#you know i really wanted to say demure

[ladybugsimblr]

Chile... anyways. The B stands for Booked & Busy (& Bump-ing). And you can stay BlockedT. Sometimes you have to sing and slay and remind them who you are, so you can stay very peaceful, very glam, very Dior.

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Happy new years… let’s stay hydrated together ✨

[softquietsteadylove]

Hey love! So, I know you already have the proposal au, but I was wondering if you could do an arranged marriage au. And basically, Gilgamesh is in the mafia and Thena's horrible abusive father (Arishem) steals money or drugs from him that Thena doesn't know anything about. And Gilgamesh and his men just show up to her home while Thena's not there and when she comes back she finds out that she's being forced to marry Gilgamesh (which she's not that mad about bc Gil is fine asf🤭). But Thena is basically just shocked and she has to get used to being treated how she should and with princess treatment (like opening her door, giving her gifts just because, etc) Maybe a little age gap like Thena's in her early 20s, Gil is in his Early 30s👀. Also maybe like Gil gives her princess treatment but disrespectful in bed vibes😜.

But anyways I love you and your whole existence and when I found your Tumblr acc it quite literally the happiest day of my life and I literally would kill for you. You're my whole world I live for all your posts and sit waiting everyday for you to post. You are the best thing that happened to me and I'm so grateful you're alive. I love you so much!😘❤️

"Thena?"

She startled, but a warm yet gentle hand touched her shoulder, "hey, it's okay. It's me--I'm sorry to startle you."

She looked around her. She wasn't at home--well, she was. She was no longer in her father's home, where falling asleep out in the open could lead to her getting her hair pulled if he was feeling particularly inebriated and particularly mean spirited.

She was home, in her home with Gilgamesh. It was a massive, modern and sprawling house. She had her own room, despite sharing the house with her husband. It had its own walk-in closet and full bathroom suite. He had installed a library having found out that she liked to read (that was all the incentive he needed, apparently). The only thing her room didn't have was a kitchen, and Gilgamesh did all the cooking anyway.

The first two weeks, when she wouldn't emerge from her room at all, he would leave trays out for her to take inside where she felt safe.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, speaking softly and moving so she could see him, showing her his hands. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. I wanted to see if you were hungry, or if you wanted to move into your room."

A gangster for a husband, and he made sure her room was always open for her, that only she was allowed in it, unless there was any house keeping she wanted done. He had even hired a female cleaner, specifically in hopes of making her feel more comfortable.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, hoping to assuage his fears of scaring her. She let the book on her lap fall closed and curled her legs up under the blanket thrown over her. "Sorry, dozed off between chapters."

"You don't have to apologise," he assured her, moving slowly as he took a seat on the sofa. He wasn't at the far end of it, but it was more than enough space for her to feel separate from him. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Are you okay? You seemed to be having a bad dream."

She was. Even removed as she was from that place, sometimes she would think was waking in her room, her desperate attempts to start a real career crammed into the corner of her room where her father wouldn't know to go digging for money.

The crinkle of her clothes in plastic bags so that he couldn't get them all wreaking of alcohol before a job interview. The way she would walk on the balls of her feet so as not to wake him when he was passed out on the couch in the middle of the day. The fear that every knock on the door would be another debt collector.

"Hey," Gilgamesh said as softly as he could again, "what do you need?"

If she hadn't woken from such a terrible dream she might swoon. It was almost a shame their relationship was one of contract. Gilgamesh was very good at seeming romantic.

She inhaled, putting on a braver face. "Some food sounds good."

"Okay," he nodded. His hand hovered, as if he would pat her knee under her blanket. But he stood instead, pulling himself away from her. "I can do that."

Thena stood, nearly slipping on the stairs of the elevated seating area to follow him into the kitchen. "Do you need any help?"

He did let his surprise show on his face, and instances like these she was reminded of the menacing - as well as cocky - gangster who had first appeared in her home and informed her of their marriage. "Setting a fire?--no, sweetheart, thank you."

She huffed, and she even managed to get a chuckle out of him. Laughing suited him more. "You must have had a hard day."

He immediately looked at her, trying to tell how any clue of how his work had gone could have slipped through the cracks. He worked very hard to keep all aspects of his business out of their home life.

She leaned against the spotless granite island/sink. "You seem more tense than usual."

He didn't rise to her bait, focusing on putting together a meal for her--for them.

But she was in the mood to poke the bear, as it were--the big grizzly teddybear in the pinstripe suit. "I figured I would get a 'no need, princess', at least."

He shook his head at her, pulling out a clay pot and retrieving the ingredients necessary. For a man living outside the law, he really was a great cook. "No need for a house fire--that's true."

"I am not that bad," she insisted, rising to her own bait if need be.

Gil - not Gilgamesh but Gil - finally looked at her with a little more mirth. He even chuckled, "Need I remind you of the eggs?"

She rolled her eyes at him. He had this big, beautiful kitchen, and she was home alone all the time. And sometimes she didn't want to wait for delivery to make it all the way to the house (and past security) while Gil was at work. She had figured making herself some eggs couldn't possibly go wrong.

"The hob at our-" she paused and moved on like it was nothing- "at my old place would take ages to heat up. I could never have known that this monstrosity can boil water in under a minute."

Gil glanced towards his very fancy oven on the other counter and then back to her. "Who turns the heat up all the way to make eggs in a pan?"

She shrugged, "they cook faster."

Gil let out a real laugh now, finally relaxing some as he finally started preparing the veggies. She could tell he was enjoying it when he slid them onto an angle to slice them. If it were strictly business he would cut them into little cubes instead. He shook his head. "I told you not to lift a finger while you're here."

That was true. After the fire had been put out, her housekeeping companion had insisted she simply ask if she wanted a meal. It was part of her requirements for the job and everything! Which was a little insulting, no matter how aware of her own cooking habits Thena was.

"I thought men wanted a wife who would cook for them as soon as they got home."

But Gil didn't latch onto her joke. He put down his knife, slowly and gently. He dried his hands on the hand towel below. Then he moved towards her, holding his hands out and asking for hers.

She watched as he did, curious enough to give her hands over to him. He held them so gently, even as he brought them up to his lips to kiss the back of each. She shivered.

He opened his eyes, peering down at her as he stroked her hand with his thumb. "Those aren't men. And you are not just 'a wife', Thena."

Did he want her to fall in love with him or not? The times when he was at work, and then completely secretive about it at home really seemed that he didn't. It seemed that he was upholding his end of the agreement with her father, and his vow to respect her and not to allow any harm to come to her.

But then other times he would say things like this, and she wouldn't know what to think.

She blushed as he left one last kiss on the tip of her finger. Then he was back to chopping, as if he hadn't nearly swept her off her feet (metaphorically speaking).

"Why don't you go sit down, sweetie? I'll come up and join you once this is on the heat." Back to that respectful distance.

She pursed her lips, moving away from the kitchen island as he started rinsing the rice and mixing sauces. That was just like Gilgamesh, to say something so breathtaking and sweet one moment and be a husband in name only the next.

She glanced at her book, although she couldn't even remember what she was reading in it before she had dozed off. Throwing herself back on the couch did seem to catch his attention somewhat; she could tell by the tilt of his head only vaguely in her direction. She also pulled the blanket over her again, with a little more force than the light cashmere needed.

If he only wanted to be half a husband then fine, but he didn't have to be a full time flirt to do it.

She peeked up from her phone as Gilgamesh walked up the three small steps to join her. He had a bad knee but wouldn't admit to it, maybe that was adding to the pressure of his day today.

"Okay," he groaned as he too threw himself onto the couch. He looked over at her, at her safe and respectful distance. "So?"

"So?" she asked in return, bristling at the grin on his face. It suited him a little too much.

He nodded, as if he had been thinking something to himself and had the affirmation he needed. She didn't know what he thought he knew, but she almost didn't want to. He leaned back on the couch, relaxing his posture. This was how a gangster would sit, she imagined. "Well."

"Well?" she prompted him again. But all he did was lazily wave his hand at her. She raised her shoulders, "you want me to...?"

He shrugged, even turning his head away from her. "If you want, I mean. You seem like you want the company."

He was calling her out on her wanting his attention, he meant. And he was right, but she didn't appreciate it. She turned her nose up at it.

"If you wanna sit in my lap, you can say so."

She shivered again, turning and half expecting him to be nose to nose with her. But whens he did look, he was back to pretending like he was halfheartedly watching something on the obscenely large tv mounted on the wall.

To his credit, he didn't say anything as she quietly shifted her position. She didn't tuck herself into his embrace or anything. They weren't actually married.

Gil lowered his arm from the back of the couch to her shoulder, letting her lean partially on him but not so close that she would feel trapped. "Put on that show you like."

"The one that puts you to sleep?" she smirked, even as she picked up the remote.

"It does not put me to sleep."

"It does," she corrected him, and it was moments like these when the marriage did feel less like a business agreement and more like...well, like something. "What about the food?"

"It has a timer, just take it off the heat when it's done."

It was he who was on the verge of nodding off, now. He really had endured a truly terrible day to be so exhausted. And she wouldn't be the one waking him.

She did put on her show, a historical drama she liked. And he really did nod off, the clay pot dinner simmering in the background silently. And only because he was dead asleep did she take the liberty of tucking herself against his chest. Just this once.

[d3ly-p4v]

😧

[robo-writing]

Logan with a virgin reader, expecting her to be this shy nervous little thing only to be met with a woman who’s spent too much of her life with only her imagination to keep her company. Suddenly he’s the one nervous because you’re so eager to fuck him and you’re begging him so nicely that it’s hard for him to remember you’ve never actually done this and he has to be responsible. You whine the entire time he’s stretching you out with his fingers, hands grabbing at him and pleading with him to replace his fingers with his cock and god damn it, you’re making it really fucking hard for him to focus.

You’re both bare, losing your clothes somewhere between the living room and the kitchen. The feeling of skin against skin drives you wild, makes you plead for the cock that’s throbbing against your thigh. You know he wants this just as bad as you do, you can feel how bad he wants this, but he settles for spreading you apart on his fingers.

You know you’re testing his patience but you don’t care; not when you grind against him, not when his cock glides against your bare pussy, not when he pins you to the bed as your back arches off it.

“Stop moving,” he begs, over and over. “Stop it, stop—stop fucking moving.”

You’re killing him; every time you look at him with those darling little doe eyes he can feel what little self-restraint he has left crumbling apart, every whine and moan and please Logan, gimme more testing his resolve.

“You need to stop,” he begs, head falling forward as your cunt wets his dick, sliding against his length but refusing to push forward and take you. You shake your head, pull him in for a kiss that’s anything but demure, lust pouring from your tongue as you lick at his mouth.

“Don’t wanna,” you gasp, pulling him closer by his shoulders. Between each kiss you see his control waning, feel his hands bruised your skin, taste the depravity between his teeth. Slowly but surely you see his mask slipping away, a beast in disguise of a man, one that desperately wants to claim you as his.

A sick part of you wants that; to submit yourself, bare your neck against its fangs and beg for more when its teeth pierce your skin. You want to give yourself to Logan—all of him, even the parts that he himself doesn’t want to show you. You want your first time to be just as enjoyable for him as it is for you—which is why you bring his hand to your stomach, to where his dick would leave an outline. You hold his hand firm as he stares with lust-blown eyes just imagining how full of him you’d be, in awe at just how willing you are to submit.

“I can handle it, you whimper, voice sweet like sin. “Fuck me, please.”

And like that, you’re no longer faced with your loving boyfriend. You’re now face to face with the Wolverine.

He pushes inside your velvet walls, still conscious enough to give you a moment to adjust. The feeling is new, full. Your voice wobbles when his thumb reaches down to circle your clit, just enough to get you to relax as he feeds your greedy pussy inch after inch.

“Y’gotta breathe for me baby,” he rasps into the side of your neck, releasing a breath you never knew you were holding. He rewards your obedience with more of his dick, slowly rocking against you as you start to adjust to the feeling.

“Feels good,” you whisper, stroking his hair. Your eyes are locked with his, lost in his pretty emerald eyes. “You can move.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Not sure I’ll be able to stop once I do.”

