much more you can take. The stretch is already too much, your body trembling against him, but the way he stays inside, stuffed to the hilt, makes you feel—

“Bet y’d look so good like this all the time.”

Your breath stutters.

He hums against your skin, slow and teasing. “All full of me. Carryin’ my cum inside that pretty little hole, leakin’ down your thighs…”

His fingers dip lower, just barely brushing over the mess he’s already made of you. A whimper slips out, and his smirk sharpens.

“Mm. Maybe I should make sure it sticks.”

You don’t even have time to process before his hands are gripping your hips tight, tilting you just right—before he thrusts up in one slow, filthy motion, grinding deep, making sure every drop of his cum stays right where he put it.

Your whole body jolts, overstimulated and trembling, but he just grins.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth along your jaw, pressing lazy kisses to your flushed skin. “Think I wanna see you full of me all the fuckin’ time.”

He rolls his hips again, still slow, still teasing, but his breath is coming rougher now, his grip tightening.

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?” His voice is a low purr against your ear. “Let me fuck you open every night, make sure you’re stuffed full—”

His fingers trail down your stomach, possessive, like he can already see it, like he wants to see it.

“Y’gonna let me breed you, angel?”

Your whole body clenches around him, and his groan is pure sin.

“…Yeah,” he breathes, voice all heat and hunger. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he moves.

Slow, deep, pushing you down to take him as he fucks his cum further inside, groaning at the way you twitch and shake, overstimulated but still so needy. His hands roam, pressing you close, dragging his nails down your sides like he’s marking his claim.

“Gonna fill you up every fuckin’ time,” he murmurs, lips trailing over your pulse, your throat, the corner of your mouth. “Till y’can’t even think of anyone else.”

"But, I- only think of you all the time.."

His grip tightens instantly. The second those shaky little words leave your lips, he stills—buried deep inside you, chest rising and falling against your back, hands locked around your waist like he needs to hold you there.

“…Say that again.”

His voice is lower now, rougher. Almost dangerous in how sweet it sounds—like he’s barely holding himself back.

You swallow, thighs trembling where they bracket his. “I—” Your breath hitches as he grinds against you, slow and deep, like he’s savoring the way you squeeze around him. “I only think of you—only you—all the time.”

That does it.

A sharp, ragged breath escapes him, his fingers digging into your skin. His control—his usual lazy drawl, that smug, taunting dominance—cracks.

“…Fuck.”

And then he moves.

Not slow this time. Not teasing.

This is needy.

Desperate.

Like you just shattered something inside him, and now he needs to prove it—to seal that claim inside you, make sure you never even consider anyone else.

His pace turns messy, all deep, rolling thrusts and ragged groans against your ear. He’s so worked up, so fucking sweetly possessive, whispering between every shaky breath:

“Mine.”

“You’re mine.”

“No one else gets you like this.”

“Fuck—no one else even knows you like this—”

His hands roam, clutching, nails scraping your thighs, your hips, your stomach, like he wants to mark you with every touch. His lips are everywhere—on your neck, your shoulder, pressed to the shell of your ear, murmuring between ragged gasps:

“You’re made for me.”

“Fuck—feel that? So deep inside you, fuckin’ claiming you—”

And then he loses it.

He slams into you, grip tightening, burying himself as deep as he can go—and he breaks, moaning into your skin as he spills inside, body shuddering with the force of it.

But even after he’s spent, even when his breath evens out, he doesn’t pull away.

He stays inside you, keeping you full, arms wrapped around your waist as he nuzzles against your neck, still murmuring in that soft, wrecked voice:

“No one else.”

“Only me.”

“You promise, angel?”

And when you nod—when you whisper, "Only you, always,"—he sighs, pressing a kiss against your pulse.

“…That’s my good fuckin’ angel.”

His breath shudders against your skin, lips tracing the curve of your jaw as he stays inside you, keeping you locked against his chest, filled, owned. His hands, still trembling from the aftershocks, roam your body—soft now, reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

And then, in a voice so quiet, so wrecked it barely sounds like him, he murmurs:

“We belong to each other, don’t we…?”

His grip tightens, pulling you closer, like he needs to hear you say it—needs you to confirm what he already knows.

You nod, dazed and pliant against him. “Y-yeah…”

But that’s not enough.

He tilts your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes in the dim light of the garage—dazed, dark, utterly consumed by you.

“Mind,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your temple.

“Body,” another kiss, lower now, lingering against your cheek.

“Soul,” a gentle bite against your pulse, like he’s branding the words into you.

Then, lower—his hands sliding down your stomach, possessive and warm, pressing against the soft swell where he knows he’s still buried deep inside.

“…Everything.”

He groans, grinds against you just to feel it again, to make you squirm in his lap. His voice turns desperate, aching as he breathes against your ear:

“Your hole—fuck—your whole self—”

He kisses you then, messy and hungry, like he wants to swallow you whole, drag you even deeper into him until there’s nothing left between you.

He’s obsessed with watching you. The way your eyes flutter, the way your breath catches, the way your body reacts to every little thing he does. It’s intoxicating. Addictive. He needs to see it—needs to know exactly what makes you shudder, whimper, beg for more.

That’s why his favorite positions always keep you close. Always let him watch.

Missionary, but with your wrists pinned above your head, fingers entwined as he rolls his hips slow, deliberate, drawing out every little noise you make. He’ll whisper filthy things against your lips, drinking in every reaction, every quiver, every desperate squeeze around him.

Lotus, with you straddling his lap, chests pressed together, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. He loves the way you tremble in his hold, loves how deep he can go like this, how your body reacts so perfectly to every slow, deliberate thrust. Loves when you bury your face in his neck, whimpering, biting down to muffle the sounds—he always grins when you do, his voice a husky tease in your ear:

"Y'don’t gotta hide from me, angel. Wanna hear every fuckin’ sound y’make."

And when you do let go, when you whimper his name in that breathless, wrecked voice—that’s when he loses it.

It’s never just about the act for him—it’s about you. About making you feel so thoroughly ruined that you never want to be anywhere else but here, tangled up with him, hands clasped, bodies moving as one.

His voice is a breathy, wrecked whisper against your lips:

“Look at me, angel. Wanna see your face when you fall apart for me.”

The second the words left your lips, the moment that trembling, breathless "I love you, [REDACTED]—" spilled from your mouth, everything changed.

His rhythm faltered, hips stuttering, chest heaving against yours like you’d just knocked the air from his lungs. For a second, just a second, he didn’t move—just stared, eyes blown wide, lips parted, the slow realization of what you said crashing over him.

Then he broke.

A shuddered breath, a groan, and suddenly his arms were around you, crushing you against him, face buried in your neck. His body trembled—he trembled. His breath came in ragged, uneven pants, and then—fuck—he was whimpering, voice cracking as he choked out,

“Say it again.”

His hands tightened—one gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go, the other threading through your hair, pulling just enough to make you arch against him. His lips pressed to your skin, open-mouthed and desperate, his breath hot as he begged,

“Say it again, angel. Please.”

Your fingers curled against his back, nails digging into his skin, and you gasped as he rolled his hips deep, so deep it sent white-hot pleasure curling through your core. And even though you could barely breathe, barely think, you still gave him what he wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I—I love you, I love you, I love y—ahh—”

He snapped.

A sharp, choked sound spilled from his throat—half-groan, half-sob—and then he was fucking you like he was trying to ruin you, like he wanted to carve your words into his soul. He didn’t care about pace, didn’t care about teasing, didn’t care about anything except chasing that feeling, that overwhelming, all-consuming rush of belonging that had his vision going hazy.

“You—fuck, you love me—” His voice cracked, rough, wrecked, like he couldn’t even believe it. “You—you really—ah—”

You felt something wet against your shoulder, and that’s when you realized—he was crying. His body shuddered with every thrust, every ragged breath, every desperate whimper he tried to swallow down. His fingers laced with yours, squeezing tight, grounding himself in the feeling of you.

“I love you,” he rasped, voice breaking as he slammed himself deeper, dragging you closer, closer, closer. “Love you, love you, fuck—I need you—”

And then he ruined you.

The sheer desperation in his voice, the overwhelming emotion in the way he held you, the way his body trembled with each ragged thrust—it sent you over the edge so hard you screamed. Pleasure crashed over you in an electric wave, body convulsing against his, vision going white, mind shattering as he fucked you through it, chasing his own high.

The moment you tightened around him, he broke completely, moaning your name like a prayer as he buried himself deep, shaking, gasping, tears hot against your skin as he came hard, filling you with everything he had—everything he was.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just tangled bodies, heaving chests, skin slick with sweat, breathless, wrecked.

He held you through the aftershocks, pressing kisses to your damp skin, hands tracing soothing patterns down your back. And when his breathing finally evened out, when his heartbeat slowed, he exhaled shakily, voice hoarse when he mumbled:

“Gonna make you say it every time, y’know that?”

A smirk tugged at his lips as he nuzzled into your neck, voice still thick with tears, still so incredibly soft.

“Need t’hear it. Need t’feel it.”

Then, with a slow, teasing roll of his hips, he hummed,

“Think y’can say it one more time for me, angel?”

He came for the last time...

His cum is thick, dripping slow and warm from between your legs, and [REDACTED] watches with a lazy, satisfied smirk, eyes half-lidded as he traces a slow, possessive hand down your stomach.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb dragging through the mess he made before pushing some of it back inside. “S’like your body don’t wanna let me go.”

His voice is deep, wrecked, still tinged with the aftershocks of pleasure. He’s barely moved, still pressed against you, still inside you, his cock twitching at the way you whimper from oversensitivity. And even though you can feel him softening, you know he’s not quite done with you yet.

Because when he finally pulls out, slow and deliberate, he groans at the sight of his release leaking out of you, thick and white, dripping down your thighs. His fingers spread you open just a little, just to watch, to admire the way his cum still clings to your hole, and he lets out a quiet, breathy chuckle.

“Bet y’didn’t know that was one of my favorite sights,” he drawls, smug and easy, but there’s a hunger beneath it, something darker and deeper that makes his breath hitch. His fingers tease at your entrance, gathering up what’s spilling out before pushing it back in.

“Gotta keep you nice ‘n full, angel.”

Your body jerks, overstimulated, but he just leans down, kissing your temple with something achingly tender.

“S’my favorite way to mark you,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your jaw, pressing another slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Better than hickeys. Better than bruises. ‘Cause even if no one else can see it…” His breath fans warm over your lips.

“You’ll know it’s there.”

His hand lingers for just a second longer before he finally sighs, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before rolling out of bed.

"Stay put," he orders, voice soft, indulgent, like he's speaking to something fragile.

You hear the rustling of fabric, the quiet drip of water, and then—warmth. A damp towel glides over your skin, gentle and slow, as he wipes away the evidence of everything he just did to you. His touch is careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing every inch of your body all over again. And when he finally deems you clean enough, he brushes his knuckles along your cheek, tilting your face toward him.

“Y’good?”

His voice is quiet now, searching, scanning your features for any hint of discomfort. And when you nod—when you lean into his touch, pressing a sleepy kiss to his palm—his lips twitch into something almost fond.

“Mm. Good.”

Your whole body feels like it’s floating—boneless, weightless—except for the ache between your legs and the warmth still pooling deep inside you. You're barely clinging to consciousness, vision hazy, skin flushed, legs utterly useless after how hard he wrecked you. The bike’s cold metal bites against your overheated skin, but you barely notice—too busy trembling in his lap, still impaled on his cock, still dripping with him.

[REDACTED] presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, voice still thick and breathless as he rasps, “Look at that, angel…” His fingers trace slow, teasing circles over your stomach, dipping lower—just enough to feel the way his cum is seeping out of you, trailing down your thighs.

A low, satisfied sound rumbles in his chest.

“Still full of me,” he murmurs, like he can’t fucking believe it. His hand drags lower, gathering some of his release on his fingers, pressing it back in—slow, teasing, possessive. You jolt, over-sensitive and trembling, but he just smirks.

“Y’think you can walk?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, let alone move. Your limbs feel like jelly, muscles twitching in the aftermath of too many orgasms, and your hands are still gripping the handlebars behind you for dear life.

“Tch. ’Course y’can’t,” he murmurs, amusement curling in his voice.

And then, without warning, he lifts you.

A startled gasp tears from your lips as he scoops you up, arms firm and steady beneath your legs, cradling you against his chest like you weigh nothing. His warmth envelops you, his scent thick in your lungs—leather, sweat, sex—and you can feel the rapid thud-thud-thud of his heartbeat where your head rests against him.

He carries you effortlessly, his grip firm yet careful, keeping you close. And fuck—there’s something so intimate about it. The way his fingers flex against your thighs, the way he presses a kiss to your temple without thinking, the way his breath hitches slightly when he adjusts you in his arms—like he just loves holding you like this.

His voice is softer now, a low, affectionate drawl as he hums,

“Think y’need a bath, angel.”

You barely have the strength to respond, just nodding weakly against his chest. He chuckles, shifting you higher in his arms, pressing you even closer.

“Don’t worry. I got you.”

His lips brush against your forehead, tender, lingering.

“I always got you.”

