warlockslovetomeow

[warlockslovetomeow]

i’m fucking fried. ohhhhhh my god that card finished me.

[warlockslovetomeow]

RAHHHHHHHHHH NEVER KILL YOURSELF

[warlockslovetomeow]

yall did NOT fuck w the mech rafayel post 😭😭😭 im fried asf

[warlockslovetomeow]

streetracer!sylus is at 5.5k words and his dick isnt even out yet. guess who my favorite lads boy is 1, 2, 3 go!!!!!!!!!!

[warlockslovetomeow]

mdni. explicit sexual content. mechanic!rafayel x apprentice!female reader

mechanic!rafayel who always works with music playing softly in the background. jazz mostly, or old french ballads. he hums sometimes without even realizing it, his voice always coming out low and haunting. the mesmerizing sound stays with you long after you’ve left the garage.

mechanic!rafayel who barely looks up when you mess up a part, just walks over slow and says, “you’re too tense. machines feel it.” then gently wraps his hands around yours and guides the motion like you’re an instrument. he's deliberate with his touch. almost sinful.

mechanic!rafayel who never lights the cigarette behind his ear. just toys with it, rolls it between his fingers when he’s thinking, taps it against his palm when you’re around and making him lose focus. one day you ask why he even has it and he meets your eyes with a tempting smile before responding with, “keeps my hands busy when they’re not on you.”

mechanic!rafayel who still remembers the first day you walked into the garage—bright-eyed, hopeful, smelling sweet enough to stir something within him. he’s never found that exact perfume again, but it doesn't stop him from searching. doesn’t stop him from finding the closest thing, drenching his fingers in it, and rubbing it into his skin while he fists his cock and imagines it’s you pressed up against him begging for more.

mechanic!rafayel who flirts like it’s a reflex. never over the top, always just enough to make your stomach twist. when he catches you staring while he paints a car, he’ll turn and murmur, “enjoying the view, my dear apprentice? lucky for you, it doesn’t mind being stared at.” he'll wink at you playfully, a fleck of paint on his cheek, and you swear you could drop to your knees for him right then and there.

mechanic!rafayel who has a beat up sketchbook he never lets anyone touch. you assumed it was full of car designs until you caught glimpses of hands, eyes, the curve of a neck that looked too familiar. one night, you realize it’s you he’s been drawing. dozens of times. the pages warped and curling from how often he’s touched them, some smeared where his slick fingers fumbled the pencil as if he was too desperate to finish the drawing when the thought of you had already wrecked him.

mechanic!rafayel who once leaned over your shoulder to correct your wiring, breath brushing your ear, voice barely a whisper, “good girl. see? she listens when you touch her right.” and it took everything in you not to whimper, not to turn your head and chase the heat of his mouth with yours, your body clenching tight with the effort to stay still.

mechanic!rafayel who’s always calm and controlled until you ask for help with something simple. the way your voice softens when you need him, the way you look up through your lashes, it hits him like a crashing wave. he feels it. the heat flooding his chest. the twitch of his cock before he can catch himself. he tries his hardest to stay composed, but it’s getting harder with each passing second.

mechanic!rafayel who finally snaps and eats you out in the garage on the hood of his most prized car. his hands are bruising your thighs and his face is buried inside you like he’s been starving for a taste. “wider,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “don’t make me ask again.” when you cry out in pleasure, he moans as if he himself just finished from the sound alone. he doesn't break eye contact, mouth relentless as you drip onto the hood of the car.

mechanic!rafayel who doesn’t give a damn if there are customers waiting out front, he’s too busy feasting on you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. he talks you through it in that velvet smooth voice, teasing even as he ruins you—“mmm… that pretty little sound again. you like when i touch you like this?” his fingers dig in harder as your thighs tremble, eyes flicking up with a lazy, adoring grin. “louder. i want them to hear you.”

a/n: divas uni is touching me all over rn but do not fret, i have not forgotten about this AU. sylus x mechanic reader is almost done teehee

[warlockslovetomeow]