You know he’s telling the truth, it’s written all over his face. A need to possess you in body and soul, his eyes glued to where you’re both connected with a sickening fascination. You know the actual question he's asking, even if he can't bring himself to say it. Are you sure you want me? You realize he's just as vulnerable as you are, unsure of himself. It's a rarity that Logan ever talks about himself, always focused on you above all. You want to give him a break, want to make him feel as good as he makes you feel, want him to finally stop holding back and let go. So you kiss him, long and deep, and hope that gets the message across. His answer comes in the form of hands on your hips, the deep timbre of his voice radiating from his broad chest. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

[ashherahh]

how your future partner matches your freak +18

Note: Please take it if it resonates, leave it if it doesn't. Meditate before making your decision. It's completely okay if you don't resonate with this reading. The collective is huge and I'm sure you'll receive the messages you need in due time.

pile 1

Cards: Page of Wands Rx, Seven of Pentacles, Three of Swords Rx, Two of Wands. BOD: King of Swords Rx

Um, dunno how to put this but you two teach each other. Getting to that point of knowing each other intimately takes proper communication and lots of consistency. The two of you do not shy away from that. You just see it as a challenge to overcome, and you like challenges.

Carnal desires much?

The attraction is there, as I'm seeing your relationship eventually develops into one which leaves both of you quite satisfied. So, strongly picking up on the energy of someone who is so accustomed to reaching orgasm by themselves that when they have a partner they are a bit...selfish in bed.

Yeah... They haven't had sex in a hot minute so they struggle to last the first few times or they take a while to orgasm. It's quite common, actually.

Eventually, with practice comes improvement. Not everyone is a sex god immediately their first time, so you two are pretty patient with each other. Learning your likes and dislikes, you cultivate your intimacy (which should always be the case, but some couples just click).

You do click with your partner in every other aspect of your life, but sex is the one you both work on together. You're a bit awkward with it, but oh so eager. This energy is so cute, I dunno how else to describe it. There's a curious excitement to it.

Sex is also pretty frequent, like really frequent. A lot. You two have a lot of sex. I'm not seeing major power plays, you're pretty much are comfortable switching roles and you're definitely open to trying out as many positions and toys and roleplaying to see what works for you.

This is such a nasty group. I'm blushing. You both seek each other out. There's no demure, there's no mindful but there's a lot of dropping the draws on sight. There is little restraint.

pile 2

Cards: Two of Cups, The Moon, Queen of Swords Rx, Ten of Cups Rx. BOD: Knight of Swords

Someone is going to cry during sex. There will be tears. Composure for who? What is that? When you are intimate with them, it's like you lose your mind. You don't even know what you're saying, you just be saying stuff. Both of you actually. I'm seeing your partner making promises and you just doing the same thing.

Really, y'all? Really? You both whisper sweet nothings to each other.

Your partner likes to run their mouth during the act. They talk you through it. They know what their words do to you. You're the kind of couple who ends up using sex to voice things, like you leave it all out on the floor. Or should I say bed. Actually, you do it whenever you want. Exhibitionistic individuals.

Emotions run high in this pairing. Sex is an almost lethargic act for the two of you. It's like your chakras open up, and it's addictive. You really can't get enough of each other. Angry sex, all kinds of sex. You use it to process feelings, not intentionally, it really just happens with the two of you.

I'm seeing that you knew you connected well emotionally, but I'm not seeing that either of you were expecting to literally unravel when together. That's exactly what sex feels like with your future partner, like there are layers being stripped away and it's just you two feeling what you need to feel through the act.

You two go deep together.

pile 3

Cards: Queen of Wands, King of Swords, Three of Cups, The Lovers. BOD: The Magician

Power dynamics are a thing with you two. Both of you have strong personalities and are quite dominant in nature. So, it's all about seeing who's going to gain the upper hand.

There's a feeling of having met your perfect match. Previous partners just didn't seem to scratch that itch you two had. Sex was good but not mind blowing and not nearly what you were actually craving.

You both want someone who "earns" you in a way. Like, not everyone deserves you. Not everyone deserves to see either of you come undone. Not everyone is worthy of it. This future partner, they go the extra mile. They don't back down, they don't shy away. You don't scare them, your desires entice them. It's vice versa.

There's a mutual giving, a mutual respect and flow of energy. You recognize that they are someone who will be able to match you in everyway, they are someone who is able to satisfy you, and you them.

Libidos are highhhhhh.

You two worship each other. This pairing adores every inch of each other. If you are shy about any part of yourself, that goes out of the window. They make you feel like you are the most precious person on earth, and you are to them.

I'm seeing that sex is treated with a lot of respect and trust. You two really let yourself go with one another. There's no holding back, no masks in place, no feeling like you're too much.

It feels like heaven with them.

[peachesofteal]

sighs Price/Simon/mama (female reader) 18+ mdni - threesome M/M/F, spit, daddy, praise, size, lactation, breeding kink. The softest dub con. This is an AU to the original story, Through Me. Price has a wife in Through Me and Simon has mama, neither of them would ever share.

It starts with a dinner.

Red wine decanted. Red meat rare, bleeding all over a plate. Price sits across from Simon at the table, with you at the head. Fixed between them like a flower sprouted in rock.

They're here because Simon has seen the way he watches. He's noticed how his captain considers both himself and you, the way he cocks his head to left and trails his eyes up and down your body.

It's reminiscent of days old. Nights passed when he and John bent pretty things to their will, split open and overwhelmed, gasping and clawing as they systematically broke them apart.

A wild ride. A way to blow off some steam. A thing never meant to be more than what it was. Secret nights in the dark.

There was a wild gleam in John's eyes, weeks ago. Simon only caught the fractured glimpse of it, there one second, gone in the next, but when they locked eyes afterwards, he knew.

They both did.

He wouldn't be doing this unless he trusted his captain implicitly. Trusted him to care for you, to give you what's needed, to see it all the way through. There's something digging around in Simon's brain about it, some imagery he can't escape.

The best way out is through.

They end up in the living room, after dinner. There's still half a bottle of wine left, and when he pulls you in for a kiss it's there on his tongue, purpled fruit and acid, alcohol loosening the tension in your neck, your spine.

Simon sits on the couch next to John. Not yet touching, but if both were shift their legs, they'd be there, knee to knee. "C'mere mama." Simon spreads wide, patting the inside of his thigh, indicating where you're to sit, and when you settle on his lap, half turned to face his captain, he rests a hand on his thigh. "Did you enjoy dinner, sweet girl?"

"It was very good." You peek at John through your lashes, demure, shy. "Thank you for cooking."

"Was my pleasure." He smiles, blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and you return it as Simon rubs circles on your waist. He can feel the fabric of your thong beneath the dress you chose tonight, thin, narrow fabric stretched over your cunt, nearly non-existent barrier separating you from the craven.

It's important you're not so worked up, too early. He needs to keep you torpid, wine drenched and saccharine, before working you up to a frenetic pace, so he moves his hand to your back, stroking up and down slowly, using an aimless conversation about work as a distraction. "Think Laswell's gonna be out for this next one?"

"Don't know. Suppose so. We'll need her. Can't get over half the hurdles without her support." His legs spread, marginally. enough that his knee is touching your feet, your toes, and you glance down. Simon observes your thought process in real time; intrigue, confusion clearing before it ever really takes root. You brush it off.

But he sees the opportunity, target hot to strike.

He moves his hand under the hem of your dress, up your thigh. You tense, blinking at him in confusion, and he brushes his lips against your ear. "Relax, honey." He finds heat between your legs, circling over your panties, and you squeak, locking onto his wrist.

"Si-"

"John was so nice to have us over for dinner, wasn't he?" You nod, shakily, as Simon peppers your cheek, your jaw with kisses. "Fed us so well. Don't y'think we should say thank you?" His cock is solid beneath your ass, and he flexes his hips, driving the point home, still stroking over your panties. John is locked in, watching the flutter of your dress, staring beneath your knees.

"Um, I," he presses directly on your clit, stealing your words, whatever you meant to say dying on a whine. Your lips part beneath him, already slick, already wanting.

"Put your heels on John's thighs, mama." You stare at him, eyes wide, and he gives you an encouraging nod. "Don't worry. We'll take care of you." The angle provided when you lift your feet tilts you, and John turns.

"Gonna touch you, love," he carefully palms your knees, "right here," turning so that you're now facing him head on, toes flexing on both of his thighs. Simon peels your dress back, shucking it up around your belly, and then parts your legs. His captain huffs a short groan.

"Jus' want John to be able see, is all." He hooks a finger into the cotton, and pulls to the side, exposing your weeping pussy to both of them, glistening in the evening light. "Look at you, sweet girl. All wet and ready for us?" You whimper, staring at John between your knees, no doubt shocked. Scandalized. "Isn't she pretty?" He nods.

"Very." He reaches, and you flinch when his fingers trace down your slit, but Simon holds your hips still. "Need some attention, eh? Little thing, already swollen." He flits back up to your bud, pressing next to where Simon has a thumb on you, and they work in circles, both swirling, your hips jerking with each cycle.

John pulls away, it's a slow game, this one. One they've played before, and he stays focused between your legs, letting Simon lead you, submerge you in the experience, plunge you into it. He applies more pressure, enjoying your gasps, the way you grip his shoulder.

He's almost there, almost got you, and then-

"Daddy-" John smiles. So does Simon. He pushes a finger in your hole, searching for that spot, the soft one that makes you scream, heel of his palm firm against your clit. "Ah, fuck, p-please-"

"You're so wet, mama. Soakin' my hand. Do you need to cum? Want to show the captain the way your pussy flutters?" You moan, head tipped back, pulse throbbing in your neck. You tighten around his finger, and he draws back to slide in two, carefully stretching, sawing you wide. Your knees try to close, probably on instinct, but John pushes them open again. When you hold them there, he murmurs low.

"Good girl. Keep em open for me. Want to watch your hole, see how it's going to take my cock." A shudder rocks you, muscles in your lower belly tensing, and your spine curls forward, fingers knotted in the collar of Simon's shirt.

"There it is, good, mama, that's so good. c'mon-" You squeeze, and squeeze him, and then explode, crying out, legs shaking, chasing the pressure, carnal lust glittering in your eyes.

Simon doesn't give you a reprieve. Your sopping cunt cries on his hand as he pulls free, and they both move, John's cock coming free from his pants, thick, tip red and leaking, and he slaps it against your clit. You're still dazed from the orgasm, gripping onto Simon, and he pulls you against his chest, hands behind your knees, folding you open. Your pussy flowers for Johnny, blooming for them both. Simon's so hard he aches, and he manages to shuck his pants down, cock hard against your back.

It occurs to him, John might want to have a taste of you. Drink from you, enjoy how sweet you are. "Let's get this off." He curls you forward, and tugs at your dress, deliciously pleased when you help the effort, arms twisting behind your back to try to free your heavy tits. He shifts you so you're more on his thigh, cock straining against your hip. He groans when he brushes your nipples, dots of liquid beading, slick honey spilling over the curve of your breasts. He squeezes them, making eye contact with John, who licks his lips.

John dips his head, you jerk back into Simon. "Easy," he coos, hand firm on your belly, "John's gonna have a taste. Don't want this all to go to waste, d'you? Don't wanna be selfish sweet girl." His captain's mustache brushes against the sensitive skin, mouth closing around your nipple and sucking, a sensation you seem to enjoy, because you tip your head back on Simon's shoulder and groan.

"Oh, oh. God." John's jaw connects with Simon's fingers, where he's still helping squeeze you into his mouth, and he reaches between your legs, feeling for the weight of his captain's cock, giving him a firm squeeze before lining him up with your entrance. He pulls off your breast with a satisfying pop, mustache wet, chin glistening.

He pushes, slowly, and your muscles go solid, legs instinctively shifting. John grips the back of your thigh, burrowing into the fat there, still forcing his way inside you. They're both so much bigger than you, wider than your pussy allows, longer than you should be able to stretch. "Relax, love." He coaches, pulling out to only batter his way back in, and Simon's hand roams between your legs, feeling the curve of your hole struggling to take his captain, stroking up his length to feel how much is left. You're panting, squirming, and John laughs, echo of a chuckle pulling a smile from Simon.

"J-John." You gasp, cunt stretched tight, and when his pelvis meets your ass, the tears spill over your cheeks. "It's t-too much, you're-"

"Fuckin' hell." He snarls, snapping in and out, bending at the waist to close his mouth over your nipple, big hands cradling your thighs. It's nasty, foul, the slick slap of his balls swinging into you, the wet sound filling the air over your wild moans. Simon plays with your clit, sloshing over and over it, holding you steady as you writhe. Your second orgasm approaches like a freight train, so fast, so violent, and Simon urges you on.

"Cum on my captain's cock, honey. Yeah, that's it- let him feel it." Your toes curl and you explode, squeezing so tight John has to seal his hips to you to keep himself inside.

"Christ." He curses, and Simon smoothes a hand over your forehead.

"Such a good girl, huh? Never felt anything better." He coos, kissing your temple, John grunting out an agreement of sorts, grinding in a circle before pulling long and spearing you open again, bucking into your cunt like a wild animal. Your tits bounce with him, eyes closed and pretty mouth parted, Simon licking inside, dribbling spit onto your tongue that you swallow, again and again, until John's pace becomes frantic, and he bites out a demand.