The bath had been too warm, too soothing, and between the exhaustion settling deep in your bones and the way [REDACTED] had kept tracing slow, lazy circles on your thigh under the water, you'd nearly drifted off in his arms. He’d washed you—hands reverent, careful, like he was sculpting something delicate out of soap and steam—before wrapping you in a towel and carrying you back to the bedroom.

And then he’d leaned against the doorway, still damp from the bath, towel slung low on his hips, eyes dark

You'd barely had time to process before his hands were guiding you down, pressing you against the mattress, the cold air prickling against your freshly washed skin.

And fuck—he was so deep, stretching you all over again, hands gripping your hips as he fucked into you with slow, deep thrusts, dragging pleasure out of you until you were shaking beneath him, moaning into the sheets.

He’d taken his time—murmuring soft, possessive praise against your skin, watching the way your body took him, how it clung to him, milking him with every thrust until he finally spilled inside you again, filling you up just like before.

And even then, he hadn’t let you move.

He’d just stayed there for a moment, cock still buried deep, hands stroking down your sides as he hummed, pleased, murmuring something low and smug about "keeping you full for just a little longer."

And only when you whined—utterly wrecked and oversensitive—had he finally pulled out, chuckling at the way you shuddered, at the way his release dripped from you.

Now—

You’re in the kitchen, barely dressed, legs still unsteady as you focus on the dessert you’re making. [REDACTED] is behind you, clinging—all broad chest and heavy warmth, arms wrapped around your waist as he nuzzles lazily into your neck.

“Y’ain’t gonna let me help?” he mumbles, voice still slow and drowsy with leftover satisfaction.

“You never help,” you tease, nudging him lightly. “You just stand there and hug me.”

A lazy smirk curls against your skin. “S’important job, angel. Gotta make sure you’re warm.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move to shake him off. If anything, you lean into him a little more, enjoying the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers flex gently against your stomach.

Then, without warning, you turn and press a kiss to his jaw.

His breath hitches.

Just a second. Just a tiny pause, barely noticeable—but you feel it.

And then he’s tilting your chin up, his gaze dark and unreadable as he leans in, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips. It’s unhurried, indulgent, his tongue teasing against yours as he takes his time tasting you. His arms tighten around you, pressing you closer, like he never wants to let go.

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet, angel,” he murmurs.

His fingers drift lower, toying with the hem of your clothes, dangerous in their intent.

"...Y'ever thought about letting me have dessert first?"

[REDACTED]’s breath catches. Their fingers twitch slightly in yours—scarred, burned, rough in all the ways that tell a story they’ve never spoken aloud.

You don’t press. You never do.

Instead, you lift their hand to your lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to each calloused knuckle.

Their face is unreadable—staring down at you, something flickering in their dark eyes, something raw, something fragile. Like they don’t know what to do with the warmth of your touch. Like it hurts.

And then, as you shift closer, your ring glints under the dim kitchen light. The matching band on their finger catches, too—two small, simple things, yet carrying the weight of a lifetime.

Childhood lovers. Meant to be.

Their grip tightens around your hand, just slightly. Just enough to tell you they’re holding on.

“…If you hadn’t taken his hand that day,” [REDACTED] murmurs, voice rough with something unreadable, “…would you have still said yes?”

Your heart aches at the memory.

That day, years ago—small hands reaching, fingers brushing, the quiet promise sealed with a ring—before Leon’s sneer cut through the moment, before cruel hands tore you away, before [REDACTED] had been left alone with nothing but the sting of rejection and the echo of their own heartbeat.

You squeeze their hand tighter. Hold it against your chest, where they can feel the steady rhythm beneath your ribs.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly. “Maybe my childhood self wouldn’t have understood love the way I do now.”

[REDACTED] swallows, jaw tightening.

“But…” You smile—small, warm, certain. “I’m happy that life gave me another chance with you.”

Something in them cracks.

They look at you—really look at you—eyes shining, throat working around words they can’t quite say. Their lips part, but no sound comes out, and then—then they just press forward, pressing their forehead against yours, squeezing your hand against their chest like they’re the one afraid you’ll disappear this time.

“…You love me?”

A whisper. A plea.

You cradle their face, thumb brushing over the dampness clinging to their lashes, and you whisper back—

“I love you, [REDACTED].”

And finally—finally—they let go.

Not of you. Never of you.

But of everything else.

[REDACTED] shudders—a small, barely-there breath that stutters in their throat, like they don’t know how to take in the weight of your words. Like they can’t believe they deserve them.

But you just hold them closer.

“Only you,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to theirs. “The real you.”

Their fingers tighten around yours, almost desperate. You can feel it—the way their body tenses, the way their breath hitches, the way they struggle against something unseen.

“I’ll tell you this for the rest of my life,” you promise, voice steady, unwavering. “I’ll say it as many times as it takes. Just so you know.”

Their eyes flutter shut. Their lips part, like they want to say something, but no words come—just the smallest, strangled sound, like something breaking apart in their chest.

“You,” you whisper again, softer now. “The real you is the one I feel the happiest with.”

And that’s when they fall.

Not physically. Not in any way you can see.

But you feel it—the way their last defenses crumble, the way their breath shudders out of them, the way they just let go and sink into your arms, forehead still pressed to yours, fingers tangled with yours, body trembling as they clutch onto you like you’re the only thing keeping them together.

“…You’re not leaving,” they whisper, barely a sound.

“I’m not leaving.”

Their lips find yours—not desperate, not rough—just deep. Slow. Like they’re memorizing the way you feel.

You giggle at the way [REDACTED]’s eyes soften when you press the small cake piece to their lips. “C’mon, try it,” you coax, voice light, teasing. “I made it just for you.”

They huff, but there’s no real resistance—just a tiny, reluctant smirk as they take the bite from your fingers.

A pause. Then, their expression melts.

“…S’ good,” they murmur, lips still brushing against your fingertips. Their voice is softer than usual, almost boyish in its honesty. “Sweet… tastes like strawberries.”

You beam. “See! I told you you’d like it!”

Their gaze lingers on you—eyes half-lidded, warm, fond. And then, in one slow, deliberate movement, they lean in and press a kiss right to the tip of your nose.

It’s so soft, so unexpectedly sweet, that your breath catches.

And when they pull back, licking the last traces of cake from their lips, they hum lazily, “Mm. You’re sweeter, though.”

Your heart does a stupid little flip.

"Cheer up, angel," they say, voice dipping into that low, syrupy drawl. "Can’t have you lookin’ cuter than dessert itself.”

You’re definitely not blushing. Not even a little bit.

[ilovethanosdick]

Park Min-su x gn! reader

A/N: coming out as Min-su defender (≧ڡ≦*)

• HE’S SUCH A CUTIE WHEN HE’S IN LOVE!!!

• Very quiet and insecure, especially when it comes to emotional matters.

• In a romantic relationship, he’s a bit clumsy at first.

• He often worries about whether he’s expressing his feelings properly.

• Finds it hard to talk about his emotions,

• BUT!!! He shows them through subtle acts of love.

• He remembers little details about you—your favorite color, how you act in certain situations, what makes you happy.

• Holds an umbrella for you when you walk in the rain, his heartbeat quickening with every brush of your shoulder against his.

• The slightest physical touch leaves him flustered.

• It would take him a long time to muster the courage to make physical gestures like holding hands or hugging.

• His low self-esteem sometimes makes him anxious...

• He often doubts whether he’s good enough for you.

• He needs reassurance that you truly love him.

• If you’re sad or tired, he’d do anything to cheer you up—even something that’s hard for him, like opening up about his own feelings.

• He’s such a good listener!

• When something’s troubling you, he knows how to listen and support you without putting pressure on you, even if it takes time.

• He especially treasures simple moments spent together, like walking in the park or quietly reading in the same room.

• Even after being in a relationship with you for a long time, he still blushes when you say something romantic or praise him.

• If he’s the one asking you out, he meticulously plans the date to make sure you’ll enjoy it.

This was your fifth date with Min-su. You weren’t official, but every time you met, your feelings for him grew stronger. His smile made your heart flutter with love. The way he cared about you, always putting your comfort and happiness first. The small, thoughtful gifts—your favorite snacks or trinkets that reminded him of you. How could you not love him?

Now, the two of you were sitting on a park bench, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the ground. The world felt quieter here, like it was just the two of you, sharing a moment stolen from time. A single pair of earbuds connected you as First Love/Late Spring by Mitski played softly, filling the silence with its tender melody. Min-su’s shoulder brushed against yours, a light touch that sent warmth spiraling through your chest. You could feel his gaze on you, warm and lingering, like he was memorizing every detail of this moment. It made your heart skip, a soft heat spreading across your cheeks as you pretended not to notice.

You turned back your attention to the sunset. It was one of the prettiest ones you saw in a while. The sky was almost clear letting the warm colors set in. The cool breeze hit your face, the warmth of your cheeks a contrast to the chill. It was comforting. A moment where you could step away from everything, just breathe, and let the world fade away for a while.

A gentle warmth spread over the back of your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts, like a soft thread tugging at your heart. It was gentle, almost hesitant, but unmistakably real. You glanced down and saw Min-su hand resting over yours, his fingers curling slightly, as if afraid you might pull away. Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. The quiet boldness of the gesture left you frozen in the best way. "Y/N?" he broke the silence. His voice was quiet, hesitant, as if unsure whether to disturb the peace you shared. "Hm?" You turn your head to the side to face him. For a fleeting second, your eyes locked with his, a shared understanding passing between you before either of you could break it. He glanced down at your intertwined fingers. Soft smile spreading on his face at the sight, as if the simple act was enough to calm his racing heart. He took a deep breath, then looked back at you, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. "I...I think that I love you".

[hitomisuzuya]

Sleepy Sex with Aventurine… 🙏

I love him so much I think he would enjoy that kind of thing, early mornings, on a day when both you and him aren’t busy.. just laying together in basking in the light glow of the morning sunlight and what a better way to wake up than having morning sex…

If that makes any sense LOL

Anyways I love your writing and I hope you’re doing well reading this!!! 🩵

aventurine x fem!reader. soft smut. morning sex. fluffy.

i was smiling the whole time i wrote this.❤️ i love the way this request was worded🥺

when you opened your eyes in morning, you were quite sure you were waking up next to an angel. but even as that thought crossed your mind, you knew that aventurine would put even the most beautiful angel to shame with just one look.

at some point during the night, he'd rolled over onto his back, an arm still around you tucking you against him. both of you were still very much naked from the night before, your body littered with aventurine's bite marks of frenzied passion.

you adjusted yourself so you could lean up and place a few soft kisses on his neck. a few moments later, aventurine's hypnotic multicolored eyes opened. smiling sleepily, he put a hand on the back of your head, stroking your hair idly.

you returned his smile as the sun beam filtered further into the room. "morning," you greeted, "the sun beam decided to come further into the room because you woke up. it wanted to bask you in it's warmth."

aventurine's soft laugh sounded sleepy as he turned over on his side, bringing your forehead to rest against his. "the sun beam was telling me to move out of your light."

you gently nuzzled your forehead on his. "no, there is no way it was telling you that. besides, my hair is probably a real mess," you giggled.

"nonsense," he replied, kissing you once before continuing, putting a hand on your cheek and skimming his thumb gently across it, "you look more beautiful than even lady luck is," he stole away any other words of praise you would've had for him with another kiss.

you opened your mouth for his tongue, sighing softly into his mouth. soft silk sheets brushed on your skin, moving closer to him as he deepened the kiss.

the intimacy of kissing always made aventurine hard. the soft feeling of your lips on his, the noises you were making from the pleasure of having his lips against yours, his fingers combing through your hair as he explored your mouth.

you blushed feeling his growing erection poking against your thigh. you reached under the blankets, brushing your knuckles up and down his cock before wrapping your hand around it. aventurine let out shaky sighs, rutting into your hand as you pumped and stroked his cock.

you massaged your thumb around his cockhead, drawing soft, sleepy moans from him as he pulled away, his lips hovering over yours. he rested his forehead against yours again, his body trembling a little, enjoying the pumping sensation of your hand on his cock.

