vynepip

[vynepip]

A rest day isn't enough. I need one billion years alone in a crystal.

[vynepip]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced bonding, subjugation, some type of discrimination, elements of androgyny

♡ fem reader

Thinking about the big and burly behemoth Omega finally finding himself the cutest little Alpha to breed with…

He could never bring himself to breed with Alphas. Growing up, he developed a great disdain for them—all high and mighty rabid animals prone to violence, more often than not completely dimwitted to top it off, as if their massive ego had usurped the place of basic brain operation.

He couldn’t hate them more, yet he doesn’t correct anyone when they mistake him for one, either. In many ways, he wished he was born one instead of an Omega. It would make it easier to fulfill his desires that way. A dominant Omega isn’t all that normal, after all—and submissive Alphas are an even rarer breed to come by.

He hadn't found one yet. And other Omegas don’t really do it for him. They approach him, thinking he’s an Alpha, then feel disappointed when figuring out he’s not—which is fine, as he isn’t particularly interested in their scent either. Betas make for an okay compromise—they don’t care if he’s an Omega, it makes no difference to them—yet he could never really shake the feeling that something was missing when lying with them.

At the office, the scent of Alphas plagues him all day—how they strut around, stinking up the place with no concern for anyone else. This is a workplace, for fuck’s sake—can’t they have a little dignity and not treat it like a mating ground? He really hates them. All bigheaded assholes—

“Ow—” there’s bark and a hard thunk of something hitting the floor.

Someone just bumped into him—someone so small he hadn’t even seen them over the top of his clipboard. Looking down, he sees a fellow Omega—a pretty one. You must be as disoriented by the scent around you as he is—probably why you walked right into him—poor thing. He ought to help you up.

You hold your head in your hand, wincing at the sting of your rear—you’d fallen right on your tailbone. Looking up, you give the fellow Alpha who’d knocked you down a mean glare, “What the hell, asshole!”

His outstretched hand stiffens midway. That’s not a very Omega-like thing to say—especially not by one so small as you. No, wait… what’s that scent?

You ignore his hand and get up on your own, dusting down your pin-stripes with angry brushes—face pursed, almost pouty, but not quite, too stink-eyed as you lean in and jab a finger into his chest to punctuate your words, “Watch where you’re going next time, you…”

You soften up halfway through the sentence. It must have dawned on you as well. His scent. Not like other Alphas, but something else entirely—something that suddenly makes you blush all over, wide-eyed.

You don’t say another word, only giving a weak huff before turning tail and stomping away.

There’s something very cute about it—he’s left thinking while watching you, utterly stunned and still, replaying the events that just occurred over and over in his head—wondering how he’d never seen you before. You must work on a different floor.

Luckily, he’d made sure to read your name tag—pinned all properly on your chest like a badge of honor, neatly like the rest of you. Well put together from the top of your salon-styled hair down to the tips of your pointy black stilettos. Even with their added height, you must have been two heads shorter than him—no taller than any regular Omega.

It's no wonder he mistook you for one. You were as cute as one, too—like a doll he could put behind glass, up on a mantle, and keep forever. But oh my… that mouth on you and that awful snarl. Just like any other imposing Alpha, he supposed. Bratty and arrogant, quick to jump the gun and pick a fight instead of taking it for the simple accident it was.

He goes back and sets himself down by his desk—but he’s way too distracted to work now, too busy with the thought of you. That flushed face you showed him before teetering off was something he wouldn’t mind seeing again—also that cute scowl under certain circumstances and what type of expression you’d give him if he wiped it off.

He's lucky an office party came along so quickly. He wouldn’t usually go, but now he had a reason. He bet you’d be there—the way you were dressed when you’d bumped into him tells him you’re one to respect the memo—head to toe in such a neat suit, trying to come off as androgynous as if in desperation needing everyone to know you were an Alpha. It must be hard for you—looking like that but wanting to look… well, suppose more like him.

He's glad he never felt that way—wishing to be smaller and cuter like other Omegas. Sure, he’s been envious of them at times, but more so of their easy pickings and not their appearance. He’s happy being bigger and stronger—it keeps unwanted attention at bay. You probably struggle to do the same. He bets you get a lot of the wrong eyes following you. Yeah… you must attract the bad sort all the time—alphas swarming you only to catch your scent and lose interest. Or maybe not… Alphas are sick, after all. Come to think of it, most of them would probably get off on dominating another Alpha. In that regard, it must have been worse for you than for him. Luckily, both of your issues are now solved.

He wondered what you’d wear tonight. You’d look much better in something feminine and not that suit you’d been wearing. He hopes, but no, you’re wearing much the same thing—another tailored two-piece that all but drowns you.

He understands what you’re going for. You have to dress like that, or else what Omega would ever want you looking the way you do? Aside from him, of course.

No matter. When you move in with him, he’ll dress you in all the pretty things he knows you want to wear. After all, pretty colors, ruffles, and lace will suit you so much better.

“Hello again.” He approaches you by the hors d’oeuvres even after you’d visibly and explicitly chosen to ignore him.

You groan under your breath, responding without even bothering to look at him, “Do I know you?”

Your tough act is cute. He has to withhold a chuckle before answering, “Don’t remember? You called me an asshole a week ago.”

“You walked right into me, so it’s not like it wasn’t deserved.”

You have to love that arrogance—that air of unfounded superiority. He wonders, where do you keep it all? “Well, how could I not? You’re so small I didn’t even see you.”

You’re quick to bare your teeth—obviously, he hit a nerve—showing him that same snarl you’d done back then. Cute little canines—he bet they won’t even hurt going into his neck once you mark him.

“Watch your mouth, Omega.”

Still, with a small smile, he feigns surprise. “Wow—are you an Alpha? Funny, I didn’t know they came in such tiny packages.”

It flusters you, no doubt—your brows lowered into a full glower now. “And I didn’t know Omegas could be so rude.”

You turn to stomp again, as you’d done before—though this time, he grabs your arm before you’re gone.

You whip around with another bark, “Hands off—"

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes unexpectedly, giving you puppy-dog eyes you hadn’t thought him capable of. “I should have been more mindful of my steps. It was entirely my fault.”

You go still at the sudden show of humility and respect. Finding yourself softening by the tilt of his head, bowing at you in acknowledgment of your higher standing. Not that many bother doing that to you—between mistaking you for an Omega or otherwise neglecting your standing as an Alpha, both due to your physique. Seeing it up close and so abruptly flusters you.

