#sin (pi-x)

[aleksatia]

🏍Blind date with your ex-husband. You never expected it to be… Sylus.

Inspiration hit me going 100mph down the highway, and I took an unscheduled gas station stop just to write this down. My husband almost divorced me again thinking I’d lost my mind — so in a way, this series is dedicated to him. And to second chances. I know they exist. I’ve lived one. 🥀

An unplanned new series. Five ex-husbands. Same setup, different reactions.

❄️ Zayne | 🎨 Rafayel | ✨Xavier | 🍎 Caleb

CW/TW: Divorce / Post-divorce emotional trauma, Obsessive love, Verbal sparring, Emotional manipulation, Power imbalance (narratively examined), High sensual tension, Knife imagery, Intimacy (consensual, intense), Jealousy / possessiveness, Codependency themes.

Pairing: Sylus x ex-wife!you Genre: Sharp-edged seduction, culinary metaphors and emotional hunger. Power play, slow unraveling, lust laced with history. Lovers to wreckage to something still burning. Summary: You came for a blind date with a private chef. You got Sylus — the man who once built you a panic room and still remembers your spice preferences by scent. In a kitchen simmering with heat, memory, and unresolved desire, the knives aren’t the only things that cut. What starts with dinner ends in something far messier — a taste of the past that still knows how to ruin you sweetly. Word Count: 5.3K 😱

You didn’t come here for romance.

You came because a targeted ad caught you scrolling at 2AM with a glass of cheap wine in one hand and existential dread in the other. Because the food in the photos looked edible and the men in the photos looked even better.

You came because you were starving. Not just for a decent meal — though God knew your fridge contained exactly one expired yogurt and half a lime — but for the kind of attention that didn’t arrive via notifications or come with a tax form.

The invite said blind date with a private chef. Curated flavors. Curated ambiance. Curated man. It sounded ridiculous.

You clicked anyway.

Filled out the form without thinking — somewhere between insomnia and impulse. Ticked the “no dietary restrictions” box, ignored the optional personality quiz, chose a time slot like you were booking a facial.

And now here you were.

You arrived in a dress you hadn’t worn in a year — the one that whispered sin with every breath, that laced too tightly at the waist but made silence a weapon. Your heels were sharp. So were you.

The kitchen looked like it belonged in a Bond villain’s pied-à-terre. All obsidian marble and gold fixtures, veined stone that caught light like a lover’s gaze. One bottle of wine. Open. Breathing.

The thyme was already simmering. So was the question in your throat.

Who the hell was already here?

You didn’t have time to knock — only breathe — before the voice slipped under your skin like a memory.

“Well,” it said, low, warm, amused. “They said come hungry, but I didn’t think you’d show up starving.”

You turned. And there he was.

Sylus.

Of course he was wearing black. Of course the sleeves were rolled. The apron was leather — unnecessary, indulgent, unmistakably him. The knife in his hand glinted, but he wasn’t holding it like a threat. Not yet.

He looked at you like he always did — like he was already inside the next three things you were about to say.

“New shoes?” he asked. “Sound expensive. You finally start taking my advice or just ran out of bad ones?”

Your mouth twitched. You refused to smile.

“I thought they’d match the occasion,” you said coolly. “Should I be flattered or concerned you’ve taken up cosplay as a housewife’s fantasy?”

He chuckled — low, velvet-wrapped steel.

“Careful, kitten,” he said, letting the word linger, soft and edged. “You’re talking to the man holding the knife.”

You moved closer, not because you wanted to, but because your body still remembered what it felt like to be near him. Like standing too close to lightning and pretending the static in your lungs was just the weather.

“I was told there’d be a private chef,” you said, eyeing the cutting board, the herbs, the glint of something rich and red in a copper pan. “Not the King of N109 Zone slumming it in an apron. Just tell me—am I here to eat, or to be served?”

He grinned. Slow. Viciously fond.

“Sweetie, you’re not dinner. You’re dessert. Custom-made. One of one. And I have a very... private sweet tooth”

You hated how easily he said things like that. You hated that part of you still wanted to believe he meant it.

Sylus turned back to the stove like he hadn’t just punched through three layers of self-defense with a compliment.

“Hungry?” he asked, without looking.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

He already knew.

The apron was black linen, embroidered discreetly in a thread so dark it only caught the light when he moved — which he did now, slowly, like he had all the time in the world and none of it belonged to you.

He stepped behind you without a sound, and still, your breath caught like it always did around him — on that invisible hook just beneath your ribs.

“Arms up,” Sylus murmured, voice just behind your ear.

You didn’t move.

“Unless you’d rather get that dress dirty,” he added, fingers already brushing your waist. “Though… I’ve never minded you messy.”

You rolled your eyes — slowly, deliberately — but raised your arms. The fabric slipped over your head like something ceremonial. His hands lingered. Just long enough to feel the heat of him. Just long enough to remind you that you used to belong to this touch.

He tied the knot at the back like it was a game of patience. Like he was daring you to shiver.

“You still stretch time like it matters most in the smallest moments,” you said, forcing your voice steady. “Still insufferably slow.”

He leaned in, not quite touching. His breath traced the nape of your neck.

“I find haste… unsatisfying,” Sylus said, his voice low and deliberate. “You rush only when you have something to fear. Do you?”

You turned your head just slightly, just enough to let him see the cut of your smirk.

“I came here for dinner, not for psychological foreplay.”

“Kitten,” he said, almost sweet, “in our case, I’ve never been able to tell the difference.”

You didn’t answer. You needed to look at something that wasn’t him. Needed a moment to breathe through the heat still clinging to your skin. Your gaze drifted — to the counters, the low golden light, the wine, the perfectly staged mise en place.

And then you saw it.

The cutting board in front of you held a single, glistening eggplant — deep purple, swollen, glossy like forbidden fruit. Obscene in its simplicity. Ridiculous. Erotic.

Absolutely on purpose.

“You’re kidding,” you said. “What is this, some kind of culinary metaphor?”

“Only if you’re thinking like a poet,” he said. “I prefer precision. We’re making kara-kara masala. Northern blend. Stracciatella to finish.”

You blinked.

“Stracciatella. With masala.”

He shrugged — just a twitch of shoulders behind you.

“Fusion is in fashion.”

“And here I thought mass murder was your aesthetic.”

“Multifaceted,” he said, plucking a sprig of burnt orange coriander from a tray. “You never liked simple men.”

Your hand started to move toward the eggplant — slowly, half on instinct.

“Go on,” he said, not looking up. “Take it in both hands. Start working it gently. The size might feel... familiar.”

You froze mid-reach. One eyebrow lifted, sharp and unimpressed.

He smirked — just a flicker.

You picked it up anyway. Deliberately. Fingers curling around the smooth, cool skin. You started to massage it with a bit too much force, more intent than technique — not because you didn’t know better, but because you wanted him to notice.

And he did.

His gaze drifted sideways, jaw tightening just slightly.

“Careful… you keep handling it like that, and I’ll start thinking you missed me.”

You didn’t look at him — just kept working the eggplant, hands slow but deliberate, your fingers tightening ever so slightly.

“Maybe I should’ve practiced on something tougher. Something with... less give. Like your ego. Or whatever alloy you keep your balls in.”

He laughed. Quiet, deep, genuine. The kind of laugh that started in his chest and slid under your skin.

A second later, you felt him behind you — his presence more physical than his touch. You barely registered the space between your bodies closing before his voice curved warm at your neck.

“Here,” he murmured. “Let me show you how to handle it.”

Then — his hands.

Warm. Large. Wrapping around yours, commanding without pressure. His thumbs settled just behind your knuckles, guiding your rhythm with that maddening patience he wore like cologne.

The eggplant turned beneath your fingers like silk on wet marble.

“You want to soften it, not break it,” he whispered, lips almost against your ear. “Press. Rotate. Coax.”

Your throat went dry.

“I’m not making love to it, Sylus.”

“Pity,” he said. “You’re very good with your hands.”

You could feel your pulse in your teeth.

He adjusted your grip again, moving your palms against the vegetable with maddening care.

“See?” he murmured. “It responds better when you take your time.”

You inhaled. Regret. Lust. Something older than both.

“God, you’re insufferable,” you muttered.

“I prefer irresistible.”

He let go just then, too suddenly, and you almost swayed without the brace of him.

But you didn’t turn. Not yet.

Not while your hands still remembered the weight of his.

Behind you, the sound of a flame ticking higher. A pan shifting. Steel over heat. You exhaled through your nose, slowly — and realized you’d been holding that breath since he touched you.

“Still so still,” he murmured behind you. Not mocking. Not quite. “I used to love how you froze when you didn’t know what you wanted more — to kiss me or slap me.”

You turned now. Not quickly — like a tide reversing.

He was slicing the chili. Long, delicate strokes. The knife moved like part of him — silent, certain. His forearms flexed under the rolled sleeves. There was oil on his thumb, catching the low light.

“I always knew what I wanted,” you said. “I just didn’t always want you knowing it.”

He looked up. That look — that look — like he was reading the margins of your thoughts.

“Sweetie,” he said, and the word landed warm and sharp, “I knew anyway.”

He moved toward you again, casual in a way that felt staged. Like choreography he’d written hours ago. Like this scene had already happened in his head.

You didn’t back away. But your pulse did something interesting in your throat.

He held the half-sliced pepper between two fingers and raised it.

“Bite,” he said.

You arched a brow.

“Do I look like I take orders in the kitchen?”

He smiled — slow, indulgent, the way you imagine sinners smile just before the gates close.

“No,” he said. “You look like someone who bites first, regrets later.”

You took it anyway. Just the tip. Just enough to feel the heat bloom.

Sharp. Clean. Electric. Like a warning. Like him.

You blinked against the rush, tongue burning. He watched every flicker of expression on your face like it was a language only he could speak.

“I missed that look,” he said softly.

“What look?”

“The one right before you pretend it didn’t affect you.”

You stepped around him this time, reaching for the wooden pestle. The crushed spices waited — golden, coarse, slightly smoking.

He didn’t stop you. Just turned with you, keeping close, orbiting.

“You really planned this,” you said, voice low now. Less sharp. More dangerous. “This isn’t some booking fluke.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t believe in accidents.”

You pressed the pestle down — slowly. The crunch of coriander and clove under your weight sounded too much like breaking something delicate.

“So why?” you asked. Quiet. Not for drama. Just because you finally had space for the question.

Why here. Why now.  Why this.

He didn’t answer. Not yet. Just reached forward — and covered your hand again.

Guided the pressure. Slower. Deeper.

“Because,” he said at last, “I missed watching your hands destroy beautiful things.”

You didn’t pull your hand away. Not at first.

The pestle moved in slow circles under both your palms, spices groaning softly beneath the weight. The smell rose hotter now — deeper, more bitter — cumin surrendering to pressure, coriander cracking, cardamom bleeding out into air that was already too full of memory.

His hands didn’t press. They suggested. But that was always worse.

You turned your wrist, just enough to break the rhythm, just enough to make it yours again. And then you pulled your fingers from under his — deliberately — like slipping silk through a closing door.

“You’re still doing it,” you said, not looking at him.

A pause. Then, lightly — amused, unhurried: “Doing what, kitten?”

You shook your head, pressing down on the mixture harder than you needed to. The pestle slipped slightly; cumin dust flared.

“Controlling things. Guiding. Correcting. Even now. Even with… this.”

A gesture at the bowl, the kitchen, the heat-laced air. At both of you.

Sylus leaned one hip against the marble, arms loose, one finger idly tracing the rim of a copper spice tin.

“I wouldn’t call it control,” he said. “I’d call it… insurance.”

You laughed once — dry.

“Against what?”

“Against disaster,” he said. “Which, in your case, starts with putting cinnamon in curry.”

You turned, this time fully. Crossed your arms, the pestle still warm in your fingers.

“That was once.”

“And your risotto never forgave you.”

“You never let me try again.”

He looked at you. Not sharply. Just… fully. Like he was trying to see something under the words.

“You never asked.”

Silence swelled. Heavy. Smoky.

Then he pushed off the counter and moved back to the stove. The oil was shimmering now in the pan — time for the spices. He tilted the bowl toward you, nodding.

“You pour,” he said. “You’ve earned that much trust.”

You did. Slowly. Watching the crushed spices hit the oil like secrets — sudden, loud, blooming with heat and color.

The scent rose immediately — rich, toasted, complex. A taste of something you didn’t yet understand.

“You always did this,” you said softly, almost without meaning to. “Knew exactly where I’d trip. And stepped in before I even noticed the floor shifting.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stirred, slow and precise, the spoon carving lazy circles in gold and flame.

Then, not looking at you: “You think I was trying to control you.”

Wry smile. The kind that hurt more than it should’ve.

“I was trying to be the steady thing. So you'd never have to wonder if someone had your back.”

You didn’t expect that.

Didn’t expect the way it sat inside your chest — bitter, like fenugreek. Bright, like ginger. Sharp enough to make you swallow twice.

He turned to face you again, this time holding a spoon toward your mouth — the first taste. A small one. The kind meant to test, not feed.

You met his eyes. Then leaned in.

The flavor hit the back of your throat like memory — rich, warm, almost sweet. And then… that creeping burn. Slow. Claiming.

You held it a second too long before swallowing.

He tasted after you, the way he always did — like he wanted to know exactly what touched your mouth. Then said, lightly:

“It needs more acid.”

You tilted your head.

“So did we.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp — it was soft. A stillness you didn’t quite trust.

He didn’t flinch. Just looked at you, eyes unreadable in that way that always made you furious. The way he could feel everything and still reveal nothing.

“I gave you everything,” he said quietly. Not defensive. Not wounded. Just… honest.

You nodded. Once.

“You did.”

He turned away then — not to leave, just to move. To have something to do with his hands. He reached for the mortar again, brushing spice dust from its rim with unnecessary care.

“I would’ve torn the world apart for you,” he said. “You know that.”

And god, you did. That was the problem.

You stepped forward, but didn’t close the space. Just enough to feel the warmth of the stove between you.

“You always gave me the world, Sylus. But sometimes I needed you to give me something smaller.”

He looked over. Brows slightly drawn.

“Smaller?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Like… a Tuesday. A morning. An hour when you weren’t a god, or a ghost, or halfway to a war.”

His eyes darkened — not angry. Just quiet.

“And you think a vineyard, a moonlit opera, a private island… that was me running away?”

“It was love. I know that. But sometimes it felt like you loved me the way men love symbols — not people.”

You let out a breath, slow. Bitter at the edges.

“I didn’t need a palace and a crown. I just needed someone who’d sit with me on the floor.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

Only said, barely above the hum of the stove:

“I didn’t think you'd stay for the floor.”

You met his eyes again.

“I would’ve,” you whispered. “If you'd ever joined me there.”

He turned away without a word, grabbed a knife — something heavier than before — and dropped two ripe mangoes onto the cutting board with a dull, final thud.

“Slice them,” he said, not looking at you. “Thin. Clean. No waste.”

You stared at his back.

He didn’t stop moving. “Or is that too luxurious a task for someone trying to live simply?”

You stepped forward, grabbed the smaller blade — your fingers curling around the handle tighter than necessary. The mango skin was soft, too yielding, and the first cut slipped slightly.

Behind you, he began chopping green chili with mechanical force. Each strike of the knife hit the board like punctuation marks in a fight he hadn’t yet started.

At first, you thought it was your words that hit a nerve — the dig about extravagance, the suggestion that his love had always been too much.

But no. This wasn’t pride. This was something quieter. Sharper. It wasn’t what you’d said that bothered him.

It was that you were here… but not for him.

You kept your eyes on the fruit, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

“You’re jealous,” you said before you could stop yourself. “That I agreed to a blind date.”

His knife didn’t pause. “I’m pissed you thought I wouldn’t know.”

You laughed — one sharp breath through your nose. “Of course you knew. You always know. The algorithm, the wine, the fake-ass bio with ‘seasonal melancholy’ in the personality field. What was it this time — surveillance drones? A wiretap? My fucking grocery receipts?”

“I didn’t need to spy,” he snapped. “You’re not subtle, kitten.”

You spun to face him, knife in hand, juice on your wrist.

“No. I’m not. Not anymore. I left you. A year ago. And I’m still cutting fruit under your shadow.”

He stared at you. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. You pressed.

“That’s what you want, right? Doesn’t matter where I go or who I let in. You’ll always be there. Uninvited. Unavoidable.”

“I don’t give a damn who you let in,” he said, finally, voice low and cold. “But I care what you let close. I care what lives near my heart. And that’s still you. Whether you like it or not.”

Your knife slipped.

A gasp caught in your throat — not from pain, but from the sting. Quick. Bright. A thin line of red welled up along the pad of your finger.

Before you could pull back, he was already there. He didn’t hesitate. He took your wrist like it belonged to him — like it always had — and brought your hand to his mouth.

You didn’t breathe.

He closed his lips around your fingertip and sucked, slow and deliberate. His eyes never left yours.

The kitchen noise faded. Even the burning oil went quiet. You could feel the press of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth, the soft scrape of his teeth just beneath restraint.

When he let go, your finger was clean. His mouth wasn’t.

Still watching you, he dragged the back of his wrist across his lower lip, catching a smear of blood and mango juice.

“You’re still bleeding,” he said.

“Barely.”

He stepped closer. Too close.

“I always preferred you this way,” he murmured. “Slightly bruised. Still standing.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. He looked at you like you were a problem he couldn’t stop solving.

Your voice came low, tight.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“What, kitten?” He tilted his head. “Caring?”

“Following. Knowing. Controlling.” You threw the knife down on the board. It clanged.

He didn’t flinch. “You think I follow you? You think I watch you like some bored king with a telescope? No. I remember you. That’s worse.”

You swallowed. The silence between you thickened. Then he spoke again — softer this time, but not gentler.

“I rebuilt a vineyard because you smiled at a bottle once. I rerouted cargo ships to get you your favorite fucking soap. I learned your cycle before you tracked it yourself.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“You think I did all that because I wanted control?”

You didn’t answer.

“I did it,” he said, almost quietly, “because when you smiled — really smiled — it felt like the world shut the fuck up for a second.”

You looked away. Because the worst part was, you remembered those seconds. Too clearly.

He turned back to the stove, threw in the chilies. The oil hissed like it took offense.

“I learned how to breathe around your moods,” he said, almost conversational. “Knew when you were quiet because you were thinking, and when you were quiet because I fucked up. I memorized the way your voice changed when you were lying — not to me, to yourself.”