"i need to be inside of you now," he murmured, kissing you again. you rolled over so he could move on top of, spreading your legs to accommodate him. he chuckled sleepily feeling your juices immediately wet his cock. "wet already for me," he stole your lips into another passionate kiss, marveling at the sweet way you melted into him.

you wrapped your arms around him, deepening the kiss as you grinded against him. his cock pulsed between your folds. his teasing was true. jacking him off, watching his beautiful face contort with pleasure, listening to him sleepily moan. all of it made you very wet.

aventurine didn't believe in wasting a winning hand when it was dealt. caging you in with his hands at the sides of your head, he slowly pushed his cock inside. your pussy stretched tight and perfect, like it was made to take his cock.

his teeth nipped at your lower lip with a sleepy, satisfied groan as his cock sank into the warmth of your cunt. pulling away, he let you breathe for only a few moments to hear your moan of pleasure as he bottomed out before stealing your lips up in another deep, open mouthed kiss.

the way your pussy clenched on his cock made his whole body quake with pleasure. the long, slow, languid thrusts of his cock nudged deep and accurate into your sweet spot, rubbing against every sensitive part between your walls.

you writhed underneath him, clinging to him as you rocked your hips up. putting a shaky hand on his cheek, you pulled away as you caressed his cheek. "don't stop, please," you encouraged behind what he thought were the sweetest sounding moans.

aventurine is always driven to make you cum first. there was nothing better than your pussy squeezing his cock before he cums. "you sound so, so cute," he smirked hearing your shy squeak against his lips.

he adjusted his position so he could reach down and rub your clit. you always told him he is an angel. but to him, you sounded more angelic coming undone on his cock. you whimpered, soft and high pitched as your body twitched with the signs of cumming. "shh, cum for me, sweetheart. i've got you," you gasped in pleasure as his thumb circled your clit.

you were supposed to be the one taking care of him, but here he is, taking care of you instead.

you kissed him again, the knot of your orgasm breaking apart, your arms tightening around him as you shook from your orgasm. aventurine pulled away, he couldn't possibly bring himself to muffle your moans while you were cumming.

on the cusps of his own orgasm, aventurine increased his pace, fucking you through your orgasm as he chased his high. his head dropped down into your neck, nuzzling against it as his cock pulsed.

you stroked his hair, hooking a leg over his hip so he could thrust deeper inside you. the comforting sense of intimacy, coupled with your pussy squeezing his cock made cum ribbon inside of you. aventurine shook in pleasure on top of you, nuzzling into your neck again.

after a few long moments, he pulled out, remaining on top of you. "how about today, we just stay in bed. order room service and some drinks and just," he chuckled sleepily, grinning down at you, "fuck all day."

the ideal day off, in your humble opinion.

[hoshifighting]

do you think you could write some bratty sub minghao? I feel like he’s totally a brat when he feels like it hehehe

bratty sub!minghao

WARNINGS: smut, sub!minghao x dom!reader, tit slap, orgasm denial, teasing, face riding oral [ f. receiving ], hair pulling.

in a dom side, he would be a hard dom. in contrast, if he were the opposite, he would be a hard sub bratty sub.

minghao’s the brattiest sub you’ve ever had to deal with, hands down. like, he’s not even trying to hide it—rolling his eyes, crossing his arms, letting out that annoying little huff every time you tell him to do something. you’d think he’s allergic to behaving. “yah... why do you always have to be so bossy?” he whines, dragging out the word as he looks at you like you’ve just personally ruined his life. his pouty lips are so damn pretty it’s hard not to kiss him.

“bossy?” you echo, quirking a brow. “hao, baby, you’re about five seconds away from finding out exactly what bossy looks like.”

his response? an eyeroll so dramatic it could rival a reality tv contestant’s. “whatever,” he mutters, flipping his hair. “like you’re gonna do anything about it~~”

oh. oh. challenge accepted.

next thing he knows, your hand’s in his hair, pulling hard enough to make his mouth drop open in a shocked little gasp. his eyes go wide, his bratty mask cracking just a little as you tug him closer.

“what was that?” you ask, your voice calm, but your grip firm. his breathing’s already shaky, and you can feel the tension in his body as he tries —and fails—not to react.

“n-nothing,” he stammers, the slightest tremble in his voice. but he’s still got that glint in his eye, that little spark of disobedience that drives you crazy.

“nothing, huh?” you hum, tilting your head as you study him. “then why are you squirming so much, baby? can’t handle a little discipline?”

he scoffs, but it’s weak, barely holding up under your gaze. “i’m not squirming,” he mutters embarassed.

“oh, really?” you let go of his hair, only to deliver a sharp slap to his nipple. the sound echoes through the room, and he yelps, his body jerking instinctively.

“what the hell—” he starts, but you cut him off with another slap, this time to the other nipple, making him hiccup silently.

“what was that, hao? you were saying something?”

he’s blushing now, his cheeks a furious pink as he glares at you. but he doesn’t say a word, just bites his lip and looks away, his bratty confidence shaken.

“thought so,” you say, smirking as you trail your fingers over his heated skin. “maybe this’ll teach you some manners.”

but, of course, minghao being minghao, he can’t let it go. “you’re so mean.”

“mean?” you laugh, leaning down until your face is inches from his. “oh, baby, i haven’t even started being mean yet.”

and then comes the real punishment—your hand sliding down between his legs, teasing him by playing with the shiny pre cum on his cock head, just enough to make him whimper, but not giving him anything more.

“please,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes.

“please, what?” you ask, feigning innocence as you pull back just enough to leave him on the edge.

“please, i... i need—” he cuts himself off, his face turning even redder.

“you need what, hao?” you press, your smirk widening as he squirms beneath you. “use your words.”

he groans, his head falling back as he tugs at the restraints holding his wrists now. “i need to cum,” he finally admits.

“aw, that’s too bad,” you say, your tone almost pitying as you pull your hand away completely. “because brats don’t get to come.” you’re already shedding your clothes when minghao, with his clever little smirk, pipes up from his spot on the bed. “so… are you gonna let me eat you out?”

he’s always watching you with those sharp, scheming eyes, already trying to figure out your next move. always too smart for his own good. you don’t answer, just slide your top over your head and toss it aside. his gaze drops to your bare skin, and you can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“oh, come on,” he presses. “don’t leave me hanging here. you’re just gonna ignore me?”

you bite back a smirk, taking your sweet time with the rest of your clothes. minghao shifts on the bed, his fingers twitching like he’s dying to touch you but knows better than to try.

“you’re so quiet all of a sudden,” he says, trying to look cool, butedning up sound more desperate than ever.

you step out of the last piece of clothing, completely bare now, and climb onto the bed. minghao’s breath hitches, his lips parting as he watches you crawl over him. you roll your eyes, settling yourself over him, your knees bracketing his head. his smirk fades instantly, replaced by a look of pure, unfiltered need.

“oh, you’re… you’re gonna—”

you lower yourself onto his face, cutting him off, and his reaction is immediate—his tongue darts out to meet you as he closes his eyes.

“that’s right,” you murmur, grinding lightly against him, your breath hitching as his nose bumps against your clit.

his response is muffled, but you can feel the way his tongue works, desperate and eager, trying to please you. “you’re lucky,” you coo. “i treat you so well, give you everything you need… and how do you repay me?”

minghao groans against you, his tongue faltering for a second before redoubling its efforts. you can feel the frustration radiating off him, but he doesn’t stop—not for a second.

“you don’t respect me,” you continue. “you’re such a little brat, hao. always testing me, always pushing.”

his tongue moves faster now, llike he’s trying to prove you wrong. you can feel him shaking beneath you, putting everything he has into pleasing you.

“there you go,” you murmur, tilting your head back as you feel yourself dripping more and more with every lick. “put in some effort for once.”

you’re close, so close, and minghao knows it—his tongue working overtime, his moans vibrating against you.

but just as you’re about to cum in his mouth, you lift yourself off him. his mouth follows instinctively, his tongue flicking out into empty air as he lets out a pitiful whine.

“no, no, no,” he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to pull you back down by rubbing his chin on your inner thigh. “please, i was—i was doing good—”

you laugh cruel, watching as he squirms beneath you. “oh, baby,” you say, brushing your fingers through his damp hair. “you really thought i was gonna let you have it?”

[sceletaflores]

any nasty down bad breeding kink art musings love of my life?

viciously yanked me out of my mini challengers rut with this one because yes. yes i do have some thoughts on that.

for some reason the first thing that came to mind was virgin!art....in a universe where he somehow didn't get laid before stanford lol

like auurgggghhh virgin!art and his deep seated breeding kink. it's literally ingrained in him even before he has sex for the first time.

you're his first real girlfriend, met when you needed a tutor in accounting and art's professor suggested him.

the two of you have been dating for two months and he already knows that he loves you despite what patrick says about "playing the field a little man, you're not married to the chick."

but the thing is that art would marry you. he'd up and marry you tomorrow if that's what you wanted. he doesn’t care how crazy it sounds.

he loves you and he wants you to be his first.

maybe he wasn't entirely expecting it when you laid on your back on the mattress of his dorm, peering up at him through your lashes as you announced that you were "ready to take our relationship to the next level..."

he was hard before you finished talking.

art could barely think straight, his body reacting faster than his mind. he swallowed hard, trying to steady his hands, which had started trembling the moment you laid back on the navy blue comforter of his bed.

“are you...are you sure?" his voice came out more breathless than he intended, his brain scrambling to keep up despite all the blood rushing to his dick.

your gentle nod, paired with a soft smile that made his heart stutter in his chest was all it took for him to lose any lingering doubts.

he crawled up the mattress, leaning down to kiss you with more tenderness than urgency, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape his chest.

he fumbled his way through fingering you, his hands shaking with nerves even though you've done this part countless times.

it wasn't until the two of you shed all clothes, art settling himself between your legs before you were speaking, thighs twitching to close around his hips.

"you'll have to pull out, i'm off the pill."

fuck.

art's heard of that before, pulling out. usually the punchline of some jokes the guys like to tell in the locker room, or from patrick recapping his own hook-up stories.

the dirtiness of it makes his cheeks burn, and he hopes to god you can't see the embarrassing red blush he knows is there.

he takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve as he presses the leaking head of his dick to your slick hole.

"okay." his voice sounded pained, his hold on your hip probably a little too tight as he held his throbbing dick steady and nudged his hips forward until just the tip slipped inside your fluttering hole.

"oh fuck."

art’s brain short-circuits for a moment, his entire body freezing as the tight heat of you grips the head of his dick. he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to keep his cool, but every nerve in his body is screaming at him to move, to take more. to bury himself so deep he wouldn’t know where he ends and you begin.

he lets out a low groan, fingers digging into your skin, knuckles turning white with it. he wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it would feel, like his entire life had been leading up to this exact moment.

"jesus...you're so—" he can’t even finish the sentence, his voice breaking.

"art," your hips shift beneath him, making him jolt forward, sinking just a little deeper inside you. his mind goes blank, a vast space of nothingness but the tight heat wrapped around his dick.

there's only you, your soft skin, your quiet gasps, the feeling of being wrapped in the most sinful warmth.

for a while art gets lost in the feeling. in the way you pant into his open mouth, too overwhelmed to kiss him properly. in the way your hands grip his shoulders harder with every inch he gives you. in the way your pussy shakes around him like it can hardly wait any longer.

art knows he's getting close, that he probably needs to pull out soon. but you're just so soft and you smell so good and your pussy is sucking his dick in so wet and warm like it never wants him to leave again.

"i can't," he grits out against your collarbone, shaking his head frantically. "i can't do it."

"don't stop," you whine, manicured nails digging into the toned muscle of his shoulders, "don't stop, baby. fuck, give it to me harder, harder please-ah!"

art screws his eyes shut as tightly as he can, brows pinched together as he presses his forehead against the sweaty skin of your shoulder to ground himself. his hips speed up to punch out more high whines of his name from your slick lips.

there's an odd feeling working it's way through his body as he ponders his options, a wrongness flashing in the back of his mind each time he reminds himself of pulling out to spill over your stomach.

despite the fact that he's never done this before, his gut tells him no.

you deserve his come inside you, painted along your insides as he claims you for the first time.

"i can't pull out," he whines through clenched teeth, big hands tightening their hold on your waist. his voice is pinched and high in a way it's never been before, desperation leaking through his tone.

your lips fall open on a gasp, your head shaking back and forth dazedly, but he feels the way you clench around him. the way your pussy tightens up like it's trying to milk the load directly out of his aching balls.

"fuck! please don't make me baby," he begs, self restraint snapping in two as he buries his face in your neck. "lemme come in you, it'll be okay. we'll be fine, nothing’s gonna happen if it's only this once."

"no..." you moan, "art don't, gotta pull out..." but your hips start rising of the bed to meet his thrusts, the dirty smack of skin on skin filling his tiny single. you're dripping around him, coating his dick with a slick layer of shiny wetness.

"i can't," art repeats breathlessly, dick twitching inside you warningly.

"i need it…need you, need to come in you so fucking bad," his voice is strained and cracking, hips trembling with the effort, but you’re so tight around him, every squeeze pulling him deeper.

it's too much and not enough all at once—the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming need. it has pure kerosene burning in his veins.

"art," your legs stay wrapped snug around his hips, ankles locked over his lower back. "m'close, gonna come, fuck! i'm coming—!"

so is art. the added squeeze of your pussy coming around him shattering the last of his resolve and sending him careening him over the edge.

"fuck," your name falls from his lips in a tight groan as he unloads inside of you. flooding your pussy with warm come as his hips keep up the punishing pace he set.

art doesn't stop thrusting even as he comes so hard his vision whites out. he can't stop, like you've got some sort of magnetic field that keeps pulling him in over and over and over.

your too-loud moans and cries dissolving into sharp keens and gasps as he fucks you into over-stimulation, his hips pumping in in in as the image of his come getting fucked deeper and deeper inside of you plays on a loop in his mind.

when his arms finally give out and he collapses on top of you in a sweaty heap of limbs, your arms immediately come up to wrap around his shoulders. a pleased hum rumbling through your chest as you scratch your nails along his scalp soothingly, smug smile hidden in the sweaty halo of his hair.

art's out like a light in five minutes, falls asleep right there with his head resting on your bare-chest and his dick kept safe inside you.

patrick buys a plan-b for art the next morning when he's too nervous to face the cashier at walgreens.