“Let me get you a drink to make up for it?” he offers politely, almost in plead.

Struck with feelings of somewhat regret for your own uncouth attitude, you nearly accept on a whim. “That’s kind…” But then think it over. You don’t really want to lead him on, either. You nearly stutter, yet steal yourself. After all… “But you’re not really my type.”

He hangs his head with a dejected sigh, “That’s harsh.” But he’d already figured as much and didn’t really care. Giving you his most sorry grin, he insists, “Humor me anyway? Just one drink so I don’t feel like an asshole for the rest of my life.”

It’s clear you want to refuse—still, as suspected, your heart just can’t handle seeing a desperate Omega in need. Bless your dim Alpha instincts.

“Okay, fine. One drink, that’s all,” you end up agreeing. One drink can’t hurt, right?

You feel like a good Samaritan once the big hunk of an Omega runs off to fetch you a glass. Pitying him or even sympathizing, maybe—it can’t be easy for an Omega in the mating scene to look like that. No Alpha around would want an Omega bigger than them—it’s utterly emasculating, not to mention unnatural.

Of course, you’re aware you’re in much the same shoes as him—you’re not delusional. Only, it’s easy being an independent Alpha—you don’t mind being a lone wolf in the world—but Omegas were built to be domestic. So yeah, you pity him—the poor guy, he’ll probably never find a proper mate.

But you can’t let your pity grant him too many favors—you have no intention of taking on any charity case tonight, especially not a pity fuck. You’ll have one drink with him as a mutual apology. That’s all.

Luckily… one drink is all he needs. Add a little sprinkle of this and that in your glass, and you’re already in the palm of his hand.

He has to carry you bridal style before he’s even managed to lead you to the elevator—it’s empty all the way down to the garage. He puts you in his car, locks your seatbelt in place, then drives off. It’s honestly quite astounding how easy it had been. He’d thought trapping an Alpha would be a much more remarkable feat, an impossible one for an Omega—but this was no different from eating an unguarded piece of cake.

You’re drowsy as he carries you into his apartment. And that’s when the other drug kicks in. The overwhelming scent of being inside his nest sets off your rut like a matchstick being ripped along the red.

Your claws come out, puncturing his sheets as he lays you down on his bed.

You’re too delirious to do much but writhe—making it easy for him to unbutton your dress shirt, followed by your slacks. He has to scoff at your plain black boxers and binder bra. You poor thing, always trying to run with the big dogs when you’re no bigger than a bite-sized puppy. From now on, you’ll only wear lacey things he brings home for you. You won’t have to puff your chest—you can be as sweet and pretty as your delicate physique constitutes—his cutest, littlest, most perfect mate.

You gain newfound strength once he’s peeled your underwear down, baring your needy heat to his touch. Instantly, your arms spring into action, flinging themselves around him, pouncing like a predator at its prey with your fangs bared.

He stops you easily—placing his wrist between your teeth, using it as a muzzle. He chuckles, looking at you gnaw on it like a bone.

“I think the world has it all wrong,” he starts, though he’s not sure you’re even capable of understanding speech in your state. “Omegas are the ones better suited as leaders of society, not Alphas.”

As he talks, he continues with his ministrations, stroking your needy slit with a mean finger, swiping it cruelly before splitting between the folds.

“I mean, look at you—mindless in a rut, willing to pounce on anything that moves—like a wild animal.” Once he sticks his finger inside you, your teeth do his wrist the same justice—drawing blood, making him hiss through his smile, “I ought to keep you in a cage.” And yet he doesn’t pull either hand away. “It would suit you well—on your knees with a pretty leash and collar upon your throat.”

You’re wet in his hand—soaked and so warm he loses track of his own finger as if melting within you. His cock strains against his boxer, wanting to feel it for himself. But you’re still way too tight for that.

He feeds you another digit, and you moan—suckling on his wrist now more than biting, though still with your canines out and seeking.

“Look at these wittle teeth, tch—” he grins upon closer inspection, looking between them and your eyes—pupil-fat orbs, far gone in your instincts. “I bet they’re just itching for my neck instead, huh?”

The provocation seems to make you more desperate. Pumping you slowly, more so to stretch you out than stimulate, he can feel your breaths turn thicker with need, how you press your tongue against his wrist, wet and lousy, wanting for more.

“Well, go on then, Alpha...” He chuckles again, removing his arm from barring your mouth before wrapping your throat with the same hand, holding it like a collar, keeping you under control.

And then he bares his neck for you.

“I give my consent.”

♡ part two

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[vynepip]

★ 【Dark | Avey】 「 Wishing Eternal Victory, Phainon 」 ✔ republished w/permission ☆ follow btt’s fanart twitch stream!

[vynepip]

I stumbled across a fic w children and it being jealous of their same sex parent, it was supposed to be cute i guess and normal and idk fluffy since you're imagining your fave and your children.

Yet I couldn't be more damn disgusted WAHHHHHH and no one can blame me, im never around children anyway!!! Im just rambling here and disrespecting tastes cuz DAMN!! How is that your child is """in love""" with the opposite sex parent is cute in any damn way?? 😭😭

Worst of all, it was a little girl!!! How am I a woman supposed to feel and witness my beloved baby, the one who was in my entire womb feeding off me for 9 fakin months and making me go through hell and back saying that she loves her fuckass dickhead of a father THAN ME!?!?!? Plz, i could NEVER bear with such betrayal. I literally don't care if it's a child, its mine and I did it so it stays with me forever wahhhh.

Im not having kids anyway and im getting the part for it removed cuz i HATE periods it makes me feel so dirty but DAMN!! I had to block that person (whats the block button if not DUMBASS) but yeahhhh. It was gut wrenching and i just read above, I couldn't bear it i was so MAD and weirded out, maybe thats why i dont feel part of the world, everyone likes normal stuff and i dont, naturally i will be left out of almost any conversation. Lmao

[vynepip]

I hate bullies, I never had one but had ppl being mean a good few times when i was little lmao

♡ TW: noncon/dubcon, yandere, bullying, jealousy, possession

♡ FEM reader

It’s after getting caught red-handed tumbling out of seven minutes in heaven with a random guy you’ve only just met that you’re struck with the incomprehensible realization.