"Ask your daddy if I can give you my cum, love." You're delirious, overwhelmed and greedy now, pliant with two orgasms and promises of more.

"Daddy, daddy, p-please, can he... can he?" You manage the bumpy plea between bounces.

"Y'want him to pump you full of cum, mama? Want him to give it to you?"

"Y-yeah, yeah. Give it to me." John's jaw is gnashed so tight, Simon can see the muscle flexing, and he slams into you, shoving you further into his arms.

"Here it comes, fuck-." He snarls, and then he shoves forward once more, head tipped back, gladiator in his glory, battle won.

He pulls away, cock slipping free, covered in you, curly hair at the root soaked, chest heaving as he catches his breath. Simon tucks his fingers inside, feeling the mess of his captain's load, scooping some out and bringing it to your lips. "Suck, honey. Lick 'em clean f'me." You do, wrapping your tongue around them, swallowing hungrily with half lidded eyes.

"Sit rep?" John grunts.

"Y'okay mama?" He palms your belly.

"Mhmm." You're suspended in a dream, voracious appetite soothed.

"Need you to take more, sweet girl. Can you do that?" He will honor it, if you say no. Clean you up and get you home, tucked into bed-

but you nod, blinking, and John smacks your ass. "Up, then." He pulls you onto all fours, massive hands pulling your cheeks up and apart, exposing your tight little furl to both of them. Simon glances over, and John sucks into the pocket of his cheek. He follows suit, and-

they spit onto your asshole, shiny, iridescent globs coating it, soaking it, slipping down to where you're leaking strings of John's cum. He thumbs your ring, pushing, testing, slowly sinking inside as you twitch and try to push him out. "Gonna take this one day." It's a promise for another time, and you turn over your shoulder, eyes wide. "Gonna stretch your little asshole out with my cock, mama."

"Simon-" Your voice borders on cautionary.

"Not tonight." John stands, sinking to his knees on the opposite of the couch, half hard cock starting to fill as it looms in front of your face, and Simon lines himself up from behind, impaling you on his cock in one swift thrust, jerking your hips back to meet his.

You scream. Mouth open wide, and at the same time, John shoves forward, cock finding purchase in your mouth, hands cradling your jaw. "Easy, pretty girl." He strokes your cheek, natural rhythm of Simon fucking you deep forcing you on and off John's length, soft turning quickly to hard, stretching back towards your throat.

"Fuck, mama. Feel so fuckin' good. So wet, full of cum already." You're still so tight, so warm, soaking him to the bone. Your pussy squelches around him, and you jerk back to meet him, hips rolling as much as you can stand it, sharp moans vibrating from the back of your tongue. "Not gonna last." He warns.

"Me either," John's biceps are strained, corded muscle looping all the way to his wrists. "Mouth's so good on 'er. Gonna fill you up from both ends tonight, love." You're crying now, Simon can hear the change in your tone, the way your voice breaks, and it only makes him fuck you harder, desperate, primal urges roaring to life in the back of his mind.

"Gonna put it deep, mama. Give y'another baby." You clench. "You like that? Want daddy to fuck another baby into you?" You make some sort of sound, unintelligible, but it doesn't matter. "We won't know who's it is. Could end up with John's baby, yeah? Get nice and fat with him inside you. Belong to both of us." he groans it, thrusting and thrusting until he's slamming into you and so is John, both men sweating, grunting, gripping onto you like their lives depend on it.

It doesn't take much more than that before Simon is curling over your back, chest pressed against you, arm snaked between your legs. He pulls you into another orgasm with him, your thighs clamped around his arm, and John holds you up by the shoulders, spilling down your throat as Simon floods your womb.

The silence that follows is old hat, but new with you. John disappears to grab water, warm, wet wash cloths, and Simon rocks you on the couch, holding you tight, kissing every spare inch of your skin. "Did so good for me, mama." You sigh, cozying closer, and when John kneads your thigh, you spread them, allowing him to wipe between your legs, clean you as best he can, before settling on the other side.

They stay like that, for a while. In the quiet, the sound of your breathing, before Simon manages to get your dress over your head and to the door.

There's no goodbye.

There never is.

[gloomwitchwrites]

What If 141 sweet moment (or sexy or both!)

First I Love You

Honey bug, if you give me the option to be sweet, sexy, or both...you know I'm choosing both. When given the option, I will always write smut. ALWAYS! It's mostly because I'm constantly horny and thinking about these men but, ya know. I did my best to give a little variety in the level of sweetness and sexiness. Some of it is really soft and some of it is straight up feral. So. Do with that what you will, friend.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, mentions of parenthood, breeding, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, rough sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, possessiveness, admission of feelings, swearing, fluff

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You laugh, a bit startled.

Kyle freezes, his lips slightly parted as his brain catches up with the words that have just fallen from his mouth. “Did I?” he asks slowly.

“You did,” you affirm, your stomach now in knots.

There is no sickness festering in your tummy, and there is no fear there either. You are floating. Cloud-like. But all twisted up without an end to the tangle. For months now, you’ve been waiting to hear those three little words from Kyle.

This thing between the two of you started easy. Late night fucks to overnight stays to grabbing breakfast the morning after. From there came Sunday afternoon naps and small dates to a café or coffeeshop.

Small, but evolving. Morphing. Transforming from caterpillar to fluttering butterfly.

All this time, you believed you would be the one to say those three little words first. That they might accidentally slip from your lips unexpectedly and chase Kyle away. You have held the desire between your heart and ribcage as if the feeling were a physical organ.

But the words have been said. By Kyle.

Which means you can say them, too.

“I did,” he says, agreeing with the statement. Kyle’s shoulders relax as if all the tension has gone out of them.

A risk of an idea blooms in your mind. It’s a chance, and maybe asking might sabotage everything, but you want to push the boundary a bit—figure out where the two of you will go from here.

“Could you say it again?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you demurely.

“Yeah,” chuckles Kyle. “I can do that.”

Guiding his arm to your back, Kyle pulls you close, hand resting against your hip. His brow softens, and his head tilts forward, the tip of his nose lightly brushing along your own. Lingering, Kyle’s lips part, and his tongue teases the underside of his top lip as if he’s thinking about your mouth.

He leans closer.

“I love you.”

It is a whisper. Wispy like thin paper. A few seconds of air that feel like an infinite expanse of stars.

You inhale from the repeated words. Kyle takes that inhalation to closes the distance. It is utterly sweet—like a cherry sucker that stains your teeth and tongue.

You meet him with equal need, only seeking closeness, to feel his warmth everywhere. These kisses are slow and languid and effortless. They come easy, as if the two of you have always done this. As if your lips were made for each other’s.

You reach up to cradle the side of his face. The moment your skin makes contact with Kyle’s, he lets out a little groan of sweetness. There is only heat under your palm. It flows outward and into you until you’re burning like him.

This small sound spurs you to further again. Your hand slides to the back of his neck for a better grip. With fingers digging into his nape, you urge the kisses to deepen, switching from a languid caress to a desperate need that has Kyle’s hand tightening against your hip.

All the kisses that come next are passion-laced. Kyle’s lips part and you tentatively tease him with the tip of your tongue. A low groan comes from somewhere deep in his throat, and then Kyle is forcing your head back, consuming you completely until the two of you finally break apart to breathe.

It is momentary. A brief pause.

Because Kyle’s lips return to your skin with lips, teeth, and tongue. It is not just your mouth that is worshipped but the edge of your jaw and the curve of your ear. His hands roam everywhere, squeezing and grasping until they’re full of you.

“Love you so much,” he breathes where your neck meets your shoulder.

He nips there, and then he is pulling back your top to lick at the top of your breast.

“Kyle,” you groan.

“I want to hear you say it back,” he growls, tugging more of your shirt down. “Say it back, love.”

Kyle gives your shirt a final tug, revealing a nipple. He teases it. Brings it into his mouth. Your back arches, pressing your hips against his. Head falling back, you run your fingers up his neck to grasp the back of his head.

The only response you receive is a quick shift of Kyle’s body. Taking you with him, Kyle draws you to the bed, guiding you to your back.

With the tips of his fingers grazing over your inner thigh, Kyle drapes himself over your body, his other hand pressing into the bed next to your head.

“Say it back.”

There is desperation in his tone, and you indulge him completely.

“I love you too, Kyle.”

He is pleased. Electric. There is nothing that will separate him from you. Every article of clothing is removed and tossed aside. Legs spreading wide to accommodate him, Kyle slides home, sinking into your warmth, moaning loudly when he’s fully inside.

John Price

“I know what I want.”

“Do you, John?”

John steps out from around the kitchen island, striding toward you with purpose in every step. “I know you doubt sometimes,” he begins, and you scoff, glancing away.

John grasps the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. The touch is dominating but it isn’t painful. There just isn’t anywhere to go but to move into his embrace.

“I’m not that young recruit anymore that enjoyed fucking you at my convenience.” John’s hold on your neck tightens a bit, drawing you even closer against his chest. “I’m older now. I want to settle down. I know what I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” you ask.

The two of you have been together forever, but you’ve never heard Price utter the words “I love you.” You don’t know why but you have your suspicions. There were times when you thought there might be someone else, but now that John’s moved up in the ranks, you believe it might come from a place of uncertainty.

You never know when he’s going to come home. But oftentimes John doesn’t know either.

“I want you. No one else.”

“John,” you breathe, attempting to shake out of his grasp.

“No,” he growls. “Listen to me.”

“I am,” you snap, slightly irritated.

You’ve heard this all before. And maybe you should go. Pack yourself up along with your daughter you share with him. It would hurt—especially her, but you need something concrete. Solid.

“I love you.”

It’s almost a growl at it comes out of him. He sounds more animal than human, as if the words need to be said before he transforms into anything other than himself. Then, John’s grip on your neck softens, becoming a caress. You lean into it, eyelids closing slightly as his thumb runs over the front of your throat.

“I love you,” he repeats, this time much softer. A sweet song—or wine that goes down easy.

“I love you,” he says again, lips brushing against yours.

You’re melting like butter spread across warm bread. His voice is husky now. Needy. Heat pools in your core and your pussy slickens in anticipation.

“I don’t say it enough.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it,” you reply immediately.

You expect hurt in his gaze, but there is none.

“Then I need to remedy that,” he murmurs.

John’s hand drops away from your throat and then he’s placing you on the kitchen island. Forcing up your shirt and removing your shorts, John makes quick work of removing your underwear, giving him full access to your body.

“How much time do we have?” he rasps, dragging you to the edge, his fingers sliding over your pussy to part you wider.

You fall back onto your elbows and glance at the clock. “She’ll be home from school in fifteen.”

“Good,” growls John just as he sinks a finger inside.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, head tipping back as his thumb brushes soft circles around your clit. He’s not touching it directly, but the tease of the indirect contact causes your walls to clench around him.

“I love you,” says John, pumping steadily, inserting a second finger as his thumb drags over your clit.

“I love you,” he repeats as the first orgasm crests.

It’s all he says, repeating the words until his voice is a mantra in your mind, and his fingers are gone, replaced by his cock that has your back arching. You’re thankful for the marble beneath you, and its strength as you grip the edge.

John grunts over you, his “I love you” becoming slurred and wispy.

At some point you repeat it back, clinging onto those three little words as much as John does. Even after he’s come inside you, John has you back on your feet, dragging you into the bedroom for another round before both of you have to fall into parental duty.

But even that is a distant thought in your head.

You’re only thinking of John, and the worship of his love as he devours the altar that is your body.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You’re taking my cock like this or not at all.”

You whimper, popping your hips, presenting your pussy to Simon. You’re reward with a quick, light slap. Skin meets skin, your wetness apparent and loud in the room when Simon makes contact. You jerk slightly from shock, and then the bed is sinking beneath you as Simon settles between your legs.

With arms crossed, you rest your head on your forearms, awaiting Simon’s claiming. His hands roam everywhere. Touching everything until your skin is alight with need and your pussy is so fucking slick you know he’s going to slide right in.

“Please,” you whimper.

“So needy. I love you like this.”

Simon’s hands run up the backs of your thighs and settle on your ass. His hands are full of you, and then he’s squeezing. Striking. Slapping. The skin smarting under each blow.

“Your body is fucking mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to pleasure.”

One hand roams upward, curling around the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, fingers digging into bone. The head of Simon’s cock rubs back and forth through your slickness and then he’s notching himself at your entrance, plunging inside without pretense.

There is nothing sweet about this. Simon is all roughness, fucking you into the bed until you feel an ache in your bones.