[wh0rrorb4by]

Neeeed to hear more about uncle tsumu 🙈

tw: stepcest, noncon/dubcon, crybaby reader, mean uncle ‘tsumu, noncon kissing + touching, size

18+, mdni

a/n: PLS i've been wanting to write this for so long 💗 hope u love it!! i love love love the miya twins

.

mean uncle 'tsumu who sees how well his brother's trained you, and now he wants a piece of the pie.

"better not tell on me, either." he grunts. "wouldn't wanna get yer favorite uncle in trouble, would ya?"

you're shaking like a leaf. you don't even want to think about what your daddy will do if he catches you letting your uncle stuff you full of cock. god, this is so much worse than when he sneaks nasty, wet kisses from you when daddy leaves the room, or asks you to rub his sore muscles when he’s shirtless and still glistening with sweat from his morning run. you like your uncle a lot — love him, even. you really do. he’s your daddy’s fun, silly brother who makes you laugh a lot, and who’s a little too generous come your birthday and holidays. the one who encourages you to stay up late and watch scary movies and eat too much pizza when he comes over some weekends. he’s right, you don’t want to get him in trouble.

but letting isn't really the word for what's going on. you're only taking it because he’s got your face pressed down into your mattress, his other hand holding your hip to keep you upright as he takes you from behind. the tv’s on in the background, a volleyball match or something he put on to drown out the sounds of your cries and whines for your uncle to ease up on you. he’s not daddy, he shouldn’t be doing this, he doesn’t belong in there. daddy will be so mad when he finds out. you tried to tell him, tried to warn him what your daddy will do if he catches you, tried to beg him to just use your hand instead when he pulled you onto his lap and made you feel what you did to him. you cried and apologized and told him you really didn’t mean to, you didn’t know that anyone other than daddy could get all hard and leaky like that just from a little kissing. you didn’t really wanna kiss anyway, almost wincing when you remembered how hard daddy’s palm came down on your bare ass the last time he caught wind of uncle ‘tsumu squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered and making you kiss him until he was satisfied.

daddy warned you not to let uncle ‘tsumu touch you again. he warned uncle ‘tsumu, too, got in his face about it real bad, made you think they were going to really start fighting. they only stopped because you jumped in between them, crying and blushing and choking out that it was your fault, that you told uncle ‘tsumu it’s okay to kiss you the way daddy does because you didn’t know any better. that was before daddy ever gave you his cock, and back then you didn’t really know why you felt all needy and empty. being squished in between them, their much taller and solid bodies pressed against you as one stared down at you in anger and the other stared down at you in complete and utter adoration — it made you tremble, made your knees weak and your tummy flutter. but you’re broken in now, adjusted to taking a cock nearly identical to the one that was pounding into you now, but the feeling was different because it wasn’t your daddy this time.

“answer me, darlin’,” he cooed in your ear, his hard chest pressed against your back. you arched a little more for him the way daddy likes, just out of habit. “oh, fuck, that’s good— that’s a good girl. ya love yer uncle, hm?”

you’re crying, choking out a weak yes because you do. he knows you do. but you love your daddy, too. so much. you feel like you’re going to faint. it’s too much, the stress of your daddy walking in at any moment—

“hey, relax, yer squeezin’ me too tight,” he grunts. he pulls out nearly all the way, so just the fat head of his cock is still inside you. “‘samu’s not comin’ home anytime soon, so just relax.” he mutters, sinking back in slowly until he’s buried deep inside again. you whine, and he pets your hair as tears slip past your eyes, then trails his hands down your back, kneading and massaging in certain areas that help soothe you a little. from there they trail down to your ass, rubbing soft circles into the skin until he suddenly grips the flesh in his strong hands — hard enough to make you yelp.

“and who’s to say my punishment’s not worse than his, huh?” he asks in your ear. his tone isn’t mean, still as cheerful as ever as he uses the bruising grip he has on your hips to move you up and down his length, fucking into your sweet spot over and over as you cry. “stop worryin’ so much about that bastard, and start worryin’ about what i’m gonna do to ya when i lose my patience.”

you turn your face to bury it into the sheets beneath you, hoping to muffle some of the screams that leave you as he fucks you harder. it’s brutal, but blinding all the same as he pushes you to the edge. daddy would pinch your clit to make you cum with a jerk, put you out of your misery as your body shakes with need, but uncle ‘tsumu’s not letting you off that easy.

“that’s it, that’s a slutty little girl,” he groans. “might just tell yer daddy about this myself. let him know what his little baby does when she’s left all alone with another man’s cock.”

you cry a little harder at that. it’s not fair. you didn’t want this, didn’t ask for it. only thought about daddy the whole time his brother made your pussy all wet. well— thought about him as much as you could, but after uncle ‘tsumu’s fat cockhead pushed up against your sweet spot, it was sort of hard to think at all. it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. your brain’s all fuzzy and you’re crying and you just wanna get kissed a lot because you’re about to cum.

“oh, yer squeezin’ me, princess. ya gonna cum, hm? does gettin’ punished turn ya on?” he teases. you wanna shake your head, say no, wanna whine and scream til your daddy comes to rescue you. but you can’t, because now you’re on the edge, dizzy and blushing and panting as you reach your high.

“maybe we’ll both get to punish ya. stuff ya full of yer two favorite cocks and see how long you last.”

that’s all it takes to make you cum around him— hard. it’s blinding, makes your whole body shake and spasm as he fucks you through it. you’re nodding, completely dumb and cock-hungry while he fills you with his cum. you can hear yourself babbling but can’t be bothered to think about the words as they tumble out. yeah, you want it. you want both of them, wanna be full. wanna make them proud. you want to break for them.

it seems so right, so blissful as he collapses on top of you, still keeping you full of his cock as he wraps you in his arms. he’s not daddy — doesn’t have quite the same feel or smell. close, but not completely identical. but it feels right all the same. you love him, you really do. wanna love them both forever.

that bliss comes screeching to a halt as you hear keys jingling, then the front door open and shut. you move on impulse, heart pounding as you squirm and writhe beneath uncle ‘tsumu, trying to push him off, panicking as your daddy’s footsteps come a little closer.

“shhh, darlin’, it’s just yer daddy,” he mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “why don’t you tell him what you just told me?”

[itsnesss]

Anthony and Lawrence reader first time and getting caught by the dads

𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 | anthony larusso × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | lawrence!reader, intimacy (implicit/not overly graphic), first time, strong language, family tension and awkward situations

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You never imagined that your life would turn into a series of unfortunate events in a single night. What started as a special moment ended in the worst possible scenario: trapped, naked, and under the gaze of two of the most terrifying men in the Valley. But to understand how you got here, we have to go back a few hours.

Anthony Larusso had never been someone who caught your attention. To you, he had always been "Daniel Larusso's younger son," the kid who used to be a nuisance and who, years later, had changed. He was no longer the annoying child who got into trouble for fun; now, he was someone you shared jokes, movies, and, to your surprise, feelings with.

There was something about his awkwardness that you found charming. Even though you were the daughter of Johnny Lawrence, a man who preached "Strike first, strike hard, no mercy," you found something different in Anthony: sweetness, patience, and a contagious laugh that managed to disarm you.

It was an impulse. A moment when the two of you were alone in his room, the dim light casting soft shadows, and a movie playing in the background that neither of you was paying attention to. You didn't know who made the first move, but before you could stop to think, you were already kissing him. And then, the kiss turned into something more.

"Are you sure you want this?" Anthony asked, his voice a little shaky, his dark eyes filled with nerves.

You could have backed out. You could have thought about the consequences. But at that moment, there was only one possible answer.

"Yes."

The outside world disappeared in that instant. There were no pressures, no expectations, just two people learning together, discovering what it meant to give themselves to each other with clumsiness and care. Every touch was a reminder that this was new, but also that they were exactly where they wanted to be.

There were whispers filled with laughter, inevitable blushes, and mistakes that made both of you pause and try again with nervous smiles. But in the midst of it all, there was something undeniable: love in its purest, most innocent, and real form.

When it was over, Anthony was silent for a moment, his arm around your waist as you both caught your breath.

"That was…" he started to say, but then fell silent and let out a small laugh. "I have no idea what to say."

You turned to look at him, finding in his eyes the same gleam of disbelief that you felt in your chest.

"I think it was good," you whispered with a small smile.

"I think so too."

Your fingers were still intertwined with Anthony's as you both lay there, sharing a knowing look. His breathing was steady, but his heart was still pounding beneath your cheek. You couldn't help but smile.

You never imagined this would happen today. Not here, not now. And certainly not like this.

Anthony turned slightly, watching you with a mix of tenderness and wonder. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and you couldn't resist reaching up to push it back.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a whisper, his voice still trembling.

You nodded, feeling a pleasant warmth in your chest.

"Yeah… and you?"

"Yeah," he replied with a goofy smile. "I think so."

You both laughed quietly, unable to believe what had just happened. It had been clumsy, sweet, imperfect in so many ways, but absolutely special. Something that would belong only to the two of you.

Or so you thought.

Just as you were snuggled against Anthony, your heart still racing and a sense of tranquility settling in after the whirlwind of emotions, you heard the worst combination of sounds in human history.

First, the front door opening.

Second, the unmistakable voices of Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence.

"Thanks for driving me, Johnny," Daniel said. "Amanda and Carmen are out, and I didn’t want to leave Anthony alone for too long."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Johnny replied. "The kid’s probably watching his video games or whatever he does in his free time."

Silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.

And then, Anthony's bedroom door bursting open.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Johnny shouted so loudly you thought the windows might have vibrated.

You had never moved so fast in your life. In the blink of an eye, you were desperately searching for something to cover yourself with while Anthony panicked beside you.

"Dad! I… this isn’t…!"

"Anthony?!" Daniel’s eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop out of his face. "What are you doing with her?! Oh my God! Are you two…?!"

"Oh, for the love of—" Johnny grabbed his head with both hands, his face a mix of horror and fury. "Tell me this isn’t what I think it is!"

"Dad…" you started, hoping to calm him down, but the tone of his voice told you he was in no mood to be soothed.

"Are you telling me I trained you just so you could do THIS in Larusso’s house?!"

"Why is that your problem here?!" you shouted, feeling both offended and in a situation so ridiculous that you almost wanted to laugh.

"Because it’s Larusso’s kid!" Johnny pointed at Anthony, who was still trying to wrap himself better in the sheet, looking like he wanted to disappear. "Anyone else, but not one of them!"

"Hey!" Daniel protested, snapping out of his initial shock. "As if your daughter is some kind of saint!"

"That’s not the point, LaRusso!"

"Of course, it is!"

"No, it’s not!"

Anthony buried his face in his hands and muttered, "I’m going to jump out the window…"

You sighed.

"Dad, listen, this… this wasn’t a mistake. Anthony and I… we like each other."

Johnny looked at you, his face still red with anger.

"That doesn’t make it any better!"

"You can’t stop us from seeing each other," you said, crossing your arms.

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"No, you can’t," Daniel chimed in, looking just as disturbed as Johnny. "Because that would make this even more of a problem."

Johnny glared at him.

"Are you saying I should just accept this?!"

"No!" Daniel looked at Anthony with the same level of indignation. "I’m just as disturbed as you, trust me!"

"Can we talk about this with clothes on?" Anthony asked in a barely audible voice.

Johnny and Daniel shouted at the same time, "NO!"

After half an hour of yelling, threats, and painfully awkward speeches about "responsibility," "maturity," and "impulsive decisions," you finally managed to convince your dad that this wasn’t the end of the world. Daniel, on the other hand, was still in a state of denial, muttering things like, "Amanda’s going to kill me," and "This can’t be happening. My son… my baby."

Anthony, still red with embarrassment, glanced at you after the adults finally calmed down a little.

"Well… that was horrible."

You gave him a small nudge on the arm.

"It could have been worse."

"How?"

"It could have been at my dad’s house."

He was silent for a moment before murmuring, "Yeah, you’re right. Johnny Lawrence would have killed me on the spot."

You couldn’t help but laugh.

[rowie264]

Jinx x jinxer!reader. First kiss

Warnings: mention of stalking, mention of possessive behaviour, fluff

After your first encounter with Jinx, you began to see her more often. Somehow, she always knew where to find you and where you lived, appearing out of nowhere. You wondered if she was stalking you, but you tried not to dwell on that thought for the sake of your peace of mind.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like spending time with her. Jinx turned out to be completely different from what you used to think. Of course, it's true that she was dangerous and crazy, but you also found out how funny and passionate she was. It was really interesting to hear her explain how her bombs and other devices work, even though you barely understood the details.

She was an artist too, just like you. Her style was different, but no less fascinating. Sometimes you even painted something together on the walls of Zaun.

You couldn't deny your growing affection for her. Even considered her... a friend.

A few weeks later, you also began to notice that her behavior toward you was changing.

She was touchy from the very beginning – had no idea about personal space at all – but over time she became bolder and clingier. It was startling you at first but at some point you’ve got used to it, enjoying random touches and tight hugs as much as Jinx did.

But seems like for her it wasn’t enough.

She was becoming demanding and possessive. Often asked you to spend more time with her instead of Jinxers. Sometimes you caught her saying something she shouldn't have known (this is when you stopped ignoring whole stalking thing you had guesses about). Sometimes she would sneak into your bed to sleep beside you. Sometimes you have noticed that your belongings disappear for several days, but appear in the same place as if nothing had happened.