His hand moved with clean precision, scraping the pan, adding turmeric and something red and earthy.

“I built an entire panic room underneath our bedroom in case someone ever came for you in your sleep. There’s a pulse sensor in the floors, kitten. I tracked your nightmares.”

You gripped the edge of the counter.

He glanced over his shoulder, knife flashing in his hand.

“You think I didn’t know you hated the spotlight? That’s why I stopped inviting you to those parties. Not because I wanted you hidden. Because I wanted you comfortable.”

The knife came down. Fast. Rhythmic. Final.

“So if all that wasn’t enough,” he said, voice low now, “if knowing your scent from a room away, if burning half the galaxy to keep your name out of a single report — wasn’t enough—”

He turned. Eyes sharp. Shoulders squared.

“Then the only thing that makes sense is this — you never loved me.”

Your throat locked.

“What?” you whispered.

His face was unreadable. Not blank — closed.

“That’s the only explanation that fits.” He shrugged. “You loved me, I gave everything, and you still left. So either I was never enough… or you never did.”

Your lips parted. No sound came out at first. Then:

“Sylus, no…” A breath. “You’re wrong.”

He didn’t blink.

“You think I didn’t love you because I didn’t build you a panic room?” you asked softly, almost laughing from the sheer ache of it. “I didn’t have warships or vineyards, Sylus. I had quiet.”

He said nothing.

“I used to go into your closet when you were gone,” you said. “Because it smelled like you. I organized your shirts by the days you wore them most — not by color, by habit.”

You stepped forward. Still soft. Still shaking.

“I kept the bathroom stocked with the toothpaste you liked even though I hated it. I had your old watch cleaned when you forgot it in the study. I rewired the coffee machine after it shorted because I knew you’d never replace it — and I didn’t want you to start your day annoyed. And I adjusted the lighting presets in the bedroom when you were gone — so it wouldn’t be too harsh when you came back late.”

He was still. Completely.

You exhaled, long and thin.

“I didn’t have grand gestures. But I was always there. Folding myself in between your thunder. Whispering in the wake of your fireworks.”

Your voice cracked, barely.

“But your love was so big, so loud, so everything… I started to feel like mine didn’t matter. Like anything I gave would just vanish under the weight of you. Like I wasn’t enough to be seen next to what you were offering.”

A long silence.

And then he moved.

Not walked. Moved. Like gravity finally snapped.

He crossed the space between you in two strides and grabbed your face in both hands, not roughly — but with so much force it felt like claiming. He kissed you — no, devoured you. Mouth to mouth, heat to heat, as if the only way he could convince you mattered was to crush that thought out of your body.

His hands were everywhere and nowhere — in your hair, on your waist, gripping your jaw like you were the first real thing he’d touched in months. And he kissed you like he didn’t care about dinner, or timing, or sense.

He kissed you like apology, like memory, like prayer.

When he finally pulled back — barely — his voice was raw against your mouth.

“Don’t you ever say you weren’t enough.”

Your fingers dug into his shirt.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t. I said I forgot how to believe I was.”

He rested his forehead against yours. Breathing hard.

“Then let me remind you.”

And he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he wasn’t just claiming your mouth, but giving you back every piece of yourself he ever touched.

His kiss didn’t end — it just shifted. Became something else. Slower, darker, hungrier. His fingers slid down your spine, then wrapped around the back of your thigh with unapologetic intent. You felt the moment his hand hit the edge of your garter — the tension in his grip told you he hadn’t expected it.

He broke the kiss. Just barely.

His voice was rough silk.

“You wear lace.” A pause. “That’s not confidence. That’s theater.”

You didn’t blink. Just smirked.

“You should worry if I came without anything under the dress,” you murmured. “Like that time in the restaurant. Third floor. Behind the velvet curtain.”

His nostrils flared. That single second of stillness was the only warning you got before he grabbed your hips and lifted you onto the counter like you weighed nothing.

The marble was cold under your thighs. His palms weren’t.

He stepped between your knees, eyes drinking you in — the slow climb of his gaze from your heels (stilettos, patent black, weapon-grade) up the line of your stockings, where lace met skin with quiet defiance.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Who,” he said, low and deadly, “were you planning to show this to?”

You looked straight at him. Let him see the fire behind your lashes.

“No one,” you said. “It was for me.”

He was quiet for a beat. Then, softer:

“Say stop.”

Instead, you pulled him down to kiss you — the kind that said mine, not maybe. His mouth crashed into yours, teeth catching your lower lip, tongue already tasting salt, sweat, sweetened spice. His hand slid between your thighs, fingers pushing the lace aside with terrifying focus.

You gasped into him. He didn’t flinch.

You felt the low growl in his chest before you heard it. His restraint was crumbling — not from impatience, but from how close it all still lived under his skin.

His breath hitched as your hips rolled against his palm.

Then his hand withdrew — slow, steady — trailing heat across your skin like he didn’t want to take it with him.

He lowered himself without a word, the shift of his weight between your thighs smooth, practiced, inevitable. His hands slid along the backs of your knees, drawing them wider with quiet command.

And then — his mouth.

First one kiss. Then another. Lower. Slower.

The inside of your thigh. The softest skin. The most dangerous intention.

“Sweetie,” he whispered roughly, “I swear to every god I don’t believe in — if you don’t stop me, I’m going to eat you alive and burn dinner.”

Your head fell back, neck exposed, a sound catching in your throat that didn’t quite become a word.

“You promised,” you murmured. “I wasn’t the main course. I’m dessert, remember?”

He bit your thigh, not hard — just a warning.

“Dessert sits and waits.”

And with that, he stepped back. Just enough to drag breath into his lungs. Just enough to return to the pan on the stove.

“Don’t move,” he said, his voice hoarse but firm. “Table service isn’t over yet.”

You stayed. Legs dangling, pulse raging. The air smelled like roasted garlic and want.

He stirred the pan like he hadn’t just had his hand — and tongue — inside you. And then — like nothing had happened — he said:

“You still can’t slice mango properly. You butchered it.”

You scoffed. “Maybe I was emotionally compromised.”

He tossed a pinch of something into the oil, not looking. “You’re always emotionally compromised. It’s your charm.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the wine. Poured it slowly, precisely — like it mattered how the evening tasted.

Pouring with one hand, you slipped off the counter with the other and walked to him — slow, swaying. You held the glass near his mouth.

He didn’t pause what he was doing.

“Is this peace offering or seduction?” he asked, still stirring.

You held the rim to his lips.

“Does it matter?” you whispered.

He drank. Not greedily — just enough to taste.

You set your own glass down, reached for the small bowl of marinated olives you’d prepped earlier without thinking, and picked the darkest one between your fingers. Lifted it toward his mouth.

He opened — slow, lazy — and took it between his teeth. Except he didn’t let go of your fingers.

His tongue flicked, catching your skin. You felt it everywhere.

And still, his other hand kept moving — folding spice into oil, steering the heat, finishing the dish.

Multitasking, you thought. Always had a talent for it.

He chewed. Swallowed.

“You poisoned that, didn’t you?” he asked calmly.

“Only mildly,” you said.

He grinned. “Just enough to keep me wanting more.”

And you laughed.

The first real laugh in months. Loud, open, relaxed. The kind that cracked the shell you hadn’t realized you were still wearing.

He didn’t look at you. Just smiled to himself and said:

“There she is.”

He moved fast once the sauce hit its final note — pan tilted, plated with one elegant sweep, a curl of steam rising from the masala like incense. The stracciatella followed in precise dollops, melting just at the edges. Garnish. A single edible flower, because of course he’d have those stocked.

Two plates. Two glasses. A table already half-set as if this were always meant to happen.

You didn’t have to speak. You moved together — perfectly synchronized without effort. He reached for silverware as you lit the candle. You folded the napkin just as he smoothed the tablecloth. He pulled out the chair, and your body followed like it had never learned to do anything else.

He sat opposite you, hands resting calmly on the table. And then, after a breath, he reached across and took your hand in both of his.

Not possessive. Not pulling. Just… holding.

His thumbs moved slowly over your knuckles, and he looked at you with something rawer than before. Something stripped of bravado, of games, of control.

“If I learn to love you less,” he said quietly, “or softer… will you stay?”

You blinked. The words weren’t what you expected — not from him. 

You gave a slow smile. Tilted your head, voice dry but gentle.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever asked,” you said. “Instead of just taking what you decided was already yours.”

His mouth twitched. But he didn’t deny it.

You reached up, free hand brushing across his cheek — the clean line of it, smooth and freshly shaven, like he’d known you’d end up here. Your fingers paused at his jaw. Traced down.

“I don’t want you to love me less,” you said. “I don’t want you to be quieter. Or smaller. Or someone else.”

His eyes closed briefly under your touch. Just for a moment.

“I only want,” you whispered, “that if I ever get lost inside it again… you’ll help me find my way back.”

He opened his eyes.

And the look he gave you — it wasn’t fiery. It wasn’t possessive. It was whole.

He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the inside of your wrist — slow, like reverence. Like ritual.

“Deal,” he said simply.

And then he passed you a fork, as if the world hadn’t just realigned.

You took it, fingers brushing his, and laughed softly.

He raised his glass.

“To second chances,” he said.

You touched your rim to his.

“To not needing them,” you replied.

And together, you ate — the table between you finally quiet, finally shared.

[k-hotchoisan]

body language

<yunho x fem!reader>

well, pining after your brother’s fucking attractive best friend isn’t a sin if he doesn’t know right? nobody has to know.

nobody has to know that you're lodged in his fantasies when the nights deepen.

nobody has to know what happens when you're forced to share a room with Yunho.

Genre/Warnings: smut, big dick! X Perverted! Yunho, unprotected sex, low key corruption kink, mutual pining, cream pies, fingering, orgasms, overstimulation, oh no they are forced to share a room!, sexual tension, dirty talk

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @sanhwajjong @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee

🩷 back to staying perverted

A/N: send me to jail for being so inactive TT I know life happens and I shouldn't apologise for going mia for a bit but I still feel so bad! Nonetheless, please continue giving my works as much love as you all always do, and that ya'll are my source of motivation. Thank you for waiting ❤️

Undoubtedly, it’s either your brother has good taste in making friends, or you just have interesting taste in men, because out of all men you had a crush on, it had to be the one closest to your brother—Jeong Yunho. Something about him made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Maybe it was the way he would lean in towards you when he wanted to whisper something in your ear, keeping your brother an arm’s length while his voice tickled perfectly as it reverberates in your brain. Maybe it was the way he would hold your stare for a couple of seconds before his pretty smiles spreads across his lips, as if he was keeping a secret that he wants to tell you. Maybe it was the way he would bump his arm against yours when he wants to ally with you to piss your brother off. 

Whatever it was, you couldn’t deny that the feelings you had for him were growing exponentially. How you managed to keep said feelings in bay was a mystery. You could attribute it to knowing Yunho for as long as you did. Maybe he treated everyone nice and politely like that. It was hard not to keep your hopes up sometimes and it really made you frustrated. 

“A chalet?” You repeat. “What’s the occasion?” 

“Just a weekend out”, your brother replies. “A couple of friends will be coming. You know them, including Yunho.”

“Are you going?” Yunho suddenly asks. 

You break eye contact with Yunho, going back to your phone. “No. I’m going on a date.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. There is a flash of panic that flickers in his eyes. His words spill out of him before he realises it. 

“With who? How come I didn’t know?” 

You cast a confused glance at him. “Why would you need to know?”

That was when Yunho realises, and he simmers down, going back to hiding behind his phone screen. He bites his tongue, hoping you nor your brother ha caught on. But thankfully, no one else questions him. In fact, your brother doubles down.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me?” Your brother echos. 

“As if you’re interested in my love life”, you playfully retort, rolling your eyes before you disappear into your room, before Yunho starts to hear your heartbeat right in your ears again. 

Yunho stares blankly at his phone, still processing that you’ll be going on a date. Something sits uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He’s running his brain, thinking of a million ways to make you cancel the date, half of it under the pretence of your brother. How could he do it without making it obvious? 

“And why would I cancel my date, Jeong Yunho?” You ask, your arms crossed. For some reason, your brother and Yunho were suddenly way too interested in your date. Especially Yunho. He would not get off your back about it. 

“It’s dangerous? Who knows he might be a serial killer!” He was really dramatic about too, might you add. 

You scoff, and an amused smile tugs the corner of your lips, as your hand reaches out to pat his cheek. “I’ll be fine, Yun. You’re on my speed dial if anything happens okay?” 

For a moment, you feel his gaze piercing right into you, as if time didn’t exist—the both of you caught in between each other’s gazes, Yunho looking like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. You quickly break the eye contact, remembering that he’s your brother’s best friend, and that Yunho is just being as worried as your brother. Nothing more than that. Yunho wants to hold the gaze longer. He almost wants to break the imaginary boundaries then both of you set, but he snaps into to reality when he watches you leave, his voice trapped in his throat. 

Fuck. Looks like he’s the one losing now. 

It doesn’t help that during that night, you slip into his dreams, and instead of you leaving, he has your face in his hands, and your lips are on his. He feels you in your entirety, and you feel so fucking good pressed against him. Yunho wants so badly to mark every part of you, to remind you he could do so much better than whoever you’re supposedly going out with. He could kiss you better, fuck you better. Then it switches—to you in front of him, your ass bouncing off his cock, loud smacks echoing from the walls as he sinks into your pussy with a broken sigh.

That’s when he fucking jolts awake, warm fluids streaming down his thighs, as he swallows an imaginary mass in his throat because what the fuck just happened? He stares blankly at the white ceiling of his room, mind as blank. 

How fucked is he?

Yunho reaches to the doorstep of the chalet, almost close to midnight. Dance practice had bleed past the time, later than he thought. He greets his friends at the barbecue pit, still grilling chicken and seafood, stealing a stick and getting playfully hit before he enters the chalet itself. 

Your brother sat there, comfortable with his girlfriend’s legs crossed over his lap as they had joycons in their hands, playing some kind of co-op game together. His friend turns to him, before his eye dart back to the screen once he acknowledges Yunho, much too engrossed with the level he and his girlfriend was at. 

“Your room’s to the left of the stairs. I hung your lanyard there”, your brother says, before his attention goes right back to the game. For a spilt second, he suddenly remembers that he wanted to tell Yunho something, something important, but when his girlfriend squeals at clearing the level, the thought is completely erased from his memory.

Yunho climbs up the stairs, pushes the door open, and completely stops in his tracks as his gaze locks with yours. You’re seated on the bed, relaxed and on your phone until the door suddenly pushes open, and Yunho stands there, looking as bewildered as you. 

There is a long moment of silence between the both of you. 

“Can I help you, Yunho?” You break it. 

“No…isn’t this my room?” Yunho clarifies. You glance around and shrug. 

Yunho drops his bag, his heart beating loudly in his chest. 

His eyebrows furrow, confusion sprawled across his face. 

“Hold on. Weren’t you suppose to be on a date?” 

You shrug again. “Yeah. It ended early. I thought of finding my brother and he asked me to use this room since it was vacant. I supposed he forgot to tell you? I could leave if-“

“N-no. You can stay, since you’re already here”, Yunho cuts you off. No fucking way is he wasting this chance. Somehow the thought of you within the same, close proximity is making his head dizzy. “You’re okay with sharing the bed? I can sleep downstairs.”

Your face starts to heat up. As much as it was the elephant in the room, for Yunho to bring up so straightforwardly like that was making your mind wander a little too close to the sun. 

You force a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” Well, not a lie, the only thing was that the both of you were blacked out drunk when it happened that one time. 

Yunho’s signature smile appears. He looks comforted, at least. “Right. Then I’ll use the bathroom to wash up.” He grabs a spare towel on the rack, then walks back to dig for his clothes in his duffle before he disappears into the bathroom, leaving you with your messy thoughts. Your hand is over your heart, and you feel it beating a little too wildly. 

Nothing’s gonna happen. Two people of the opposite sex can share a bed just fine, is what you tell yourself. Yeah, that would have been the case, if the opposite gender wasn’t Jeon Yunho. 

Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years in all honesty. The anxiety wouldn’t simmer down, so you end up burying yourself underneath the cold sheets, hoping that you’d end up falling asleep. 

And by some miracle, you did. That is, until you feel the mattress weigh down, and shuffling on the sheets, then something bumping against your leg. You stir slightly from the disruption.

“Sorry. The bed’s a little…cramped”, you hear Yunho’s voice tickling your ears as his legs press against yours. 

You stay silent, the only things that you hear are the whirling of the air conditioning and the sound of your heart about to fucking burst from your rib cage. 

“It’s fine”, you finally reply, your body completely still, unsure how actually close the male is against you, only his legs pressed up against the back of your knees and his arms are barely touching your back as a gauge. Well, you weren’t in the mood to find out. The myriad amount of assurances you repeat to yourself that he’s just a friend, that he’s just Jeon Yunho, does nothing to comfort you to say the least. 

You hear his voice ring a little to close to your ears again. “How was your date?”

You don’t want to answer, your eyes are focused onto the darkness of the door in front of you. You fear that he might hear your thoughts if you speak, even though that’s literally impossible. 

“It was fine”, you curtly reply, squeezing the spare pillow in your arms. 

“What did you think of him?” 

“I think he’s okay. He’s quite a decent guy. Then again, it’s just the first date”.

The mattress shifts suddenly and you freeze when you feel him inch even closer to you. You have no clue what expression he’s making but from the way he suddenly shifts rather dramatically, you would assume that he seemed shocked? 

Oh, you were definitely about to find out. 

“You’re planning to see him again?” He’s closer now. You feel his chest almost pressing against your spine. You feel his gaze piercing daggers into the back of your head. You feel his agitation. But over what?

“I haven’t decided on that yet”, you reply. But you cut him before he says anything, “but what’s it to you? You usually don’t care about the things I do. Let alone my dates.”

This time, it’s Yunho’s turn to fall silent. The weight of the mattress beneath you shifts once more it stills. For a moment, you assume that he’d shifted away from you, and maybe he’d let the matter die off.

“Who said I didn’t?”

Now he’s completely pressing his body against you—you feel his lips just a hair’s length from the back of your neck, his chest completely flat against your back. 

His crotch right against your ass. 

“Yunho-“, you try turning to face him before the both of your start making any mistakes, but his hand presses your waist down, halting any movements you were about to make. Heat is flushing your cheeks.