Seeing your bully’s face standing in the cheerful crowd of the party, all rumpled, all fierce, all murderous. You start to piece it together, but you’re too slow in understanding it. All those times he’s stuffed you inside your locker, smacked you upside the head, thrown your bag into the lake, pushed you down to the dirt, called you names, and overall made your life a living hell, what he’s really wanted to do is something much, much, much more fucked up.

Your eyes couldn't be wider, your heart couldn't beat faster, not unless it wanted to take flight and leave your body dead beneath him. His hand is half the size of your face, glued over your mouth with tightly sealed fingers. The muffled noises that leave it are lost in the chatter and thump of bass and drums coming from downstairs, where the party rages on, uncaring of the two of you having gone missing.

He’s drunk. But not drunk enough to use it as an excuse. No, he’s fully alert. A bit panicked even, realizing he’s gone too far, and yet, not able to stop himself. 

“You’re not supposed to be here…” he says under his breath—so low and soft, in a growl you barely hear. His fingers play with the lace edge of your hiked dress, a look of restraint painted clearly on his face. “You’re not supposed to wear dresses like this.”

He sighs deeply, then swallows thickly. His tented crotch brushes against you, and you squirm, but at the same time, you’re too afraid to move. Like you’re trapped in a room with the worst predator. 

Your hands twist. He had them tied up with his belt, behind your back, getting crushed beneath you, and only further spurring the panic in your chest as he takes hold of your face and leans in even closer, the tip of his nose gracing your jaw, taking in your scent with a slow sniff.

The goosebumps that erupt come out sharp, and you quiver with a whimper, feeling his lips smear your neck, his breath hot and wet against you, growling low, “You’re supposed to be at home, nose-deep in a book, thinking about the next exam… while I’m supposed to be here, dick-deep in some slut, thinking about you.”

His other hand, warm and gritty, slides up between your thighs, tenderly trespassing with a caution that tells you he knows he’s crossing a boundary.

“That’s how it’s supposed to be,” he insists, and yet, when his fingers reach your cunt, feeling its cozy heat and wanting it all to himself, all his restraint goes slack.

His body sinks against yours with a heavy outlet, buries his face in your neck, nuzzling there with what sounds an awful lot like a whimper.

“I have to fuck you,” he mutters darkly, like it’s a confession of some kind. “If I don’t, someone else here will…”His whole body shakes, unstable like a nuclear meltdown, seething with his teeth up against your ear. “And I refuse to let that happen.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, young Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, young Toji ♡ HQ – Kyotani ♡ BLLK – Shido ♡ DS – Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[vynepip]

𝑩𝑬𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑺, 𝑩𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑺.

PAIRING : Phainon x Actress!Reader

CONTAINS : possessive dominance, reader inexperience, intense jealousy, filming intimate scenes, dubcon/consensual power imbalance, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, multiple rounds of rough sex, reader passing out, emotionally intense smut. lots and lots lots of smut scenes!! this is for horny people.

SYNOPSIS : You’re an actress nervous about filming your first intimate scene, unsure how to make it look convincing—until your best friend, Phainon, offers to help. At first, it feels innocent. But when his hands start lingering and his body presses too close, it becomes clear this isn’t just rehearsal for him. And when he watches another man touch you on set, something in him snaps—because Phainon doesn’t share what’s his.

WORD COUNT : 3047.

Feeling horny? down bad for phainon? don’t worry i gotchu!

Art by @/ra_gi_ren on 𝕏

⸻

Your hotel room was still except for the soft buzz of a bedside lamp and the messy rustle of script pages splayed across the sheets. You sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, shirt hanging off one shoulder, forehead pressed into your palm.

Scene 38. You’d read it a dozen times already, and yet each word curled like heat beneath your skin: the kiss deepens… her body arches… his hand slips under… she gasps into his mouth…

You swallowed. How were you supposed to fake something so intimate when you had no experience at all?

The knock on your door startled you.

“Y/N?” The voice was smooth—low, rich, hauntingly calm. You didn’t have to open the door to know it was Phainon.

He always spoke like that. Like time slowed for him. Like the rest of the world could drown and he’d still stand, still watching.

You opened the door hesitantly.

His gaze swept over you—quietly, unreadably. You weren’t dressed up. Oversized shirt, no makeup, bare legs tucked under you. But that gaze of his lingered at your collarbone, just long enough to make you shiver.

“I thought you might be overthinking again,” he murmured, stepping past you like smoke. “You get that look.”

You closed the door behind him. “It’s… the scene. The one tomorrow.”

He glanced toward the bed. “Thirty-eight?”

You nodded.

He walked over, picking up one of the pages with his long, pale fingers. He read silently, one brow slightly raised, then looked back at you.

“You’re nervous because it’s intimate.”

You hesitated, then nodded again.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” you said. “Not on screen. Not even… off-screen.”

His eyes locked onto yours—intensely still. And then he stepped closer.

“Would you like to learn?”

Your breath caught. “Learn?”

“I could show you,” he said, voice like silk dragging over bare skin. “Not in theory. Not staged. But here. Gently. If you let me.”

You stared at him. “Phainon…”

His head tilted, hair falling just past his cheekbones. “Only if you want me to.”

Silence stretched between you. But something in your chest throbbed—an ache you hadn’t known was there.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

A slow smile curved his lips.

“Then lie back for me.”

⸻

You moved like you were dreaming—heart thudding as you climbed backward onto the bed. The lamp’s glow cast soft gold over your bare legs as you adjusted the pillows behind you. You watched him roll up his sleeves as he approached, his movements slow, deliberate, like every step was part of a choreography only he knew.

He climbed onto the bed beside you—not touching yet, but close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “This isn’t a scene. This is real. Start by letting me look at you.”

His hand reached out, ghosting along the edge of your jaw. Not grabbing. Just hovering. Then his fingers brushed your throat. Light. Testing. Like he was mapping your nerves.

“You’re tense,” he observed.

“I—I don’t know how to…”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just let me guide.”

Then he leaned in.

He didn’t kiss you immediately. His lips hovered just beside yours, and the anticipation burned. His breath—cool and fragrant like lavender and ink—fanned your mouth. You opened for him before you realized it, aching for the kiss.

Then it landed. Slow.

His lips pressed against yours softly at first, savoring the first contact, pulling away slightly before deepening it—his mouth coaxing yours open further. He kissed like a man who already knew every sound you’d make. Like he’d waited years to taste you.

His hand found your waist, fingers sliding under your shirt, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your waistband. He didn’t rush. Just stroked up, inch by inch, until his palm rested flat over your stomach.