YESSSSSSSSS OH MY GOD

Save race car ride a driver

[warlockslovetomeow]

sex pollen ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: zayne, xavier, sylus, caleb, rafayel x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: spring is here, and the "thorny" flower is in season. beware, unsuspecting farm visitor, lest you inhale the evil flower's pollen and fall victim to its whims... 「this urge... i can't resist it anymore—!」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, literal sex pollen; "spontaneous and urgent need to have sex", piv, creampie, intense orgasms, characters are not dating nor have they ever f*cked before (frenemies)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: pelican town (from the stardew valley soundtrack)

✧ a/n: was the stardew valley soundtrack too unhinged or... anywaysss sex pollen is one of my all-time favorite tropes ever so here's my take on it <3

Sure, he might not be your favorite person in the world, but just for today, you're content with being acquaintances. For what it’s worth, if there’s anything worse than spending a whole day with your begrudging frenemy, it’s losing.

The annual Spring Corn-Picking Festival has begun, and you’ve been paired up with him. Can you put your differences aside and put your skills to the test? Or is there something else—something sinister—lurking beneath the surface, waiting to strike?

The “thorny” flower is in bloom, and no one is safe…

“Follow my lead if you want to win. I did my research, so I know where all the best spots are.” He parts the thick maize, making way for the both of you to trudge through the field. You roll your eyes at his predictable arrogance. “Please. I used to live on a farm. I know my way around—” You trip on a small rock and stumble into his back. He barely even glances at you. “Be quiet if you don’t want to sabotage our mission.” Rude. “Hey, there’s some up there.” You both dart towards the bunch of ripe corn a few feet away, no longer weary and complacent. Placing his basket on the ground, he begins to expertly pluck the corn from their stalks, intense concentration written all over his face.

All of a sudden, a strange smell hijacks your nostrils. “Do you smell that?” He grimaces and looks around, apparently sensing it too. It’s…strange. Foreign. Not entirely unpleasant. The flesh between your legs throbs. Why do I feel…? Your eyes lock with Zayne’s, then travel down to his groin. He’s hard. It takes him two seconds to close the distance between you. “Zayne, what’s going on—” He yanks your overalls down and grasps at your breasts, the expression on his reddened face absolutely feral. “I-I don’t know—” he stammers, still smearing his hands all over your plump chest. “But I can’t stop…” He pulls your panties down in one fell swoop to find you already dripping wet. His pupils dilate at the sight, and his hands automatically move to undo his belt. It doesn’t take long for him to free his erection, which is so large by now you almost feel bad for him. “Wait, we’re in a corn field—” Your words are abruptly cut off by him spinning you around and plunging his cock between your folds, and you have to cling to the sturdy stalks to prevent yourself from falling over. A hand goes over your mouth to conceal your surprised moans. He has you bent over in front of him, back arching against his dick as he thrusts into you and curses under his breath. I don’t like you! You don’t like me! Why does this feel so good?! “Fuck— I can’t stop—” His groans are strangled and pained, his hips moving so fast the field around you blurs into a mess of pale green and yellow. Expletives escape his lips as he slams into you so hard you both come undone, his hot, thick cum filling you up and dripping down your legs as you spasm and shake under his grip. You’re panting. He looks like he can’t even breathe. “What the fuck was that, Zayne?!” you scream at him, flustered and so utterly confused. “It’s that damn flower… Fuck. I’m sorry.” You pull your overalls back up and shake your head, unsure how to feel about all of this. “Let me make it up to you— Dinner. Tonight.” Tiny butterflies drift into the field.

“Would you quit micromanaging?” He glares at you before turning back to the corn, both hands wrapped around its plush kernels. “I’m just saying, twisting it out might be faster.” Always pouting, always bickering. It’s the only thing you two ever do. You’ve never denied that it bothers you, the way he acts as if you’re beneath him. “If you’re so confident, you do it.” You take the bait and push past him, sandwiching yourself between him and the stubborn stalk of corn. A smug grin plays at his lips when you fail to pull—no, twist—it out, his arms crossed over his chest.