“I’ll stop if you don’t want to, and I’ll turn away, and sleep downstairs. I won’t force you if you don’t want to.”

Shit, shit, shit. The more words Yunho speak, the more they aren’t registering in your damn head. His voice is melting in your ears, low and dangerous. The consequences that once rang like alarm bells in your head slowly grow muted, and now it’s just your carnal desire to let Yunho do whatever he wanted to you.

“I’m not doing this without your consent, my dear”, he reminds , and his hand is slowly trailing off your body. 

All the repercussions, completely wiped off when your feelings that you once tried to fucking hard to suppress behind to bubble up to the surface, and for Yunho to just summon them so easily when he says it so gently and with such  temptation.

But you should still probably stop this-

From the way you’re staying quiet, Yunho is ready to just cut his advances. After all, he’s not interested in making you feel uncomfortable, as much as he wants to just ruin you all for himself. He keeps his breathing light, but his heart is still beating loudly in his chest, bracing himself for the rejection, his hand gradually lifting from your waist, very much reluctantly-

Until he feels your hand cup his. 

“I wanna feel you, Yunho”, you answer him, loud enough for him to hear, even though it was only the two of you within the confines of the room. 

Yunho feels like he’s not close enough to you, even though the both of you are squeezed together, and his erection is evident—pressing shamelessly against the curve of your ass. It’s driving up the wall. 

Another thing he doesn’t expect is the way your fingers curl around his wrist, and you bring him to your braless tits, and he short-circuits when his fingers press against your hard nipples. You curse softly when he rolls them gently against his fingertips, and you lean back against his chest. Yunho takes the chance to kiss your neck down to your shoulders, making you melt all over again. 

But he doesn’t want to stay there for long. His cock is just throbbing and it’s overtaking his rationale. 

You always offhandedly complimented that Yunho had such long, slender and pretty fingers, and that he made mundane actions—writing, typing—look so attractive.

And now, his fingers are prying your legs to spread open for him.

His fingers dip into the wetness of your soaked folds, and his mind almost completely blanks out for the second time at the way you’re drenched for him. 

“Fuck. All of this for me?” He asks rhetorically, as he easily sinks two fingers in, hearing you choke from how his fingers are filling you up so well. The tip of his fingertips press against a spongy spot, and your head tilts back, face so flushed from the pleasure when he begins curl his fingers while in you and while he fucks your wet cunt. 

He’s not letting you form any coherent thoughts in your head, not while he’s finger fucking the thoughts right out your poor brain.

“You’re so fucking soft. Shit. I really want to fuck you so fucking bad”, he grunts in your ear, his hips grinding against your ass like a natural instinct to. 

“Your cock”, you mutter, struggling to keep your eyes open and mind clear. “Fuck. Need you to fuck me so good.”

Yunho inhales the scent of your hair wash as he peppers bites and kisses down the nape of your neck, smiling when he feels goosebumps spread across your skin.

He’s so tempted. But not yet. He desperate—desperate to see you fucking fall apart just with his fingers.

So he pulls his soaked fingers out, and for a moment, you whine at how empty your cunt feels, just ready to fucking beg him to fuck you with his fingers, his cock, whatever. 

He sits up, pushing the thick and heavy blankets aside, tugging your wet bottoms and panties off, giving himself a mental reminder to pocket your panties when he’s done with you. 

You’re spread open and perfectly wide for him to admire and drool over. By now, his eyes are pretty much adjusted the darkness, and the both of you are lazy to switch on the nightlight, so he’s definitely able to see your pussy in full view.

“Y-yu-“, your words completely cut off when he plunges two fingers right into your pussy again, filling you up completely. And this time, his other hand is on your clit, fingers rubbing, sending sparks flying beneath your eyelids. 

The pleasure makes you buck your hips, and it builds so dangerously quick in your abdomen. The sounds of your pussy growing so fucking wet only encourages Yunho to pick up the pace, catching a rhythm of fucking and rubbing your clit so perfectly that you realise the feeling is growing way too funny. 

“Y-Yunho-“ you try again. “Oh god. Feels weird.” Nonetheless, you don’t say it without your eyes rolling back and your abdomen flexing. 

“That’s it. Let it go for me, baby. It’ll feel so fucking good.”

Oh fuck. You don’t even register it before it happens—it totally washes over you, and you’re just helplessly submitting to how fucking good this feels as you squirt all over Yunho, your mind swimming in the depths of ecstasy, your moans drowned when Yunho seals your lips shut with his, greedy to just keep them all to himself, and well, also not trying to wake the whole chalet up. 

When Yunho pulls back and sees how flushed spent your face looks, he can’t help but sink deeper into his feelings for you. He goes in for another kiss, this time with your mind slowly clearing from the mind-blowing orgasm. Your arms wrap around his neck instantly, pulling him as close as you could, soft moans in between kisses only making him impossibly harder than he already was. 

He shifts to lie down on the bed with you again, this time the both of you facing each other. He tugs the hem of your shirt and lugs it over your head, before lowering himself slightly to face your chest. You don’t know how but his pants are somehow kicked off, somewhere on the bed, and he’s bare and so fucking hard when he presses his cock on your pussy. 

“Lift your leg for me, babe”, he says, palm sliding on the underside of your thigh as he feels you spread your legs open for him once more. 

Yunho rubs his cockhead along your wet fucking folds, before he pushes himself in, a whimper leaving his lips as he bites on your shoulder to stop any loud noises from slipping past his lips. 

He pushes himself in even more, and your arms are around his neck once more, light red imprints from your fingernails dig into his skin.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Feels like fucking heaven. So fucking tight and soft”, he mutters, eyes so glazed, and arms so tight around you when he finally buries himself into the hilt. 

Your mind is complete mush by then—combined with Yunho’s cock that’s stuffed in you and the scent of his hair wash, you swear you were gonna cum for the second time. You knew he probably packed something, but holy fucking shit, you just never thought it would fill you up this fucking good. The rest of your senses slowly start to dull, the feeling of Yunho’s cock almost taking them  all away. 

“Shit. You’re fucking squeezing me-fuck!-here,” Yunho says, but it comes off as a broken moan. His head is buried into the crook of your neck, and you hear him trying to steady his breath through a slew of curses. 

“You wanna move now?” You ask, your fingers combing through his messy locks. Yunho thinks he might have some sort of hair combing fetish with you now. 

“Fuck, yes, please,” is all he replies before he pulls out slightly, then thrusting right back in, projecting fucking stars into your eyelids when he fills you up again and again. 

You press your head against the pillow, eyes shut from the pleasure. When you find the strength to open them, Yunho’s glazed out expression is what comes into view. He’s looking at you like you’re his fucking treasure. 

“Does it feel good? You feel so fucking amazing, y/n.”

“You can’t be asking me that when you’re fucking the thoughts right out of me”, and you squeal when he thrusts into you once more, filling you up to the brim.

“Even better. So my cock will be only the cock you know, right?” He smiles, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when your walls clench around him again.

And when you don’t answer, his hand slithers to your neck, and he squeezes, making you gasp. 

“Answer me, pretty.”

“Yes, fuck yes. Don’t need anyone else’s when you’re fucking me so good”, you cry, relishing in the way he’s gradually cutting off your oxygen supply. 

His thrusts grow harder and faster, his hands slowly letting go of your throat.

“That’s my good girl.”

And that makes your cunt flutter and pulsate uncontrollably for the second time, only now it’s on his cock this time. 

“F-fuck. Oh, that’s it. That’s a good fucking girl, cumming all over my cock like that”, his voice ups a pitch when you fall apart again. “I’m gonna cum. Make sure you’re full and dripping when I’m fucking done with you.”

And when he does, he leaves a whole garden of bites on your chest and shoulders on top of filling your pussy up with his thick and warm cum. You never thought his face would get anymore attractive, but when he cums? You could get addicted to pulling that expression out of him, that’s for sure. 

The both of you are panting as your highs wear off, hands still not off each other despite the shared warmth. He’s the first to let go, and you’re about to say something until he turns you around, and it’s then when his cock starts to harden in you. Your heart is beating rapidly again when his cock is filling you up once more, as it slowly displaces his cum that leaks past your sopping hole.

Your hand grabs onto his arm that’s snaking around your waist. 

“W-wait. We need to talk about my broth-“, and he hears you whimper when he pushes himself deeper into you, throbbing in you. The way he’s littering kisses down your neck is sending you into a spiral, and now you’re nothing but weak against him, and his fat cock.

“That can wait to tomorrow, babe. I promised that I’ll make sure you’re full and dripping once I’m fucking done with you right? Well, I’m not done fucking you yet.”

[desmos-calculator]

y'know, one of the goofiest things I've learnt from the desmos community is that { } with nothing inside equals 1

but that's not just it, you can also add { }s

and it functions just the same as adding 2 1s

but therein lies the funniest part, that you can perform almost any function on it, from minus

to exponents

to even factorials!

and lists too!!!

you can even compare solutions of { }s in { }s

there's almost no restrictions, if you can do it with numbers, you can do it with { }

and this leads me to what I've seen a lot of people calling "desmosfuck" after the infamous programming language brainfuck, and it restricts you by not allowing any letters and no numbers, that includes sin, log, x, y and all the others. The only thing you can make out of { }s are points and numbers though, but thankfully that's usually enough to make a bunch of stuff.

like, if you need π, just use (-0.5)!^2

you need e? you already have π and i, just use e^(iπ)=-1 and rearrange it to e=-1^(1/(iπ)) and get -1^((π^-1)(i^-1))

want phi? sure, just use it's surd representation of (1+sqrt(5))/2

okay, but what if you really wanna do functions? well, if you're desperate, you can sorta do that, you just gotta use a concentration of points.

cos(x) and sin(x)? use the identities

cos seems easier

and x just has to be a dense list of numbers

now that we have x, let us... REWRITE!

that's dense... buuuut, it does the job as soon as we add the x part to the x coordinate!

absolute insanity

you can also get sin by subtracting x by half of pi

awesome

here's tan, btw

go play around with it yourself! it's very silly

[seattlesellie]

c o n c e p t : towns squeaky clean sweetheart bunny reader x broody borderline creepy and completely shunned from the community preachers daughter ellie, who reader bakes for and chases after because of her yearning to fix broken things and her absolute filled with sin and not-nice-things fascination with the sullen girls darkness and tattood arm and cigarettes and things she only saw in movies she was never allowed to watch as a kid but still did, reader who leaves ellie's shed with tears in her eyes and panties filled with unfamiliar dampness simply because ellie brushed her behind with her crotch for the tiniest second as she told her about the absolute fucked up things she did, the things that made her father kick her out of the house and deny she was ever born. she tells stories with her raspy voice and those sad and angry eyes that made god, who is filled with nothing but love hate her. you think, you know nothing could ever save the girl, she was going to hell or to purgatory at least, but you can't help but pray for her, pray when you're holding your rosary in your right hand with shut eyes, pray on sunday, on monday, when you're confessing, undressing, pray for her when you eat, before you knock on her door, before she undresses you with violence and firm hands and desperation, and before you know it you're praying for yourself too.

and u can bake all the pies u want but the only pie she gives you is a creampie 🎀😔

[todays-xkcd]

Calligraphy exam: Write down the number 37, spelled out, nicely.

Exam Numbers [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[6 different math test questions.] [The first panel:] Kindergarten math final exam Q. Write down the biggest number you can think of A. [empty box]

[The second panel:] Pre-algebra final exam Q. Write down the value of x if x=3x-8 A. [empty box]

[The third panel:] Calculus final exam Q. Write down the value of [integral sign, from 0 to pi] x sin^2 x dx A. [empty box]

[The fourth panel:] PhD cosmology final exam Q. Write down the Hubble constant to within 1% A. [empty box]

[The fifth panel:] Game theory final exam Q. Write down 10 more than the average of the class's answers A. [empty box]

[The sixth panel:] Postgraduate math final exam Q. Write down the biggest number you can think of A. [empty box]

[giverjoe]

Sweeter Than Cherry Pie

Eddie munson x Fem Reader (smut)

wordcount- 590

warnings// name calling, older Eddie, dick piercing mentioned, oral ((male receiving)), Eddie is a perv, slight gagging, minors do not read thank you, if I missed any warnings just let me know! I thought of this in a few minutes so if there are errors I apologize in advance, not proofread, feedback is welcome!

“That’s it baby, keep those pretty eyes on me.” You bite your lip in anticipation as you kneel in front of your older neighbor. You’d waited for this moment for months, ever since you moved to the neighborhood you’d been enamored with Eddie, the thoughts that flashed through your mind about him were nothing short of pornographic. You squirm impatiently, opening your mouth to say something, anything but no words escape you as he laughs down at you. He grins down at you, as he reaches down to grab your hand. “So soft baby, it’s gonna feel real good wrapped around my cock.” You bite back a moan as he drags your hand across his thigh, guiding it to the straining bulge pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. “Tell me what you need, baby.” Your face is pinched between his pointer finger and thumb, causing your lips to push out uncomfortably, before he’s moving his ringed hand to grab at your hair instead. “Please, Mr. Munson, want your cock.” You whine out desperately, butterflies overtaking your stomach at how pathetic you sound. You’re at his mercy and it’s the most delicious feeling you’ve ever felt. The older man laughs at you, he thinks you’re adorable begging for his cock like you’ll die without it, he’d also watched you ever since you came into town. He felt like a perv from how he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, but at some point all the cares he had went out the window after you strutted over to his house, looking like sin. You’d come to bring him over a pie you’d made, striking up a conversation that quickly led to him inviting you inside. “Do you deserve it sweetheart? It’s not very neighborly of you to come over and beg for me to fuck you princess, in fact it’s pretty fucking pathetic. Are you pathetic baby?” He whispers out, leaning down as he pulls your head back hard, forcing you to make eye contact with his brown orbs. You try to nod, wincing at the harsh sting of Eddie’s fingers pulling your hair tight. “I-I’m pathetic for you sir, please.” Eddie grins, letting go of you before fumbling with his belt, watching as drool practically runs out of your mouth. He hooks his calloused fingers inside of his pants before pushing them down, his boxers following right along with them. Your eyes almost cross at the sight before you, his cock is hard and leaking, a piercing right at the tip, the sunlight from his bedroom window making it almost sparkle. He wraps a hand around himself, stroking it a few times in front of your face as you thank whatever being allowed you to have this. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward, before he’s slapping the head against your mouth a few times, silently telling you to open up. You obey immediately, opening your mouth as far as you can, your jaw aching. The strange sensation of his piercing rubbing against the top of your mouth is all you can think about but it’s quickly forgotten as he pushes himself completely down your throat, causing you to gag around him. “Oh fuck, baby, that little mouth is sweeter than the cherry pie you brought me.” Your eyes roll back at his words, an aching feeling working its way through your body and down to your core. You’d make Eddie all the pies in the world if it meant you’d be rewarded like this.

taglist 🏷️

@imyourdaninow @xxhellfirebunnyxx @eddiesxangel @hellkaisersangel @just-random-thoughts-and-things @strangerthingsbible @localemofreak @leelei1980 @gri959 @probablyin-bed @micheledawn1975 @freak-of-hawkins

[junmsli]

so it goes

pairing. enzo vogrincic x virgin!reader

cw/tw. smut, praise, oral sex (reader y enzo reciben), enzo un poco posesivo, virgin!reader, piv sex, established relationship, unprotected sex, edades no especificadas, afab!reader/pronombres femeninos.

word count. 4.4k+

rating. +18

no es un secreto para nadie que la virginidad es solo un constructo inventado desde el machismo. las mujeres no sufren de ningún tipo de cambio después de tener relaciones sexuales por primera vez. a pesar de saber que el concepto de la virgnidad no tiene ni pies ni cabeza, siempre pensaste que tu primera vez sería con alguien que de verdad significase algo para ti.

con un novio como enzo, sabías que la comodidad y el respeto son cosas con las que puedes contar, ya sea en este tema en específico o en cualquier otro aspecto, el peli negro encaja en tu definición de confianza.

enzo va a ser paciente y amable contigo, te dices a ti misma y sacudes tu cabeza buscando desaparecer de tu mente todo lo que piensas podría salir mal, ¿por qué llenar tu mente de todos los posibles escenarios negativos? todo irá bien y tendrás otro recuerdo precioso con tu novio que llevarás contigo con mucho cariño.

prefieres no darle más vueltas al asunto y buscas en tu armario un outfit para la cita de hoy. el plan era ir al nuevo restaurante frente a la playa, irían un poquito antes de las 7pm para apreciar la puesta del sol en la arena, la ida al restaurante y la cena, por último, volverían hacia el departamento del mayor.

habían hablado del tema la tercera noche que habías pasado en su departamento, discutiendo todo lo que pasaba por tu mente sobre tu falta de experiencia.

“¿te molesta esperar?”

“¿por qué me molestaría esperar?” enzo te había contestado, haciendo latir más rápido tu corazón. ambos acostados en la cama de él, viendo hacia el techo y tomándose de la mano después de una sesión de besos más que intensa.

luego de lo que parecieron horas, decidiste ponerte tu vestido favorito, de color negro, bastante cómodo y ligero. escuchaste la puerta ser tocada y miraste hacia tu reloj, notando que el mayor había llegado un minuto antes de lo acordado.

 “ya voy” dices en voz alta y te pones en marcha para abrirle, encarando al pelinegro, que como tu, tenía una cálida sonrisa en su rostro “hola, linda” dice enzo, elimina la distancia entre ambos y pone sus manos tu cintura, miradas encontrándose y diciendo en aquel lenguaje único cuanto se extrañaron y cuánto aman estar en la presencia del otro. 

“¿soy linda?” tú dices con una sonrisa llena de diversión.

“tan linda que sos lo único en lo que puedo pensar, sos muy preciosa” contesta, lo que hace calentar tus mejillas. se aleja de ti solo para tomar una de tus manos con una de la suyas. caminan de la mano hacia la salida del edificio, en busca de un taxi.

después de algunos minutos se suben al auto que los conducirá hasta la playa, apoyas tu cabeza en el hombro de enzo, sin soltar su mano en ningún momento, cierras los ojos y hueles el perfume de enzo con una pequeña sonrisa. dos cuerpos apoyados en los asientos del taxi, calentándose y latiendo el uno por el otro.

el tiempo parece volar y pronto llegan a su destino. enzo se aparta de tu lado con gentileza para abrirte la puerta, ocuparse del pago y agradecer al conductor. puedes decir que no está dispuesto a tener las manos lejos de ti por mucho tiempo, ya que te ofrece una vez más su mano, rápidamente volviendo a tener contacto contigo.

caminan hacia la playa mientras tarareas tu canción favorita. “son las 6:40, tiempo perfecto para ver la puesta del sol si me lo preguntas.” dices y jalas de su mano para avanzar más rápido con él hacía la arena. ambos sueltan un pequeño suspiro una vez que están ahí, contemplando la hermosa vista, escuchando las voces de las personas a su alrededor, el mar y las olas contra la arena.

comparten minutos llenos de silencio, llenos de tranquilidad hasta que enzo decide romper el vacío de diálogo;

"viviría feliz en montevideo contigo, en pequeños y grandes roles. sería el hombre más afortunado por toda mi vida", dice, dejando escapar sus pensamientos con la misma franqueza de siempre, sin filtro ni reservas.