You knew you should be afraid and disgusted… but you didn’t. That's when you realized that you fell in love with her.

One day you came to Jinx's lair and saw that she was doing something at the workplace. You walked over and put your arms around her waist from behind. “A new project?” You ask, looking at the blueprints.

Jinx stiffens for a second before relaxing and leaning back against you. “Yep! A bomb that turns into smaller bombs jumping around before exploding!” She chirps with infectious enthusiasm.

“And the purpose? Besides fun I mean.” One of your hands starts slowly caressing her stomach, continuing to speak in as casual tone as possible. Today you wanted to push the boundaries even further. Do something that friends don't do and make sure that you were right in your assumptions.

“Ya know… bigger radius. Harder to dodge all of them too.” She tries to look unperturbed, but her breathing gets a little heavier, and you feel hard muscles tense under your fingers.

“Try to be careful with them, will you? Don’t throw it close to yourself.” You murmur brushing thumb against blue cloud on her side. Lately, you've been fantasizing about getting tattoos like the ones Jinx used to doodle on your arm. Those pink clouds were temporary, but you crave something more permanent - the real deal.

"I'm not that crazy. Besides, I haven't even built it yet." She snorts, but suddenly clenches her jaw when you nuzzle her temple, making her almost tremble with pleasure. She can't help but lean a little closer to you. Your tenderness makes her dizzy.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to do it. You are a genius.” You whisper into her ear and leave small kiss on the shell before pulling back.

The sight before your eyes makes your heart stop beating for a second. Jinx, the Loose Cannon, most wanted criminal in Piltover and simply craziest person you’ve ever met… had the most adorable blush in whole world. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted and it looked like she had squeezed the pen so hard that it broke.

“Are you alright?” You ask in soft voice taking her hand to inspect it for any signs of harm. Your concern dissipates upon finding her skin unscathed. Before she can say anything, you lift her hand to your lips and plant a kiss on her palm, looking directly into her eyes as you do.

Her mouth opens and closes, blush on her cheeks deepens. You caught her completely off guard.

“Aren’t you adorable?” you murmur out loud, slowly spinning her chair and leaning closer to her till your lips are mere inches apart. You can feel the warmth of her breath on your face. Her eyes flicker to your lips and back up. She is so cute, it’s maddening.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask her and wait patiently for permission. She looks at you, as if not sure this is real. After few moments she swallows lump in her throat and nods her head slowly, biting bottom lip. “P-please…”

Only then you close remained distance and finally kiss her, moving your lips against hers in slow and tender manner. Jinx tried her best to kiss back, but her inexperience shows. She’s a little clumsy, her movements uncertain, too shaky from nervousness and overwhelmed emotions.

As the kiss goes on Jinx relaxes more and more and wraps her arms around your neck, pressing her body closer against yours, as she gives in to new sensations.

The kiss slowly grows more urgent, and her hand clutches at your shirt. She’s starting to get a little lightheaded, letting out a small moan when you lean forward, pushing her slightly against the workbench.

You take this opportunity to slip your tongue into her mouth, causing her to whimper. She tries to mimic your movements swirling her own tongue around yours in passionate dance, making you want to deepen the kiss… but you stop yourself and pull back.

While you were both catching your breath, you could see her mouth slightly open as she stared at you with wide eyes, her cheeks flushed, and her breathing quickened. She looked absolutely adorable like this.

“Enough for the first time.” You murmur with fond but playful smile. She immediately pouts, which makes you chuckle and scoop her into your warm embrace.

[pricesgirl]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

8

(T.W Sexual content)

Y/N

I feel the weight of Cait’s gaze on me even as we get into position for the drills. The tension is still thick, clinging to the air around us. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let her down, but at the same time, something inside me rebels against her judgment. I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I’m not sure if I can—or even want to—go back.

The sound of sneakers on the gym floor and Coach’s sharp instructions snap me out of my thoughts. I focus on the drills, pushing my body to keep moving, to not think too hard about the conversation that’s left a weird knot in my chest.

I glance over at Cait once more, but this time, she’s already looking away, her posture stiff, arms crossed over her chest. She’s not glaring anymore, but the distance between us is still there. It’s strange, how something as small as eyeliner can shift the way someone looks at you, and even stranger how it makes me question everything about myself.

Mel’s voice cuts through the silence, her usual easygoing tone filling the space between us. “You know, Cait’s just worried about you.” Her words are softer now, less guarded than they were earlier.

“I know,” I reply quietly, not meeting her eyes. “It’s just… I’m tired of playing it safe all the time.”

Mel gives me a small smile, like she gets it, even if she doesn’t say anything more.

The drills drag on, but my mind keeps wandering back to Cait’s disapproval, to the small voice inside me that wonders if maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m getting in over my head with all of this. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m closer to something real, something that’s mine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

As per the request of my favorite nerd, I’ve been reading some good old Shakespeare.

I’m supposed to be diving into Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, epic tragedy, all that jazz. It should be interesting, right?

But the words are swimming in front of me because, let’s face it, I can’t concentrate for shit.

Not after this morning.

Y/N just looked so fucking pretty.

It’s ridiculous how she doesn’t even try, yet manages to ruin me without saying a word.

The way her hair fell around her face, a little messy but still perfect, and those big, thoughtful eyes that always seem to see right through me.

And that eyeliner—my eyeliner—that I practically begged her to let me do. Seeing my work on her face, sharp and bold, was enough to drive me insane.

Like a little piece of me was with her, walking around, unshakable.

And then there’s the way she blushed when I teased her.

That soft pink creeping up her cheeks, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Makes me want to press closer, push her boundaries just a little more, see how far I can take it before she pushes back.

Or maybe she wouldn’t push back at all.

What would she be like?

I’ve never seen her with anyone—guy or girl. Hell, does she even like girls?

The thought twists in my chest.

What if she doesn’t?

What if all the teasing, the lingering glances, the way her cheeks flush when I get too close—it’s just her being her, too sweet to tell me to fuck off? But then, what if it’s not?

What if she does?

I wonder what she’d do with one. What she’d do with me.

Do to me.

My hand trails down.

Down.

"Fuck,"

I'm already soaked.

I wiggle out the dampened underwear quickly, and toss it somewhere.

Doesn't matter where, oh fuck.

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror as I spread my legs, as wide as they can go.

Fuck, what has she done to me?

My lipstick’s a mess, smeared from where my teeth dug in.

My thighs are trembling and I haven't even touched... anything yet...

Normally i would just get myself off, quick easy, but Y/N wouldn't do that.

I'm sure she'd been curious, the girl's definitely never seen a pussy before, and I'm not sure any of her books have those lewd acts in them.

My finger slowly circles my clit, fuck that's good.

Gonna go slow.

Y/N would go slow.

My head drops back on my pillow as I resume those slow, slow circles.

God it's torturous.

My unoccupied hand, somehow, finds its way to my tit, totally unprompted.

"Fuck,"

The words barley there this time.

My teeth sink into my lower lip again when I slip a finger inside of me.

Gentle, slow.

Then another finger.

I keep my eyes trained on my reflection as I start those motions.

In out, in out.

"Fuck, fuck, Y/N," I turn my face into my pillow, whimpering now.

I bite down on the pillow to supress my lewd noises.

My hips move with my hand, chasing that sweet, sweet, release.

Fuck what would she do if she could see this.

See the state she's made me into, all squirmy on my bed.

She'd probably get that wide eyed look.

Maybe she'd whimper-

Oh if she damn whimpered-

My thoughts are cut short by a practically pornographic noise ripping from my throat.

"Oh, oh god,"

The noises leaving me gradually become more incoherent.

I can't keep my eyes open anymore, those familiar white spots starting to cloud my vision.

I've had orgasms before, of course I have.

But this was fucking earth shattering.

I don't know if it was the thought of her, those wide eyes, that blush, that spurred me on or what, but my back arched right of the bed, what was practically a cry leaving my mouth.

After regaining function of my senses, I lock eyes with my reflection.

Fuck I look a mess.

I lean closer to the mirror, squinting at the mess.

Jesus Christ.

Smudged eyeliner, streaks of lipstick—no, stains, because apparently, my mouth decided it wanted to eat the damn tube.

"Goddamn," I hiss, swiping at it with my thumb. It just smears more. Great. Now I look like a clown that got into a bar fight.

My hair’s a disaster too—sticking to my forehead in sweaty clumps.

I rake a hand through it, but it’s hopeless. I look like I’ve been... well, doing exactly what I was doing.

The chill of the room finally hits me.

Oh, right.

Still butt-ass naked. My eyes dart around for anything to throw on and land on an oversized hoodie draped over the chair.

Good enough.

I yank it over my head, the fabric catching on my damp skin, and flop back onto my bed.

The hoodie clings to me, sticking uncomfortably in places, but I don’t have the energy to care.

My legs are sprawled out, the hem of the hoodie riding up enough to make it clear I’m not bothering with underwear.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to will my brain into some semblance of order.

It doesn’t work.

My thoughts are still a chaotic mess, flitting between random nonsense and her.

Always back to her.

Her laugh. Her stupid, perfect laugh that’s like sunshine and honey and all that other cheesy shit people write poetry about.

Her eyes—soft, but sharp when she’s focused, like she’s solving the universe one thought at a time.

And that little wrinkle she gets between her brows when she’s concentrating too hard?

Yeah, that one’s burned into my brain. Thanks for that, Y/N.

I groan, rolling onto my side and dragging a pillow over my face. “You’re pathetic,” I mumble into the fabric.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: another short chapter, but i felt it was quite important to have certain bits as their own entity, hope you like it ;)

please like and reblog!

[pinkcarnatixns]

georgia stanway | flowers for vases

synopsis georgia does her first tattoo on you, it leads to a confession after of years of feelings [1.6K] contents best friends to lovers, nervous georgia, tattooing, mentions of needles

You normally took pride in your fearlessness when it came to adding to your growing collection of ink on your skin, but now you were completely petrified.

When Georgia had first approached you to be her canvas for her very first tattoo on real skin, you had immediately agreed- your haste chalked up to a trust built on years of friendship and definitely not the fact you’d do anything she asked. 

What your sometimes scatterbrained best friend had forgotten to mention was that this was not a private affair, but a moment that was going to be televised for all the nation to see. Of course, this meant that you’d have to act like you weren’t completely smitten with the woman-  in front of a bunch of cameras while you tried to not blush at her hands on you. 

Safe to say, you were quite ticked off with Georgia when you first arrived at the small tattoo studio’s address, only to be greeted with people rushing filming equipment inside the building from a van with a big ‘BBC’ plastered on the side. When you entered the studio with a quirked eyebrow and crossed arms, her face clearly dropped as she realized her mistake, rushing over to your side. 

“I completely forgot to mention the filming part, didn’t I?” She pouts at you, grabbing a hold of your bicep to plead her case.

You sighed, “You know, I really thought this was a sweet gesture of trust between us, not to get you a big check from the BBC.”

At your jest, she deflated even further and you struggled to stop your lips from quirking up at her dramatics. You could never stay mad at her for very long, especially when she made you laugh just by being in the same room as her. Still, you were a bit mortified at the possible outing of your feelings for the girl being broadcast to the world, so you tried your best to hold your ground. 

“It’s not like that at all! You know there’s nobody else I’d rather share this with, I swear!” She held onto your biceps tightly, and you felt your resolve washing away like a sand castle with the wave of her cologne that hit your nose. 

Her hands were trembling lightly, and at her gaze and proximity you quickly turned shy, only managing to mumble out, “You don’t mind sharing it with everyone in the nation, clearly.” 

However, taking pity on her already clearly fried nerves, you followed the snark up with a playful eye roll and returned her gaze. “Well, since I’m here, let’s see what you’re going to put on my body forever.” 

Her already big brown eyes seemed to light up at your compliance, and she gently pulled on your forearms to uncross them with a blinding smile. She effortlessly initiated the intertwining of your hands, nearly dragging your shocked form to the ground with her fervor to show you what she had drawn. 

She got shy as you both approached her already prepped little work table, going quiet as you peered down at the paper and leaning into your body for comfort. The warmth that spread through your body at your still entwined hands creeped all the way up to your ears at what she had designed just for you: a little broken flower vase. 

When you two had first met as kids, Georgia, persistent to impress you with her football skills- had wrongly decided to do so inside your house. When this naturally ended in the broken heirloom, and your mother’s harsh scolding, you had taken the fall for the overexcitable girl. She had been inconsolable at the mess she had caused, promising to make up for it someday. To this day, she still felt guilty for the incident while you often brought it up, joking that she was only still by your side to repay her debt. 

Through all the growing pains and hard times, you had stuck by each other’s sides. Even when you got into fights, one of you would always bring up the vase as an olive branch, knowing that it really meant that you could never get rid of one another. 

Your eyes got misty, your heartbeat in your ears drowning out the hustle and bustle around you two, “Georgia, that’s so sweet- you sap.”

“You really like it? Don’t lie.” Her hand nervously fiddled with the rings that adorned yours, both of you refusing to meet each other’s eyes. In a moment of bravery, you pecked her on the cheek and rested your head on her slightly taller shoulder. 