Xavier sneezes. He brushes it off as a one-time thing at first, but then he sneezes again. Hay fever? he thinks to himself. Suddenly, the image of you working your hands around the cob of corn—squeezing and pulling at its base—is too much for him to bear. He’s imagining his dick in its place. You don’t realize it at first, but you’re getting wet. You feel the abrupt, inexplicable need to grind against something. Anything. All at once, you push Xavier to the ground and sit down on top of him. “Do you feel that?” you whisper between gasps, the pool of need between your legs growing by the second. He nods breathlessly, uncertain, but wanting all the same. Your hips involuntarily roll against his, and you both suppress a moan. The next thing you know, you’re grinding against his rock-hard cock and relishing the sounds of his tortured groans. “I’m—so horny—right now—” His voice is fried, needy. You lift the skirt of your dress and pull your panties to the side, clearly sopping wet. His jeans are unzipped. In what seems like an unimaginable moment, you’re bouncing on his dick and screaming out in pleasure. Why does he…feel so good… Your thoughts are a mess, part confusion and part unbridled lust. The way he rubs against your walls, jerks upwards to meet your thrusts, whimpers like a man starved—it’s everything you never knew you needed. You roll your hips at just the right angle, and he gets impossibly bigger before shooting warm spurts of cum into your cervix, his thighs clenching underneath yours as the most intense orgasms both of you have ever had crash over your joint bodies. You roll over to lie down beside him, still in shock. “W-What was that?!” He turns to look at you and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—ironic, considering your entire head’s a complete mess. “I didn’t know you had that in you. You didn’t even kiss me.”

“Perhaps we’d get there more quickly if you stopped whining,” he jabs, already five feet ahead of you. His demeanor remains cool and composed, yet frustration simmers beneath the surface, visible only to those who know the enigma of a man well enough. Unfortunately, “those” includes you. “I just can’t believe I’m stuck here with you. Of all people.” Without looking back, he replies, “Are you sure this isn’t your desire for me speaking? Because judging by the way you were eyeing me just now…” You huff at his ridiculous statement. “Ha! You wish. Sleeping with you is the last thing I’d ever want, so keep dreaming, buckaroo.”

You don’t hear his reply. A sharp, almost sweet scent attacks your senses, conquering your mind almost instantly. You sway amongst the stalks of grass, trying to make sense of the sudden urge you’re feeling—the urge to bury Sylus’ dick between your legs. I hate him I hate him I hate him— Your hands reach out to grab him before you can stop them, and he spins around abruptly to gently push you away. “Having a change of mind?” He means the question as a joke, but the sound of his gravelly, seductive voice only intensifies the throbbing in your cunt. “Shut up and fuck me,” you spit, fully convinced you’ve gone insane. But he doesn’t object. The cocky grin vanishes from his face as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, apparently devoted to the task. His underwear is still on by the time he’s lying on top of you, pupils dilated and erection rock solid. Overcome, he dry-humps your clit for a whole minute, the pressure so rewarding that he can’t bring himself to remove his boxers. “Fuck, baby— What are you doing to me?” He hisses when you yank them down yourself, eager to bury his cock deep inside you. No time is wasted. In a single thrust of his hips, he’s plunging all the way into you, so big you cry out in delicious pain. Your hips move in tandem with his, mud covering your back and seeping into your hair—but you couldn’t care less. His length is pumping in and out of you so hard your eyes roll to the back of your head, and distantly you wonder how long you’ve secretly needed—wanted—this. He grunts with each jerk, wet squelches filling the air as the strawberry-picking competition is forgotten, sweet release the only thing on his mind. A stutter—a falter, and he erupts, his thick seed coating your walls and seeping out of your pussy. You both fall silent as the pleasure consumes your bodies, so good your eyes squeeze shut and your throat goes completely dry. “I’m…a mess…” you mutter between pants, pushing him off of you. “Who wants to sleep with who now?” He shoves his pants back on and—blushes?! “It must’ve been that flower. Though… It’s worth mentioning that I’m immune.”