"¿qué? ¿estás bromeando?" respondes con evidente confusión, arqueando una ceja mientras lo observas en busca de alguna señal que aclare sus palabras.

"no estoy de joda con vos, nunca lo estoy", responde él, encogiéndose de hombros con sinceridad.

"no te lo permitiría", piensas en cruzar los brazos para reforzar tu punto, pero decides mantener el contacto físico con tu novio, prefiriendo esa conexión.

"¿por qué no?" enzo finge sorpresa, consciente de que esa sería tu reacción.

"¿qué clase de novia sería si te dijera 'sí, enzo, quédate aquí conmigo, no te aventures fuera del país para explorar tu potencial. podríamos ser felices, pero siempre viviríamos con la incertidumbre de lo que podría haber sido'?"

"esperaba ese comentario de vos", responde enzo con calma.

"gracias por esperar lo mínimo de mí. me reconforta saberlo", dices con sarcasmo pero con una sonrisa cómplice. estás en un breve silencio, contemplando el atardecer antes de volver la mirada hacia enzo. "no deberías esperar que sea egoísta contigo y todo lo que puedes lograr. ya te ha ido bien más de una vez, y eso me llevó a conocerte en primer lugar", añades con una tranquilidad reflexiva. "y, aunque me hagas sentir... dios, no sé cómo explicarlo, este sentimiento de ser amada por ti, tú debes ser siempre tu primera prioridad. si estás dispuesto a esperarme, yo también lo estaré", admites, evocando el recuerdo de esa noche y la conversación que marcó un punto de inflexión en su relación.

"son dos cosas distintas", comenta enzo, también recordando claramente aquel diálogo

“¿mi primera vez y tu carrera de actuación? la verdad sí, no es el mejor ejemplo pero se entiende.” ahora es tu turno para encogerte de hombros.

se quitan los zapatos y deciden sentarse en la arena, tú con las piernas estiradas, quizás no fue tu mejor elección el vestido para esta ocasión, pero no importa cuando estás con él.

el silencio los envuelve por unos minutos mientras contemplan la puesta del sol, como si el tiempo se detuviera para permitirles disfrutar de ese momento juntos. enzo acaricia tu mano con delicadeza, voltea para encontrarse con tu rostro y procede a dar inicio a la reunión de sus labios, un beso lleno de ternura y pasión. toma tus mejillas con suavidad, intensificando el contacto, y se sumerge en la profundidad del beso, compartiendo un instante de intimidad que les pertenece solo a ustedes. duran unos preciosos minutos disfrutando del ya no tan delicado roce entre sus bocas, perdidos en el éxtasis del amor compartido.

"me haces muy feliz, siempre", él murmura al romper el toque entre sus labios, su voz cargada de sinceridad y emoción. "más de lo que te podes imaginar."

sus palabras llenan el aire con un sentimiento cálido y reconfortante, confirmando lo que ya sabías en lo más profundo de tu corazón: que este amor es real y todo tuyo. las olas continúan su danza rítmica, chocando contra la arena, mientras la oscuridad de la noche se adueña del entorno, acompañada del inconfundible aroma marino. reposas tu cabeza en el hombro de enzo una vez más, dejando escapar un suave suspiro. 

“gracias por amarme tanto.” expresas con gratitud.

“no tenés que agradecer ser amada, gorda, nunca.” responde enzo, manteniendo su mirada en ti. mientras tú sonríes con serenidad, él muestra una sonrisa que refleja comodidad y un toque de diversión, creando un momento impregnado de afecto y complicidad en la brisa nocturna.

"sé que no es necesario, pero aún así, gracias", respondes con una suave risa. tus pies juguetean en la arena, moviendo los dedos mientras te zambulles completamente en el momento. observas cómo los pies de enzo también comienzan a moverse y ríes bajito.

hubo momentos en los que creíste que ser amada era una tarea ardua, que lo mejor de ti se veía eclipsado por tus propias inseguridades. pero entonces, el peli negro irrumpió en tu vida, haciendo que amarte pareciera tan fácil. 

se ponen de pie, sacudiendo la arena en su ropa, continúan poniéndose de vuelta el calzado y caminan hacia el restaurante, en pocos minutos están sentados en la mesa, deliberando sobre qué elegir para la cena. decides optar por el mismo plato vegano que el de enzo.

“¿qué querés ver hoy en casa, amor?” pregunta él en el momento en el que el mesero recoge sus pedidos.

“¿ver?” dices, parecía que ya tenías una idea muy clara sobre cómo ibas a pasar la noche con enzo y eso no incluía ver tele. “lo hablamos mientras vamos para allá.” 

“dale, igual tengo un par de ideas si no tenés nada pendiente por ver.” asientes ante lo que menciona y no le das mucha importancia por ahora. “hay varias cosas que tengo apuntadas, de hecho.”

los platos de ambos llegan, le dan las gracias al mesero y la cena entre pequeños diálogos da inicio.

“tuve un lindo día en el trabajo, los niños son fenomenales… hicimos algo que vi en internet sobre escribir una reseña de una película al estilo de letterboxd. primero aprendieron sobre las partes de una reseña, sus funciones y bastante de cine, había impreso unas plantillas con el logo de la app. vimos elementos, yo tampoco la había visto así que también escribí mi propia reseña.” hay mucha alegr��a en tu rostro mientras le cuentas a tu novio tus recuerdos de unas horas antes de ese mismo día. “fue una interesante didáctica, bastante desarrollo de pensamiento analítico y crítico, a parte que se la pasaron muy bien mientras veíamos la película y cuando compartieron sus reseñas con toda la clase. dibujaron y todo para explicar sus puntos.” comentas muy amenamente y das otro bocado a tu plato.

“sos la mejor.” dice enzo, bastante fascinado por tu amor por lo que haces. “ahora yo también quiero conocer las partes de una reseña.”

asientes y con una sonrisa divertida le dices. “aprendes muy rápido, yo te enseño sin problema.”

durante la cena, en medio de una atmósfera serena, comparten entre sí los detalles de lo que hicieron durante el tiempo en que estuvieron separados. enzo relata con entusiasmo las sesiones fotográficas que llevó a cabo antes de la próxima rueda de prensa de su nueva película, mientras que tú detallas cada día como profesora, siempre con una nueva anécdota que contar. 

al terminar los platos, pagan la cuenta y emprenden el camino de regreso a casa.mientras caminan en busca del transporte que los lleve a casa tu cabeza está inundada de distintos pensamientos, más que nada sobre lo que pueda suceder en el departamento con tu pareja. 

al llegar a la casa del actor, te diriges a la cocina en busca de un vaso. “gracias por la cita, en, la pasé más que bien.” le dedicas una dulce mirada y luego procedes a servirte un poco de agua.

“no sé qué sería de mí si no es así.” dice él, devolviéndote la mirada con mucho cariño. aunque estás enfocada en tu agua. "sobre la peli… ¿vos pensaste en algo o preferís que decida yo?", pregunta, buscando captar tu atención. 

giras en su dirección y respondes con voz apenas audible, consciente de que es hora de abordar el tema pero indecisa sobre cómo hacerlo. "um, más o menos." tratando de encontrar la manera correcta de decirlo, pero tu respuesta sólo logra confundir al morocho.

"¿estás bien, gorda?", preguntó él, preocupado por tu actitud. 

“¿por qué no lo estaría?” llevas una vez más el vaso a tu boca, tu mente maquina como decírselo, no quieres darle tanta vuelta al asunto que se resumía en algo tan simple como tener sexo.

“conozco esa cara tuya de ‘mi mente está yendo a mil por hora’, amor.” expresa enzo y te observa fijamente.

tomas toda el agua restante en el vaso, lo lavas y lo dejas en su lugar. suspiras, sabes que no hay manera de decirlo con mucho tacto, por lo que terminas soltando “quiero… quiero que tengamos sexo.” dice lo último de manera apresurada, si el uruguayo no estuviera acostumbrado a tu rápido hablar aseguraría que no te hubiera entendido.

enzo no muestra sorpresa en su rostro; en cambio, sólo se percibe preocupación por ti y tu inesperada solicitud. "¿estás segura? amor, ya te dije que no tengo problema con esperar. no tenés que hacerlo si sentís presión", expresa mientras apoya sus manos en uno de los muebles de la cocina.

"lo sé, sé que no te importa, pero realmente es lo que quiero", respondes. enzo simplemente asiente con una sonrisa leve; si estabas segura de tu elección, él está más que encantado. 

te diriges hacia él, tomas su mano y lo conduces hacia el sillón. una vez allí, lo haces sentar y luego te acomodas en su regazo, tus piernas chocando suavemente contra los cojines. "considero que tengo experiencia en el juego previo", comentas, gozando de molestarlo y entrando en calor.

“¿quién te enseñó? debería darle las gracias.” enzo acaricia tus piernas, moviendo su atención a tus muslos ya descubiertos por tu vestido algo subido debido a la posición en la que te encontrabas.

“lo conoces muy bien, es un gran tipo, el mejor de todos.”

“¿ah, sí? su novia debe ser muy afortunada.” él respondió, esbozando otra sonrisa, pero esta vez llena de picardía.

asientes con la cabeza, luciendo una sonrisa ingeniosa. "lo es.” el roce de tus manos se desliza suavemente hacia las mejillas de enzo, sosteniéndolas con una delicadeza que parece sostener el tiempo. sus ojos se encuentran, creando un vínculo intenso que se prolonga durante varios segundos, como si el universo entero se detuviera para dar espacio a ese momento. y entonces, en ese instante cargado de anticipación, comienza el encuentro entre sus labios, sellando un pacto silencioso de amor que trasciende las palabras.

el beso inicialmente inocente, se torna en uno completamente intenso. desesperados por sentirse el uno contra el otro. sus boca se mueven con frenesí, enzo no duda en introducir su lengua dentro de tu boca, empezando a jugar con la tuya, sin ninguna preocupación por lo que pueda estar pasando a su alrededor pues ahora todo lo que les importa se reduce a ustedes dos.

rompes el beso recibiendo una mirada juzgadora de enzo, hasta lo que sabe, ya se la está pasando muy bien. te ríes y dices “quiero hacer algo.” te bajas de su regazo, poniéndote de rodillas en el piso frente al sillón y acercándote a las cinturas de su bermuda beige, para empezar a bajarlo ante su intensa mirada, enzo sacude su cabeza intentando volver en sí.

“amor, esta noche se trata de vos.” con suma delicadeza, enzo toma tu mentón con una de sus manos, sosteniéndolo con ternura. en la cara de enzo, se refleja un cálido torrente de cariño y aprecio. un silencioso intercambio de emociones se despliega entre sus miradas.

“pero de verdad quiero hacerlo.” haces un pequeño puchero con la intención, otra vez, de molestarlo.

enzo resopla y culmina cediendo con una pequeña sonrisa cómplice “dale.” sonríes al lograr tu cometido, no es que te haya costado mucho. terminas de sacarle la bermuda, acaricias juguetona y lentamente sus muslos con la yema de tus dedos por un par de segundos, hasta que tus manos llegan a su bóxer, bajándolo de una vez para contar con toda su parte inferior desnuda y a tu disposición. prácticamente babeas al verlo en todo su esplendor y a su pene ya bastante duro, lo único que pasa por tu mente es tenerlo dentro de tu boca.

“estoy empezando a creer que vos tenías todo esto calculado.” dice enzo inquisitivamente, lleva una mano a tu cabello y lo jala sin mucha fuerza “empezá ya que me estás matando, princesa.” 

le das una mirada divertida antes de introducir la cabeza de su polla en tu boca. das lamidas pausadas y lentas, sintiendo cada rasgo de su deliciosa punta y disfrutando de su líquido preseminal que comienza a formarse.  “vamos amor, no estoy para jodas.” enzo musita y jala una vez más de tu cabello. “vos podés más que eso.” sus ojos ahora te ruegan que dejes los juegos. das una larga lamida en toda su prolongación y esta vez puedes sentir cada vena en su miembro, lo que sólo logra excitarte y mojarte más, tratas de apretar tus muslos en busca de algún tipo de alivio. enzo se da cuenta y ríe con un poco de malicia. 

no lo molestas más e introduces su polla en tu boca, o al menos todo lo que esta alcanza abarcar, tus manos van a los centímetros restantes que acaricias gentilmente. con tus labios y lenguas y empiezas el vaivén de su polla dentro de ti, aguantando el reflejo nauseoso y poniendo todas tus habilidades en acción. “sí mi amor, así me gusta, sos tan buena, la mejor, mierda.”

el solo verlo así logra causar un mar entre tus piernas, alcanzas a crear una rica fricción entre tus muslos y jadeas aún con su polla en tu garganta. te separas unos segundos para poder respirar. “dale princesa, sé que podes.” dice enzo que sonríe mientras te observa. suelta lindos jadeos a los que le siguen gemidos de tu nombre en voz alta. “así, carajo, sigue así.”

chupas su polla de manera impaciente, mientras una de tus manos baja a tu coño, al que tocas melosamente encima de tus bragas, gimes en su miembro causando que las vibraciones lo vuelvan loco, trabajando en él de manera profesional. enzo sabe que no durará mucho contigo chupando su pene de ese modo, trata de ordenar sus pensamientos teniendo claro que hoy sólo debe correrse en lo profundo de tu coño. “princesa…”

“qui-quiero que te corras en mi boca.” alcanzas a pronunciar. enzo puede ver tus labios algo hinchados, tu pelo desordenado y tu mano debajo de tu vestido, al ver tu imagen tan descompuesta casi lo hace soltar un jadeo.

“mañana, mañana temprano… hoy quiero venir dentro de ti, ¿sí?” asientes algo decepcionada, te dedica una dulce sonrisa mientras separa su miembro de ti, contempla el hilo de saliva entre tu boca y su duro miembro. y carajo, como deseo hundirse y follarte la boca en ese segundo, le costó toda su voluntad poder pararse, te ayuda en la misma tarea y van a su habitación procede a acostarte en su cama. 

comienza quitándote los zapatos los que tira al piso sin mucha importancia, conserva su atención en tu rostro y te preguntas a ti misma cómo es que hace que algo tan simple como quitarte los zapatos se vea lujurioso. 

sube la falda de tu vestido hasta la altura de tu pecho, acaricia y deja suaves besos en tus muslos, sus dedos forman círculos y más figuras no identificables en ellos. “¿me permitis tocarte, amor?” pregunta con dulzura. 

“sí, en por fa, tócame.” musitas y mueves tu parte inferior buscando su toque.

él asiente “como ordene mi princesa.” empieza a jugar con tu montículo cubierto, sus ojos se abren con un poco de diversión y sorpresa al sentir tu gran humedad. “estás mojadita, ¿tanto te calentó chuparme la pija en el sillón?” susurra para ti y no pasa mucho tiempo hasta que te baja las bragas lentamente “te haré sentir bien.”

“siempre lo haces.” dices de forma perezosa, en este momento dirías lo que fuese para que el peli negro calme tu excitación.

enzo ingresa dolorosamente lento dos de sus dedos en ti, los mete y saca una y otra vez. vuelves a soltar grandes gemidos con el nombre del uruguayo. retira sus dígitos empapados para pasearlos por el contorno de tu clítoris, cierras los ojos rendida ante el placer, no puedes formular ningún tipo de oración, agarras la sábana a tus costados con tus manos, cerrando tus puños contra la tela. 

las ansias por finalmente saborearte son demasiadas, no puede soportar ni un minuto más, por lo que acaba deslizando su larga y cálida lengua en tu coño. “deliciosa, mierda… toda hecha para mí.” extensas lamidas son depositadas en ti. conserva los movimientos de sus dedos jugando en tu clítoris. 

“tan exquisita y solo mía para probar.” tus ojos se abren para encontrarte con la hermosa vista de enzo comiéndote como si se tratase de su última cena. busca darte el subidón de placer más satisfactorio que jamás hayas tenido y pone en uso todo lo que ha aprendido que sabe te vuelve masilla en sus manos. 

gritas su nombre al percibir su cambio de planes ya que sus largos dedos se introducen nuevamente y perfectamente dentro de ti. ahora son tres de sus dígitos en lo profundo de ti, moviéndose a la par de su boca chupando tu clítoris con la gran destreza que lo caracteriza. “sos mi dulce virgen, ¿mmh?”

asientes tontamente, estás tan cerca y el peli negro lo sabe de inmediato, sonríe con picardía y agiliza todos sus esfuerzos por hacerte llegar. “en, estoy tan cerca…” consigues decir.

“lo sé, princesa, déjame saborearte.” envuelves tus muslos con fuerza alrededor de enzo, como si lo instaras a no ir a ninguna parte, como si le suplicaras, por favor, sigue comiéndome hasta que muramos. 

es cuestión de segundos para que finalmente te corras gentilmente en sus dedos, los cuales enzo procede a probar. “la más deliciosa.” finaliza ingresando el tercero de sus dedos mojados en tu boca.

por tu mente pasa que si esta no era la noche en la que dejabas de ser virgen, juras que podrías morir.

el uruguayo finalmente te desnuda completamente, pasa el vestido por tus brazos, lo arroja al piso y nota que no llevabas sostén, sonríe hacia sus adentros, confirmando su teoría de que tenías todo planeado pero a quién le importa si luces tan bien toda desnuda debajo suyo. “sos preciosa, la más linda de todas.”

sus labios ahora bajan a tus pechos, los cuales llena de húmedos besos, comienza a chupar y lamer tu pezón izquierdo, se mueve al otro para darle el mismo trato, juega otros pocos minutos en tus muy erectos pezones. “en...”

“decime qué querés y es tuyo.” levanta su cabeza de entre tus pechos para mirarte y espera tu respuesta.