“You’re already warm,” he whispered against your lips. “Are you thinking about how this would look on camera?”

“No,” you breathed.

“Good. Then you’re starting to feel.”

He pulled your shirt up slowly, dragging the hem up your ribs, watching every bit of skin that revealed itself. You sat up just enough for him to pull it over your head. Your bra came off a second later—his fingers unhooked it like he’d done it a hundred times.

Then he sat back on his heels, drinking you in.

“Lie down. Arms above your head.”

You obeyed—your chest exposed, nipples tightening from the cool air. You didn’t have to fake anything.

Phainon’s hands returned to your skin—starting at your ribs, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your underbreasts. Then he leaned in, kissing one breast tenderly before taking a nipple between his lips.

The heat of his mouth made you whimper.

“More,” you said.

His tongue swirled, sucked, teased until your back arched off the mattress. Then he shifted to the other, biting just enough to make your breath hitch.

When you reached for him, his hand caught your wrist.

“No touching yet,” he said, lips glistening. “You said you wanted to learn. Let me teach.”

You nodded.

He kissed down your torso, tracing your skin with his mouth—pausing at your hipbones, then slowly peeling your panties down with both hands, watching the way your thighs trembled.

He didn’t go straight to your center.

Instead, he kissed your inner thighs—softly at first, then with more pressure, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he nudged your legs further apart.

“You’re soaking,” he murmured, breath brushing your folds. “Already so responsive, and I’ve barely touched you.”

His tongue slid up your slit in one long, slow stroke. You gasped.

He groaned softly at the taste, then buried his mouth between your thighs.

His tongue moved in circles, pressure increasing gradually—lapping and teasing, then sucking your clit into his mouth like he needed it. His hands held your hips still as your thighs tried to close around him.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispered.

And then—two fingers slid inside you.

Slow. Stretching. His lips never stopped moving as he curled them upward, hitting a spot that made your vision blur.

Your moans filled the room.

“Say my name,” he said.

“Phainon,” you gasped.

“Louder.”

“Phainon—fuck—”

He kept going until your body tightened around his fingers—until you came with a cry that made your head spin.

Only then did he rise.

He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting you watch. Pale skin, lean muscle. He shed his slacks, his boxers—his cock already hard, flushed, curved perfectly toward his stomach.

“Do you want me inside you?” he asked, stroking himself lazily.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He crawled back over you, brushing your hair from your face.

“Then open your legs, sweet thing.”

You did.

He lined himself up, eyes locked to yours, then pressed in slow. Stretch by stretch, inch by inch, until he bottomed out, fully buried inside.

You cried out at the fullness—at the sensation of him deep inside where no one had ever been.

“You feel like fire,” he growled against your ear. “Like you were made for this.”

His hips began to move—long, slow thrusts that dragged against every sensitive inch inside you. Each roll of his body made you whimper. Each stroke drove deeper.

“Look at me,” he said again, voice dark and low.

You obeyed.

And he fucked you harder.

Not rushed. Just deeper. Rougher. Like he’d been holding back too long.

Your nails raked down his back. His teeth grazed your shoulder. His pace built, and with it, your body trembled on the edge of another climax.

“I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he whispered. “Come for me. Show me you’re learning.”

You shattered beneath him. Vision white. Back arching. Muscles clenching tight around his cock.

He cursed. Lost rhythm. Buried himself deep and came inside you—groaning into your neck, spilling himself completely.

The room fell into silence, broken only by your panting.

Phainon didn’t pull away immediately. He stayed inside, arms wrapped tight around you, lips brushing your shoulder as he whispered:

“Now that… was a performance.”

⸻

You adjusted the silk robe, smoothed the fabric over your bare thighs, and tried to steady your breath. The bedroom set lights were already dimmed to soft amber—the kind of warmth that made everything look sensual, intimate. The camera crew took their positions.

And your co-star?

Mydei.

He leaned lazily against the pillows of the prop bed, shirt open, collarbones exposed, his hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of a lover’s arms. He met your gaze with that smirk—sharp, crooked, full of intent.

“You’re nervous,” he said under his breath as you approached the edge of the bed.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

His smile deepened. “Then relax, sweetheart. Let’s give them something they’ll feel through the screen.”

“Scene 38. Take 2. Action.”

⸻

You moved toward him like the script said you should—slow, deliberate, every step tinged with meaning. Mydei’s eyes raked over you as you stopped in front of him.

He reached out and untied the belt of your robe unscripted—his fingers brushing your waist just a little slower than necessary.

You let it fall.

The silk slipped off your shoulders and pooled at your feet. The air kissed your bare skin. And Mydei… Mydei let out a soft, appreciative hum as he reached up and pulled you onto his lap.

“You came back,” he whispered, nose brushing yours.

“Shut up,” you breathed, letting your fingers slide into his hair.

Then you kissed him.

Not soft.

Deliberate.

You let him part your lips. Let him groan against your mouth, hands exploring your hips like he already knew the rhythm of your body. His palm dragged up your spine. His other hand squeezed your thigh.

He tilted his head. Kissed deeper. Whispered, “You taste better than I imagined.”

Off-script. Too real.

But the camera kept rolling.

⸻

Phainon stood just behind the monitor. Watching. Not blinking.

His arms were folded. Jaw tight. His entire frame locked still, as if every muscle in his body was trying not to explode at once.

He touched her. He touched her like he knew her.

His mouth on hers. His hands on her thighs.

Those moans… Those were mine.

Mydei’s voice—smug, low, intimate—echoed through the studio. Phainon’s fingernails dug into his own palm. No one else noticed. But the cameraman glanced at him once, then looked away quickly.

They all knew Phainon wasn’t just some friend. But they didn’t know what it meant when he went quiet like this.

Didn’t know what it meant when his stare burned like ice.

And when Mydei whispered “Just like that, baby…” as he rocked you forward again, your chest brushing his?

That was it.

Phainon exhaled once—sharp. Clipped.

Then turned away.

Not because he couldn’t watch.

Because he had plans.

He would take you home.

And then Mydei’s voice would never echo in your body again.

⸻

“And—cut!”

The moment the director called it, the studio lights brightened slightly and the crew began to shift around you. The camera operator leaned back in his seat. One of the assistants handed you a silk robe.

You quickly pulled it on, breath still uneven from the scene. Mydei chuckled low as he sat up on the bed, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“You handled that well,” he said smoothly, adjusting his undone shirt. “Almost too well, actually.”