“Alright, let’s hurry up and get this over with.” He doesn’t seem thrilled to be wading through a cornfield with the likes of you, one of his childhood tormentors. Well, he’d tormented you back, of course—middle school turf wars were no joke. You both grew up and learned to tame your reactions a little, but some things never change. The fact that you’re still stuck in the same small town with him, for instance. “After all these years, Caleb is still a jackass,” you quip, already making your way towards a ripe bunch of corn. “You’re just jealous I never dated you.”

The wind blows, and you scrunch your nose at the scent it carries. “Shh— Do you smell that?” His eyes go wide as realization hits, and he rushes to cover your nose and mouth with his hands. “It’s that devil flower that spews aphrodisiacal pollen. Don’t. Breathe.” His expression is grim as he clamps his mouth shut, but he’s already starting to squirm. A small pit of arousal emerges in your core, but he’s clearly having a harder time than you are, the outline of his hard cock visible through his trousers. “Caleb…?” you ask tentatively as his hands slide away from your face, flexing indecisively before reaching towards you. “Caleb, wait a second—” He’s on his knees, pulling your shorts and panties down. Oh my god, this can’t be happening— You gasp as his tongue glides against your clit, the simple movement leaving you wanting more. Your hips grind against his face as you moan his name, lost in the lovely vibrations of his own groans of pleasure. “Get on the ground.” His tone leaves little room for debate. You lie flat on the soil, back towards the sky, and turn to look at him over your shoulder. His dick is out, precum coating the tip as it beelines straight for your inviting cunt. Pure bliss overcomes your system when he first glides in, your walls instantly slickening in response. He pounds into you from behind, his whimpers mingling with yours as you’re swept away by the feeling of finally having Caleb inside you. It’s surreal—ten years ago you would’ve laughed at the thought. Now your mouth hangs open for different reasons. “Faster, Caleb—” you squeak, desperate to reach your climax. He drives into you, clenching hard before he drenches your pussy, a steady stream of cum dripping down onto the soil below. “Holy fuck… I’m sorry…” he whispers, getting up to put his pants back on. An unexpected wave of laughter hits as you recover from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body sated and…comfortable. “Don’t you dare blame this on the pollen.” He sighs wearily and smiles. “I’m not.”

“If we don’t win, I’m blaming it on you.” Great. This detour was all your fault. You can’t believe this guy. First, he makes no effort to help with navigation. Next, he decides that if anything goes wrong, you’re to blame? Sweet crackers, he’s the most insufferable fool you’ve ever met. Sure, he’s charming—the old ladies back at the farm couldn’t have made it clearer—but you don’t get to have a competitive streak when you’re not the one doing the streaking. Seriously, he’s slow as hell. “Stop talking and walk.”

“There’s something in the air,” he remarks, squinting. It’s the first time he’s paid attention to anything today, so you hear him out and begin sniffing your surroundings. You detect nothing and call him a big baby, resuming your search for corn. “I’m being serious! I swear it’s doing something to me…” He turns away then, so hastily your suspicions are raised. “J-Just gimme a sec!” he calls over his shoulder, “Lemme take care of something real quick—” You turn back around, tired of his antics, but a barely concealed groan stops you dead in your tracks. He’s jerking off in broad daylight, his head thrown back in relief. “Rafayel, what the f—” You feel it then, the throbbing ache in your pussy, and suddenly his presence no longer annoys you. You inch towards him, eyeing his hard cock as he pumps it with his fist. At the sight of you staring up at him with a strange, unabashed lust, his thighs clench and he moans your name, the sound of it on his lips sending waves of arousal down to your core. You push him down by the shoulders so he’s sitting upright on the ground, dick so hard it looks miserable. “Bounce on it,” he orders. In the span of two seconds, your panties are pushed to the side and your cunt is enveloping his cock. You’re so full, so dirty with him between your legs—Does it feel better to fuck someone you pretend to hate? His thumbs bruise your hips as you keep your pace, bouncing on his lap like your life depends on it, his tip crushing against your cervix the only thing on your mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he breathes before pumping his fresh cum into your pussy, your combined cries of pleasure so loud a neighboring flock of birds takes flight. Defeated, you lean against him in his lap, still shaking with desire. His hand goes up to rest on your head, his touch surprisingly tender. “I’ve been waiting all year for that.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[warlockslovetomeow]