You cling to the bedding, hands fisting the sheet as Simon uses you for himself. It’s not like you don’t like this. You enjoy it. You enjoy his need for ownership and possession.

You are lost to it, but then Simon yanks your right out.

He drapes himself over your back, one hand planted just above your head for support while the other wraps around your throat. Simon pauses in his thrusts for only a moment before he’s at it again. This angle is deeper, and it rips strained moan after strained moan from you.

“All mine,” he growls. “This pussy is all mine. Gonna fucking breed you, yeah? Fill you with my cum.”

Simon whispers these words into your ear like his relentless thrusting doesn’t faze him at all.

“You’re fucking gorgeous like this. My good slut. My perfect girl.”

Simon presses his face to the side of your head. Your brain is lifting. Floating away.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Love you so much.”

That last part—that last little bit—reshapes you. The orgasm grows hot and fast and then you’re squeezing hard around Simon’s cock.

His groan is chocked, hips stuttering, and then you feel the warmth of his cum flooding your pussy.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Every muscle is languid and loose.

Your pussy aches—but not from pain. Johnny is needy, and he’s been ravenous, fucking you all over his flat. You’ve lost count of the orgasms. Each one moving into the other until it feels like a continuous waterfall of pleasure.

Every touch of Johnny’s is overly sensitive. Your body twitches underneath him, crackling with an electric energy that brings tears to yours. Sweat clings to your skin and his. Each thrust and slap of skin is slick.

“Fuck, Johnny. I—I can’t. No more. Please.”

Johnny’s chest heaves a bit. He’s clearly inching toward exhaustion. But when has that ever stopped him.

“One more, love. Come here.”

Johnny’s arms go around you, pulling you into his lap.

Even though every limb is screaming in protest, your senses spark again when his hard cock rubs against your pussy, the head brushing along the edge of your clit. You clench around nothing, and a little shiver travels up your spine.

Johnny’s mouth trails over the skin of your throat, his tongue taking up a bit of the moisture.

“Wrap your legs around me. Best you can.”

You do as Johnny instructs, and then his hands slide under your ass, lifting enough that the head of his cock finds your pussy. Slowly, Johnny brings you down on him inch by inch until you’re perfectly stretched again.

Once you’re completely seated on his cock, Johnny adjusts his grip, grasping your hips. With gentle guidance, Johnny urges your hips to rock slightly. His own imitate the same motion. The two of you meet repeatedly.

Each rock of your hips forces Johnny deeper. You moan, head tilting back, but Johnny grasps the nape of your neck.

“Look at me,” he croons, fingers digging into your skin, the small hairs there catching under his touch.

Your eyelids are heavy with lust but you manage, seeking that gorgeous gaze you know so well. Johnny’s arms adjust, supporting more of your back as the two of you rock. It’s languid, but nice. Different from the earlier rounds when Johnny just needed to be inside you in whatever way you’d allow it.

Johnny’s arm tightens as you drape yours around his neck.

It’s easier to lean forward, resting your forehead against his. Breaths are exchanged. Lips brushing but not really kissing.

With the next set of thrusts, Johnny shivers. “I love you,” he murmurs. “Fucking love you.”

At first, you don’t hear him clearly, the haze of pleasure sitting heavy. But your mind begins to clear as it processes what he just said.

“Johnny—”

“Love you so much,” he groans softly, stealing your lips before you can protest.

It’s the first time. The very first, and yet you don’t completely believe it.

“Oh, fuck. Hell,” gasps Johnny, giving in to whatever he’s after by tipping you toward the bed, putting you on your back.

Your legs automatically spread wider and then Johnny is fucking you completely, draped over you like a protective cocoon.

Love you,” he murmurs into your ear.

It repeats with each thrust.

And then you’re saying it, too.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction

@weasleytwins-41 @nommingonfood @saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67

@sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81

@azkza @nishim @voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @haven-1307 @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @cod-z

@keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic @sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter

@dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld @umno-yeah @daemondoll

@jackrabbitem @lxblm @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @ash-tarte

[evilminji]

You Know How There Are Those AU? Where SUPER Injured Ghosts Need To Retreat To Their Core?

No one seems to be USING that to its fullest potential! For SHENANIGANS! Because! Who?? Could POSSIBLY carry a Halfa's Core safely... but another Halfa?! A FULL ghost would KILL them. A human would be killed! What terribly precarious peril we find ourselves in! Oh nooooooo!

Well, no worry!

As much as Dani fuckin HATES this. That there is her brother. Her Template. Her Clone Daddy and Bestest of Bros. Like HECK she's gonna let him suffer for centuries and possibly DIE. She can take it, Doc! Pop him in! We'll go road tripping and-

What do you MEAN "No"?

Unstable??! Of course she's unstable! But the-.... Oh.

Turns OUT? Dani? Can hitch a ride in DANNY for Emergency Medical Aid... but NOT the other way around. Her body is too loosely held together. He would parasiticly consume her from within. Instead of feeding off her Ecto System like injured ghosts are supposed too, because she's a CLONE? AND an unstable one at that? His Core would just... see her body as free ectoplasm. All of it.

He'd eat her.

Which mean Frostbite can not and WILL NOT allow that.

But he's HURT! That big, off screen, cataclysmic Fight To Save Everybody From *cough cough mumbles* and settle us all in the DC universe, REALLY messed him up! What are we supposed to DO!? He can't STAY like this!!!

Enter-> My FAVORITE DCxDP Trash Ship! Vlad&Lex!!! *horrified screaming from the crowds, someone shouts "oh god, no! Please!"* Ha! There are no gods here, silly billys! Only two terrible, terrible HIGHLY Dramatic, self serving, incredibly damaged, gay peacocks. In Business Suits that cost more then your house is worth.

They're AWFUL~♡

And! Vlad was sent ahead to lay the ground work. Insure there would be no GIWs. Also because no one could stand him and his EXTENSIVE criminal record. But that's besides the point.

But!

You know what he found? A Business Nemesis. Who he routinely dates and/or Dramatically Hate Fu-*coughs* I mean, attempts a Corporate Take Over(tm) off. You know how it is. Business. He ALSO gets to make it no secret he's a "Meta", thanks to the INCOMPETENCE of one Jack Fenton, because that- *seething rant*

Yet? Dispite his STILL burning hatred for Jack? And his finally letting go of Maddie? You know what he STILL wants?

For Danny to be his Son.

*Gets a call from Frostbite*

...............soooooo........ what you're SAYING is..... I can be pregnant with Daniel.

You, Frostbite, need ME, Vladimir Masters, THE ONLY OTHER HALFA, to carry Daniel around inside my body, in what to all appearances resembles a pregnancy, in order to heal him. Because I am an Older And Stronger Halfa Upon Which He Relies.

:)

*instantly begins plotting*

Just? Imagine. Vlad is a FUCKIN LIAR. No one but him would even KNOW what was going on! He just? Rocks up one day, like? *falsely demure* "oh I couldn't POSSIBLY has any scotch, Lex! >:) I'm eating for Two~☆" and just? Deals the MAXIMUM amount of psychic damage he can.

Probably says it at their weekly, public, Veiled Threats Brunch.

It makes front page news. Luthor choked on his eggs. The paparazzi lost their SHIT. Vlad is doing the FULL Celebrity Mom Thing. The classes. The photo shoots. The Gucci sunglasses as he peruses high end strollers. All while HEAVILY suggesting that not only is "The Baby" Lex's.... but that he's going to withhold the child and deny Lex any access.

Danny isn't even aware. He's in a lovely lil medical coma. Dani is trying to find a good spot to plop down Amity. She just know Vlad is being... Vlad. Meh. He can handle it. Dan? He's not even IN the human realm and is not sure he wants to be.

But over in the LEAGUE? Everything's on fuckin FIRE.

Kon is losing his SHIT and Clark is thousand yard staring into the void. Kon's half brother is in the hands of a... Less Then Ideal... Meta that Batman is PRETTY sure is highly suspect. Might be a deliberate weapons experiment. Certainly is a hostage. And the DRAMA.

Lex has never been worse.

He might actually stab his...partner? Vlad. At the hospital. The SECOND the child is born. There are already long term kidnapping plans in the making. He's hiring lawyers. Getting VICIOUS. There have been talks with DEATHSTROKE. By BOTH OF THEM.

Clark wants to cry.

@hypewinter @ailithnight @nerdpoe @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation @babbling-babull

[after-witch]

Two Birds One Stone [Yandere Gojo Satoru x Reader]

Title: Two Birds One Stone [Yandere Gojo x Reader[

Synopsis: Gojo Satoru follows you home. ‘Alone in the Dark’ follow-up.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, noncon sex, humiliation, misogyny against reader

No one in your family, no one on the spacious estate--from the rotating guests down to the most menial of servants--believes that you are truly ill. Yes, your family let you return home without too many questions, let you bundle yourself in your room and come out only for meals that you leave as soon as it’s polite to do so. They offer to fetch the physician, and only smile indulgently when you insist that it’s a passing bug, you’ll be fine soon. 

They do all these things, while they know that you’re not really unwell. 

At least they grant you the mercy of not saying it out loud, at least for now, which is something you can appreciate. There is very little that you appreciate nowadays. 

There is a soft knock at the door. One of the maids, then. They were trained to knock politely.

“Yes?”

The door gently opens to reveal one of the newer hires. A modest girl with the ability to act demure and professional just as well as any of the seasoned women who were multi-generational hires, whose mothers-and-grandmothers-and-great-grandmothers had worked for your family.

“Miss, my lord and lady have sent me to inform you that you have a caller.”

You clear your throat.

“Ah, unfortunately, I’m not feeling very--”

It was her turn to clear her throat, interrupting you. It almost made you flinch. It was an unusual gesture, not one your parents would have allowed. It should have been trained out by now.

“My lord and lady have sent me with explicit instructions that you are to come to the parlor immediately, even if you are unwell.”

You bite back a sigh. It must have been someone from one of the other families, then. Maybe throwing out another potential marriage match for you--your mother had fretted, especially recently, that you should have already been married by now. 

The thought of sitting in that damned parlor and pretending like you weren’t constantly about to throw up from stress and shock made you want to tear your hair out. You should tell the maid to go away, and bury yourself under your blankets, and scream and scream because Gojo Satoru made you do something awful and the world was unfair and you thought he was your friend and--

No.

People like you didn’t have that luxury. So you force down your bile and half-heartedly make yourself presentable in the mirror, and follow the maid who escorts you down the hallway, out of the intimate private family rooms and into the grand hall that leads down to the parlor. 

She stops you before you reach the threshold of the open door, and you almost trip on your dainty house shoes. The maid looks back at you with an expression that is something in between demure and overwhelmed. The skin of her cheeks flushes pink. She leans in, as if you were friends, and whispers,

“Miss, it’s--it is Gojo Satoru who has called on you.”

The world seems to drop out entirely. Yet you only feel as if you are falling as you stand there, hand braced against the door frame, head spinning. All the while, the maid grins, unawares, no doubt impressed that her employer’s daughter has associations with someone so well-known. 

Sound pushes and pulls around you, distorting in  your shock, but it’s there, clear as day: his voice. And your parents’ voices, all elegant and honeyed. 

From your vantage point against the door frame, you can hear the trickling edges of their conversation.

“They were smart enough to ask me for some tips, and, well, how could I say no?”

Your mother’s voice oohs-and-ahhs. “No wonder we have seen improvement with them lately. All thanks to your generous tutelage, no doubt!”

You can practically hear the grin in Gojo’s voice.

“Well, it certainly helps that I like their company so much. Very much, in fact.” 

You can vividly imagine the look that your parents have probably just given one another even before you cross the threshold of the door and announce yourself, curtsying slightly to your parents, as you’ve been brought up to do. 

Gojo stands when you enter. Oh, the fucker. All etiquette and primness. Your stomach churns. If he wasn’t buttering them up, if he was anywhere else, if he wasn’t doing this to mock you, he wouldn’t be standing with his hands behind his back and a polite smile on his face. He’d be picking at his ear or lounging on the fine upholstery like it was some ratty college couch. 

Your mother is fluttering towards you in an instant, smoothing down the wrinkled bits of your clothing, fingers darting over your face, looking for blemishes, scratches, anything that needs to be hidden or fixed. 

When she’s satisfied, she lightly clasps your hand and leads you over to where Gojo and your father are standing. Your father greets you with a warm nod--unusual for him, but there is company, after all--and Gojo. Well. 

Gojo smiles. Softly. You think, if he had his way, he’d be grinning like a cat that caught the canary. But that would be too much, in front of your parents. Too uncouth. So instead, he smiles lightly and sweetly and it makes you want to bend over and expel breakfast on your mother’s expensive rug. 