“I love it. Can’t wait to have it on me forever.” You punctuated the genuine words with a squeeze to your intertwined hands, hoping to calm her nerves with the action. 

She stumbled a bit over her sentence, before forcing it out nearly too fast for you to catch it, “There’s three flowers on one side and then one on the other. Y’know like 31, like my number at Bayern.”

Your head jumped off your shoulder, gaping at her as she was locked in a staring contest with the table- cheeks red like she had just played a full 90. With your heartbeat nearly breaking at the confines of your ribcage, you decided to lean into the moment, tripping over your words a bit but whispering. “That’s perfect. I like it even more now.”

At your reassurance, she shyly met your sincere gaze, struggling to keep a goofy smile subdued as you nodded at each other.

Your little bubble was broken when a crew member called for her presence, apologizing for interrupting as he dragged her over for an interview. You watched on with hearts in your eyes as she spoke to the camera, her sincere appreciation for the art shining through with every word and the sparkle in her eye. Caught up in watching her, you barely realized when they had wrapped up, rushing over to her side after missing your name being called a couple times.  

They perched you up on a stool for her to place the stencil on your calf, sighing in relief as it peeled off exactly as she wanted it. She gently held your hand to help you down, using it to guide you over to the table while instructing you to lay down comfortably.

When she actually starts dancing the needle over your skin and attempting to answer questions at the same time, she clearly struggles. Nearly every time she punctures your flesh, she can’t help but look to you for your reaction- scared to hurt you. You try not to laugh as her sentences trail off again and again as she continually locks eyes with you, knowing she’s going to make the editor’s job a nightmare. As she nears finishing, you try to shoot her encouraging smiles, wishing you could tell her how good she was doing if not for the mics that would pick it up. 

The tattoo takes quite long for how simple the design is, partly due to her insistence on doing everything right, stopping for the littlest things. It’s sweet that she’s so adamant to not hurt you or have the ink blow out, but it’s pretty comical and clear that the camera crew is getting antsy. You are happy to sit for as long as she needs, content with the heat of her palm through her gloves soothing the ache of the needle, but try to silently encourage her in order to get everyone out on time. 

As she takes the final swipe of a paper towel over your skin and declares that she’s finished with a shaky breath, the first thing she does is to once again look at you. She visibly relaxes as you send her a beaming smile, taking your hands to move you to sit upright. You admire her work as she turns to give you her water bottle, watching you like a hawk as you take a sip.

You get shy at her attention, “I’m not going to pass out you know, I’m literally covered in tattoos already.”

“You’re really feeling alright? We can take pictures after you have a second, yeah?” 

“Georgia really, you look much more lightheaded than me. You did great, I promise.” As you try to scoot off the bench, her hands stop you- pinning your thighs to the table. The position forces her to lean closer to you, putting you at eye level with one another. She has a certain determination in her eyes, but is clearly quite mortified at the proximity her actions have caused.

Still, with her big brown eyes boring into yours, slightly rough palms on your naked thighs, and the slight dizziness that you do feel- you look around the room to see everyone busy packing up before you do something drastic. As you turn back to her soft gaze, a slight tilt to her head and a quick glance at your lips is all the encouragement you need. 

Your hands cover hers, desperate for something to ground you as you lean in to peck her lips. At your slight movement, she excitedly surges forward and you clash much harder than you had expected. 

Pulling away, you’re both reduced to hysterics at the release of the tension that the day caused, and for finally giving in to a moment to had both waited for all your lives. Who knew it would take her marking you forever for you both to make a move.

a/n: wow so sorry I have not uploaded in forever! midterms absolutely kicked my butt and then I was celebrating my birthday! anyways I'm not super happy with this but I hope yall enjoyed <3

my requests are still open and i will really try to be much quicker in getting to them lol

[qinche-cvmslvt]

Metafiction

Pt 12

Content Warning: 21+, NSFW, SMUT, Wet Dreams, Threesome, Finger Fucking, Rough Reuniting Sex, another chapter of just straight up SMUT. 3k words of Sex. That’s it.

Tag list: @xxfaithlynxx , @msturi2u

A/N: What’s better than reuniting with your lover? Reuniting with them in the bedroom, the lounge room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the library, Luke and Kieran’s room… you get it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wet slapping noises and the sounds of your moans fill the air. You’re on your hands and knees. Strong hands grabbing your hips with enough force to leave bruises.

“Oh Darling..you feel so hot and wet.” Xavier’s voice chimes in as he thrusts fast and hard behind you.

You bite your lip trying to hold back the moans but you just can’t. He feels too good inside you.

“Xav…fuck Xav!” You cry out in pleasure.

He doesn’t stop, his speed never faltering. He’s ramming himself into you with a force you didn’t know he could do.

“Having fun Sweetie?”

Your eyes snap up to see Sylus standing in front of you naked. His large erection at eye level with you.

His hand caresses your face and his thumb tugs at your bottom lip forcing your mouth open.

“I want to feel you too.” His deep voice joining the filthy sounds echoing in the room.

Xavier groans, “fuck you just got wetter babe…I think she likes that idea.”

Sylus’ hand grips your hair. “Open up Sweetie…”

Sylus puts his cock near your mouth and you’re more than happy to make him feel good. Your tongue swirls up and down his massive length. Licking the slit on his head, lapping up all the precum that had leaked out.

Sylus groans, his grip on your hair tightening. “That’s it sweetie.”

You look up at Sylus as you begin to take him into your mouth. Opening your mouth as much as you can to take him in. Gosh he was so massive. But you try hard. You need to. You want to feel him fuck your mouth.

With Xavier pumping you from behind and now Sylus in your mouth your eyes roll back. You’re in absolute blissful heaven. Sylus starts to take control and starts fucking into your mouth. His hard cock hitting the back of your throat causing tears to prick your eyes.

Xavier and Sylus’ groans ring in your ears and the pleasure inside you only intensifies. A sweet sound you never thought you’d hear.

Tears start to stream down your face from Sylus slamming into your throat but you don’t care. The pure pleasure displayed on his face encourages you to keep going. To keep letting him ruin you.

“Darling…I’m going to cum.” Xavier moans out.

“Same here Sweetie.” Sylus chimes in.

Your moan came out muffled because of Sylus’ huge cock filling your throat. But you’re excited. You’re excited to feel them both fill you up. The excitement welling up so much inside you that you can feel an orgasm fast approaching.

Your body begins to tighten and tremble. Sylus and Xavier’s movements begin to falter. All three of you teetering on the edge of pure ecstasy.

Just as you’re about to feel yourself going over the edge you open your eyes. Your whole body is tense and your breath is stuck in your throat.

“F-fuck..” you whisper.

None of that was real. It was just a dream

You sit up in bed, your breathing a bit heavier than normal and your face feels hot. You look around and you’re alone in the bedroom.

You start to squirm as things feel a bit moist down there. You pull back the covers and you see evidence of an orgasm through your pyjama shorts. Good lord. A blush starts to creep up on your face. You do one final check around the room to make sure you’re alone and creep your way into the bathroom to clean yourself up.

You take your shorts and underwear off and put them in the laundry hamper that Sylus put aside for you and your clothes.

Going through the draws you find a face washer and wet it with cold water. Gently applying it to your face. Trying to calm yourself down.

You look down at yourself. Your pyjama shirt just covers everything. Although if you were to bend down even slightly any onlookers would see everything.

But this would have to do until you get back into the bedroom to get some new bottoms on. You wipe your face one more time and head back into the bedroom.

Once you step out you see Sylus sitting on a chair near the desk. His eyes are already fixed on you.

“G-good morning…” you say as you start pulling your pyjama shirt down. Trying to keep yourself covered.

Sylus smirks looking down at your bare thighs.

“Everything alright?” You can hear the smugness in his voice.

You clear your throat. “Um yep. Just had a..water spillage accident.” You start walking over to the draws. “So if you don’t mind I’m going to- what? Hey!”

Black tendrils surround you grabbing hold of your arms and ankles. You’re lifted in the air and are dragged to Sylus. You end up straddling his lap, you can feel the material of his pants against your pussy.

“Sylus! What the!”

Sylus has a hand on your hip keeping you in place. His other hand grabbing your chin. Forcing you to look at him. The black tendrils slink away and disappear into the darkness of the room.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your eyes staring into the beautiful red orbs.

Sylus’ hand that’s on your hip moved to your bare ass and he gives it a gentle squeeze. You let out a small yelp at the contact. Still looking into his eyes.

“Tell me Kitten…you’ve been here..what four weeks now and you have not made an attempt to leave.” He gives your ass another squeeze, a bit harder this time. “Am I to assume you’ve made your choice.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine.

Your breath quickens and you bite your lip. “I..I…” is all you can manage.

“Yes? No?” Sylus has a playful look in his eye.

The hand on your ass slowly makes its way to your exposed pussy, he takes one finger and swipes it between your folds, groaning at how wet you are.

He chuckles, “yeah..a water spillage huh..”

Sylus pulls your face even closer to his.

His finger tracing over your folds, teasing you, feeling your wetness. A few gasps and moans leave your lips.

“Who’d you dream about hmm? It was that good that you came so hard you had to change your underwear and shorts?”

He slowly inserts his finger in you, quietly groaning to himself as he feels how hot and wet you are.

“Sylus…please..” you whimper. You don’t even know what you’re asking for.

Sylus’ breath quickens as he slowly starts to move his finger in and out of you. Your walls clenching around his finger.

You close your eyes. Fuck this feels so good. You haven’t been touched by him in so long. Sylus slides in another finger. His other hand that was grasping your chin moves to the back of your neck. Keeping your face close to his. He loves the way you’re panting for him right now.

“Did it feel as good as this?” His voice dripping with lust. He curls his fingers up gently grazing your sweet spot and you breathe out a louder moan.

Sylus curses under his breath. You’re so wet that he feels you dripping down his hand and your moaning for him is making him ache for more.

Your hips start to move. Wanting to feel more. Sylus chuckles.

“You want to ride my fingers Sweetie?” Sylus captures your lips with his in a feverish kiss. You’re slowly losing yourself to your arousal. Every bit of Sylus, his touch, his voice, his scent…it’s overwhelming.

“I want you to cum on my fingers, sweetie…just like you did in your underwear.” He starts pumping his fingers in and out.

Your body shivers at his words and actions. He moves his appendages with ease because you’re so dripping and hot for him. Sylus starts kissing your neck, biting and then licking over it. His other hand still gripping the back of your neck tightly so that you can’t move.

“F..Sylus…!” You moan out. Sylus groans in response. He’s missed this. He’s missed you falling apart like this for him. The filthy sounds of your moans, the way you feel so warm and plush for him.

Your hips start to move more, meeting his fingers rhythm. The sounds of your moans filter through the room. Pressure in your core starting to build. If he kept doing this you most certainly are going to cum.

Sylus feels it. He bites down in the crook of your neck. Trying to control his urges. But it’s a struggle. He slips a third finger into you. Stretching you and you love it.

“Y..yes..!” You gasp. Sylus groans against your neck. Fuck. You sound and feel amazing. His breathing gets heavier and faster.

Sylus uses his thumb to massage your clit and your whole body starts to tremble in pleasure.

“Nngh… Sylus..I..” you feel yourself getting so close to the edge. Sylus’ mouth abandons your neck and attacks your lips. Swallowing all those pretty filthy moans.

Your core starts to shake. He curls his fingers up again and it pushes you completely over.

You moan against his mouth and he groans backs. He feels you squeezing around his fingers, your walls vibrating hard. Completely drenching his fingers, dripping down to his palm and wrist.

You’re both panting, foreheads resting against each other. He slowly pulls his fingers out and grabs your hip again. His hand grabbing your neck drops to the other side.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment. Sylus looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. Instead he makes you get off him and stands up.

His hands still lingering on your hips. He takes a deep breath. Drops his hands and goes to leave the room. You frown. You weren’t having that. You grab his wrist.

“Sylus.” He stops but he doesn’t look at you.

“You’re going to leave? Just like that?” You can feel yourself getting annoyed.

“This shouldn’t have happened..” He responds.

Shouldn’t have happened? What the hell? You tug on his wrist. “Look at me and say that!”

Sylus slowly turns his head. He’s frowning. “This shouldn’t have happened.” He repeats. His eyes stone cold.

You laugh in disbelief. “I honestly forgot what an asshole you are.” You step closer to him.

“You.. you rescue me and then tell me I need to make a choice. Then you fuck off to wherever it is you go and have left me alone these last four weeks!”

You can feel tears prick your eyes as you start to feel genuine anger.

“Then you come in here give me a fucking orgasm on a random day and just wanna leave?! Without saying anything?!”

Sylus scoffs. “If you hated being alone sweetie why didn’t you just leave? You’ve had every chance to.”

“Goddamn it Sylus!” You grip his shirt.

“I don’t want to leave! I~” you’re breathing heavy, looking up into his eyes. His red eyes looking back at you. A glimmer of hope flickers through them for just a second as he waits for you to finish what you’re saying.

You’ve had so much time to think about everything and despite this mornings dream..you know deep down what you had already decided. Yes. You could’ve been happy with Xavier. If you were going to be stuck here for the rest of your life, Xavier would’ve been the perfect choice and in some way a piece of your heart still aches for him.