I AM GOING INNNNNN ON STREETRACER!SYLUS AOMJSNIBEB THIS FIC IS MY PRIDE AND JOY WELL YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[warlockslovetomeow]

Aight lemme not waste ur time:

Non-MC "D1 Crashout™" vs Sylus

She's a variant of MC that EVER took from her dimension

First encounter:

Sylus pulled up for MC bc the whole skyhaven bullshit with Caleb

Non-MC is beating the yandere out of Caleb in the most diabolically disrespectful way possible by the time he gets there

Whatever happens after that is up to you fam, go crazy go stupid

I just know that out of all the writers here, you would definitely write the most satisfying crashout scene and my god do I need it 😩😤

ok wait i see the vision but im also lost in the sauce. non mc so does mc not exist in this? do caleb/sylus know that this isnt the real mc? is she crashing out bc this mc knows all about caleb’s devious antics? how does sylus know to pull up? is she crashing out on both of them? can i please make them have sex afterwards?

i’m absolutely positively interested in writing this diva don’t u worry i love a good crash out but i don’t wanna do u wrong by getting the details muddled

[warlockslovetomeow]

i dont even fw caleb like that but that streetracing thing had me crossing and uncrossing my legs a lot. so yeah delish. wet too. its ur fault.

diva keep those legs spread for me and call me a cave diver cus when i tell u im gonna convert u into a caleb fan with this streetracer fic ive got cooking up...

[warlockslovetomeow]

mdni. explicit sexual content. streetracer!caleb x rival!female reader

streetracer!caleb who saw red the moment you cut him off at the end of the race and stole the win like it was nothing. didn’t matter that you rode for whatever gang would pay you. didn’t matter that you disappeared right after. all he remembered was the flash of your taillights and that cocky smirk you threw over your shoulder. he’s been chasing you ever since.

streetracer!caleb who finally sees you again, leaning against a busted bumper from your previous race like you owned the ground he walked on. you were talking slick with grease on your hands and heat in your smile. he should be furious. instead, his mouth is dry and his pants are tight.

streetracer!caleb who can’t stop eyeing you. and your bumper. mostly you. he knows he should walk away, but instead, he ends up circling your busted ride, jaw clenched, voice low as he mutters, “you’re gonna kill yourself on a run if you don’t fix this.” and when you ask if he’s offering to help, his silence says everything.

streetracer!caleb who watches you win again—this time against one of his own—and it pisses him off. not because you’re better, but because it turns him on. you drive like a devil and smile like a sinner. every time you touch your car, he’s thinking about what else you could handle like that.

streetracer!caleb who caught one of your sponsors hanging around the pit before a race and nearly lost it. “that your new money maker, sweetheart? or do you just let anyone under your hood?” his voice is calm, deadly, but his hand flexes like it’s aching to shove the guy off the map. you just smile and tell him to focus on not losing again.

streetracer!caleb who races better angry, and nothing pisses him off more than seeing you smile at someone who isn’t him.

streetracer!caleb who jerks off in the shower after every run in with you, forehead pressed to the tile, teeth grit, muttering your name like he hates it. and he does. he hates how much he wants you. how every moan in his head sounds like yours. how sometimes, when he’s close, he imagines you calling his name just to wreck himself even more.

streetracer!caleb who tells himself it’s just tension. just heat. just rivalry. but the way his hands shake after he sees you race in other crew’s colors, the way he grips the wheel imagining your thighs wrapped around his waist—he knows better.

streetracer!caleb who kisses you like he’s starving once you finally break. after weeks of bickering, eye fucking, half threats and breathless moments. when you finally grab his jaw and yank him in he groans into your mouth like he’s waited his whole goddamn life for this.