You gave a polite laugh. “Thanks.”

He slid off the bed and stepped closer, voice dropping a note. “You know… if you ever want to rehearse that again privately—off-script, no crew—I’d be happy to help.” His gaze dipped to your lips, then back to your eyes. “I promise I take direction very well.”

Your breath hitched. Was he still in character?

Before you could respond, a chill swept down your spine.

You didn’t even need to turn around to know who was there.

Phainon.

You felt him first—his presence, his silence, the weight of his gaze burning through the back of your skull like a dagger dipped in frost.

Mydei, oblivious, kept going.

“Or better yet…” he leaned just slightly closer, brushing an imaginary hair from your cheek. “I could direct you. I’ve always wanted to work with someone who listens as sweetly as you moan.”

His fingers grazed your jaw.

And that’s when you saw him.

Just behind the camera setup—Phainon, standing perfectly still, black coat unbuttoned, rings glinting under the light, his expression unreadable.

But his eyes?

Murderous.

No raised voice. No clenched fists.

Just that dead-calm stare. Locked on Mydei’s hand. Then your face.

Like a judge watching a condemned man carve his own sentence.

Mydei stepped back. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. I just… need a minute.”

You turned away, your heart hammering.

Phainon said nothing as you approached him.

But the moment you passed, you heard it—so low only you could catch it:

“Go say goodbye, little actress. That mouth is mine next.”

⸻

It started the moment you stepped off set.

Phainon didn’t say a word—not when you walked back into your dressing room, not when you gave him that half-smile you always did when scenes went well. But you could feel it—the shift in the air, the cold burn beneath his quiet.

He’d watched every second of that scene. The one they’d re-blocked last minute.

Where your male co-star’s hand had trailed down your spine, a little too slow. Where he’d leaned in too close during a non-scripted ad-lib, lips brushing your jaw. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t even like it. But the director had praised the chemistry.

Phainon had said nothing. But his stare had pierced through everything.

⸻

The car ride home was silent.

His hand never touched yours.

But his thigh pressed against yours in the backseat with just enough weight to feel like pressure. His fingers twitched once on his lap, like he was holding something back.

And when you stepped into the apartment and the door clicked shut behind you—

You didn’t even get the chance to turn around.

Your back hit the wall. Hard. Not rough enough to hurt, but hard enough to shock. And then his mouth was on yours.

Phainon didn’t kiss like he had the night before. Not slow. Not gentle. This was raw.

Teeth against your lips. Tongue parting you open. One hand fisting your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you felt the bruise bloom beneath his fingers.

He pulled back just far enough to whisper, voice low and dangerous:

“Do you know how many times I had to watch him touch you?”

You couldn’t answer.

His hand moved between your legs—cupping you through your clothes, rubbing with unrelenting pressure.

“I don’t give a damn if it was acting,” he growled. “He put his hands where only mine belong.”

He picked you up.

Carried you across the room—shoulder pressed into your stomach like you weighed nothing. You barely had time to gasp before he dropped you onto the bed.

“Strip,” he commanded.

You scrambled to obey. Shirt. Bra. Pants. All discarded.

He undressed slower, like the act of peeling each layer off was grounding his rage. But his eyes never left you. And when he stepped between your legs, his cock already hard, the look in his eyes wasn’t sweet. It was hunger.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, crawling onto the bed, grabbing your thighs and yanking you closer, “until the only thing your body knows is me.”

He didn’t ease in.

He entered you in one deep, punishing thrust—your back arching from the force. You cried out, the stretch overwhelming—but he didn’t stop. He set a brutal pace from the start.

Each thrust slammed into you, hips snapping forward with relentless force. The sound of skin on skin echoed loud and raw, paired with your gasps and the low, possessive growls in his throat.

“Was he this deep?” Phainon hissed, voice ragged. “Did he make you scream like this?”

“N-no—Phainon—”

“Say it louder.”

“No! Just you—fuck—only you!”

He flipped you over. Grabbed your hips. Drove into you from behind so hard the bed slammed against the wall. Your arms gave out. Your cheek pressed into the mattress, drool slipping from your lips as the pleasure blurred into white noise.

He didn’t slow. Didn’t pause.

Not even when your first orgasm ripped through you—legs shaking, body convulsing. He just kept going. Rode through it like a storm. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back as he growled in your ear:

“You think that was enough? You think one time will erase him?”

He pulled out, flipped you again, pinned your wrists above your head and thrust back in with brutal force.

You came again—your scream choked off in his mouth as he kissed you mid-moan. Your body trembled violently beneath him, nerves sparking with overstimulation.

But Phainon wasn’t done.

“Again,” he whispered. “You’ll give me everything.”

He kept you spread open, legs over his shoulders now, the angle impossibly deep. Your eyes rolled back as he pounded into you. Harder. Faster. Sweat dripping from his chest onto yours. The mattress soaked, sheets twisted, your body trembling.

You sobbed his name. Begged. Moaned without meaning.

He came inside you once—deep, hot, claiming you—but didn’t stop. Didn’t pull out.

He kept thrusting. Kept using you.

Again. And again.

You were crying by the fourth time—legs twitching, eyes glazed, voice broken.

“Can’t—too much—Phainon please—”

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your face. “You can take it. You’re mine. I know your body. I own your body.”

Fifth time—your body barely moved. Just soft whimpers as he rutted into you, cock still hard, obsessed, his hand gripping your throat lightly now—not choking, just holding you there. Just enough to make you feel his control.

And on the sixth, you didn’t even register it fully.

Your eyes fluttered. Limbs limp. Mouth parted. You felt his warmth flood you one last time—his hands cradling your head as he kissed your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “My perfect girl.”

Your body gave out. Everything soft. Blank.

You passed out in his arms, trembling, dripping, stretched and used. And Phainon held you close, curling his body protectively around yours like a lover. Or a monster.

His lips brushed your ear one last time before the dark took you:

“No one else will ever touch you again.”

⸻

THE END.

[vynepip]

⭒ ── WING PLAY W/ SUNDAY, EIGHTEEN+ ONLY

cw. fem reader. minors do not interact. dry humping. wing play. halovian’s have sensitive ear feathers. he cums in his pants. a little bit of control play with sunday.

word count. 1.3k words. ︵ ⊹ return to masterlist.

It was rare for Sunday to get like this.