But as you’re here now. Looking into those deep red pomegranate coloured eyes, you know what you truly desire.

Your grip on Sylus’ shirt loosens and you take a step back.

“When I was held captive I didn’t wish for him to come save me…” you bite your lip. “It was you..”

You close your eyes trying to blink back tears.

“It was always…going to be you… Sylus..”

Sylus’ hand caresses your cheek. “Look at me kitten.” He softly demands.

You open your eyes leaning into his touch.

“Say it..”

There’s a beat of silence, as you stare into his eyes.

“I choose you Sy-”

Not even a second passes before his lips are on yours. Your hands wrap around his neck pulling him down closer as you deepen the kiss. His hands cup the bottom of your ass and he lifts you up.

Without breaking the kiss he sits you down on his desk. His hands roaming over your body, desperately wanting to feel your soft skin.

You feeling your own desperation, tugging at his shirt, wanting to remove all barriers.

Sylus helps you. He quickly unfastens all the buttons on his shirt, taking a moment to slip it off and throwing it on the floor. His hands are back on you, sliding underneath your pyjama shirt. Pulling it up over your body.

He breathes out a sigh as he just looks over your naked form.

Sylus leans back in kissing your neck, his hands cupping your breasts. Gently massaging.

“You don’t know…how much I’ve missed this Sweetie…” he breathes against your neck.

He rolls your nipples in between his fingers and listens as you moan. Giving them a slight pinch.

“Your voice, your scent, your taste…” he sucks on your neck leaving a magenta bruise when he pulls away, a string of saliva dropping down against your neck.

“I missed everything Sweetie…” his thumb caresses over the hickey he just gave you, smearing his saliva across the bruise.

Your body shivers from his touch as you look into his crimson eyes. His hand cups your cheek again and captures your lips in a hungry kiss.

“I’ve even missed your stubbornness and how angry you made me.” Your tongues swirling around each other, fighting for dominance, his teeth nibbling at your lips.

His hands grab onto your hips pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, closer to him. Sylus uses his Evol to undo his belt and pants, just so that he can keep his hands on you. Not wanting to let you go for even a second.

You feel his hardened length press against your thigh and a moan escapes your lips. Remembering just how huge he was.

“Sylus..” you gasp.

His grip on your hips tightens as he hears you moaning in his ear. It was a sweet beautiful melody that pushes him to lose his sense of control. To wanting to ravage you and ruin you. To fuck you so hard you forget about everything.

And he does Y/N…oh he does.

“Are you still dripping for me Sweetie?” He takes one hand to your aching cunt again, letting two fingers explore you once again. Groaning as he feels your wetness. He feels your hot, plush walls flutter around his fingers and it almost drives him mad. You keep moaning those sweet delicious moans that he loves so much.

He pumps his fingers into you again, covering them fully with all your juices.

When he pulls them out he runs his hand over his cock. Using your sweet nectar as a lubrication for him.

“Hold on tight Sweetie.”

Your hands grip his shoulders and you lean your face forward, capturing his lips once again in a heated kiss. Sylus grabs your ass as he lines himself up with your pussy.

His thick head slowly pushing through, entering your wet, willing cunt. You moan against his lips as you take him inside you. Stretching slowly around him as he pushes more inside you, as deep as he can go.

Sylus’ body shudders for a moment. Savouring the feeling of being inside you once again. Something he’d been craving for, for months. His breath quickens as he slowly pulls back enjoying the way your walls drag along his large thick veiny cock. He can’t hold back anymore.

Sylus slams back into you. Causing you to throw your head back and cry out. But that doesn’t stop Sylus. No, he starts fucking into you with every bit of passion he has. All those months of waiting for you, every emotion he felt, coming to the surface now and manifesting in this very moment.

Your grip on his shoulders tighten as he slams into you repeatedly, fast and hard. Every thrust making you moan and gasp. God, he gets so deep in you so easily, he’s that fucking large. His grip on your ass is so hard and strong you just know you’re gonna have bruises there.

Every thrust into you is so forceful it makes the desk underneath you wobble. The edge of the desk hitting the wall, making a loud thud. Creating a beat to go with the sounds of yours and Sylus’ fucking. The rapid thuds on the wall only spur Sylus on. Fucking you harder and faster, wanting to give you every thing he has.

“Fuck…Sylus..!” You can feel tears prick your eyes from the intensity. But the pain only adds to the pleasure growing deep within your core.

He groans, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. This wasn’t enough anymore. He wants to go deeper. He wants to hear you scream. Scream his name. He easily lifts you off the desk. His cock still inside you. He stands there for a moment pulling you up and down his cock in the air as if you didn’t weigh anything.

“S-Sy…” the intensity making it hard for you to speak. Sylus loves it. Watching you struggle like this. All because of him.

He starts walking over to the bed. Giving you a sloppy wet kiss. His tongue enveloping yours, asserting his dominance in every way. He Lays you down on your back and pulls out for a moment. Taking a breath, letting you catch yours. Not for long though as he spreads your legs in front of him and lifts. Forcing you to tilt your pelvis up.

He bites his lip taking in the sight of you spread before him, looking at you and your gorgeous cunt. Dripping with your own arousal.

“So perfect.” He groans.

He keeps his hands on your thighs as he lines his cock up with you once more. As soon as he feels the tip of his cock at your entrance he starts thrusting hard and fast again. The new position letting him feel you deeper. Just like he wanted.

You moan and gasp underneath him. Your hands gripping the bedsheets for dear life. Knuckles turning white.

The sounds of your skin slapping together with every thrust is driving you wild. It’s so loud and fast and wet. Sylus is unrelenting with it. He loves this view. You a panting, moaning, hot fucking mess underneath him as he drives himself impossibly hard and fast into you. Feeling your walls clench and relax around him like you’re trying to milk his fucking cock of his seed.

That ache in your belly returns. The pleasure building and building, with every thrust and groan from him. Sylus can feel it. He feels how your body is reacting. Wanting to release again.

“That’s it Sweetie.” He groans, “you’re doing so well…taking my cock.” His grip on your thighs tighten, “You love my cock in you don’t you?”

“Y-ys..” Your moans of pleasure being the only sounds you can produce while he’s ramming himself inside you.

Not slowing down he brings a hand to your engorged clit. Massaging it slow, contradicting the speed and force of his thrusts. Only when he sees your face contorting in pleasure again does he pick up the speed of his fingers. Wanting to drive you over the edge. Hard and fast.

“Cum for me Sweetie.” Sylus angles himself and is able to find your sweet spot. Spearing himself into you harder than before. “Cum on my cock Sweetie, I want to feel you drench me…” he groans.

Your eyes roll back as you throw your head back into the mattress. Your whole body trembling as he drives you over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure washing over you.

“S-Sylus!”

“Fuck~” Sylus barely holds it together as your walls convulse around his cock, squeezing him for all he has. The mere sight of you riding out your orgasm sending him over the edge and he cums in you. Filling you up with ropes and ropes of his thick hot seed. Painting your insides the colour of his cum.

The sounds of yours and his heavy breathing being the only thing echoing in the room now. He raises a hand to your flushed face, cupping your cheek.

“Are you okay Sweetie?”

You look at him, with tears blurring your eyes, smiling and nodding. Still unable to produce words. Sylus chuckles as he collapses next to you. Trying to settle his own breathing he pulls you in an embrace. Keeping you close to him, kissing your sweaty forehead and stroking the back of your head.

“I’m never letting you go again Sweetie.”

“Never.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[4linos]

in plain sight

hwang hyunjin x gn!reader

request: mutual crushing with hyunjin. (ft. bsf bang chan)

wc: 1288 (,,>﹏<,,)

It’s a familiar kind of tension in the air every time you walk into class, one you’ve grown used to over the past few months. The kind of feeling that can only be described as almost unbearable, and yet you can’t seem to pull away. You’ve had a crush on Hyunjin for as long as you can remember since that one day in class when you first noticed the way he smiled that shy little smile, the one that made your heart race. But you’ve never dared to act on it. Why would you? You’re convinced he’s not interested, and besides, you’ve heard the rumors everyone’s been talking about how you two have something going on. Except neither of you has ever said a word.

Hyunjin, for his part, is no better. He’s painfully shy around you. You see it in the way he blushes when your eyes meet, or how he stammers when he tries to answer a question in class while you’re watching him. He’s aware of the rumors, and truthfully, he might be a little embarrassed. He’s always been the more reserved type quiet, thoughtful, and a little awkward around people, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. So, when it comes to you, his crush, he tries his best to keep things under wraps, despite his every instinct telling him to be close to you.

What he doesn’t realize what neither of you realize is that it’s so obvious to everyone around you that the two of you are crushing on each other. Your friends notice it every time you laugh just a little too hard at his corny jokes, or when you volunteer to work on assignments with him, making excuses that “Oh, I just thought it would be nice to collaborate on this one”—even though the real reason is that being around him makes you feel like your stomach is doing flips.

And then there’s the professor. They’re perceptive, maybe even a little too perceptive, always making teasing remarks whenever you and Hyunjin are paired together for group work. “You two work well together, don’t you?” they’ll say with a wink, watching you both squirm as you pretend to focus on the project instead of the awkward electricity between you. It’s getting to the point where you can’t even look at Hyunjin without your cheeks turning bright red. And he’s no better, barely able to meet your gaze without his face turning a shade of pink that’s almost as obvious as the way his hands tremble when he passes you a note or a textbook.

But still, nothing happens.

You tell yourself it's okay. Maybe Hyunjin doesn’t like you the way you like him. You try not to notice how his laugh makes you feel as though everything is OK, even when everything else seems to be in chaos, or how your heart racing whenever you see him in the hallway. Maybe he's just being friendly, you think. Maybe he's just awkward. Maybe you're imagining things.

And Hyunjin? He’s in the same boat. His heart always skips a beat when he sees your eyes light up when you speak to him and how you smile at him from the other side of the room. He's wondering if you feel the same way. But there is also the uncertainty and rejection anxiety. You always seem to have so much going on, and he convinces himself that you’re way out of his league, so he keeps his distance—at least outwardly. But inside? He gets butterflies in his stomach every time you're close.

That all changes one afternoon when Chan, your best friend and Hyunjin’s unofficial life coach, corners you in the campus courtyard. He’s been pestering you for weeks, always hinting that you should do something about your feelings for Hyunjin. It’s getting a little ridiculous at this point, and you’re honestly starting to feel like it’s becoming a running joke between the three of you.

“So, when are you finally going to ask Hyunjin out?” Chan asks, grinning as he leans against a bench. His tone is casual, but you can tell he’s already getting exasperated. “Everyone’s literally waiting for it.”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. You keep telling yourself that. But you seriously think no one’s noticed? The professor knows, the class knows, even the janitor knows,” he says, throwing his hands up as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You bite your lip, feeling a familiar blush creeping up your neck. “I’m not sure he’s into me,” you mutter, looking down at your shoes. “Besides, he’s probably just being nice.”

Chan’s grin falters, and he crosses his arms. “Are you seriously telling me you’ve never noticed the way he looks at you? The way he gets all flustered every time you talk to him?” He throws up his hands in frustration. “You’re both too shy for your own good. I’m honestly about to intervene here.”

You groan, wishing you could just ignore him. “I don’t need you to intervene. It’s fine.”

Chan narrows his eyes, obviously not buying it. “I’m telling you, if you don’t do something soon, someone else is gonna beat you to it.” He leans in conspiratorially. “You think no one notices the way he blushes when you walk in the room? Trust me, it’s so obvious.”

You try to change the subject, but Chan isn’t having it. “And don’t get me started on how you always volunteer to work with him on assignments. You laugh a little too hard at his corny jokes, and I see the way you get all smiley when you talk about him.”

You turn away, your face burning with embarrassment. You can’t deny it. It’s true. You like him, and everyone knows it.

“Okay, okay,” you finally say, exasperated. “What do you want me to do?”

Chan grins. “Finally make a move. Go talk to him. Tell him you like him. Do something, anything.”

You stare at him, unsure how to respond. You want to, but it feels so risky. What if he doesn’t feel the same?

That afternoon, you're sitting in the library, attempting to concentrate on an assignment, when Hyunjin walks by, his gaze shifting to you before he swiftly moves away. Your heart races in your chest, and you can't help but smile. You know he's avoided eye contact for a while, yet his shyness is almost endearing. As if on cue, Chan's words resound in your head:

Just do something.

You take a deep breath, stand up, and head over to Hyunjin. He's at one of the tables near you, thumbing through some notes, completely oblivious of your approach. When you reach him, you clear your throat, attempting not to sound anxious.

"Hey, Hyunjin," you murmur softly. He glances up, his eyes wide with surprise. His face quickly becomes shades of pink and you can almost see the nerves running through him. "Oh, hey," he stutters. "I didn't see you there." You laugh quietly, your nerves diminishing slightly. "I wanted to ask you something," you continue, attempting to control your voice. "I've been wondering... maybe we should get coffee sometime? Just the two of us?"

Hyunjin's mouth opens and shuts, as if he is attempting to find the words that were right. His flush deepens. "I... I'd really like that," he says, slightly breathless. You smile and your heart races in the finest manner conceivable.