“sabes que quiero” pronuncias, enzo está a punto de llevarse tu virginidad y el solo pensamiento de aquello te da una sensación similar a tu reciente orgasmo.

“esa no es una respuesta, linda, tenés que usar tus palabras.” vuelve a tomar uno de tus senos en su boca. no puedes esperar más, lo necesitas dentro tuyo, tu coño palpita en necesidad 

“quiero que me folles.” sueltas de una vez por todas.

él asiente “sos tan hermosa, ¿cómo me podría negar cuándo me lo pedís así?” lleva sus labios a los tuyos, compartiendo un beso lujurioso y muy cargado de amor a la vez, como solo él sabe hacer.

“si duele, decimelo” decide mantener el contacto visual contigo en todo momento, en alerta por si halla cualquier indicio de incomodidad en tu rostro. "pellízcame si es demasiado, ¿entendido?" se hace un recordatorio mental para más tarde sobre acordar una palabra segura. murmuras un rápido sí y enzo deja un beso en tu cuello mientras bombea lentamente dentro de ti, sus piernas sobre el colchón, las tuyas alrededor de sus caderas.

sueltas un suave jadeo ante la nueva sensación, que duele ligeramente. “tan linda y toda para mí, no sabés cuánto deseaba tenerte así.” los recuerdos de las noches en las que enzo usó su mano, pensando que era tu coño lo que lo apretaba, llegaron esporádicamente a su mente.

primero mantiene un ritmo lento, buscando que te adaptes a la nueva sensación, sí bien ya has tenido sus dedos en ti en varias ocasiones, era completamente distinto tener toda su polla hundida en ti. pone sus manos alrededor de tu cintura y sientes pequeños besos en tu cuello mientras tus ojos se cierran con fuerza, el calor del cuerpo de enzo contra el tuyo.

“puedes moverte, en, más rápido.” pides, él asiente ante tus palabras y agarra tu cintura, tu cabeza se echa hacia atrás sobre la almohada, formando un delicioso arco. dejas atrás ese leve ardor y gimes con fuerza, temes que los vecinos de enzo escuchen claramente los ruidos causados por ti y la cama. "por favor, por favor, en" suplicas, él sigue follándote con las rodillas en la cama. cuando mira hacia abajo y ve su polla entrando y saliendo tu coño, brillando con tu humedad, no puede evitar gemir, elevándote al puto espacio mientras muele su polla contra tu entrada.

luces tan hermosa siendo follada contra el colchón y más sudorosa de lo que jamás la haya visto. el sonido del chasquido de tu coño es música literal para los oídos de enzo, vuelve a mirar hacia abajo para ver su polla entrando y saliendo, entrando y saliendo de ti. “carajo, sos tan divina, nadie más te podrá tener así,” dice, más como una afirmación que un simple comentario. “esta vista me pertenece solo a mí.” dice, su lado más posesivo saliendo a la luz.

“m-más, en.” roza su polla entre los labios de tu coño, mojándola con tus jugos. se introduce una vez más en tu profundidad, con un ritmo más duro y rápido.

“sos toda mía.” asientes contra la almohada mientras él repite tu nombre incontables veces. “mierda, te sentis tan bien” tus caderas moviéndose en busca del choque entre ambos cuerpos. “vení conmigo, mi princesa.” bajo una de sus manos que se encontraban en tus caderas hacia tu clítoris, sus dedos se mueven rápidamente en él, busca tu liberación y está a punto por lograrlo. te preguntas sí así es como se siente estar en el cielo.

menos de un minuto después te corres y enzo no necesita de mucho más tiempo para seguir el mismo camino. se viene dentro de ti, pensando que eso ya será una preocupación para mañana. se retira gentilmente y observa tu pecho agitado, todo en tu cara grita que acaban de darte duro.

“¿estás bien, mi amor? enzo arranca con las preguntas para cerciorarse de tu bienestar. solo asientes, tomándote tu tiempo para ordenar tus pensamientos y procesar todo lo que acaba de suceder.

“debimos hacerlo hace mucho.” dices, enzo niega con una sonrisa floreciendo en su rostro. 

“todo a su tiempo.” dice con diversión y acaricia tus piernas. “sos la mejor, tenés que saberlo.” tapas tu rostro con tus manos con las mejillas calientes. “¿ahora te hacés la tímida?” te molesta y planta un corto beso en tus labios. “que tal si vamos a darte un baño, hablamos de cómo te sentís y nos acostamos juntitos.”

“suena como un plan que me gustaría.”

-

w/n. soy un asco para los finales

casi una semana sin subir nada y me moría por alimentarlas, espero que haya valido la pena la espera 😭 gracias a la hermosa anon que mandó la request, perdón por la demora, realmente espero que te guste 🤍

[kedreeva]

Transparencies are a a heavy load but would still balance out to be a better choice than all the different permutations if that's what you mean.

What kind of interface would you want for peahen simulator? Wasn't there some dragon breeding site ages ago?

Yeah, that was what I meant! And flight-rising is still around, but it's not... that kind of thing isn't really the same. The parents each have three colors, and each offspring randomly gets assigned one in each "spot" (primary color, secondary color, tertiary color), and they can't carry the other as a het. Same for the pattern "genes." So, it's COOL and all, but it has very shallow game mechanics as far as breeding goes. Even compared to some other breeding sims games that track genotypes for generations.

Very honestly, something like this would work just fine (this one is.... ugly as sin, but it is what it is), but we don't quite know peafowl genetics with the same depth as mouse genetics so the different autosomal genes would just kind of have to be treated like they aren't on the same chromosome until someone proves they are. So, drop downs for each autosomal color (treating each color as non-allelic, so each color would need a drop down for wt/het/homo), a drop down for sex-linked (since they're "alleles" in the sense that you can only have one per sex chromosome. except in the case of peach. because peafowl did a weird thing), a drop down for pattern, and drop downs for the leucistic genes. Select all the genes from the drop downs, hit calculate, it spits out a genotype, and each genotype codes to a phenotype. It doesn't even NEED a photo, but it would be cool to have a photo show up, OR to have a second page that does like this thing for horses. Which isn't a calculator, but would help people visualize their result.

There's ONE more problem- some stuff doesn't always show the same in the phenotype, and some stuff doesn't breed true. Het pied, het white, and dark pied all CAN show in the phenotype with white flights and a white throat latch, but they also sometimes show NOTHING. Het white eye CAN show in the phenotype with some white eyes or body silvering, but it can also show nothing. Pied x pied gives three different offspring genotypes, and idk if it's possible to do multiple results, with or without percentages. Hets would give the same problem of multiple results. What happens when someone picks a complicated bird and you end up with

It's daunting. But maybe there's scripts that can produce that?? like list all the combinations. I don't know enough about coding to know if that's even possible. especially with the sex linked stuff

[zzztelladraco]

Perv Shadow Milk Pre Corrupción x Lectora Bruja

ADVERTENCIAS: NSFW, ¿qué una galleta quiera meterse con una humana es considerado monsterfucking? JAJAJAJA, Shadow Milk pre corrupción lo llamo “Blueberry Milk”, masturbación, deseo no correspondido, non con en cierto punto, obsesión, Shadow Milk pervertido, soñando despierto, relación platónica, breeding kink??

“¿Ustedes también hornean bebés?” Blueberry Milk, una de las más preciosas creaciones al inicio de los tiempos de tierrapán por antiguas brujas que precedieron tu trabajo, mira curioso en dirección al horno.

Sentado sensatamente en la orilla de la mesa con sus manos posadas sobre su túnica no ha quitado su mirada que te recorre a ti y luego al horno. Esa noche serena de luna nueva el cielo estrellado se confunde un poco con el cabello de Blueberry Milk, tan precioso como las esquinas de la Vía Láctea.

Sueltas una risilla por su pregunta mientras te agachas para abrir el horno que ha visto nacer a tantas galletas. Y sacas una bandeja muy especial para esa noche, Blueberry Milk te la ha pedido después de todo. Para llenar algunas familias desesperanzadas que no son aptas para hornear sus propias galletas con su masa.

“No, galletita.” Colocas la bandeja a su lado y él se levanta para caminar alrededor de ella. “Los humanos no nacen de los hornos.” Haces una ligera pausa y hueles el humo procedente de las galletas. Cada una de un sabor distinto a las que le colocarías lindas decoraciones. “Pero sí que los hacemos.”

Te ríes para ti misma por el significado oculto que tu inocente galletita nunca lograría comprender.

Tomas algunas duyas con merengue y algunos dulces y gomitas, siguiendo las atentas indicaciones y gustos de la galleta divina; decoras y le das a ese lote de galletas ojos para ver el mundo y una boca para entonar la canción de la vida.

Blueberry Milk toma uno de los niños y lo envuelve en una manta de hojaldre, viéndote con una inocente y hermosa sonrisa desde abajo.

“Oh, mi bruja. Mira lo que haz creado.” —No puedes evitar enternecerte ante la vista.

Por mucho que al dios del conocimiento le encantara arropar y cargar a todos los niños; intervienes cuando su intento de cargar más de dos de ellos fracasa. Así que lo ayudas gustosa, acogiendo a los niños entre tus manos.

Nunca te acostumbras a la textura de las manos de Blueberry Milk, suaves y crujientes pero lo suficientemente frágiles para desmoronarse si lo rozas mal.

En cambio él, anhela tu tacto aunque sea un simple roce de manos. Eres tan cálida y llena de vida, puede sentir el latido de tu corazón a través de la yema de tus dedos y ver las marcas únicas de tus huellas dactilares en tu prístina piel.

Su historia contigo es algo curiosa, Blueberry Milk conoce la cruel verdad acerca de la creación de las galletas y no puede evitar sentir un poco de miedo hacia las brujas.

Sin embargo, la curiosidad y el hambre por saber siempre lo ha hecho realizar los actos más prudentes o los más tontos.

Así que una noche mientras hojeabas el recetario que se te fue heredado, notaste una presencia temerosa detrás de las velas que iluminaban la mesa sobre la que trabajabas. Pudiste dejarlo pasar de no ser por las estrellas titilantes que brillaron en tu visión periférica.

Unos ojos desiguales brillaban con curiosidad pero se encogían bajo el peso del miedo y… ese cabello. Oh… ese hermoso cabello largo que cubría la espalda de aquella galletita curiosa y que brillaba como el cielo.

Quizás él no sabía quién eras, pero tú lo conocías; al menos lo que habías leído de su creación y su souljam en el recetario.

Blueberry Milk no es un dios irresponsable, él se encarga de cumplir con su deber por él día. Enseñando magia, predicando conocimiento en la plaza de su reino como un sabio humilde, ayudando a las galletas tomando la apariencia de una misteriosa dama o atento a las peticiones de su pueblo desde los ojos de un pequeño niño.

¿Pero las noches? Oh, las noches son exclusivas para ti desde que te conoció.

Como un sabio que ha pisado la tierra por tantos años que ya se hubiese hecho polvo de no ser por su souljam, sabe que no puede tener prejuicios por lo desconocido. Y no podía creerte malvada, no con lo linda que te veías leyendo aquél recetario.

“Ven aquí, galletita. No quiero que tu glaseado se derrita.” —La gentileza de tu voz lo atrajo esa noche totalmente desarmado hacia ti. Y tú le ofreces tu mano con una sonrisa gentil.

Fue cuando él tocó tu mano por primera vez y se inclinó a tu toque, fue lo que le hizo sentir algo que nunca había experimentado. Su rostro se sonrojó con un profundo azul mar y su cuerpo tembló, se pregunta si tú también lo sentiste. Desde entonces te visita todas las noches y se queda contigo hasta que caes rendida en tu enorme cama. Su obsesión acelerada contigo no fue nada más que una conclusión inevitable de su pobre soledad.

“¿Tienes una familia? ¿Tienes hijos? ¿Un esposo? ¿ALGUIEN a quien ames?”

Blueberry Milk siempre te hace pregunta tras pregunta a lo largo de las noches que pasan juntos. Pero tus respuestas no lo satisfacen.

“Las brujas son mi familia. Todas las galletas que he creado son mis hijos. Estoy casada con mi deber. Creo que amar no debe limitarse; amo el té, amo mi trabajo y amo el tiempo que pasamos juntos”.

Respuestas ambiguas y esquivas son el cruel regalo que le das a la galletita y eso simplemente lo desinfla. Pero no puedes notar su tristeza y decepción desde tan arriba.

Pero no puede decírtelo. Es incorrecto, está mal. No puede decirte cómo tu presencia hace que se le acelere el corazón. No puede dejarte ver el profundo sonrojo azul que le recorre la cara cada vez que te acercas demasiado a él. Y mucho menos contarte como haces que se le ponga dura la polla cada vez que te recuerda solo en sus aposentos dentro de la torre del conocimiento.

No puedes enterarte. No puedes saber que grita tu nombre con desesperación y dolor cada vez que se masturba en el borde de su cama imaginando tu figura a través de tu vestido largo. Imaginando que finalmente lo ves como un hombre, que lo chupas y le pasas tu lengua sin miedo a que él pueda desmoronarse y que rozas tus dientes por su masa. Un escalofrío lo recorre cada vez que piensa en ti dándole leves mordiscos en su cuerpo, pasando tu lengua entre sus piernas saboreando su masa de arándanos.

Y, si estás tan enferma como él. Tal vez lo dejarías jugar entre tus piernas, le permitirías cuidarte solo como él ha investigado que podría complacerte.

Si eres tímida y no quieres tocarlo aún, te masturbarías con él en esa cama tuya en la que ha deseado tantas noches revolcarse contigo. Abrirías tu bonito coño con tus dedos y le enseñarías como te gusta que te toquen.

Gritarías su nombre y él gritaría el tuyo, gemirías y le dirías cuanto deseas que él estuviera dentro de ti y no tus dedos. Dejarías que te eche su semen en la entrada de tu vagina o podrías probarlo si quisieras.

¿Tu también te tocas como él lo hace? ¿Piensas en él cuando no está? ¿También lo deseas?

Si lo deseas tanto como él a ti. Se desnudaría por completo para ti, tiraría su túnica y su candado lejos para que puedas verlo. Te mostraría su souljam incrustada en su pecho con pequeñas cicatrices doradas alrededor, te pediría que la toques y la acaricies.

Te besaría en los labios y los lamería para que después hicieras lo mismo con su cuerpo. Te pediría que te quitaras tu lindo vestido y te recostaras en la cama para él.

Besaría tu cuello y mordería tan fuerte como pudiera para dejarte marcas levemente rojas, metería uno de tus pezones a su boca mientras aprieta y siente la suavidad de tu pecho. Te haría su mujer y consumaría su hombría contigo.

Te haría las bragas de lado para ponerte agradable. Te probaría y ocuparía toda su boca para chuparte el clitoris, sabe que no tiene el tamaño en cuerpo y ahí abajo para complacerte. Pero aún así, serías tan gentil para dejarlo penetrarte. Y él tan agradecido se pondría a trabajar. Usando su magia para tocarte donde no puede, para subir tu temperatura y para que lo sientas mucho más grande de lo que en realidad es.

Se pregunta si en su primera vez te gustaría que te hiciera el amor suavemente en tu cama. Si quisieras que te llenara de elogios y te dijera cuánto te ama. O si le pedirías que te folle duro mientras te susurra todas las perversiones que quiere hacerte, cuantas veces se ha masturbado pensando en ti, la forma en que te sueña, la manera en que te anhela.

Y como eres su amada bruja codiciosa le pedirías desesperadamente que use el poder de su souljam para hacerse mucho más grande. Para hacer que su pene te llene hasta el borde y te golpee el cervix.

Te llenaría con su semen espeso una y otra vez sin salir de ti. Lo dejarás venirse dentro las veces que quiera ¿no?

Ese día Blueberry Milk se corre particularmente duro mientras grita tu nombre y mueve las caderas al aire con desespero, deseando que su puño fuese tu apretado coño.

Y cuando cae la noche, no pudo verte a los ojos hasta que te fuiste a dormir. Porque esto se siente mal, está mal.

Blueberry Milk balancea sus piernas, sentado en su lugar en la mesa de madera de cedro. Esperando a que la vela que le dejaste encendida termine de consumirse. Pensando.

¿Lo aceptarías? Si él se confesara, si él insinuara ese anhelo doloroso y ardiente por ti, ¿cómo reaccionarías? ¿Lo recibirías con tus brazos y piernas abiertas o lo mirarías con asco y su relación se rompería en mil pedazos?

La souljam incrustada en su pecho dolía solo de imaginar que te pierde. Que por su estúpido anhelo carnal pierde tu toque, tu amabilidad, tu aroma y tu presencia. Así que como la cerradura en el centro de su corazón, se bloquea. Pero su perversión aumenta gradualmente y con ella su obsesión y cariño desenfrenado hacia ti.

Sigue pasando la noche contigo, pero se vuelve mucho más cariñoso. Flota a tu lado y se aprieta contra ti para abrazarte y pegar su frente contra tu mejilla. Y cuando sabe que no te estás dando cuenta, frota su polla contra ti hasta dejarla tan dura que le duele.

“Me gustaría hacer bebés algún día.”

Te dice descaradamente mientras te acaricia el rostro. Y tú, incapaz de descifrar la perversión detrás de sus palabras simplemente ríes a su lado. Sacando otra bandeja de nuevas galletas.

Subestimas mucho el poder del dios del conocimiento, creyendo que su linda e inocente mente no procesa el método de apareamiento de los humanos y simplemente dice disparates sin pensar. Pero oh…, vaya que lo conoce. Y no ha parado de pensar en eso desde que inició su investigación. Está totalmente convencido de que él sería un mejor hombre que cualquier otro mago que desee cortejarte. Él es mejor. Más poderoso, más guapo, más inteligente, MÁS.

Blueberry Milk te observa alejarte para alcanzar los toppings para las galletas recién nacidas y te ve moverte por toda la cocina. No puede evitar imaginar si tal vez hubiese nacido hombre, un hombre humano; podría dejarte embarazada. Estarías linda con tu figura redonda, cambiarías tus vestidos por algo más suelto y quizás necesites ayuda para agacharte para abrir el horno. Tus noches con él serían seguras y tus días fáciles, él se encargaría de todo y tú solo tendrías que darle los hijos que él pusiera en ti.

“Oh, mi bruja. Te haz ensuciado de crema”.