“I’m happy to see you’re up and about,” he says. And then he reaches out and touches your shoulder. You stiffen.

You look to your parents--surely this is improper, surely they will say something--but your mother only presses her hand delicately to her lips and smiles.

Your head turns, slowly, back to Gojo. His smile widens.

“Don’t worry. I’ve told them about our private courtship. We don’t have to hide it anymore.”

The world should fall out from underneath you, but it stays stubbornly flat. 

Your lips open and you will say something to make him leave, you’ll tell your parents what he did or feign illness or--

His hands move to rest on your hips, and--you jolt. Fingers dig into the skin of your hips through your clothing. A painful pinch that tells you: hush.

“I think it’s appropriate for them to have a bit of privacy, don’t you?” Your mother asks coyly, looking at your father. He nods solemnly and takes your mother’s arm. You have never, in your life, wanted your parents to stay with you more than you do now.

But they walk away. As your mother shuts the door, she gives you something most rare: a look of approval. How can she not notice the widened worry in your eyes? The anxiety in your expression? The mere presence of Gojo Satoru shuts out everything but his golden glow, the promise of his connection with your family. 

The sound of the door shutting is like nails on a chalkboard.

You take the opportunity to jerk yourself away from him--to your surprise, he lets you. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You hiss. 

Gojo puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs easily.

“You weren’t around, so I came to you.”

You hate the way he looks too casual. As if you’d ghosted him after a bad study session and not--not….

“Of course I wasn’t around,” you say, almost spitting. “You…” But you don’t say it. Shame washes over you, hot and sticky. 

The silence between you is just as warm, and you want to wash it off.

“Let’s go to your room for more privacy,” he offers. 

“No.” Flat refusal is the only thing you can think to do now. Just say no, no, no, until he gives up and leaves. 

Instead of leaving, he sighs, languid, and stretches his arms above his head. “Ah, your parents will be so disappointed that I left so early, after all that I talked you up.”

You hate him so much.

“C’mon,” he wheedles, when you don’t respond. “I just want to see where you grew up. Is that so bad?’

Show him your bedroom, make him leave. You cross your arms in front of your chest. “It’s nothing special. Just a room,” you mumble.

“Don’t say that!” Gojo reaches for you and ignores your flinch when he wraps his arm around your shoulder. “It’s your room, of course it’s special.”

Your stomach responds to his praise with a low roil, a remnant of how you might have responded to his compliments before all of this. 

--

“There,” you say, voice tight and short, as you gesture towards your bedroom. You pointedly leave the door open but Gojo doesn’t protest. 

It’s not the most impressive bedroom on the estate--that would be your parents’ room, followed by the siblings who managed successful sorcerer careers and have already had a few children. 

But it’s cozy, and it's yours, and for you that’s enough. You just wish Gojo wouldn’t contaminate it with his presence. He looks at everything, smiling, humming. He goes to read a journal open on your dresser and you rush to slam it shut. He jumps back with an exaggerated grin and apologizes. 

He doesn’t look and leave, like you hoped he would. Instead, he sits down on your bed and pats the space next to him.

“You said you just wanted to look.”

He pats the spot again. “I just want to ask about your training. Really quick.” The look you give him must be enough to kill, because he puts his hands in the air. “I promise, only a few questions about your training.”

Your legs tingle as you force them to move, one step at a time, to the bed. You sit next to him and the proximity makes you want to flee. But if you just do what he says and get this over with, he’ll leave. You can deal with your parents’ expectations about some courtship later.

He smiles when you sit. 

“So, any progress? Better? Worse?” He looks down at you through his glasses. “Be honest.” 

“I… I guess I have been getting better at concentrating,” you murmur. You’ve been forced to, really, since you didn’t want your parents to know about what happened. 

“Aw, see? I knew it would help!”

It. Is that what he calls what he did to you? Your throat hurts. 

“That’s not why you did it.”

Gojo has the audacity to quirk his head at you. It’s a gesture you know would make many women’s heart flutters. It just makes you want to close your eyes.

“No?”

You don’t respond, and after a moment, he gets up. It’s enough to make you sigh in relief. He’s leaving. He’ll be gone and you can figure out what to tell your parents and it will all be fine because--

But he doesn’t walk through the door.

Instead, he shuts it.

“Gojo--”

He gives you a look.

“No one will mind,” he tells you, voice light. “I’ll be quiet if you will.”

Your heart thuds, one, two, three.

“What do you mean?”

He looks at you as if you’ve asked him the stupidest question in the world. Maybe you did. Because he’s walking towards the bed now, forcing you to scoot backwards on it. You realize the vulnerability of your body in this position far too late, because before you know it, he’s crawling onto the bed with you.

“Wait--wait,” you sputter. “C-Can’t you just leave? Please?”

He leans over you and pins you down with the mere presence of his body.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” He kisses your neck, and you crane it to the side, which only makes him kiss it more. “So cute. I’ve been thinking about you every day since then. Every hour. Every minute.” His kisses grow more numerous, on your shoulder, up your neck, your cheek, finally resting just above your lips.

“Gojo, stop.” He’s so close that your breath ghosts his skin, puffs against his lips.

“I’ve been thinking about the faces you made,” he says, voice dropping an octave. The words slink out of him like a snake. “How sweaty you got. What you looked like with your come all over that pretty face.”

If your cheeks get any hotter, you’ll get ill. You know it.

“Stop it,” you whisper, but your lips brush against his and he takes the opportunity to capture you in a kiss. 

The distraction is enough to keep you from thinking about his hands, to keep you from being aware of his fingers unlacing the buttons of your blouse, of how he slides your arms out of the sleeves. You’re only wearing a thin morning camisole underneath, and the sound of it shredding breaks through the unwanted kiss. 

“Gojo--” You say, or want to say, but all your words are muffled against him. 

Saliva trails from his mouth--you want to gag--when he pulls away. “Satoru,” is all he says. 

He’s taken off your shirt. He’s ripped your undershirt. You’re lying underneath him, ample chest bared, and he’s not going to get off you.

His fingers find your nipples and give them an unceremonious tweak. 

“Don’t!”The word comes out too loud, too shrieky, and both of you still in the silence that follows.

You expect him to get off you now. You expect him to realize the danger of being found out and take the opportunity to leave; ego bruised, perhaps, but still--he would be gone.

Instead, he grins at you. “I thought you wouldn’t want anyone to come in and see us? Ah, but…” He rolls your nipples in between his fingers, and you jerk on the bed at the strange, electric feeling that shoots in between your legs. “Maybe you want to get caught?”

You press your lips firmly together--be quiet, you tell yourself, be quiet!--and shake your head. 

He continues to roll your nipples, and your hips squirm against the feeling. “I think you do,” he muses. “You know, if someone did waltz in here while I’m balls deep in you, we’d have to get married.”

You practically choke on the unexpected sliminess of his words. But perhaps not so unexpected, considering what he was doing. 

“Wh--What?” You hiss.

Gojo looks at you like you’re dumb--cute. But dumb. “I mean, your family is traditional, no? I don’t think they’ll let me deflower you and not make an honest woman out of you after that.” He spreads his fingers out and gropes the plump flesh of your breasts with his hands; his palms brushing against your hardening nipples makes you bite back a sigh. 

“I mean--I meant--we’re not doing, I don’t want to do--”

He leans forward and rubs his nose against your cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. I like foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” You ask, helplessly, naively. 

“Fuck, that’s cute,” he sighs. He begins to rub at your nipples with his thumbs, and there’s a warm, prickling sensation in them that makes your toes begin to curl.  “You know how many times I jerked off thinking about these tits?”

“Stop,” you say, breathy. It feels good, and you hate it, but it doesn’t hurt--it doesn’t hurt, at least. That’s what you tell yourself to keep your mouth from screaming.

He ignores your words and squishes your breasts together with his hand, making them balloon almost comically.

“They’re so big, you know?” He pushes and pulls them apart. “How do you even stand up with these things?” 

Humiliation blooms in  your throat.

“Don’t be mad,” he says. “I’m not trying to insult them.” He sighs, then, and goes back to rubbing your nipples with his fingers, eliciting a whimper from your lips. “They’re gorgeous. Nice and big…”

Another whimper, this one louder, making you press your palm against your mouth.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He leans down, peering over his glasses. “Feels good when my fingers play with your tits?”

It does. You shake your head. But it does.

Gojo tsks lightly. You feel one hand leave your breast and reach down, down--sliding underneath the waistband of your skirt. Your body lurches but he’s too heavy and strong and you can’t move, even as he swipes his fingers down your underwear. You can feel the way his digits meet some slickness, smearing it around on the other side of the fabric.

“Your mouth can lie, but down here… you’re leaking.”

Your heart lurches with the memory of your leaking cursed energy, with the memory of the hard floor--and with the knowledge that it’s happening again. 

Without fanfare, he grabs the waistband of your skirt and begins to shimmy it down. You kick and struggle, little noises escaping your lips that surely aren’t loud enough to be heard outside the walls. But it doesn’t matter. He’s stronger than you. 

Your underwear goes down next, and you cringe at the feeling of wetness clinging to the soft material as he peels them down your legs. With your clothes gone, it’s easy for him to grip your upper thighs and pull them apart, exposing you directly to him.

“Gojo--” Your throat is dry and your words hoarse.

“Your pussy is prettier than I remember,” he says, ignoring your protests, ignoring the way your legs squirm. “Look--did your clit just twitch? Is it saying hello?” He smiles up at you, stupidly, and some part of you wonders if he really thinks you’ll laugh at what he’s saying. All you can do is swallow against rising bile.

“I was going to eat you out until you squealed first,” he begins, voice low. “But I don’t think I can wait. Besides, you look wet enough.” He rubs his thumb against your clit and you slap your hand back against your mouth at the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

You know what he’s doing, even if you don’t want to admit it. You know before he reaches down and shoves his pants down around his ankles. You know before his boxers come down next. You know before you see his cock, hard like the last time.

How in the world is that going to fit inside you? You think. You feel, dimly, your privates clench and twitch at nothing.

“Your body is eager,” he tells you, cooing. “Even if you pretend that you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you murmur. He doesn’t listen. Your fingers grip the sheets of your body and you think dimly about what you’ve heard about sex. All you know is that you weren’t supposed to have it with anyone but your husband, lest you produce unwanted bastards to soil your family’s good name. Your mother had taught you all about the value of your “flower,” the importance of being chaste and virtuous. 

And here you are, splayed on your bed, with Gojo about to take it all away from you.

You let out a whimper when he leans forward and rubs the tip of his cock in your folds. It’s thick and warm. 

“Gojo,” you say, voice tight.

“Satoru,” he chides, sweetly. “I’m about to fuck you, honey, you can call me Satoru.” 

You press your lips together and tighten your fingers on the sheets as he finally moves his hips forward, pressing his cock inside you, slowly.

It hurts. Enough that tears prick at the edges of your eyes, and you let out a soft, pained keen.

Gojo’s there, kissing you, as soon as it leaves your lips. His fingers brush away your tears even as he pushes forward, filling you up more, stretching you. The ache deepens, there’s a sting with it--you wonder if you’ll bleed, like your sister says she did, on her wedding night.

It doesn’t stop once he’s inside you. He pulls his hips back--there’s a brief relief from the feeling when he’s mostly out--before he pushes back in, and the ache reignites, making you jolt and whimper against his lips.

“Shh,” he tells you. One of his hands trails down your stomach, down your thigh, to rest against the top of your sex. His thumb begins to rub out slow circles, and an unwanted aching pleasure begins to build there. 

It doesn’t make the pain go away. It doesn’t make the humiliation go away. All it does is introduce a sick sort of pleasure that makes you feel worse about yourself. How could you like this? It should be impossible, for your body to begin to feel a low, rolling pleasure that cuts through the pain–cuts through the horror–of what’s happening to you.

You whimper, bubbling out a little cry, and Gojo presses sweet kisses to your cheeks.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, you like that, don’t you?” The sweetness of his words is underscored by the wet sound of his cock thrusting inside you, by a faint slapping sensation against you every time he does. 

But you do like it. Or your body does, and you’re not sure what the difference is, splayed on your bed, all warmth and sweat and aches. Gojo’s thumb presses deeper and your mouth opens–you gasp and he swallows your noises in a kiss, not letting up until his thumb is rubbing hard enough that your body arches and there’s a coil snapping inside you.

You grunt, animal-like, into his mouth. He grunts right back and shame curls over you, even as your body spasms in forced bliss. You can feel yourself clenching around him, as if you wanted him, as if you were trying to make the sex better for him.

He doesn’t pull away until you’re done clenching around him, and you shut your eyes for a moment to avoid looking at the almost dopey, pleased expression on his face.