Maybe he’s had a particularly rough day or he’s feeling particularly needy, but he feels hot as you straddle his lap and twist yourself closer to him. Your hands stroke at the hair on the back of his neck as you kiss him deep and your hips press down on top of his with mirrored, desperate movements.

You can feel how hard Sunday is through his slacks. It’s accompanied by the way he’s breathing deep into your mouth, his hands squeezing tightly into your waist.

You offer him another slower, longer roll of your clothed pussy down on his crotch as you lose yourself in the dull, suffocating pleasure the slight friction brings. And he rewards you with an uncharacteristically loud whine into your mouth.

It makes Sunday almost shy, as if surprised by his own voice; his fingers squeeze into your skin and it’s enough to draw your fingers up higher, as if to urge him not to pull away. Stroking them through the grey feathers that adorn his wings, you appreciate how soft they are before you’re surprised by the way a simple squeeze of your hands along the delicate area makes him shake.

You’ve never heard him like this. He was always much more composed. But as your fingers card through Sunday’s wings once more you feel the way it makes his hold on you tighten. It’s followed by a particularly uncharacteristic, needy twitch of his hips into the warm space between your legs and he kisses you deeper to try and muffle his own moans.

You catch the end of the sweet sound as you pull away to look at him.

“I didn’t realise they were so sensitive.” You say quietly, fingers massaging the sensitive tendons between the plush wings.

“Y-yes, well. Halovians tends not to favour strangers touching us in such a manner.” Sunday blinks at you. He looks like he’s almost drooling. He’s flushed, panting, whole body twitching as your fingers graze through his ear feathers once more and you smile.

“And me?” You press more weight down on his lap. Feeling his cock throb in response to it as his hands circle around your lower back to clasp together.

“I assume you will do as you please regardless.”

“Maybe that’s because you let me.” Your head cocks. Testing the waters, as if seeing how much he’ll let you away with.

“Heh,” It makes Sunday chuckle, though he’s quick to remind you “Well, I am more than capable of reclaiming what’s been lost should I so wish to.” He stops himself for a breath when your fingers push along the vane of his wings, regaining himself before he continues. Though tight lipped, almost hissing “Or will you tell me that that’s not the case?”

You shallowly, slowly hump yourself along his lap as you consider his question. He’s watching you carefully, narrowed eyes as he commands your gaze and you rub your clothed cunt all over him. It makes you exhale, continuing your sinful movements as if unaffected, but your pussy throbs.

“You’re right.” You say. Obediently. Like you’re a dog on a lax leash, temporarily in control until Sunday takes it back whenever he so pleases with a single tug.

“Yes. As I thought.” His hands are on you again, easing you to shift more weight onto his cock and it makes his eyes close at the pleasure. “Nevertheless, you’ll be sure to savour this opportunity then, won’t you, my angel?”

“Definitely.” Is all you respond, deliberately airy and light as you begin a needier, hotter pace. Your hands stay massaging through Sunday’s wings; from barb to rachis of each feather and every stroke and pinch of your fingers makes his hips jolt.

You’re growing wetter now, dampening his slacks — though you’re not solely to blame considering how hard Sunday feels beneath you. He’s all but lost his composure entirely, flushed right beneath the collar of his shirt and he’s sweating hard; he can barely look at you.

Had you know Halovian’s wings were this sensitive. You would’ve done this far before now, but you savour the image while you can.

Another grind of your hips follows more movements of your fingers, feeling the shaft of his throbbing cock press up against your panties. It bares weight on your clit, your underwear soaked through now and you’re sure if you were to look between your glued together bodies you’d see the quickly growing puddle on his trousers.

But Sunday is in no position to let you pull away. His hands are palming at you uncontrollably and he’s being louder than he normally prefers to be. Like he’s been overcome entirely by the sweet grind of your body on his cock and the touch of your fingertips through his wings.

“I…” His voice is wound up in his desperation, muffled against where he’s pressing his lips against your throat. “I would normally not allow m-myself to be tormented like this.”

But you like it.

“You should let yourself go more often then.” Your retort makes Sunday laugh again, albeit choked and broken off into more of a whine compared to the last.

“I’d prefer to savour it for our more i-intimate moments together.”

The back and forth twist of your hips is incredibly saccharine, swiping the warmth of your cunt over Sunday’s bulge and his own body shifts and jolts beneath you. He’s already so close, he twists his face to meet yours so he can kiss you again.

But that alone proves to be entirely too much when your thumb shifts its way towards the pretty, gold plated earrings that adorn the sensitive area of Sunday’s feathers. That’s what gets him; your fingers circle the jewellery and you take his tongue between your lips to suck on it slowly as your weight bares down on him.

He sucks in a breath as he kisses you, nails scratching at your lower back as his wings begin to shake; as does he. “W-wait—“

Sunday cums just like that.

His wings stiffen between your fingertips as his hips twitch and roll up to chase the plush, warm feeling of your cunt squishing against him. He wraps his arms around you as leverage to each thrust, spilling all over the inside of his pristine outfit but he continues to kiss you despite the messy, drooled movements of his mouth.

The reaction makes you feel so incredibly warm. Like you could climb out of your own skin. To hear Sunday, someone who is always so well-presented, break completely at the feeling of your fingers caressing his ear feathers is definitely something you won’t forget.

He pants into your mouth, rutting upwards so desperately that it makes your body bounce and jolt against his, drawing you closer until his body grows lax and he begins to hiss with overstimulation.

Your hands drop down to massage at Sunday’s shoulders gently while he catches his breath. Not wanting to ruin the moment by teasing him, you can only assume he’s embarrassed when he pulls away from the kiss and can’t seem to even look at you.

Bright red in the face while his hair and feathers remain mused from your hands.

Sunday clears his throat, “If you can spare me a few moments… I’ll see the favour is repayed in due course.” He’s almost soaked himself… and you from where your cunt still presses flush against his softening cock. You can still feel it twitch from his orgasm, every shift of your body proof of his still dwindling sensitivity when it makes him shudder beneath you.

But you just offer your lover a soft smile before letting your fingers reach up to graze along the edges of his feathers again. A touch so innocent compared to the one a few moments ago.

“Take your time.” You hum, body pulsing from Sunday’s high alone. But you lean in to give him a quick kiss, one he turns to meet before his eyes finally find themselves back on yours. “I’m quite fine like this right now.”

[vynepip]

cw: suggestive ♡ gn! reader/mc

One of Sylus's favorite nicknames for you was ‘Kitten’.