You didn't need a great confession or a big dramatic scene. Sometimes you only need to take the first step. And perhaps the two of you had been waiting for each other all along.

//

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

[rs-hawk]

What Are We? Beauty and the Beast Commission

Beast x Belle

Word Count: 1,872

Commissioner: @zoeloveconvers99

Contains: knotting

A beauty and the beast commission where belle and beast after a private moment they ended up stuck because animal biology and size difference (also beast's bed looks like a nest) so they stay there for several hours,it’s an awkward yet kinda cuddly moment cause they can just hold together and probably talk about stuff and the servitude probably guess what actually happened and why the master is asking to be served in his room. I like to imagine it during a stormy night and the weather wing is full of candle lights (no sentient candles). I like imagining the west wing has a lot of candles cause it makes Adam feel calm and relaxed and big contrast from the dark,cold,gloomy and destroyed room that it is.

Beast’s hips snapped forward, pushing himself as deeply as he could into Belle. She was trembling under him, her face flushed, his lips parted in a silent moan that could no longer escape from how raw her throat was from screaming and moaning. After one more thrust, his knot began to expand, locking him inside of her as he finally filled her.

Belle shuddered, digging her fingers into his mane as she buried her face agaisnt his furry neck. Her body was sore and spent, but there was no denying that she was almsot pliant with pleasure. Beast caught his breath as he carefully adjusted his weight, resting most of it on his forearms so that way he wouldn’t fall and crush her.

The warm candle light basked the room in the soft glow. It made the mood feel more intimate than either of them cared to admit, but for Beast, it also made him feel safe. The night was dark, with clouds scattered across the sky, blocking out any semblance of a chance of moonlight. The candles were what let the night at bay, and between that and Belle’s warm body under him, he felt safe enough to be honest.

“Belle?” he muttered, cradling her head as she kept her face buried in his neck.

She pulled back just enough to peek up at him, er long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks as she asked, “What?”

The corners of his lips upturned slightly, hinting at a smile that he was almsot afraid to share with her. Swallowing hard, he finally decided that this was the time that he needed to talk to her, to let how he felt be known properly. “You know, I really enjoy having. you here. In the castle.”

A tinkling sound that sounded almost like the ringing of bells escaped her lips. The way that her mouth was upturned reached her eyes, making her even more beautiful. Beast couldn’t remember ever hearing a sound that was more musical, more precious. How long had it been since he had heard any kind of genuine laughter? How long had it been since he had genuinely laughed?

“I had gotten that impression,” she grinned at him, her brown eyes bright still with the genuine way it lit up her face.

Beast grumbled something, and if it was possible, he would have blushed. “Even beyond this. You brought life back to the castle.”

”I didn’t bring life back. I just reminded everyone that there still was life here,” she said softly, running her fingers through the fur on his cheeks.

He leaned into her touch, his heart pounding in his ears. “No, you gave us hope. I… I think I forgot that I could be anything besides a beast.”

Her face softened, all of the previous amusement from it gone. “Beast…”

“Adam,” he corrected, his voice slightly harsher than he intended for it to be, his knot still pulsing dully inside of her, making it hard for him to focus on the conversation but wanting it to be had.

Belle’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking at him with a moment of confusion before saying. “What?”

“Adam. My real name is Adam,” he said, his voice low, as if this was a dire secret that he shouldn’t be telling her.

”Adam,” she repeated, rolling the name off her tongue. The candle light that soothed the room, as if to mask the carnage that ravaged it, made him seem softer as well to Belle. Like in the low lighting, he was something other than the monster that kept her prisoner that she had begun to have affection for.

He groaned softly at the way she said his name, his hips unconsciously bucking against her, pushing his cock and knot further into her for a moment. Belle let out a soft gasp, and he buried his face in her neck as a response. He was breathing hard, struggling with wanting to slam into her again or focus on the conversation at hand. It had been so long since he had felt like anything under than a beast, but with her smile, her kind eyes, he wanted to at least try. He wanted to know if he was capable of still being human.

”I think… never mind,” he sighed as he relaxed slightly against her, his massive body pinning her even more to the bed.

“Is everything okay?” Belle asked softly, wrapping her delicate arms around his neck. She had never seen him like this before, almost vulnerable. It was like he was someone else, or, she realized, maybe for the first time she was seeing who he really was. Maybe, just maybe, he was being truthful with who he was. After all, he had told her his real name. This could be a step in the right direction. A step for this to be something real.

”Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he asked suddenly, as if trying to break the tension.

A tiny laugh escaped Belle’s lips as she nodded against his fur. She had come to expect this kind of thing from him. When things became too serious, he would always try to change the topic or try to steer them into something else. “I am a bit thirsty, but aren’t we stuck?”

”I could have Mrs. Potts bring us something,” he said gruffly, his claws curling around her waist, trying to keep her in place when she shifted.

”What? No! She can’t see us like this,” Belle vehemently denies the offer, her face flushed even darker than it had been from the intensity of their love making.

He chuckled, nuzzling her neck for a moment before pulling away to look down at her. The way the glow of the candle light dances across her fair skin made his heart race. He had never thought she could be more beautiful than when she laughed, or when she was content, wrapped up in a book, but he realized he might have been wrong. Laying under him, her skin tinged a hue of somewhere between yellow and orange in the candle light, a graceful, kind smile on her face as her eyes held even a hint of affection, he had never seen anything so beautiful. So precious. So pure.

“I can cover you up. The nest is always a mess anyway. I doubt she would notice, and I’ll tell her to leave a cup. There are a few that aren’t alive.”

Belle hesitated, but finally nodded. After all, Beast had warned her that there’s a chance that they could be stuck like this for hours, and there was no way that she was going to be able to deal with the thirst for all that time. While it wasn’t that bad at the time ,Beast was furry, and hot. She knew that it would only intensify when she began to sweat from being under him.

Beast reached over, snatching up a blanket to help cover her up before calling for Cogsworth. He barked out orders to send in Mrs. Potts, but only to leave a cup. He insisted he didn’t want her to stay. Cogsworth, ever the loyal servant, agreed, but no one in the castle was stupid. Everyone had seen Belle wander up the stairs, and while the Master was never one for letting anyone in his chambers, this direction was odd. The few times he had requested tea or snacks in there, he had always allowed Mrs. Potts to stay.

After Mrs. Potts came, leaving not the one requested cup, but two, Belle peeked out from under the blanket, hearing the wheels of the tea tray rolling away. “Is everyone gone?” she asked in a whisper.

Beast nodded, adjusting himself, rolling, so he’s on his back. Because the knot was still locking them together, Belle was pulled on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to his body even more.

”So, you weren’t always… this,” she finally said. It’s an observation, a statement, not a question.

”No,” he admitted, swallowing hard. He felt his body stiffen as he remembered his original life. The one where he was a spoiled Prince, a human.

”What happened?” she asked, her voice softer, more tender now, as if she knew that she was stepping into territory that might be dangerous. She way he looked in the candle light made him seem more vulnerable, and it tugged at her heart. The idea of getting to actually know something real about him was too appealing for her to forego.

”I think… that is a story for another time,” he finally says, pressing his face against her neck as he runs his large paws up and down her back, trailing her spine with a single claw.

Belle nodded, resting her face against his chest. While curiosity was gnawing at her, she didn’t want to push him away or to make things awkward, especially considering that his knot was still locking them in place, and the growing affection brewing in her chest.

Beast nestled even more down, wrapping his large arms around Belle. His bed was destroyed, torn apart and reformed into almost a nest of torn fabric and broken wooden beams. They talked about nothing when he finally sat up to hand Belle one of the cups of tea. Belle let out a soft gasp when he sat up, because she was pulled even further down on his cock. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw the way that she reacted to being pulled down on his cock and knot. It stirred something final in him, knowing that even just a slight movement could incite such a reaction from her.

“What is it?” he asked in an almost playfully mocking tone as his knot pulsed dully inside of her tight heat.

Belle shot him a glare as she sipped from the cup, her face flushing slightly as she tried to adjust on his lap, trying to more comfortably and easily keep his knot nestled inside of her. Beast laughed, wrapping both of his arms around her again as he nuzzled her neck, his horns catching her hair for a moment as he did. Belle couldn’t keep her glare up, and ended up smiling. The affection she had he felt for him was only growing, especially with moments like this. It made her feel like maybe there was hope that he was more. That they could be more.

”Belle?” he said in a soft voice as he kept his massive head pressed against her neck.

“Yes?” she said softly, now running her fingers through his fur as if to keep him more pressed against her, her legs lazily wrapped around his waist. Well, as much as she was able to with his massive form.

He pulled back, a flash of vulnerability on his face. For a moment, he broke eye contact, making Belle’s lips turn down, but then he met her eyes again. They seemed softer than Belle had ever seen them. He looked at her for another moment before saying, “I really care for you.”

Belle’s face flushed, the rosy color warming her cheeks. “I… I care for you too. Very much so.”

[girliism]

the girls (me) yearn for more priest in training!art 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

(i hope the girls (you) like this)

patrick was quick to blab to art about the things you said in your confessional.

“dude, she wants you bad.” patrick throws his arm around art’s shoulder as they walk side by side talking in hushed whispers. art shakes his head. “i already took your advice and talk to her. she was terrified of me she’s even moved seats.” patrick stops him in his tracks looking him in the eye. “if you could have heard the things she confessed you’d be all over that. just talk to her again.”

so art did. he tried to talk to you again so many times, but the second you saw him you’d flee. until he caught you in the library.

“can i sit?” you looked up hearing a voice when you saw art. gasping you quickly start gathering your things. “wait, please don’t run away.” art placed his hand on your shoulder stopping you. you wanted to run away again, but you thought back to your confessional. if you kept running from him the move he would chase after you so sat back down.

the two of you sat next to each. you focused on your work and art focused on how he could smell your body wash and the way your breast stretched against the fabric of your white button up with every breath.

art cleared his throat. “i apologize for the things i said to you that day.” he wasn’t really sorry, but when dealing with a sweet girl like you he had to pretend to be a gentleman not the perverse man who’s been staring at your tits imagining cumming on them.

you looked at him. his eyes were soft like he truly ment it. “really?” art grabbed your hand. “really. i have no idea what came over me that day.” art let his head hang. “he must be testing me, and i failed by giving in to such a lustful way of thinking. maybe i should give up my training.” was art going through the same things you were? maybe the two of you could help each other.

you pouted no wanting art to give up. you looked around the library, there wasn’t really anyone there just three other people, but you still leaned in close to him whispering. “i think we can help each other.” art looked up in your kind eyes so desperate to help.

art told you to meet him behind the school so you did. he was leaned up against the wall smoking when you walked up to him.

“art?” art’s head snapped up to see you standing far off very clearly nervous. he stomped out his cigarette walking towards you. “you actually came?” you nodded your head. “and your sure this is gonna work? these thoughts they’ll leave me after only one session.” “oh yes, i’ve already started to sleep better at night.” and it’s true, you have, every night after your roommates have fallen asleep you sneak your fingers down into you pants and rub at your tiny bundle of nerves whispering a certain blondes name into your pillow before drifting into a peaceful sleep. “the phoenix can not raise if there is no ashes right?” you smile repeating what patrick had told you. art has to hold in his laughter hearing the stupid metaphor patrick constantly used.

art’s hands twitched at his side as he watched your trembling fingers work open the button of your shirt like he asked you too. “fuck.” art said under his breath when he catches sight of your boobs covered by your white bralette and the gold cross that hung in between them.

art has seen a lot a porn but none of that compared to seeing your nipples harden up from the cold air in real time.

“do you want me close my eyes?” art immediately shakes his head fumbling with his belt and zipper. “no -fuck- no i want you to watch me need you to watch me.” art pulls out his half hard cock. you’re gasping at the sight of it. the only time you’ve seen a penis was on the pages of your anatomy book and thought they were quite ugly. buts art’s was different, it was blushing red and slightly wet at the tip.

you had to bite your lip to hold back the needy sounds that threatened to come through as you watched art spit on his hand and jerk himself off.

art’s moans and curses along with the squelching sounds can be heard. art wants to roll his eyes back but he keeps his view on your pebbled nipples and how you try to discreetly squeeze your thighs together. “holy shit, you’re probably so wet right now watching me.” he grunts other hand coming down to squeeze to his balls. “wish i was fucking your pussy instead of my hand.” you blushed at his words. maybe saying it out loud helps him not think it anymore. he stops moving for a second to tease at his slit, spreading his precum around his cock head before stroking himself up and down faster moaning louder.

you eyes never moved from watching him pleasure himself. it was so different than want you did, and your hands balled at your side to stop yourself from reaching out and grabbing him. it looked heavy and big you wonder how the weight would feel in your hands.

“so close.” art whined. his couldn’t really stop himself from reaching cupping in one of your tits and squeezing. your mouth instantly fell open and a moan came out. art came on the spot from hearing that sound alone. “s-shit.” hot ropes of cum shot out of him landing on the ground and little on your skirt. your eyes widen and the pooling wetness in your panties starts spilling down your thigh.

you were gone before art could fully come down. he lifted his head to see your figure rounding the corner.

you made your way to the bathroom locking yourself in the last stall replying in your head what had just happened while you got yourself off. lingering in the back of you mind how much pray you’ll have to do for forgiveness.