The realizations hit you like slaps  in the wake of your orgasm. 

He made you orgasm. It felt good. You liked it, you hated it. You want more, you never want it again. 

You just lost your virginity--still losing it, he’s not done–the precious commodity that your mother told you to guard well--on your bed. Before marriage. Before you were even in love. Before anything. 

How could it be any other way, with Gojo Satoru? He takes, takes, takes. Takes what he wants because he can, because he knows it belongs to him, if he wants it. You, included. 

There’s a gentle pat on your cheek and you realize Gojo is patting you, tapping you like he might a dazed sorcerer whose head met the rough end of concrete during a fight.

“Don’t get lost on me, now. Look at me… hey, you still here?”

“Yes,” you whisper, although it comes out more stuttered than you’d like with the shake of your body as he thrusts.

He plants a sloppy kiss on your mouth and moves faster. It hurts, still, but some of the more pressing sting is gone. Instead it’s an uncomfortable, new ache. 

“You look so good like this, y’know?” His hands go from your cheeks to your breasts, and he squeezes them. “All ready to be filled up.”

His words take a moment to make any sense--and even then, you’re still not quite sure.

“Fill me… up?”

His thrusts get faster, and you hear your own breath stuttering stupidly as he fucks you. “Like I said--” His words are half-panting, but you get the feeling that they needn’t be; he only wants to seem undone, you think. “Want to fuck you. Want to breed you.” His hands squeeze your breasts, kneading at the flesh. “You’ll get real big, won’t you? With a baby in your stomach, just one at first, but--” He starts to speed up now, and you see a faint redness on his cheeks. “Fuck, who knows how many we’ll have.”

Cold fear clenches your stomach tight, and you resist the primal urge to gag.

“My-my parents,” you plead. Your parents would never let this happen, would they? Not if you told them the truth?

Gojo leans above you, looking down at you with a lascivious expression as he begins to thrust faster, making your breasts wobble with the motion.

“Your parents already approve. They feel honored, and they should, that I want to marry you. Have kids with you. Merge our bloodlines. Might have to fudge the due date, if this takes, but…” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, his head veers down towards yours, and his lips practically crash into your mouth as he kisses you and presses himself deep inside you. He groans into your mouth and a warm, gooey feeling blossoms inside you at the same time. He came–inside you. You knew enough to know that was a bad thing, as far as potential pregnancies went. 

When he pulls back from the kiss, he pulls back his hips, and something warm trickles out with his cock. It’s an awful feeling. The soreness, the wetness. The feeling of being used.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, voice tinged with something warm and breathy. “Did you like that? Making me come?” 

You don’t answer.

Gojo doesn’t seem to mind. He flops down next to you and catches his breath.

“We should go back out there pretty soon,” he says airily. “They’ll be expecting us. Your parents, that is.”

Your voice is a croak. “What do you mean?”

Gojo leans up on his elbows and gives you a cheeky grin. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! I told your parents I was staying for dinner. Figured I’d work up an appetite in here… plus we can tell them all about our engagement over dessert. Two birds, one stone?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling, with its ornamented paintings. Pretty flowers and trees that your mother picked out when you were a baby.  You had no input in it, just like you have no say in anything now. 

No birds on the ceiling. 

There are only the stones in the pit of your stomach, waiting to be retched up. 

[ggidolsmuts]

Good Girls in the Dark - Choi Yena

"Hello, I'm Choi Yena, nice to meet you!"

"Omo son why didn't you tell us your girlfriend is so pretty?! Come in come in!" Your mom quickly leads Yena into your home, who's already locking arms with her. "Finally you bring someone back for Chuseok!" she looks back at you and admonishes. You simply shake your head and follow them in.

"You look so young, I thought you were oppa's sister!"

"Oh stop it, you have such a sweet tongue!" 

Yena's a good girl.

At least, that was your initial impression when you met her for the first time—it was supposed to be a Yuehua flex, having Yena drop by to say hi, to congratulate everyone on the successful joint project between Yuehua and your company. Mindful and demure, she was considerate of everyone, smiling and greeting all of you like the energetic idol she is.

True to her energy, she insisted you all go to a club for the afterparty, but the group soon diffuses into the crowd—some people left almost immediately, others stayed for a few drinks, and yet more broke off into their cliques. You try to sneak out too, until Yena somehow gets a hold of you, pulling you into a dark corner of the club. She has a drink in hand, but by now it is empty save for a few drops of whatever she had.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" she demands to know.

"What? I haven't!"

"Don't lie, I saw you sneaking looks." You were, but you didn't think Yena would notice, that you would just blend in with your co-workers.

"How would you know?" you fire back.

"Because I've been looking at you too." It must be the alcohol in Yena talking, for she smashes her lips into yours, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth. She does have a sweet tongue. "Can I trust you?"

"You should have asked me that before you kissed me."

"Oops, oh well. Now answer the question."

"Yes."

"Good, I don't want to go home tonight," she breathes into your ear.

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

"So how did you two meet?" your dad asks during dinner.

"At work! I was at an event for our company, and he was there! He was very nice to me."

"That's all it took? My son is good!"

"Dad don't," you mutter, shaking your head and leaving the table carrying your dishes. At least Yena didn't say it started with a hookup, or your parents would have had an aneurysm. The one night stands became more frequent, and your apartment became a place for stress relief for Yena.

Over time the two of you ended up spending equal amounts of time talking and fucking, and both of you finally gathered the courage to give in to your feelings and agree to start dating—to be fair, neither of you were seeing anyone else anyways, so exclusivity wasn't a discussion that needed to be had. Ironically the dating aspect wasn't really a thing either—Yena was an idol, so any dates you two had were just at your place.

"What? Our son is so charming, he found a celebrity girlfriend! And she eats so much too, I thought you would be dieting or something, I was afraid I made too much!" you hear your mum say.

"No no, that's just a stereotype, I eat more than he does!"

"That's great, you eat so well!"

Yena's a good girl.

~~

"Fuck, you eat me so well," you moan as Yena slurps you, tongue running up the underside of your shaft. It's early in the morning, the sunlight just peeking through the curtains. You can barely make out the shape of Yena in your sleepy haze, but you can definitely identify her by her tongue and hands.

"Because your cum is so delicious!" she says as she strokes you, eager for her morning cum-ffee. "I can see some of it already!" She licks your tip, swiping up the dripping precum. Yena's hungry for more, and she goes deep on your cock, taking all of it in easily. The loud sloppy noises she makes are the lewdest alarm sounds you've ever heard, and your favorite by far.

"Oh fuck, Yena, I'm gonna cum!" There is no holding back your orgasm, and your hand finds itself in her hair, pushing her down like she was an alarm clock. You thrust up involuntarily, and Yena hums as you hit the roof of her mouth, feeling you surrender in the form of a thick morning load sliding down her throat. Yena's eyeing you as you come down from your peak, making sure you're fully drained before she let's you go with a pop.

"Thanks, I gotta go now."

"Wait, I need something for the morning too no?" You wiggle your eyebrows and Yena laughs.

"I suppose I can spare a few minutes," she sighs theatrically and slides up your body. You expect her to remove her pants and underwear, but she's already naked from the waist down.

"Tch, you were expecting it weren't you?"

"I knew you would repay the favor." She pushes herself onto your face.

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

~~

"Auntie, do you need help with the dishes?"

"Oh no no no you're the guest, you can't be helping with the dishes!"

"I don't mind, besides it makes the dishes go by faster!"

"You see son, why can't you be more like Yena?"

"I live by myself, I do the dishes back home already!"

"I don't care, come help us with the dishes or else!" your mom threatens.

"Fine."

"God it's like I have to beg you to do the dishes, at least Yena's so polite and well-mannered, offering to help!"

Yena's a good girl.

~~

"Please sir."

"What do you want me to do Yena?" you ask the naked idol bent over your lap.

"Spank me."

"What's the magic word?"

"Please spank me." You reward her with a hearty slap across her ass, watching it jiggle and turn red. Yena yelps before thanking you.

"Good." You rub her cheek to soothe her before slipping your hand between her legs—she's dripping. Carelessly you run a finger along her pussy, letting her wetness coat it before wiping it on her. Yena squirms, and you wrap an arm around her midriff, holding her flush against your body, trapping her. Yena takes a deep breath and relaxes, going limp briefly.

"T-Thank you." It made her feel taken care of—she can let her mind go blank, let the pleasure take over, leave everything to you. But you tease her, rubbing her slit as you stroke her head, petting her like you pet a cat, or a duck perhaps. All while she can feel your erection poking her from below. Yena's little gasps and moans get louder and more frequent, breathing heavily over your lap as you continue.

"Please put it in." You push two fingers in, and Yena clenches immediately around them. You push Yena forward on your lap, bending her over one thigh to give you better access to her pussy. Yena's almost folded in half over your leg, blood rushing to her head as she watches her own toes curl uncontrollably due to your fingering. You dig deep, bending and twisting your fingers, as if trying to find the last cookie crumb deep inside Yena's jar. You do find what you're looking for, and Yena's the cookie that crumbles.

"R-Right there!" Beneath you Yena's face is red, both from pleasure, and from the little droplets she sees appearing between her legs. "Wait oppa, I'm going to make a mess—"

"Oppa?"

"I mean, ah! Sir, sorry sir, wait, stop!" You dig a little harder, a little faster, and it becomes a stream of liquid pleasure, leaking down her leg and dripping off Yena's toes.

"Manners Yena."

"Puhlea—" Before she can get the second syllable fully out you press her sensitive clit with your thumb and Yena chokes out a desperate cry, drenching your hand in her slick as she cums hard. Yena claws at your leg, gripping it tightly while she splashes over you. You help Yena right herself, but her legs are weak, and she sits in a puddle of her own juices as she lays her head on your thigh, breathing shallow and labored. You lay a hand on her cheek, and she turns to kiss it, as if soothing herself on you. When she opens her eyes again she looks up at you, before looking to the tent you're pitching in your pants.

"I want you," she whispers, managing to push herself up and pull your shorts off. Her hands go to your boxers, but you stop her.

"Are you forgetting something?"

"Please." Yena says it like an afterthought, removing your boxers and getting in your lap—her slick covered legs are spreading it everywhere on your couch. She tries to sink herself on to you, but you shift your hips, making her miss. "Come on!"

"Say it like you mean it."

"Please, I need you in me." She grabs your cock, her hands wrapping around your length. "I need something thick in me, my pussy needs something to... grip!" She twists her hands, squeezing you tightly. You let her position you at her entrance, and your cock twitches a little as a few more drops of slick land on your shaft.

"Please give me your cock," Yena whispers before kissing you needily.

You slam her down on you.

"Oh fuck!"

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

~~

"Yena do you drink? Are you allowed to?"

"Oh yes of course we are allowed to, I'll have whatever oppa has."

"Okay I'll go get the beer."

"No dear, get the ginseng wine."

"Should I?" Your dad nods emphatically.

"We're all becoming one family here, we can break out the good stuff and celebrate!" You know exactly where this is going as your mum brings the wine.

"Dad no don't do that!" You grab Yena's hand in apology. "Sorry."

"No no, I'm sure Yena doesn't mind! All we're saying, your mum and I, is that we would approve of whatever you two want to do in the future. Get married, have kids, you know, whatever you want!"

"It's okay uncle, I understand, thank you for being so nice to me and making me feel so welcome! We haven't really talked about our future, but it's good to know we have your support!"

"Good, see, that's a sensible young woman! Cheers!"

Yena's a good girl.

The operative word there is "really", because you two have certainly talked about your future together.

In bed.

In the heat of the moment.

While you're deep in Yena.

~~

"How many kids should I put in you, how many do you want!" you grunt as you thrust down into her, feeling her clench around you in response. Yena's legs push uselessly against your arms, your elbows locking her knees down in a mating press.

"As many as you want, fuck! That's so deep!" Her arms have a stranglehold around your neck, keeping you close, her flexibility allowing you to kiss her even as you fuck her in the uncompromising position. Yena's tits jiggle as you pound into her, a lewd visual of just how hard you're thrusting.

"B-Breed me, breed me harder!" It was a kink that Yena let slip once, and since then you've indulged her, joining her in enjoying the thought, relishing the feel of fucking Yena raw each and every time.

"Fuck I'm going to cum, you better keep count!" you shout as you slam down into her with finality, letting loose multiple shots into her. Yena seems to go over the edge with you, clenching around your pulsing cock, lips mumbling incoherently. You collapse on top of her, burying yourself against her neck, kissing her lovingly and cuddling her. It is a little later before either of you are able to speak.

"Five, I counted five shots earlier," she murmurs into your ear, tickling you.