But the way he lays on top of you, nuzzling his face into your chest, you can't help but wonder if the nickname suits him more than it does for you.

“Is my kitten sleepy,” you ask gently, your hands combing through his hair. He grunts, hiding his face from you, his ears turning a bright red. You smirk when a devious thought crosses your mind. You wanted to tease him more, see what he would do if you pushed his buttons a bit.

“I'm hungry. Get up Sy.” You poke at his forehead, shifting a bit underneath him, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist, tightening his grip around you as he lets out a groan.

“You don't need to get up, sweetie. Just use my card and order something.”

“Sylus…we're in the N109 zone…not Linkon…”

Sylus pauses, his red eyes peering up at you from your chest. “...Fair point,” he mutters, letting out a defeated sigh as he slowly moves away from you.

But then you grab his arm and yank him back down, earning a grunt from Sylus at the sudden aggression. His eyes widen slightly at you before relaxing the minute he sees that mischievous smirk on your face. He reaches his hand out to poke at your cheek with his index finger, trailing it down to your neck, then to your collarbone. He lets out a deep chuckle when he feels you shiver.

“Feeling a bit…playful today, are we?” He leans forward, replacing his finger on your collarbone with his teeth, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. “Kittens don't like to be bothered during nap time, don't you know?” His tongue soothes his fresh claim on your skin, his red eyes never leaving your face, eyeing your reaction with amusement in his gaze. “Now, don't interrupt my sleep again. Got that, sweetie?”

He rests his head back on your chest. His arms return around your waist, and he's back to nuzzling against your chest, slowly closing his eyes and letting out a satisfied hum when your fingers meet his hair once more.

If you squint, you can see his tail sticking out, swaying in the air as he's happy to be with his owner.

a/n: this kinda sucks but I wanted to write needy/clingy sylus sooo bad so here we are. struggled with not making him too clingy or it would be ooc :p

[vynepip]

NSFW, oral (afab!reader receiving), college/university au, friend and i were talkin about how phainon was good at maths so i started thinking about how i wanted him to write equations with his tongue

"w-when you asked for my help- titans- with your assignment, i didn't think it w-would be like this," you grumbled, tone airy and words whispy.

"like what?" he asks, barely taking his head away from between your legs.

"like this!" your thigh tenses in his grasp when he suckles on your clit, sharp, sucking sounds making you even more embarrassed as you feel your core getting wetter and wetter, his saliva mixed with your essence.

your fingers pull at his hair and he moans into you, the vibrations like lightning to the end of your nerves.

"i'm solving the problems though? working out and everything."

"what are you- mmh!" your caught off guard when he licks a hot, broad stripe up your slit, tongue slipping back in afterwards. his name passes by your lips like a mantra as he begins drawing curves and miscellaneous shapes in your walls.

wait- did he just write the number '5'?

the muscle then licks a vertical line, followed by a horizontal one, and he's writing the subtraction symbol, seriously? what are you? some working out sheet?

he draws an equal sign, followed by a sloppy sequence of numbers you cannot differentiate, and he ends it with a kiss to your abused clit, causing your empty walls to clench, pathetically begging for more stimulation.

"good little helper," phainon whispers huskily, voice thick with lust. "i should use you like this more often, i'm being real productive."

you hit his back with your heel impatiently, trying to lure him in to where you need him most. he chuckles, pinching your inner thigh in retaliation.

"patience. i want to enjoy you."

"you're taking your sweet time."

he pulls your hips closer to his face, eyeing your expression with a smug grin. "the sweetest."

phainon lowers his mouth and begins his oral assault once more, this adjusted position allowing him to go even deeper, and you can not conjure any more snide remarks when he brings his thumb to your clit. meanwhile, his tongue is still answering more questions, and your slipping rationality deduces he just wrote a square root symbol.

"come on," he whispers against your opening. "i'm almost done with this question set, come for me, sweet thing."

he keeps pleading with your pussy, and the pleasure begins to hike, climbing and climbing and climbing until it finally crests, and you're crying as you gush all over him. phainon happily drinks every drop of your release, moaning happily as he licks you clean, like he was the one who just came instead of you.

as his saliva is slathered all over your inner thighs, you jolt when you feel his tongue lick at your abused cunt again.

"phai- please, i-i'm sensitive!"

he hushes you. "i still have five pages to go through, you said you were happy to help me, right?"

© todoriin 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site, do not feed to AI

[vynepip]

𓂃 . 𐑞 masterlist ︶ ⟢

sylus blushes when you kiss his face.

you did not know what came over you. maybe it was a burst of cuteness aggression, or a overwhelming sense of longing, but one moment you were both reading peacefully on his unfairly comfortable bed, and the next you were pouncing on him like some feral cat.

you whined as you kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw, your heart exhilarating at the sound of his deep laugh running free. his hand abandoned the book he was reading to clutch at your waist, his crimson eyes closing as you peppered his entire face with insatiable little kisses.

his breath hitched as he felt your teeth chomping down on his cheek, and he couldn't help but burst out laughing at the hungry growling sound you imited.

your arms wrapped around him, snuggling into his jawline as you cooed. he could feel your adoration, how could he not when you held him so? his own arms tugged you closer, head tilting down to breath heavily on your shoulder, nose nuzzling to the side of your neck.

“i love you so much,” you kissed his cheek, cupping his face lovingly, so gently. he felt a shudder ran through his body, his neck tickling from your wandering touch.

crimson gaze hazy and full of adoration. messy silver hair and relaxed eyebrows. lips parted so temptingly and cheeks flushed like cherries.

“mine,” you breathed with certain clarity, your eyes devouring him in every sense of the world.

sylus felt like melting into a puddle. such mushy feelings should be considered illegal. it wasn't until you touched your forehead with his that he realised he was panting, staring at you with longing.

he hummed, deep but weakly, for the pain in his chest felt deliriously addictive. “yours,” he rasped out, holding you warmly and close. “i adore you, my beloved.”

and the kiss on his lips was soft and lingering, as if you could feel the tightness of his chest, as if you could physically see the love brewed between you and him.

[vynepip]

sfw; drunk!jing yuan might be the end of me

the first time you see jing yuan drunk, it comes as something of a surprise. you'd always known that he could hold his liquor (after all, the high-cloud quintet were notorious for their work hard, play hard attitude), and you'd seen him at banquets and festivals, laughing over towers of sweet osmanthus wine.

still, you had never seen him like this.