Exclama preocupado mientras se acerca a acariciar tu mano y lamer los restos de crema dulce en tus manos. Cada vez se vuelve más descarado, más desesperado. Prácticamente se te insinúa y se regala sobre la bandeja de plata que utilizas todas las noches para hornear galletas.

“Bruja mía, eres tan hermosa.” Blueberry Milk siente una punzada de dolor cada vez que decides ignorar la posibilidad de que la galleta te mire de forma romántica… incluso sexual. Riendo suavemente ante sus comentarios y toques provocadores, casi burlándote bajo esos preciosos ojos coquetos tuyos. Haces que le duela el corazón y la polla.

Cuando crees que simplemente te observa trabajar o leer, en realidad está buscando el momento exacto en que tu vestido negro revele un poco más de tus pechos o piernas mientras te mueves. Revelar un poco más de piel siempre lo pone duro y su túnica se humedece con un poco de pre semen. Sus caderas embisten al aire y tiene que sentarse con las piernas abiertas para disimular con su túnica larga. Pero siempre tan inocente y concentrada en lo tuyo que no te das cuenta.

Cuando duermes, ya no se queda cuidándote desde la mesa. Sino que se mueve sigilosamente hasta tu cama y te observa respirar en paz. Es ahí donde aprovecha para subirse la túnica y sacar su polla gorda y dura de toda la noche para masturbarse frente a tu rostro y correrse en tu cara. A veces, si estás particularmente cansada y tienes tus labios entreabiertos: él se corre en tu boca.

Oh, pobre pobre bruja confiada. Lo subestimas demasiado.

[slimybeth69]

Thirst: Part 5

Marcus Acacius x Lady Reader (no physical descriptions) Rating: Explicit -- SMUT

Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it… but you also had to do something for him.

Summary: Marcus does something he's never done before.

Warnings/tags: Rough sex, dirty talk, mean!marcus, cream pies. Overstim(kinda).

Marcus Acacius has his hand in yours. Both of you have the hoods of your robes up so they’re covering your face. 

"Keep your head down, and avoid the eyes of anyone you may see," he whispers to you before opening the door to the bathhouse.

The thrill of being in public with Marcus electrifies your senses. In the bathhouse and behind the walls of your room…you and Marcus have bared everything to one another, but venturing out into the open spaces feels like a sin.

As Marcus takes your hand in his, you can't help but grin with childlike excitement. You gaze up at him with this rare permission of him being your escort.

The soft glow of the setting sun casts shadows across both of your faces, but you see his features illuminated like a work of art. 

"You are very handsome, General." You whisper. 

Marcus leads you through the expansive entryway, his strides purposeful and strong. He glances down at you, with the smallest hint of a smirk on his face. "You’re stunning," he whispers back to you. "I’ll keep this image of you in my head for next time I must leave." 

His eyes flash across the courtyard before he leans down to steal a quick kiss. Your fingers intertwine with his like the vines on the walls of this estate. 

As you enter the public villa that houses your private chambers, the clicking of your sandals against the polished stone floor echoes off the high ceilings. You can't contain your excitement and you giggle as he pulls you in front of him to press his chest into your back. 

The pressure of Marcus's fingers around yours is a gentle reminder to calm yourself. "Shhh, Aurelia..." he cautions in a hushed, gentle reprimand. "Your excitement is going to draw unwanted attention."

Despite his words, you catch the ghost of a smile curling at the corners of his mouth when you turn to glance at him over your shoulder, a sign that he too finds joy in this moment. You bite your lip, trying to stifle the giggle that’s threatening to escape your throat.

As you ascend the grand staircase, lost in your wonder, both of you fail to notice the group of aristocrats making their way down the stairs.

They move with the grace and poise of those accustomed to power, their opulent gowns and togas, a sign of their wealth and status. As they come closer, their eyes fall upon Marcus.

You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. You quickly avert your gaze, focusing instead on the swirling pattern of the marble slab beneath your feet.

Marcus nods politely as they pass, his grip on your hand remaining firm. 

As the group of people disappear around a corner, Marcus leans in close, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "One day you won’t have to hide your face," he whispers, his breath warm and inviting. "I want you right here, by my side."

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze. "I want to be underneath you, Dominus ," you sigh to him.

Marcus groans quietly and his fingers clench around yours with bruising intensity, his touch almost painful in its desperation. When he speaks, his voice is a low, rough growl that sends shivers down your spine. "The things I am going to do to you... The way I am going to make you scream..." He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. Your skin prickles with goosebumps as his warm breath ghosts over your lips. "Are you ready to be completely claimed by me?"

You nod breathlessly, allowing him to lead you. Your feet carry you on autopilot, your mind fogged with lust… like it always is with Marcus.

He leads you to your private room, pushing the door shut behind him with a click. 

Marcus doesn't waste time. He wraps his fingers around your throat, pulling you in for a rough kiss. His other hand grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises. "I thought about this while I was away," he growls against your mouth. "Thought about painting your insides with my seed until you're dripping with me."

A whimper escapes you at his words, your body arching into his touch, craving more. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and intense as they drink you in. 

"Strip," he commands, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. "I need to see all of you. I hate seeing you in clothes…"

With shaking hands, you begin to disrobe, peeling the thin robe from your body, revealing your skin prickling beneath his intense gaze, goosebumps rising in the cool air of the room. When you stand bare before him, a groan so low it could be a growl leaves his throat. "I would carve your form into marble if my hands were good for more than wielding a sword." he breathes, gazing over your naked body. 

"Your hands do much more than just wield a sword, General," you sigh as he takes a step towards you and is on you again, his hands mapping out every curve and crevice. His tongue and teeth explore and tease the soft skin on your neck and shoulder.

One minute you're tangled in his arms, the next you're being tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll. You scramble to right yourself but he's on you in an instant. 

It’s a playful struggle as you twist and turn underneath him, pulling your hands from his as he tries to overpower you. 

Marcus’s hands are rough as they slide across your smooth skin before he grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your stomach and is pinning your wrists above your head as he forces you down onto your chest.

A thrill of excitement runs through you at his show of strength. "Marcus!" You yelp in surprise as he spreads your thighs with his knees as he climbs between them. The mattress is cool in contrast to your slick, sweaty skin and his hot, hard body against your back. 

He rubs his lips over your ear, "Tell me what my hands do to you, perfect girl…"

You’re overcome with need for Marcus. “I think of them when I touch,” you whimper arching your back and grinding your ass against his hardening cock. “I crave your touch– crave you,” you gasp.

A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrates through his chest at your desperate confession. “Fuck, you're so eager aren't you?" he growls, nipping at your earlobe. "You want it that bad?"

You try to respond but it comes out as little more than a whimper. He adjusts his grip on your wrists as he forces your hips up and back, opening you up to him. You can feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, slick with your arousal.

“I held back in the bathhouse,” Marcus rocks his hips forward with a deep groan, sheathing himself inside your tight heat. "I’m done holding back," he taunts you breathlessly. 

The burning stretch of him filling you from this angle has you gasping. “Algea… oh m-my g-gods…” Your body's so sensitive after the intensity in the bathhouse, and you can feel every thick inch of him as he sinks deeper. 

“I know… I know, I tried to warn you,” he whispers as his hands press firmly into the middle of your shoulders. “Algea and all the gods combined won’t be able to help you now.” He pins your chest into the pillowy-soft bed. “You’ll grow accustomed to it over time. It’ll hurt less soon, my perfect Dove. Touch yourself while I fuck you,” his words are strained as he struggles to adjust to your tightness.

You're completely at his mercy here, pinned by his powerful hands and the weight of his muscular body. Each deep thrust pushes his throbbing tip against your cervix. Your toes curl and you frantically reach between your legs and rub desperate circles around your aching clit.

The intense pressure and almost blinding pain from being stretched and fucked open so deeply is now mingling with the pleasure from your fingers. You sigh loudly and grip the sheets tighter in your fist as he sets a brutal pace. 

"Don’t I feel good?" Marcus taunts you, "Perfect girl, you make such a mess– so wet on my cock.” 

The sounds of him thrusting into you, of wetness and flesh colliding, his cock soaked with your arousal forcing its way in and out of your pussy. Each deep stroke pushes your excessive slickness out, only for it to be drawn back in again as he pulls out of you to deliver another powerful snap of his hips. 

The feeling in your lower belly is coiling tighter and your walls flutter around his massive girth– it still feels like you’re being stretched taut and might be torn in two. Your fingers tighten the circles around your clit and you put weight behind your touch. 

“I’m going– oh M-Marcus… You’re going to–” You stutter though the pleasure and push your hips back against his, surrendering to him completely. “It’s happening,” you moan into the sheets as your body unravels underneath him.

“Yes it is,” he growls down to you as your orgasm washes over you. “You’re taking my cock so well, sweet girl. Come undone on it.” His fingers dig into the soft skin on your back as he draws the thrusts out slowly, but delivers them with more force. 

The intensity from it has your fingers frozen on your clit, trembling. The pressure of his hands pushing you into the bed steals your air and your mouth can only hang open while he fucks you through the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Your eyes shut tightly and your grip on the sheets gives you white knuckles. Every nerve ending inside of you is burning and tingling in the best way.

You gasp as he continues his bruising thrusts, tears springing to your eyes. “Marcus!” You keen loudly, the feeling of his cock brushing against your cervix has you quivering so violently it’s almost like you’re shivering.

His hands leave your back, but his chest finds space there as he pushes your hips flat into the bed. "What is it, Aurelia?" He coos into your ear, his voice still deep and rumbling.

“P-Pl-Please, it- I c-can’t… M-Marcus…t-t-too– t-too m-m-much!” Your sobs are tangled in the brain-scrambling bliss.

"Are you giving up on me already, Aurelia?” He growls, one of his thick forearms snakes around your neck and pulls your head up against his shoulder. His hips never stop moving, they’re unrelenting and powerful as they slam against your ass.

It quickly becomes too much; you’re so sensitive and sore now that the pleasure is fleeting fast. “Yes!” You cry out, the tears staining the silken sheets below you as they fall from your eyes and drop from your cheeks. 

“Oh…poor Dove,” he whispers as he nips sharply at your earlobe. “Can’t take Dominus' cock the way she thought she could?”

You’re choked by the feeling of him at your innermost barrier again and your walls clench down around him. “I c-can’t! I can’t t-take it any– anymore…”  Everything is too much, you can barely think about anything but the feeling of every ridge and vein on his cock– because it’s all you can feel. You feel every thick and throbbing inch of him almost painfully. 

"Do you need me to come?" He groans, his own thrusts becoming erratic as he struggles to hold back his own release. 

Desperate for relief, you nod and whimper, "Yes, p-please, Marcus. I can't t-take it anymore."

Hearing your plea, he finally gives in and he buries himself within you. With a grunt he releases his hot seed into you, his cock twitching uncontrollably as he empties himself. Your walls convulse around him, milking him as he holds himself at the deepest parts of you that he can reach. 

Marcus moves his forearm from around your neck to under your breasts. With his cock still inside of you, he crawls up the bed and drags your limp and spent body underneath him. 

He’s still inside of you when he lays on his side and pulls you close to his chest, nuzzling his nose into your hair. He lets out a deep, content sigh as his other hand comes to blindly wipe the tears from your face. It’s clumsy, and he mostly just rubs his hand across your cheeks, closed eyes and forehead. 

“Was it bad?” He whispers quietly after a moment of catching his breath. 

You’re half asleep, unable to form a coherent thought– let alone a full sentence. “So good hurt,” you babble and make him chuckle. “Stretched me,” you whine as he kisses along your shoulder. 

“I sure did,” he murmurs against your skin. “That’s why it was important that you liked me, cared for me.” He adds, his hand roaming the curves of your stomach. “If you hated me, or resented me at all… you wouldn’t have enjoyed it.” 

“I still cried,” you tease sleepily, snuggling your body back against his. When you wiggle your hips, his soft cock slips out of you. 

Marcus sits up and rolls you so you’re laying on your back, and he’s sitting between your legs. He’s staring at your cunt with wide eyes, almost like he’s amazed by the sight. “Do you like having my seed inside of you?” He gently runs the tips of two fingers up the length of your reddened, puffy slit. 

You nod and watch every move he makes. He coats his fingers in the mixture of your releases and brings them to his lips. His eyes dart to yours as he sucks them clean. 

Then he repeats the process, gently skimming the release dripping from your entrance, but instead of bringing it to his mouth, he places the tips of his fingers at your lips. “Taste us,” he traces your mouth with the slickness before pushing them between onto your tongue.

You lap at the mixture and you sigh at the bitter, tangy saltiness of both of you combined. 

His eyes drift back down to your leaking cunt and he sighs. “Such a beautiful sight watching me drip from you.” 

Marcus fetches a rag from one of the drawers in your room and cleans the both of you off. 

He wraps himself in one of your sheets like a toga, and you dress in a simple tunic you would sleep in and join him on the balcony of your chambers. He’s sitting on one of the two lounge chairs, you sit down across from him in the other.

He pours you a glass of wine and then himself one. Neither one of you says anything for a while. You’re enjoying the cool breeze of the night air, thinking of what the future holds for you up here in this tower.

“What are your plans for me?” You ask after finally working up the courage to speak.

Marcus swallows hard, avoiding your eyes. “It’s quite complicated,” he explains softly.

You sigh, “So those nice things you say are all just…talk? Wanting me by your side? Being the vision in your head?” You hate to even utter those things because it makes you feel terrible. 

Marcus tuts quietly and reaches for your free hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips. “It’s not just talk.” He whispers. 

There is no excitement in your tone or happiness in your eyes when you finally address him. "So, what now? You just stop by to drop off a load every once in a while and then leave me here to raise your bastards?" You scoff in annoyance.

Marcus chuckles to himself, "My bastards?" 

You nod your head emphatically and wrinkle your nose. "Yes. Bastards.” You hiss at him. 

Marcus looks very unimpressed. "I want to plant the seed of a decorated Roman general in your belly, and you’d call it a bastard?" 

“That is what you call a child born to a mother who is not the wife of the father!" You exclaim, losing your patience with him now that he’s no longer inside you.

"How many do you have running around out there in the streets right now?" You point out of your window accusingly. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you about my position here in Rome…or my relationships.” He kisses the back of your fingers again.

“Your position?” You question, eyeing him as you sip the wine. 

“I may not hold as much power as I said I did, or as much influence,” he confesses quietly. “Which is why I do not let you leave, or like to be seen with you in public…” 

You frown and tilt your head to the side, “Why would you lie?” 

“To impress you,” he smirks when he says it, and there is a hint of a blush behind his cheeks. 

“Impress me?” You snort softly. 

Marcus nods and catches your eye, “I’m being forced to fight, forced to leave you for so long… like a trained dog.” He frowns. “I have a powerful army, but I hold little influence here in the capital.” 

“You’re married to an influential woman, apparently.” It’s hard to forget about Lucilla. It’s hard to not be jealous that he’ll leave you here eventually to go be with her. 

“She is the daughter of the previous Emperor.” He explains. “She is a good woman… I’ve known her for quite long. Our relationship bloomed from a shared respect for a man we both knew once. I care for her very deeply.” 

The blood in your veins begins to boil. Terrible and horrible thoughts race through your head and make you even more angry. 

Lady Lucilla is past her child rearing years…but that doesn’t mean she can’t desire a child! Is this what he bought you for? To be a child mill for his wife? 

"You will not take my child away from me for Lucilla to raise it." You snarl at him. "No, I will cut off your hands before you can even think of doing such a thing."

Marcus blinks at you. "Are you finished?" He asks once you’re done speaking.

“I don’t know! I don’t know what your plans are for me! Or for this child you want to plant inside of me so badly!” You scoff and drink down the rest of your wine. 

Marcus' eyes dart out onto the street below, the other balconies and then into your room like someone may be hiding in there, “I plan on getting us out of here, my sweet girl. You and I… and Lucilla so that she can live freely with someone she loves,” he explains in barely a whisper. “Our marriage was something of convenience, which is why I have you now...”

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝: 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍

Character Choice: Leviathan x Fem! Reader

Stats: nsfw/ minors dni, jealous/ possessive! levi, cream pies, monster/tail fucking, mean dom! levi, levi with two cocks, degradation/ name calling, marking, double penetration, unprotected sex (stay safe everyone!), hint of/ alllusion to exhibitionism towards the end

Profile: It’s not fair! Why do his stupid brothers get to hog your attention all the time? He’ll make sure you’ll pay attention to him and only him. You’re not leaving his room for quite a while; there’s lots of fun stuff Levi wants to try with you. And when you do limp out of his room, his brothers will certainly get the message.

this is a repost because i'm moving my nsfw works onto this blog!!

obey me masterlist || sfw version

You had been playing video games with Levi for a while now, comfortably sitting in his lap with his chin resting on your head. And so far, everything had been super relaxed. That was until the credits rolled and Levi’s focus started to drift from the screen to you, inhaling the comforting scent of your hair products.

Just for the stench of his brothers to fill his nostrils, clinging to you just as stubbornly as the actual demons. It made him livid, imagining Asmo hanging off your arm, Satan holding you close as he read to you or Belphie using your lap as his personal napping spot. You should be spending time with him! 

Before he knew it, pure jealousy was coursing through his veins and his form shifted. Coral-like horns perched on his head like a crown as a scaled tail wrapped around your ankle, slowly winding upwards. His hands, which had held the controller up until now, gripped your hips tightly as he tried to control his breathing.

You’d felt Levi’s envy often enough through the pact linking you two together. Whether it was losing the bid on a figurine he wanted or seeing someone else with the character he tried to get, the feeling wasn’t new to you. But this time, the sensation was overwhelming, his pact mark on your body searing with his jealousy. Normally, you could console him easily enough but right now you weren’t so sure. 

“Levi? Levi are you alright? What’s wrong?” you questioned, one hand coming up to thread into his purple locks as you tried to shift so you could face him. Only to be stopped by his iron grip. You could, however, get a glimpse of his orange-flashing eyes, pupils merely slits. “Levi, I’m worried-”

“Oh, now you care?” His tone was cold and sent shivers down your spine, rare determination falling from every word. “What’s wrong, you ask? Maybe it’s the fact that you’re always so busy cosying up to all my brothers. Even that scumbag gets more of your attention than I do.”

Levi knew deep inside that wasn’t true. You always spent plenty of time with him. Then, Lucifer’s cologne tickled his nose and he lost all sense of rationality, thoughts only fueled by his sin. When he spoke again, his words were like pure venom dripping from his fangs. “Did you have fun? Letting them get their grimey hands all over you?”