streetracer!caleb who fucks you in his backseat with the windows fogged up and your panties shoved into his pocket like a trophy. who says “you wanted a rematch? here’s your fucking prize.” as he presses your knees to your chest and makes you cum around his fingers before he even gives you his cock.

streetracer!caleb who talks you through every orgasm like he’s worshipping you. “that’s it, baby. just like that. you’re takin’ me so well. never seen someone so perfect fall apart this hard.” his voice is velvet over gravel, low and hungry, like he’s falling apart right with you but refuses to stop until you’re ruined.

streetracer!caleb who doesn’t look you in the eyes right after, because if he does, he’ll lose. not the race. not the war. he’ll lose himself in you.

a/n: yall im wet as fuck rn... im writing sylus' full streetracer fic but best believe caleb's is next

[warlockslovetomeow]

no need to fret friends the streetracer!sylus fic has begun…

i’m so in love with this au tho i’m planning a streetracer!caleb and perhaps a mechanic!rafayel x streetracer!mc

[warlockslovetomeow]

this is literally me guys. this is who i am

[warlockslovetomeow]

salutations!!!!!!!! 👅👅👅

ni hao fine shyts

[warlockslovetomeow]

uni actually has me so fucked up i just performed a generational crash out so bad i had to reconnect with nature

[warlockslovetomeow]

mdni. explicit sexual content. street!racer sylus x mechanic!female reader.

streetracer!sylus who showed up at your garage with an obnoxiously blue Ford GT fresh off the lot and a cocky smirk that seemed to say he’d win you over before you even touched his car. you told him the color was a crime. he smiled and asked for a full wrap in midnight black, and after his very gracious tip, you never looked back.

streetracer!sylus who learned real quick that you weren’t just proficient at wrapping, you had magic hands under the hood too. he left that day with a perfectly wrapped GT, a surprise ECU tune that had his engine growling, and a raging hard on he had to take care of on the ride home.

streetracer!sylus who started racing harder just to wreck his shit enough to come crawling back to you. bruised bumper, cracked undercarriage, maybe something knocked loose that didn’t even matter. he’d invent the problem if it meant hearing you mutter his name under your breath while you worked.

streetracer!sylus who didn’t like sharing, especially not you. he'd lean against your workstation, arms crossed, watching you talk to other customers with a twitch in his jaw. that day he made you an offer: he'd pay your full salary, better hours, no more walk-ins and all he wanted in return was you. your time. your hands. your focus. exclusively his.

streetracer!sylus who starts bringing his car in for mods he doesn’t need, just to watch you straddle the hood and get your hands dirty, grease smudged on your cheek like a target he’s dying to mark. the tension between you is hot enough to ignite a fuel tank and he’s banking on that.

streetracer!sylus who corners you in the shop one night after locking the front early, the smell of engine oil thick in the air. he doesn't touch you, not just yet. only leans in close and murmurs, "i ever tell you how much I love watching you work?” while his eyes burn low and hungry. he’ll wait until you beg him to kiss you.

streetracer!sylus who takes you on a midnight ride, engine purring beneath you. his hand rests comfortably on your thigh, inching higher every time you shift in your seat when he takes a corner going impossibly fast. who dares you to ride him in the driver’s seat after pulling over on some desolate stretch of road, headlights cutting through the dark while you bounce in his lap and his hands bruise your hips to keep your pace.

streetracer!sylus who showed up right after a race, engine still hot, eyes hotter, with a fresh scratch on his cheek and a filthy grin. “fix me up, baby,” he said, but you weren’t sure if he meant the car or the burning pull between you. and by the time he had you bent over his hood, mouth full of dirty praise while his belt clinked to the floor, you knew it was never about the GT.

a/n: quick scratch that i hadddd to itch. this idea has been rotting in my mind for so long im debating on writing a full fic about it…

[warlockslovetomeow]

i propose to u: streetracer!sylus x reader

no thoughts. just sylus and his motorcycle

need that.