"'s anyone ever told you... that you smell good?"

you sigh, staggering beneath his weight, dragging him through the entrance of his private pavilion, the moon hung fat and low in the sky.

"it's just the alcohol talking -- come now, general, let's get you into bed --"

"mm... but you promised me you'd dance with me, didn't you?"

you pause, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

"well, it doesn't seem like you're in much of a state to dance right now, general, so we might have to call a rain-check on --"

you yelp as you're spun around and pressed into a very warm, very broad chest, one of jing yuan's hands slipping around you waist, the other coming up to stroke at your hair.

"says who i'm not in a state to dance? i'll have you know i won the 76th annual wardance ceremony at just 23 years old!"

you push back just enough to glance up at his face, finding his eyes oddly clear as he stares down at you. and like this, backlit by the light of the low-swinging moon, his hair seems haloed in molten silver, the stars crowning him in concentric circles, spinning out and out and out until they spill into the vastness of the universe beyond.

"general.... are you lying?" you ask, your gaze going flat as he hiccups, pressing a fist to his lips. he sways slightly, frowning down at you.

"y'know... it used to be high treason to accuse the arbiter-general of falsehood."

you sigh, your muscles loosening as he casts his eyes up at the sky, and for a moment, you think he's going to let you go. but then -- slowly, miraculously... he starts to sing.

he sways left and right, bringing you with him, and you're too stunned to do anything but follow along. in all your years of knowing him (of working beneath, and then beside him) you'd never ever heard him sing. always, even when dragged out to the karaoke bars after the annual aurum festival, he'd only ever laugh and clap along, shaking his head whenever anyone tried to press a mic into his hand.

it's slightly off-tune, but you find yourself charmed by it nonetheless. and without thinking, you start to hum along too -- it's an old song, a slow song, one full of a saline wistfulness for a bygone time.

you spin in slow circles, the steps rudimentary, little more than rocking from one foot to the other. but jing yuan's eyes are bright when he smiles down at you, warm and unwavering as new years lanterns.

"general?" you ask, voice soft as he takes half a step back, his bangs falling in front of his eyes.

"mm -- sorry, i'm afraid i really have had a bit too much to drink."

you reach out to catch him again as he nearly topples sideways, and somehow, you manage to half-drag him into his bedroom.

"you just need some water and a good night's sleep --" you say, plopping him rather unceremoniously onto his bed, grunting as you heave his feet up onto the mattress. he sighs, toeing off his shoes as they clatter to the floor by the bed. you resist the urge to tut, satisfying yourself with lining them up by the foot of the bed before fetching a large glass of water.

when you get back, it's to find him curled up on his side, looking younger than you've seen him in a while. like this, you'd never think that he's lived as long as he did, seen as much as he has, lost all that he's lost.

you set the water down on the bedside table. your fingers itch to brush his bangs away from his sleeping face, but you stop yourself at the last second, fingers trembling.

moonlight pools on the bedroom floor, spilling over the shape of him in the bed. you make turn away, but something grabs you and jerks you back by the wrist.

you squeak, sitting down hard on the side of jing yuan's bed.

"don't go..." he murmurs, his fingers going slightly more slack, his lashes fluttering, "stay."

you sigh, your hummingbird heartbeat thrumming in your chest, heat eating up the length of your spine. it would be improper, to say the least, and gossip has always been currency in a place like luofu, but...

"if i leave, what do you think will happen, hm?"

jing yuan hums, tugging you ever so slightly closer. his hand is warm, and you think you could count every single callus on his palm.

"bad dreams," he says.

you let out a tiny laugh, shaking your head.

"fine -- i'll stay till you fall asleep."

he nods, his breath settling. then, a few seconds later --

"you could stay longer, if you'd like."

you can't help the grin tickling at the corner of your mouth.

"general."

he laughs, rolling onto his back, your hand still clutched in his.

"alright, alright -- just till i fall asleep then."

"goodnight, general."

"goodnight."

[vynepip]

getting use to the new roomate

[vynepip]

a monster who lives out in the woods, who hides himself from humans, afraid of becoming a science experiment. but you?

he showed himself to you because he knew by your smell that you were meant for him. he courts you with dead rabbits and fresh berries, until you’re willing to come back to his cave.

there he explores your body, curious about every inch of it. his cock grows thicker and heavier while he tests out everything that makes you moan, fingering and licking and burying his snout in you.

he knows right where he fits. his need to mate takes over, and while you’re wet and slippery, he pushes that fat cock inside you. he groans with abject pleasure, having never felt anything but his clawed hand before. you squeeze him so tight he goes off right away, but he’s not done—of course not. he’ll rut you over and over until night becomes morning again, slicking in and out on a river of his own seed until he has no more left to give.

he brings your shaking body close, nuzzling his nose in your hair. he hopes he didn’t hurt you in his haze of need. you’ll be sore tomorrow, sure. but now you’re home.

[vynepip]

Yk I had to draw my man 🤧

[vynepip]

Alien Boyfriend with a monster fucker Reader, except he's pathetically mundane and ridiculously human-like in everything but appearance.

Oh, you were thrilled when he first approached you, asking you to be his partner. The tall frame, additional limbs and downright horrific features had you shivering in anticipation. You could already picture yourself pounded into the nearest wall.

"Is this your experimenting lab," you asked with a knowing grin, dragging your hand across the foreign tools. Was he going to tie you up and use you as his pet?

"You could call it that if you'd like," he answered with mild confusion, "but I'm sure you're already familiar with the concept."

There was a ding, and he pulled a tray out of the nearest machinery.

"It's my kitchen. Care for some muffins?"

You made the tragic discovery that your alien suitor was a soft-hearted, friendly neighbor living the quiet suburb life. Where was the fear? The danger? Alas, the extraterrestrial being would do his best to give you what you wanted.

"Remember how you said I should become the leader of the masses with my terrifying powers?"

He stands before you proudly, the many rows of sharp teeth glistening in the light.

"Yeah?" you squirm in your seat, cheeks turning red.

"Well, you're looking at the new HOA president! I metaphorically destroyed them with my speech. Everyone voted for me."

[vynepip]

I wish i had imagination

Yandere burger x French fry (this is a joke)

Are y’all ok? What kind of joke is that? 🤨

Anyways, ask and you shall receive

[vynepip]

I have a j*b now. I wanted to start right away but it's not within my hands. Also is fucking gard to type without long nails, im not gonna bother to type cottectly typos.