"That many?"

"Mmhmm, I must have drained a lot out of you, hm? Poor oppa." Yena jokes, pinching your cheek. But she pushes you on your back and gets on top of you. The sight of your load leaking out of her is enough to get you to half-mast, and her words get you the rest of the way there.

"Let me do the rest of the work. We have to contribute equally to get me knocked up." She slides her cream-filled warmth over you.

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

~~

"I'm done showering!" Yena announces to you as she joins you in the guest bedroom.

"Great, let's get some rest, it's been a long day." You pull the covers over the two of you and hold Yena close. "Thanks for coming here with me."

"Of course, your parents are so nice!"

"They got a little too excited about meeting you, sorry."

"No no it's okay, I like it, they're fans of me, because of you!"

"I guess." You kiss the top of her head, ready to sleep. Yena is not though, and she slips her hand under your t-shirt.

"Haven't I been a good girl today? Shouldn't you reward me?"

"Yena..." you start.

"I didn't tell them we started dating after multiple hookups together. I didn't tell them we do it raw all the time. I didn't—"

"You really want to have sex here, tonight?" Yena nods and throws a leg around you, and to your surprise she's already very wet.

"Just the thought, you know? Being part of your family, us being a family, starting a family. And I heard ginseng wine is good for you too, get the blood flowing." You know exactly why Yena's so wet now. "I-I even brought towels from the bathroom. I'm going to make such a mess." She says it like sex is a foregone conclusion.

"You're going to have be really quiet, I know how loud you get when you want me to breed you."

"That's what the other towel is for." She scrunches the towel up and bites down on it, looking at you pleadingly.

Yena's a good girl, but Yena's your good girl in the dark.

A/N: Just something quick and dirty, the whole "Good Girls in the Dark" song from her just gave me the idea lol. Right before her next comeback heh, maybe there's another "dirty" title there hopefully, or I'll just make it dirty as usual. Thanks for reading!

[lexirosewrites]

as much as I enjoy “instant love,” I also think that maybe omega Steve would be a little freaked out by finding out his alpha friend, Eddie, wants to court him

Steve’s only ever dated women before (of all designations— but still) and he doesn’t know how he feels about this

but Eddie’s his friend

and if there’s one thing Steve does know, it’s that he can’t afford to lose any more of those in his life

so maybe he’s not super excited when he hears Eddie’s courting offer…

maybe he’s hiding his shaking hands in his pockets and choking back a lot of panic and anxiety when he’s asked

Steve’s ready to puke and run away without answering in order to escape the conversation, completely, but Eddie’s expression alone keeps him planted

because it’s the first time anyone has looked at him with so much open happiness, like Steve could be the best thing in the world

sure, he looks nervous too, but that’s a given for this sort of thing

and there’s no denying it

for whatever reason, Eddie is in love with him. he even says as much

“I know we had a bumpy start, Stevie. you never would’ve given a guy like me the time of day back in school—”

Steve interjects

“you don’t know that”

Eddie smiling, but his eyes look sad

the alpha shakes his head slightly. not condescending per se, but a little amused

“trust me. I wouldn’t have even made it this close before one of your lackeys would’ve been threatening to shove me into a locker”

his heart aches at that. it’s a little more true than he wants to admit

“well then… I guess it’s a good thing we’re not in high school anymore,” Steve concedes

Eddie nods, exhaling with a shaky laugh

god he looks so nervous

“guess so”

Steve still hasn’t answered him. they’re both acutely aware of that

his tongue feels too big for his mouth

“so you want to court me”

it’s less of a question, more of a stated summary of the confession Eddie had opened this conversation with

still Eddie nods once more, confirming

“yeah. I- I really do, Steve. more than anything I’ve ever wanted and I know how crazy that makes me sound”

“not crazy,” Steve squeaks out, “I just didn’t know you felt that way about… me”

Eddie takes a moment to process that, looking up at the sky as if his next words might be written up there

“of course i do. you’re the most beautiful omega I’ve ever met”

he’s sure that his surprise is all over his face

“beautiful?” Steve questions

he’s been called a lot of things in his life, but that’s not a word he’s ever associated with himself. maybe handsome, rugged, strong? but beautiful is reserved for omegas who don’t look like him

the pretty ones

the dainty, feminine, demure ones

Eddie looks so earnest when he states, “you’re drop dead gorgeous, sweetheart. inside and out. I mean, your face is perfect, but you have the biggest heart too. how could I not fall for you?”

Steve lets out his own nervous laugh. the air feels thin. maybe he cares about this more than he thought

“I’m really nothing special,” he protests

Eddie must be mistaken. there are so many other omegas that fit the mold much better than him

the alpha frowns, looking more than a little displeased at his response

“you’re wrong about that. in fact, I think I’d be the luckiest guy alive if— well, if…”

if Steve accepts Eddie’s courting offer

if Steve accepts that someone might actually want him for more than what he can give or do for them

…if Steve accepts the fact that Eddie’s been in the back of his mind since the boathouse and never quite left afterwards

his hands are still shaking

“you really want to court me?” Steve asks, his voice small. smaller than it should be

Eddie takes a step forward, hand extended towards Steve. he pauses before making contact, seeming to realize he should ask first

Steve nods, holding his breath

the gentle hand that touches his cheek, feather light and shaking as much as Steve’s own, grounds him to the earth and the moment

this is actually happening

“I realize you have no reason to believe me right now because I’ve not always been straightforward, but I love you, sweetheart”

his stomach is full of butterflies

Eddie’s telling the truth. it’s written all over his face and all over his alluring scent that has Steve wanting to lean in a little more every second that they’re this close

“you love me?”

he realizes he sounds like a broken record, just repeating Eddie

Eddie’s chuckles, seeming to notice the same thing

instead of affirming once more that Steve’s hearing is intact, Eddie just asks “can I kiss you?”

he’s nodding before he has a chance to doubt himself— to doubt this or doubt Eddie’s intentions

it’s soft

it’s light

it’s sweet

the kiss leaves him floating

the entire world could be split open again and Steve wouldn’t notice because he’s in Eddie’s arms and they might be courting now

he’s not head-over-heels in love quite yet, but it won’t take long to fall

now he knows Eddie will catch him when he does

[pomefioredove]

Hello 💕 If you're still accepting headcanons requests, could you write something about a reader who seems normal and "ordinary" and even a little shy/demure but shines brilliantly on stage as if a completely different person (can be an actor, singer, idol etc.) with Rook and Vil and the Pop music club (separately)? Tysm 💓

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the opposite of stage fright

type of post: headcanons characters: cater, kalim, rook, vil, lilia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu

introverts are Lilia's favorite people

...to torture

when you first started attending club meetings, he assumed you were some kind of groupie

I mean, who wouldn't want to fawn over him?

but he still tried to drag you into club activities

you just... refused to play anything, wouldn't sing, wouldn't so much as speak...

but Lilia was confident he could get you to stop holding back

so, the club got clever

at their next concert, Kalim ~magically~ has a sore throat

and who else to take his place but the only other member of the club?

manipulative little fae...

and, as he thought, you had been holding back

the concert is a rousing success

...and he's never going to let you forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is like a bloodhound for talent

he can smell the potential on you from one look at your plain, slightly-disheveled self

he knows that any other student would have ignored you. but he isn't just any student

he knows you're holding out on him

and he'll crack that shell of yours no matter what it takes

that is to say,

once you've caught his eye,

you will never know peace again

...and maybe that sounds like an over exaggeration, but if you're a timid person, it's your worst nightmare

I mean dance rehearsals twice a week, vocal training, posture, projection, poise, presentation-

everything

the other Pomefiore students may give you odd looks as you walk by on their Housewarden's arm,

but he knows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim doesn't need a big performance to know that he's already proud of you

what can I say? he's got enough enthusiastic hugs to go around

and he definitely doesn't mind that you're shy

...honestly, the thought hasn't even occurred to him

even if you don't want to party or dance or say hi to everyone in the dorm every time you come over,

he like you. he doesn't need anything else

you're already amazing to him

and ... in a way, he kind of turns out to be right?

he had always said he could see the star in you, and here you are, performing on stage like a professional!

...not that he isn't surprised

Kalim is completely blown away

it's all he can talk about for the next week, actually

(much to your embarrassment)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook had a feeling

...and he's also listened to you singing to yourself when you thought you were alone

I mean WHAT who said that

he definitely just had a feeling

now, seeing you on stage, he's almost brought to his knees

having watched the seed of your beauty blossom into a beautiful flower is the ultimate enrichment for him

and unlike Vil, he waited for you to blossom on your own

a hunter is nothing if not patient, after all

though, he still can't help but feel a little accomplished...

even though he didn't push you, or train you, he kept the secret of your beauty all to himself

...which is a kind of guidance

admittedly, he wouldn't have minded keeping it all to himself for a little while longer, though

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cater always just thought of you as...

...kinda cute. right?

you were shy and quiet, always avoiding his camera, meek, the kind of person that doesn't last long at NRC

...of course, he had to take you under his wing!

sort of?

really, he just liked that you let him talk your ear off

he didn't even mind that you never let him take your picture! ...kind of

and he thought he knew you pretty well, but...

...seeing you on stage after the music club's performance...

totally wiping the floor with them...

well, well, you still find ways to surprise him

of course, though, now that he knows you're a world-class performer, he's never going to let it go

he got a lot of likes on the videos of your performance, after all

I guess he finally got that picture he wanted ;3

[luveline]

jade i am begging on my knees ….. any time you are up for it …… it would make me very greatly happy to see something with a bombshell!reader x hotch <33333

The office is hot today in the midst of a ninety degree summer, and your coworkers have been forced to strip down to their lightest layers, the women in linen blouses, men with their shirt sleeves rolled up high. Spencer has ditched his sweater vest reluctantly, cooling himself with a makeshift fan fashioned from printer paper, and Emily huffs next to you at her desk, overwhelmed. 

“How aren't you hot?” she demands to know. 

You lean back in your chair with a demure smile. “Mind over matter.”  

She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked.” 

Hotch's office door opens. You turn in your chair to watch him appear —even Unit Chief's get hot, apparently. He looks flustered in the heat, pink-cheeked and hair skewed ever so slightly, the most unmade you've ever seen him at work. 

You could get used to it. 

He feels you looking, narrowing his eyes. You'd like to think it was playful. For Hotch, it is. 

“Hot, handsome,” you say. 

“I'm fine.” 

“I wasn't asking.” You beam at him. 

“Enough. You know the rules.” 

He doesn't seem too mad, but he's right; you know the office rules. Don't flirt, don't start, and don't text him inside of work hours unless that text pertains to work itself. You'd started calling him instead —what are you wearing right now?— and he'd decided that text now meant any communication lest you find another loophole. You're pushing it. 

“Ah, the rules,” you say, throwing your arm across your eyes in mock distress, before peeking under it to see if he's watching. He always is. “You know rules aren't made for people like me, handsome.” 

“Stop it, final warning. Or I'll have you moved.” 

He makes being his girlfriend very difficult. You roll your shoulders and drop the act. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Afterwards.” 

“No, right now. Please? It's important, I swear.” 

He gestures for you to come up. You take the stairs and cross the landing to his office, where he's already stepped back inside to open the window even further on its hinge. There isn't much wind to breeze, but there is a palpable difference between his office and the bullpen. You join him at the window and let the barely cooler air fan your face. 

“What's wrong?” he asks. 

“Can you give me a quick kiss? It would really lift my spirits.” 

He laughs somewhere deep in his chest. “No, honey. Now tell me what you wanted to tell me.” 

“I have a doctor's appointment next week, on the 13th. It's a Wednesday. I was hoping for PTO, but I can take a sick day if that's not agreeable.” 

Hotch gives you the side eye, brows gently furrowed. “Everything okay?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” 

“I would, actually.” 

“Yeah, well, you'll have to beg for it. Not everything in life is free, Hotchner–” You break into laughter as he grabs your waist, not expecting it, your hips tender as he squeezes. “Ouch, you're kinda handsy, you know that?” 

You sound beautiful like this, laughing as you talk, so happy it lines every word. Hotch pulls your front to his, arms crossing casually behind your back, his eyes expectant. “Tell me,” he commands smoothly. 

“Because you asked so nicely, I'm just fine, but I've been feeling a little under the weather. I think I'm anaemic.” 

“And this is the first time I'm hearing about this because…” 

“Because I'm not allowed to talk to you at work!” 

He rolls his eyes as you drop a considerable amount of your weight against his arms. Usually, Hotch would meet your eyes and say, You're punishing me for a rule created out of necessity, or something to that effect, but, despite everything that might say otherwise, he really likes you. Loves you.