“No, Levi, I-” You interrupted yourself with a sudden gasp as sharp teeth sank into the column of your neck, not deep enough to draw blood but enough to leave a nasty, very visible mark. Still, you couldn’t help but grind yourself back on him, feeling his prominent bulge against your ass. You almost drooled at the inhuman size of him, mind wandering to how good he’d stretch you open on that.

“Enjoying yourself?” He hissed while pressing you down harder, rubbing himself against your clothed pussy. Searching for something to ground yourself with, you reached back and dug your fingers into his hair as you rolled your head back to give Levi more access to your neck. “Look at you, you’re actually getting off to this. You’re so easy, no wonder demons like you so much.”

Much to your embarrassment, you could feel the arousal staining your panties at his harsh words. There was no use denying it, this side of your usually timid Levi was heavily turning you on, so much so that you could feel yourself pulsing against the straining material of his sweats. Somehow, that realisation just made you squirm against him more, searching desperately for any sort of friction.

It came in the form of his tail flicking forcefully against your core, not enough to seriously hurt you but definitely hard enough to mix pain with pleasure. Levi took advantage of your moan to tip your head back and shove his forked tongue down your throat. At the same time, his clawed hands roughly groped your breasts over your RAD dress shirt, certainly leaving red marks for you to find later. Apparently that wasn’t enough for the demon though, carelessly ripping the material apart and making buttons roll over the floor of his room.

Your bra was next. Although he didn’t destroy it, he merely pulled it down enough to where your breasts could spill over the cups, further driving home the point that this wasn’t about you. This was only for him and his pleasure.

As his fingers meanly pulled at your nipples, tweaking the little buds and rolling them between his digits, his tail had stopped prodding at your slit and instead slithered under the waistband of your bottoms. With it pressed against your body like that, it really had no option but to rub over your clit as it reached for your undergarments.

Just when you thought Levi would really have you ruin your clothes, he pushed them off your legs to give his tail free reign to work. As the appendage curled around the seat of your panties to pull them off as well, it grazed your folds and you lightly jerked in your demon’s hold. 

Said demon had gone back to biting and licking at your neck, his eyes following the string of arousal sticking to your underwear with rapt attention. The fact that he could reduce you to this state so easily was definitely an ego boost but he was nowhere near satiated with just this.

“I think it’s time I remind you who you really belong to,” he snarled, voice bitter as he could still smell them on you. “Once I’m done with you, nobody will ever forget it again.”

Without so much as a warning, Levi plunged the end of his tail into your soaked core, earning something between a shriek and a moan from you. The initial clamp down of your walls around his scales drew a shaky groan from him in return, squeezing your tits harder in his palms.

His tail was curling and uncurling inside of you in unreadable patterns as he stretched you out gradually. The texture of his cold scales was something you never grew used to as they scraped against your warm walls, the tip effortlessly hitting spots you never knew you had.

In record time, Levi had you writhing and squirming in his lap and he chose to make it worse by slipping one hand down your front to ruthlessly tap your pulsing clit. The noises you made drove him nearly insane with lust but he willed himself to patience, as far as that was still possible.

“That’s it, you’re gonna cum,” he all but ordered, fingers and tail pressing down on the same spot on opposite sides of your walls. “And your orgasm is gonna be all mine, you got that?”

“Yes, Levi,” you whined, eyes screwed shut and fingers tightening around his wrist and his purple locks.

“Then do it,” he spoke directly against your ear. 

You straightened in his hold as lightning shot up your spine, the thicker part of his tail keeping your legs nicely spread while he flicked his fingers harsher against your clit. 

Then, your bones turned to pudding as you weightlessly leaned back against Levi’s clothed chest, feeling your release leak around his tail. You tried to control your breathing with little success. A hand swept sweat matted hair out of your eyes while a second one ran up and down your side to provide a familiar comfort.

But soon, your world shifted as you fell forward, your fall only cushioned by a hand on your chest before your cheek met one of Levi’s many pillows, which had previously not laid there. Behind you, the demon rose to his knees as well, his thighs colliding with your ass. 

You whined as the movements of his tail started again, much slower than before though. He shushed you almost gently, yet when you pushed yourself up on weak arms to look back at him, one hand firmly pressed your upper back onto the floor again.

“Be good and behave.” Levi’s cold voice made you shiver in the best way possible and this time he could feel the way you clamped down on him at his command. “Seriously, I thought between us I was the perv but seeing you let me use you like this without any resistance makes me question that.”

There was rustling of clothes to be heard and you almost protested the withdrawal of his tail but the pressure of his pre cum leaking cocks against you shut you right up. No matter how often you two got frisky, you wondered every time how they were supposed to fit.

As much as Levi wanted to see you choke on his cock while attempting to wrap your hand around the other, he was far too impatient. He needed to stretch you open now.

Aligning the head of his upper dick, he heaved a sigh before pushing in. Just feeling your heat around the tip made him lightheaded but before he could get carried away, he remembered why you two were in this position in the first place. 

In one single thrust, the demon filled you to the brim, knocking all air from your lungs as you were shoved into the pillow. Despite having two members to work with, taking just one was still quite the challenge. It hurt but at the same time it felt so good.

With his demeanour that night, you thought he’d set a ruthless pace from the start but he surprised you with tempered and measured thrusts, aiming for depth rather than speed. Your shoulders tensed up when you felt his tail return, this time however circling your other hole.

“Levi-“ 

“Don’t tell me you don’t want this, I can feel that messy cunt of yours gripping me even tighter.” And he was right. Just the imagination of Levi using his tail, which was still coated in your previous release, to prepare you for what was inevitably to come had you bounce your hips back on him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re supposed to be my master, yet you’re acting more like a bitch in heat, already going dumb on my cock.”

Apparently now it was time for your bra to leave the scene completely as Levi fumbled with the clasp for a second before carelessly throwing it somewhere into his room. 

The fact that he was still fully clothed whereas you were completely nude made you feel excitingly exposed, fire burning through your body at the thought of Levi just having your way with you like this.

It should have been embarrassing how your pussy squelched with his cock inside, how fast you were approaching another orgasm, but with Levi leaning more of his weight onto you as he seemed to reach deeper in both your cunt and ass, you were more concerned with trying to sustain your lungs with enough air.

Well, it wasn’t like you had to tell him you were close anyway. The way it got harder to move in and out or the way your legs started trembling gave you away. With his cocks hitting your g-spot and clit on every forward motion as your walls were sandwiched on both sides between him, it was clear you’d reach your peak sooner rather than later.

Your high pitched moans echoed around the room and Levi’s guttoral groans soon joined as he starved off his own release to fuck you through yours. At this point, your vision turned hazy but you couldn’t help but want more. And more you should get.

Through the fog of your mind, you barely registered the moment of emptiness and Levi’s biting words were drowned out by your own heartbeat pulsing in your ears. What you did notice was the sensation of two cocks stuffing you to your limit, both heads throbbing with a desperate need to just stuff you full of his cum.

The view of you on your elbows and knees, back arched and fingers a death grip on his pillow rushed directly to his head and to his dicks. He was the one who had reduced to such a pathetically fucked out state, unable to speak any coherent sentences. Not his brothers.

“Do you just whore yourself out to everyone?” Sharp claws were dancing up your spine, the layer of sweat reflecting the blue light of his room. The thought of his brothers getting just a glimpse of you like this made his earlier rage flare up again.

“N-No,” you whimpered meekly.

“No? Just the demons you know?” His still clothed chest met your back as his hands held your hips in an iron grip, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake. His fangs were grazing your skin again, searching for a new spot to leave his mark on. “If Mammon were here, would you let him fuck this messy cunt of yours, hm? Would you gag on Belphie’s cock like a slut, yeah? Let him push your head down as he pleases?”

You didn’t answer this time, not that he really expected you to. Normally, Levi might have intertwined your fingers or pressed a sweet kiss to your temple. But not on this day. 

“C’mon, you can be louder than that, slut.” Purple coloured nails tangled in your hair and pulled your head up. “Let everyone in this house who’s fucking you this good.”

Nothing he had to tell you twice. You felt so full, every sensitive spot you could think of and all those you didn’t know you had were being abused over and over again. 

What had you screaming and scrambling for purchase was the pain of his fangs piercing the skin of your shoulder as his tail wrapped around your middle, the tip resting dangerously close to your sensitive clit after dragging through the slick mess staining your thighs.

“You’re close again, right?” That was when his tail started circling your pulsing nub and your eyes flew open as the knot in your stomach started pulling you into opposite directions once more. “That’s right, you're just a little toy for me to use, aren’t you? Just an obedient cocksleeve waiting to get stuffed.”

To emphasise his point, your expression was reflected back to you on one of his shiny consoles, eyes fluttering open and shut as your tongue lolled out and drool dripped from your lips, head still pulled back.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Levi cursed out of breath, cocks twitching against your walls as the slapping of skin picked up in speed. Letting your head fall forward again, both hands gripped your hips tightly, nails nicking your skin.

“I’m so close, please I can’t—“ You couldn’t decide if you were begging to cum or to rest.

Your demon made the choice for you. He drew quicker circles on your abused clit, pressing his scales down harsher, which had your toes curling and your hips trying to wind away from the assault. 

“Stop squirming!” Pulling your hips back to meet his strokes, you weren’t sure if Levi was trying to make you cum again or if he was just selfishly chasing his own release with all means possible. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’ll be a good human and not waste a drop. Once we’re done, you’ll only smell like me!”

Mindlessly nodding your head, you fell over the edge with a scream of his name, shuddering and jerking as his pace didn’t slow at all. Maybe it was because you were so out of it but you could swear you could feel his cocks swell before his hips stuttered and he painted your walls white with a throaty groan.

There was no chance you could ever keep all of his cum inside, no matter how deep he shot it. You were pretty sure no human could ever cum this much. 

For a few minutes there was nothing but panting to be heard before he finally pulled out, the bite marks on your shoulders pulsing as the adrenaline wore off. Levi stared as his cum leaked out of you and ran down your trembling thighs, collecting the drops with the tip of his tail before pushing them back into you. You moaned weakly at the clench of your overstimulated walls around the appendage but just as you were wondering whether you could handle another round, the chime of your phones echoed through Levi’s room.

Satan @ House of Lamentation (New): Dinner in 5, get down here

Just as you were about to push yourself up on shaky arms, Levi’s hand on your upper back kept your chest on the floor.

“What are you doing? We don’t have time, we need to get cleaned up,” you protested.

Without a word, Levi wrangled your ankles into your panties again and slid them back up your thighs. Snapping the waistband, he gave your clothed cunt a final slap and innerly gloated at the way your combined release was soaking the already ruined fabric.

With widened eyes, you looked back over your shoulder to see if he was serious only to find him staring at you with a fierce look in his eyes, daring you to challenge him.

“I told you, I’ll make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

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[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x fem!afab!reader. during a lazy day on the couch, the imp decides to distract you from your work in a way he just knows will work. and despite your protests, how could you possibly resist when he's just so good at what he does?

featuring: imp reader, tail play, sex, orgasm denial, cream pies, dom!blitzø, I use the word 'fuck' too much, and degradation because calling you a whore is just how blitzø's broken ass shows affection.

anon request. 2.25k.

Hell might suck in large amounts, but times like this weren’t so bad.

You were curled up on the couch, some terribly cliché action movie playing on the TV in front of you. Blitzø was stretched out at the other end of it, legs kicked up over the arm the couch and his head propped up on pillows. Honestly, you had no idea how it could possibly be comfortable for him to lay there with his neck twisted towards the screen like that, but he seemed content. And honestly, it was nice to see him so relaxed.

Your tablet pings on the coffee table and you sigh, straightening reluctantly in your seat. Its yet another alert from the other organizers of the Lust Ring’s annual Fertility Festival, and you scoot to the edge of the couch cushion to swipe the device up off the table and check the latest in the long list of requests they’ve had for you to handle. Apparently, a day off doesn’t exist when you’re running errands for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Scrolling through the new list of potential vendors you need to go through for approval, you glance up as you hear Blitzø shift beside you, reaching for the remote.

“You don’t have to stop it,” you assure him apologetically, but he does anyway. He groans quietly as he sits up, and you smile softly as you feel him crawl across the couch and slot himself behind you, thighs on either side of yours. Your body warms as he wraps his arms around your middle, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Eh, I’ve seen this one before,” you feel him shrug, the heat of his body pressed against your back. “Helpin’ you pick out porny-ass stalls for this slut fest?” he presses a quick kiss to the side of your neck. “More fun.”

“Fertility Festival,” you correct him patiently, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “And I don’t know if whatever you’re gonna suggest is exactly the vibe we’re going for.”

He snickers, breath tickling your collarbone. You feel his tail slide up to curl over your thigh, the spade of it tapping slowly against the side of your opposite knee.

“Oh, yeah?” he challenges, pointing at the screen in your hands. “Tell me what exactly the fuck is wrong with ‘Aunty Annie’s Aphrodisiac Ass-Pops’?”

“Aside for the godawful name?” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose. You tap their file, scanning the information provided. “How about the fact that the main ingredient in this shit seems to be ‘Auntie Annie’s’… ewww.”

He cackles, arms tightening around you. One hand plays with the hem of your shirt, claws just grazing your bare stomach as he lifts it slightly.

“I don’t even want to know why they think that would help turn anyone on,” you continue, quickly marking the stall as a no-go for all future Asmodeus-sanctioned events. You lean over to grab the remote, pressing ‘play’ again, before you continue scrolling through the list of vendors, checking each one as either a potential ‘yes’ or a firm ‘no’.

Blitzø watches the movie from over your shoulder for a while before you feel his lips return to the side of your throat, dusting soft, teasing kisses over the sensitive flesh. You raise your shoulder to ward him off, laughing despite yourself as he simply switches to the other side of your neck. His teeth graze over your pulse point, tongue following the mark he leaves behind. Heat trickles through you to settle between your thighs, your eyes closing for a moment as you feel his hands play with the waistband of your pants.

“Dude.”

“Hmm?” Blitzø hums the question against your skin, and your breath catches as he gently sinks his teeth into your collarbone. A shiver runs through you as he presses a lingering, teasing kiss to each individual mark his teeth have left in your skin. His tail edges up along the inside of your thigh.

“…Dude.”

“Fuck do you want?” he asks, the words at odds with his innocent tone. Still, you can hear the mischief at the edge of his voice, feel it in his smirk against your skin as his tongue slides up the side of your neck to the corner of your jaw. “I’m tryin’ to watch something here.”

“I know what you’re doing, B.”

He snickers against the nape of your neck, claws dipping beneath the waistband of your pants. “And I knooooow you like it…”

“I’m working, Blitzø.”

“And you’re makin’ this into fuckin’ work,” he retorts. “Are you gonna take your pants off or am I wreckin’ these ones too?”

“Satan, you’re an asshole.” you eye-roll and Blitzø reaches up to take hold of your chin. He turns your head towards him roughly, claiming your mouth in a hungry, heated kiss. He slides his tongue into your mouth, his hand moving from your chin to encircle your throat.

“And you’re a fuckin’ tease,” he replies against your mouth, the last word almost lost as he kisses you again. He squeezes your throat reflexively, and you whimper into the kiss. You can feel him hardening against the curve of your ass, his other hand moving down to clutch at your upper thigh, fingers dipping between your legs to tease over your denim-covered cunt. “Bein’ all sexy and professional like a slutty little— fuuuuck…”

You’d wrapped his tail around your fingers, and squeezed, pulling it firmly enough to make him groan, loud and drawn out. His head fell back against the back of the couch, hands taking hold of your hips. He pushed his own hips up against your ass, grinding into you.

“Bitch…”

“Oh, c’mon, Blitz-baby,” you taunt, turning around to kneel between his thighs. You slide your fingers up along his tail, stroking the length of it with your fingertips, and squeeze again. He whines through grinding teeth. “I know you like it.”

He lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. “Oh, you filthy fuckin’ whore.”

“Sweet-talker,” you laugh, the sound cut off as he grabs ahold of you and kisses you fiercely again. Blitzø manages to keep kissing you as he manhandles you across the couch, fumbling with the fastenings of your jeans. He manages to undo them and have the pants and your underwear shoved halfway down your thighs before he turns you around to face the other end of the couch, baring your ass to him.

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it,” he warns you, his body pressing against your back. You hear the rustling of his own pants, feel him slide his erection up between your thighs. You whimper, bracing your hands against the arm of the couch and arching your back so your ass is pushed back against him. He growls again, low in the back of his throat, his cock throbbing and so fucking hard. “Shit, you’re a needy little slut…”

“I’m sorry,” you say, the way you feign casual ruined by the breathless anticipation in your voice. You shift your hips, and the two of you moan quietly as the head of his cock presses into you slightly. “Were you planning on just insulting me all day, or are you actually going to fuck me? I’ve got work to do.”

Your dismissiveness has the exact effect on him that you want it to, and Blitzø thrusts hard into you with a snarl, bottoming out in one brutal, toe-curling thrust.

You moan throatily and he agrees with one of his own, his tail curling around your middle. His claws clutch at your hips, digging into the flesh.

“Christ on a titty-fuckin’ stick, always so fuckin’ tight…” he groans, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming his hips back into your ass. Your fingers tighten on the arm of the couch, your own claws digging into the fabric. “Feels fuckin’ good, doesn’t it, slut? How’s my cock feel in your tight little cunt?”

There’s that thread of affection under his harsh words that you know he’d deny, but it still makes your eyes roll back. “Blitzø…”

You move to reach between your thighs and he catches hold of your wrist, pulling your arm up behind your back. His tail unwinds from your waist to instead wrap around your wrist and hold it against the small of your back. He scrapes his nails down over waist, dark lines forming under his touch, squeezes the curves of your ass.

“No fuckin’ way, princess. You wanna cum? You’re gonna milk every drop of cum outta my dick first like a good little cock-sleeve.” he sneers, and you bite back a needy whine, unwilling to admit just how much it’s turning you on. “Now answer the fuckin’ question: how’s my cock feel?”