“I know, honey, I'm sorry. Maybe we can… allot you a few texts a day.” He analyses your expression. “One a day.” 

You squeeze his naked forearm and lift up to kiss his cheek. He stays completely still while you do it, beside the small stroke of his thumb where it rests on your back. “Thank you. I'll leave you alone now, or we might get caught fraternising with one another and lose our jobs. Oh, wait, that's not actually going to happen–” 

You burst out laughing as Hotch once again squeezes your waist in warning, the hint of a smile on his lips. 

[artdcnaldson]

ARARARRARARARRARA

HIS RACKET

stop. ✋. i am unable to control and contain myself. i need mean mean mean art to fuck pats sister with his racket after losing a match because she was distracting him. she was constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs, short short skirt, flashing him her pretty panties. need him to taunt her and tell her how his racket barely fits in her tiny little virgin pussy :(((( but stuff her full of it anyway :((((( he really is doing anything to keep himself from putting his cock in her :(((( i need him i feel sick and horny. it's now his favorite racket and his lucky charm i'm dying

-🐞

RAHHHHHHHHH

Like god. Just thinking of you showing up to one of his matches in a little denim miniskirt and one of his Stanford tennis shirts you stole <3 you look so sweet, you cheer the loudest every time he manages to get a point.

He usually wouldn’t be able to see you very well from down on the court, but, god, you’re front row and he can see the flash of white panties beneath your skirt, the bounce of your tits when you excitedly cheer. And maybe you were earnestly cheering for him, you didn’t even realize what you were doing, but that brainless look you give him when he confronts you after the match just frustrates him even more.

“I’m sorry you lost, Art,” you say as you follow him inside his dorm like a lost puppy. The fact that he didn’t stop you was exciting, like maybe he as going to break finally, that he saw how much you cared. “But you looked so great out there. You should’ve won. I think the line judges totally fucked you ov—“

He has you pinned against the door and you go quiet. “I would’ve won,” he says firmly. “If you hadn’t been flashing your panties like a fucking groupie.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh… I didn’t mean to.” Which was a lie. Of course it fucking was.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes you fucking did. You’d do anything if it meant you’d have something filling your pussy.”

Something flashes in your eyes. Excitement? Shock?

His hand moves between your thighs, feeling the damp spot on your panties. “How long have you been wet?”

A shaky breath escapes you as his fingers press against the seam of your pussy, avoiding your clit with each pass. “Art—“ you whine, embarrassment dripping from your tone.

Why should you be embarrassed, though? You were the one slutting yourself out for his attention, weren’t you? Flashing your panties, throwing yourself at him at any chance. He’d done much worse to you, touched you in ways that were unforgivable. At least, they would be to Patrick.

It’s infuriating, that you have the audacity to act like some demure fucking virgin. Like you haven’t fucked yourself on his bed, haven’t gotten off to him degrading you and cumming down your throat.

But you don’t even have to answer. He knows that you’ve been soaked since the second you sat down in the stands, that your little body has been absolutely thrumming with need and want. That you’d dressed that way with the intentions of getting him so riled up he’d need to take it out on you.

And he would. He’d give you something to stuff you full, keep you satisfied.

“Lay down,” he says, and you obey so easily. You settle on top of his bed, chest heaving with anticipation. He slips your panties down your legs, he can practically smell your need. He wants to just bury his face between your thighs, lick at your core until your taste is all he knows. Make you cum again and again and again until your clit feels numb and you beg for him to stop. “You want me to fill you up, hm?”

You nod, irises practically swallowed by your lust-blown pupils. “Mhmm. Please, Art.”

A smile spreads across his lips. “Yeah? And you’ll take anything I give you, won’t you?”

You nod, almost frantic. “Yes, anything.”

He wants to save the image of your expression in his memory forever. Your wide eyes, the way your teeth dig into your bottom lip. As he grabs a racket from his bag. It’s new, the handle freshly wrapped. You let out a soft noise, involuntary as you look at it. “Art—“

He tosses the racket a few times in his hand. “I thought you said anything?”

You make a face. “I don’t think it’ll fit. I’m a v—“

“A virgin,” he finishes for you, dripping condescension. “Sure, but I know your fingers aren’t cutting it when you fuck yourself. What do you use, huh? Did you and your little friends buy pink sparkly dildos at the mall?”

Your face burns and you look away. It’s too specific of a description, and you know he knows. That he’d snooped one of the times that he had to carry you back to your dorm and found your stash of toys and the fucking spank bank under your bed. Which was mortifying in and of itself— you had fucking clip outs of him from the campus newspaper and posters of the Men’s tennis team in there. You hated that he knew just how obsessed you were with him.

“It’ll fit,” he says. “I’ll even warm you up first. I’ll give you my fingers. I’m not that mean.”

Your tongue darts out, wets those pretty lips of yours. And you nod.

His finger slides in so easily that he almost moans. You’re so warm, so tight around him, slick and obscenely wet. One finger and you’re reduced to mewls and whines. Little pants of yes, so good, thank you, art art art.

Your body accommodates him so easy, opening up like a flower for him. A second finger plunges inside your cunt and your juices drip down his fingers, down your ass. You’re wetter than anyone he’s been with before. It’s not just that you’re a virgin— he’d fucked virgins before— it’s that you’re so fucking obsessed with him.

“You really are tight,” his voice comes out a little shaky, affected. How could it not when he has three fingers knuckle deep in your sweet, virgin pussy? When your walls clench and flutter around the intrusion, when you get wetter and wetter so his fingers squelch with each thrust in? “I don’t know if it’ll fit. But we’re gonna try, aren’t we?”

Yes, Yes, Yes. The response falls from your lips like prayer, like worship.

He waits until you’re all pliant and relaxed beneath him, moaning prettily. When your pussy feels supple and opens like it needs to take more. He grabs the racket and he almost backs out, almost stops himself, but you look at him with hunger and want. You need to impress him so badly— to accept whatever he gives him.

There’s a first time for everything. He tries his best to slick up the handle with lube, not that you’re lacking in that department. He watches your cunt pulse, your hole clenching as he practically jacks off the tennis racket. Oh, you want it so bad.

“Hold your legs up,” he instructs. You’re chewing on your lip as you do, tucking your hands beneath your knees, leaving your cunt exposed and glistening in the shitty light of his dorm room. “Relax. You wanted it, so lay there and take it.”

He presses the handle against your cunt, listens to the slightest intake of breath as it breaches your tight entrance, as your body stretches to accommodate it. It’s a stretch, god, it’s obscene. Your tiny little pussy wrapped around the handle like it’s a dick.

“Ah, f-fuck—“ You’re whimpering, crying for it, little feet kicking as he presses it in deeper. “Big— it’s big.”

He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and you’ve pushed that limit many times before. He’s fantasized about it before, the idea of it. Of some faceless, nameless woman lying all spread out beneath him, crying out with pornstar moans while he fucks her with the handle of his racket after a game.

He blamed Patrick for that one. For planting that seed.

But now he has you. Lying beneath him with your face screwed up in pleasure, your mouth ajar as he pushes it deeper, deeper, deeper. “Tell me how it feels,” he goads once it’s fully sheathed inside of you.

It takes a moment for the question to register— he sees it in the lazy blink in your eyes, how they’re glassy when they meet his.

“Mmm… so— so full,” you moan. Your expression is akin to disappointment as he slowly withdraws the racket, only to push it back in. Your eyes roll back, toes curl and flex.

“You don’t feel gross? No shame at all?” He asks.

You should. You definitely should, but right then you can’t find it in yourself to. You shake your head. “I just— nghh— just want whatever you give me.”

God. You shouldn’t tell him that, shouldn’t willingly hand over that much power. His head swims with it.

“No fucking self respect” he mutters. “Jesus Christ. Such a fucking slut.”

But that just encourages you. “Just your slut, Art, all yours.”

God, you’re so fucking wet, dripping down to your asshole, down onto the sheets. He figures he could make you squirt, that you’d let him play with your pussy until you gushed like a fountain. He could probably do anything he wanted and you’d take it with a smile.

“You need t’ cum?”

You nod quickly, moaning. “Fuck— yeah, so bad, Art, so fucking bad.” Your cunt squeezes around the handle of the racket, like your body is trying to suck it deeper. “Touch me— touch me, I need—“

He knows what you need. And he shouldn’t. But what the fuck is he holding back for at this point? He moves his free hand to your clit, rubs in firm circles as he shallowly thrusts the racket.

The cries that escape you are like music to him, so delicious, so fucking debauched. Your feet kick pathetically, your back arches off the bed. It’s almost adorable.

“You have ten seconds before I stop,” he warns. You cry weakly, grind your hips up against the handle as he fucks you with it. He counts aloud, watches the way your breath heaves as you get closer. He can practically feel your racing heartbeat in your clit.

“C-cumming, cumming—“ you whine. He’s at two— your body is right on the edge, you want it so bad.

“Come on, give it to me,” his voice is low, rough with need. He meets your gaze, and he grins at how wrecked you are, how pathetic he can make you.

You cum just like that, leave a ring of cream at the top of the handle as he fucks you through it. He reduces you into weak moans, makes you go limp beneath him.

When he eases the handle out, he marvels at the sight of your pussy, smeared with arousal, swollen and open for him. He rubs his thumb against your clit and he watches your hole twitch for him, still wanting anything you can give.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. He should have taken a picture.

[poppy-metal]

accidentally missing a date night w art because patrick distracted you w a ridiculous amount of foreplay…..obviously left the door wide open so art would see him pounding into you as he walked in slightly dejected…..the two of you cumming as he leans against the door looking disappointed…..greeting him super out of breath like hi. you look good. what’s with the face until it dawns on you and you’re like noooo baby i’m so sorry :(((( and pat does a stupid smirk as he looks at art (still inside of u btw) and he’s like yeah sorry donaldson as art rolls his eyes and shoves him off of you so he can eat you out before all of pat’s cum leaks out. is that anything.

art is so >:((( abt it all because y'all KNOW how he feels about being left out - he's pissy about it - at patrick for knowing what day it was and what it meant and deciding to lay it on thick anyways. pissy at you because you let yourself be seduced. god you really are a cockdrunk little slut, huh. getting a big dick in your pussy is all you care about at the end of the day.

hes not REALLY mad though - because the sight alone - of patricks body on tops of yours, hips thrusting, undulating, making you jerk under him as you take it - it makes him hard immediately. he's familiar with the sound of patricks groan when he cums inside you, his gritted teeth and clenched jaw and he can only imagine how it looks and feels for you right then, that warm flood filling you up - you're so dazed by it you dont notice art there for a good few moments. twitching and limp on the bed.

hes not really pissed, but he plays up the fact that he is - pink lips in a pouted frown that makes patrick smirk because he sees right through him - and makes you look crestfallen with guilt. the apologies come immediately and art cant lie, it feels good to be coddled like this. to have his ego tended to so desperately like his feelings towards you matter so much even him being mad at you is something devastating. makes a little bead of pre bubble up at his slit, wetting his boxers.

he lets you conjole him and says the only way you can make it up to him is to show him your pussy. "i wanna see what was worth leaving me hanging for." with his arms all crossed like his mouth isn't filling with saliva when you demurely spread your legs - "i said i wanted to see." he snaps when thats all you do. getting a little mean now. petulant, almost. "show me your pussy."

as truly guilty as you feel for forgetting about your date, a hot flush goes through you at being talked down to. patrick, way too fucking relaxed for being the one at fault here - i mean really, how were you supposed to resist him when he kept telling you how fucking hot you were, how badly he wanted to fuck you in your cute little date dress - hooks a hand under your knee and spreads your leg across his lap.

"c'mon." he goads, squeezing your thigh. "be a good girlfriend and show your boyfriend your used up little hole."

god, that shouldn't make you clench but it does. and you reach down tentatively, part the folds of your cunt so the wet slit of you is exposed, your open pussy, dripping globs of white from your flexing entrance - still so soft and open from a thorough pounding.

art bites his lip.

"god, you really are a slut." he rasps, but hes palming the tent in his jeans. rubbing his heel into the hard ridge of himself as more cum leaks out of you, slides through your crack. "how're you gonna make this up to me, huh?"

patrick huffs a laugh. he and art look at eachother and patrick licks his teeth, that cocky smirk spreading across his lips. "stop acting like you dont wanna eat me out of her," he says softly, "came so fucking deep in her - you wanna tongue that shit out and moan like the whore you are. come over here."

patricks voics has taken on that rough quality, his dom voice. he tugs you onto his naked lap, uses both arms under the crease of your thighs to hold you open like an offering. the sticky pout of your cunt gleaming and wet and supple.

"eat my sloppy fucking seconds."

art drops to his knees.