“So good…” you whimper, your own tail entangling with his around your wrist. “Sooo fucking good, Blitzø…”

“Damn fuckin’ right it does,” he replies, smugness torn with his own arousal. He’s thrusting into you so hard that your whole body bounces forward each time his hips meet yours, and he grinds deliciously against you on each stroke. It’s enough to bring you to the precipice and keep you there, an infuriating tease of almost enough. You push your hips back to meet his, forehead pressed to the arm of the couch. “Take it so fuckin’ good…”

“Thank you, baby,” you moan, eyes rolling back. Blitzø curses, hands tightening on your ass. You know damn well the effect praise and gratitude can have on him during sex, and the sincerity burning through your breathless voice is enough to make his hips stutter against yours. There’s an ache in the way he’s stretching you, filling you, and your thighs are quivering. “Shit…”

“You want me to cum, slut?” he taunts, his voice betraying just how close he is. It’s reedy and gruff, and he groans as you flex around him on the pull back. He rewards you with an even harder thrust back in, the sound of his flesh meeting yours well and truly drowning out the sounds of the TV. “Wanna feel me fill you up? You gonna get all quivery and moan like a good little whore when you feel my cum dripping out of your cunt?”

“Please, Blitzø,” it almost comes out as a sob, your whole body tight with your need to feel that release. “Please, I want you to cum…”

“Where?” you can hear the smirk in his voice, and he laughs brokenly as he sees the hand he still has behind your back shift to give him the finger. He rolls his hips into yours the way he knows makes you keen in retaliation. “Say it, slut.”

“Fucking… shit, Blitzø, cum inside me.” you beg, eyes squeezed closed. “Please, baby… I need you to… fuck…”

Blitzø snickers, and you feel him lean over your body to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder blade, his teeth grazing over your skin as he tells you, “Good girl.”

Between the husky cadence of the praise and the way his fingers finally find your clit, you can’t help but curse, collapsing forward on the couch. Blitzø’s grip on your hips keeps you on your knees in front of him, and he thrusts into you in one final, hard slam of his hips to cum deep inside your quivering, swollen cunt.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a growl sounding under the words, and he keeps himself buried fully inside you as he quickens his fingers over your clit. Each flex of your pussy around him milks him further, and you can barely register the sound of the string of curses it elicits from him over your own moaning.

Your thighs do shake as your orgasm finally crests, your voice catching slightly as Blitzø grasps a fistful of your hair and jerks your head back so you can’t muffle it in the cushions. Your moan is rough, too-loud for the apartment, and Blitzø laughs, cum-drunk as he releases your hips and you collapse, boneless onto the couch in front of him.

You hum a breath deliriously, rolling onto your back with some difficulty as your legs tangle with his. Blitzø straddles your hips, running his hand up over your hip and up, over your waist and your ribs and to your breast. He squeezes it teasingly, flicking his claw over your nipple, and he smirks as you jerk under his touch.

“Asshole,” you mutter breathlessly into the cushions, feeling his hand smooth up over the swell of your ass.

He squeezes, kneads the flesh, and you hear him exhale admiringly as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. “So fuckin’ pretty…”

“So... can I get back to work now?”

Blitzø laughs at your attempt to sound impatient, pinching your nipple and leaning down over you to catch the resulting gasp with his own lips. He kisses you languidly, hand grazing up over your chest and the side of your throat to cup your cheek. The… tenderness of the gesture surprises you, but you let yourself relax into the embrace.

“Depends…” he says against your lips, kissing you again before pulling back to meet your eye. That infuriating smirk is playing on his lips again, an eyebrow arched challengingly. “You gonna sit there and do your work like a good little girl while my cum drips outta you? Or are you gonna come and get your freak on in the shower like I know you want to?”

[archive-of-alexandria]

Mind Your Manners (Sanji X Reader)

A/N: ITS KINKTOBER! I have it in my head that head-over-heels, perverted Sanji would absolutely give the Reader snacks or food that are just a little bit too messy as an excuse to watch them clean up after themself and I just had to write it out. Kinda feels yandere? Smutty Food Play, because I haven't seen enough kinky Sanji action on here. xx

Sanji knows better than to play with his food. However, the way you're sitting at the dining table - pretty legs tucked up underneath you and breasts pressed together as you lean on your elbows - makes him think that he may have to make an exception.

Sanji's rule about manners doesn't extend to you, however.

No.

Sanji goes out of his way to ensure that you'll make a mess in his kitchen.

Back during the summer months, the Going Merry had made a pitstop at an island known for their enormous strawberries. Sanji had been eager to try his hand at pastries for a change - tarts, pies, the works - and the gargantuan summertime fruits seemed the perfect challenge.

A challenge the cook didn't anticipate, however, was finding you elbow-deep in the barrel of harvested berries that same evening, caught literally red-handed from the saccharine juices that dripped from your fingertips to the floor with a heavy tap tap tap.

The sight was enough to make his heart nearly stop.

Your eyes had been wide and your flushed cheeks were even wider, stuffed with sweet fruit as juice covered your face and hands...and every bit of you was dripping. Sanji had been unsure of where to look and his eyes darted between your slick fingers, your shy expression, and your perfectly tinted, glossy lips. He had never seen a more heavenly sight.

In his mind, nothing could ever compare...until your tongue ran along the back of your hand in a feeble attempt to clean yourself.

In the darkness of his room, Sanji thought about that tease of a tongue for weeks afterward.

Ever since then, he has taken extra care to make sure that you're given the messiest meals he can make. They're not gross, of course - Sanji is a chef first and a lover second. No, they're not gross. They are delectable. Every hum of enjoyment, every slurp, every squish...Sanji would lie awake in bed and dream of the different foods he wished to cover you in, if only just to watch you lick it up.

You had offered to help him make cinnamon buns one morning - though not without taking a generous helping of frosting on your finger and sucking it clean. "Labor tax", you joked with a wink. The image of your tongue licking the sinful-looking sweetness from your finger, mingled with your contented sigh, was seared into Sanji's brain from that moment forward.

Sanji became obsessed with watching you eat.

Food has always been an extension of Sanji's love for his crew and an expression of devotion. The act of cooking is artistic, and the act of eating is intimate. Hell, the kitchen itself is a lesson in foreplay: the preparation, the getting hands dirty, the building heat, the waiting game...all leading to a very satisfying end.

If only Sanji's cooking prowess had an excuse to leave the kitchen and move into the bedroom.

Sanji has yet to make his cake and eat it too in the ways of romance, though it would seem that you have recently taken a keen interest in his particular set of skills. The cook has noticed an increasing frequency of your kitchen visits, observing the way your eyes seem to latch to his hands and arms as he works. You've grown bolder, assisting him in his preparations and letting your elbows brush up against one another.

Sanji relishes the days you ask for his help and he nestles you between his body and the table, guiding your hands in his much larger ones.

The cook has grown bolder too, sometimes pressing too tightly against your back to allow his front to press up against your firm bottom as he huskily mumbles praises in your ear. He swears, sometimes, he can feel you lean into him.

The kitchen is the way to Sanji's heart, and he hopes that it may be the way into your bed.

And here you were, seated at his table awaiting the meal he had promised to cook for you once the Going Merry restocked at port.

As Sanji wipes down his cooking station, he lets his eyes drink you in without shame. Your breasts are practically falling from your tattered blouse, soft pillows highlighted by the dim candlelight of the galley. You're playing with your fingers, unaware of Sanji's gaze. He smirks.

"Sanji," You sigh, flushing pink as you look up to meet his gaze already set upon you,

"Is it almost ready?"

He chuckles, crossing his arms.

"My sweet girl is hungry, hm?" He muses, tossing his dishrag over his shoulder,

"Just a few more minutes, love."

"Wha-? But-!"

"You can't rush perfection now, can you?"

"Sanji," You whine, wiggling in your seat. His eyes once again meet your chest.

"If I had known it was going to take this long I would have taken up Zoro's offer to go to the pub."

Sanji stiffens.

The chef stands to his full height, a cigarette appearing between his tight-pressed lips as he turns from you to check on the pot simmering on the stove.

You, however, hold your ground.

It's silent.

"I didn't know you and mosshead had plans."

Sanji's voice is low. Much too low, and empty. It unsettles you.

"San-"

"-It's ready."

In a manner much too abrupt for the usually smitten Sanji, a steaming bowl is placed before you with an alarming thud. The spoon rattles in reaction to his aggressive delivery.

The enticing smell of the ramen can't mask the uneasy way Sanji stands perfectly still in front of you, face shrouded in shadow except for the blazing butt of his cigarette.

You're unsure of where to look, splitting your attention between the meal before you and the man hovering above the table. Sanji makes the decision for you.

"You were so hungry just a moment ago," he quips,

"So eat up."

You swallow, heat pooling in your cheeks and between your legs. This was nothing but the "Zoro effect" on Sanji, as you and Nami call it. Gingerly, you take hold of the spoon. Peering into the bowl, the meal looks heavenly - though you're soon aware of the way your hair keeps falling into your eyes, threatening to become part of the soup.

Your hair had grown long during the months at sea, and you had unwillingly lent Usopp your last bauble for slingshot practice. Your frustration doesn't go unnoticed.

“Here, my darling,” Sanji hummed, circling the table until he was behind you, “Let me help.”

At this moment, Sanji feels dangerous.

Your body erupts with heat as the cook looms behind you, your eyes glued to the steaming bowl of soup displayed before you. The galley feels all too warm, and the meal before you begins to feel more like a test - a challenge - rather than a token of whatever unspoken feelings float between you and Sanji.

Without another word, Sanji’s cold fingers glide along your feverish neck, scooping up your hair in their wake. He gives his wrist a well-practiced twist, eliciting a gasp from your lips at the feeling of your hair pulled taught in his grasp. Sanji feels his ego swell, giving your hair a sharp tug. Your head is thrown back as he lowers himself to your ear.

"Go on," His scruff grazes you, and your skin is suddenly on fire.

"Eat."

Heat floods through Sanji as he watches the way your neck moves as you swallow, nodding at his command. He eases up on his grip and observes the timid way you scoop the broth into your mouth.

He catches the way your eyelids flutter closed at the taste of his meal. You liked it. You always liked his food.

Tonight, simply liking wasn't enough.

"Eating so silently? Don't you know it's rude to the chef?"

Sanji's eyes darken as your fingers twitch on the tabletop. So, he muses to himself, you think you would get away that easily?

"Don't you like it?"

"S-Sanji-"

"Don't use your words, pet. Just enjoy."

From above, he watches as the plush peaks of your breasts begin to heave quicker. You allow yourself to fully dive into the meal, this time taking noodles and broth quickly between your lips. For a moment, you seem to forget that Sanji is there. You hum, in something akin to ecstasy - Sanji had made this meal just for you, just the way you liked it.

The obscenely wet squelches of your lips slurping up his creation elicit a deep groan from the chef, fingers tightening their grip on your hair. He can't help but chuckle at the idea of Zoro sitting alone in some corner booth and nursing a drink, all while you're here sucking up and savoring Sanji's affection.

You lift your head, lips puffy from the spice and heat of the meal. Sanji presses himself into your back, as his free thumb comes around and wipes your bottom lip. Your gazes meet, and Sanji brings his thumb to his mouth - tasting remnants of your meal.

A low chuckle escapes his lips.

"What, my love? Finished already?"

You understand his insinuation, whipping your head back to your meal and bringing the ladle back to your mouth.

Eat it all up, love. Made just for you.

In a moment of weakness, Sanji gently pushes your head down.

You gag on the spoon.

Sanji moans.

His hips buck forward, desperate for friction, meeting the soft dip of your arched back. His throbbing cock digs into your back, your buttocks...Unable to compose himself, Sanji begins to rut himself against you – and you don’t protest.

Sanji knows how fowl this display looks, and yet he can’t help himself. He has wanted you - really wanted you - for so long...the idea that Zoro could possibly take you away from him was enough to drive him over the edge.

When Sanji hears your voice rumble from your chest - "nnnugh-! Sanji...!" - he swears by the heavens that he'll do anything to make you his.

His hand moves from your hair and wraps around your throat, slick with the broth that dribbles from your lips. He wishes to lick every part of your sticky, salty skin, gently squeezing your throat as you gasp out his name.

Your head lolls onto his shoulder, hand gripping the table as it shakes under the weight of Sanji's wild bucking.

Sanji is everywhere, mumbling streams of thought between hot kisses along your forehead:

"I fucking love you, you know that? Would Zoro treat you so well?"

"That pretty mouth, always teasing me - you think that's fair?"

"Just wanna fill you up with all of me, darling...Want those gorgeous lips around my cock..."

For all his talk, he fumbles and lurches forward. His hand unceremoniously lands in the bowl, soaking him up to the cuff in warm broth. You're both breathing heavily, the high beginning to wind down. However, you see your moment to gain leverage.

You grab hold of his wrist before he can think, turning your face ever so slightly to meet his.

With a twinkle in your eye, you guide his hand to your lips. Sanji's mind is a fluffy haze, unable to anticipate your next move.

"We don't waste food, right?" You purr.

You take Sanji's fingers into your velvety mouth and he practically sees stars. He has been dreaming of this exact pleasure for months, straining to keep from collapsing on top of you as your tongue swirls between his fingers.

As your cheeks hollow out around his digits, your hooded gaze keeps his in a near mocking way.

So, you had known his game all along.

Sanji's chest heaves against your back, his hot breath fanning across your face with a stutter. His inexperience shows in this moment, numb and capable of doing nothing but watching the expert way your mouth moves around his fingers.

A faint pop of your cheeks accompanies the release, a ghostly string of spit connecting his fingers to your lips. The faint moonlight catches hold of his soaked digits. Sanji inhales sharply.

His hand, frozen in your hold, is easily guided down...

down...

down...

"I've already had my meal," you murmur.

A shiver.

His eager fingers meet your soaking, pulsing warmth.

"It's time you eat yours."

[hwangrfrnd]

He only dates pretty girls. ✰ hwang hyunjin

ー♡̵ pairing. hwang hyunjin x female!reader

ー♡̵ género y warnings. smut - sin muchos detalles, fluff, uni!au

ー♡̵ autora original. @leeknow-thoughts

ー♡̵ wc. 0.7 K

MASTERLIST

Fue una comprensión vergonzosa cuando descubriste que te habías enamorado de él. Estaba fuera de tu alcance y lo sabías. Oh, cómo lo sabías.

"Sólo sale con chicas bonitas", parecían decir todos sus amigos.

Como si ellos mismos te recordaran cuál era tu lugar.

Era inteligente, solo necesitaba clases particulares de matemáticas. Todos los martes y viernes ibas a su casa de fraternidad para ayudarlo con trigonometría. Cada vez que ibas, aprendías algo nuevo sobre él. Cada vez que ibas, él también aprendía algo nuevo sobre ti.

La semana pasada ambos hicieron menos matemáticas y hablaron más. Hablaron de todo, desde música hasta exámenes y zapatos.

Era guapo. Hasta un ciego podía ver su belleza, porque su belleza no se limitaba a su apariencia. Era hermoso en su voz, en su pasión, en su bondad.

Su presencia también era hermosa, aunque fugaz. Cada momento con él parecía fugaz, suave como una pluma, pero tan pesado como un ladrillo.

Te encuentras en una de sus fiestas. Sentada en el sofá de su fraternidad, rodeada de cuerpos sudorosos. "Ahí estás! No puedo creer que hayas venido!", escuchaste su voz frente a ti.

Cuando miraste hacia arriba, lo viste. Estaba hermoso, como siempre, con unos sencillos jeans azules y una camiseta negra sin mangas. Sin embargo, lucía elegante.

"Uhm, por supuesto! Gracias por invitarme!", intentas hablar lo suficientemente alto como para poder escuchar las palabras que salen de tu boca por encima de la música.

"¿Quieres volver a mi habitación? Hay un poco de ruido aquí", pregunta.

Por supuesto que accediste. Te tomó del brazo mientras te guiaba por los pasillos de la casa. Subiste por la escalera y llegaste a la primera puerta a la izquierda. Su habitación era así, él.

Estaba limpio y ordenado. "Apuesto a que tienes muchas chicas aquí", el pensamiento se te escapa de la mente antes de que puedas evitar que salga de tu boca.

Él se burla con fingida ofensa "¿Eso es lo que piensas de mí?"

Te encoges de hombros, él se sienta en la cama y da unas palmaditas en el espacio que hay a su lado. Quiere que te sientes a su lado. "Quiero decir que solo sales con chicas bonitas", te ríes entre dientes.

Su rostro se rompe por la sorpresa, "¿Jisung te dijo eso?"

Asientes, recordando cómo el chico te lo dijo después de que le informaste que Hyunjin fue quien te invitó. "Bueno, ¿es cierto?", le preguntas mientras balanceas ligeramente tus pies de un lado a otro sobre la cama.

"Sólo salgo con chicas que me parecen bonitas", responde con sinceridad, "me gustan las chicas que son inteligentes y divertidas y que no suelen salir de fiesta. Me gustan las chicas que son amables y que son buenas en matemáticas, esas son las que me parecen realmente bonitas", tararea.

"Mhm", haces una pausa, "¿te gusta alguna de las chicas de nuestra clase de matemáticas?"

"Oh", su tono baja, "no, estaba hablando de ti, pero sí, también estás en nuestra clase de matemáticas, así que sí"

Todos los pensamientos abandonan tu cabeza en ese instante "¿Crees que soy bonita?"

"¿Por qué crees que es imposible que piense que eres bonita?", cuestiona.

"Tú eres tú", le señalas, "y yo soy yo", te señalas a ti misma.

"Y eres perfecta!" exclama.

Una ola de silencio invade la habitación, no se oye nada más que el latido de tu corazón. Se siente como si te estuvieras viendo golpearte el dedo del pie, pero esperas unos segundos para que el dolor aparezca. Pero el dolor nunca llegó. Tal vez no tenía por qué doler de la forma en que esperabas que dolería. Tal vez nunca hubiera dolido de la forma en que creías que dolería.

Y antes de que puedas pensar, antes de que puedas hablar, sus labios están sobre los tuyos y sus rostros están a centímetros de distancia y él te está besando. Sabe a cerezas y tequila que debió haber bebido antes. Te está besando. Hyunjin te está besando. Te está besan-

"¿Por qué?" suspiras contra sus labios, sin atreverte a separarte de él por completo.

"Porque te necesito, te deseo, por favor", murmura contra tus labios agrietados.

No puedes evitar sonreír contra sus labios cuando dice eso "¿Me deseas?"

"Joder, sí", murmura contra tus labios antes de atraerte hacia otro beso húmedo, "te necesito, joder. Te he necesitado durante tanto tiempo"

No sabes de dónde sacas la confianza para decir, "Entonces tómame"

Y no duele cuando toca fondo dentro de ti. Sus cuerpos se aferran el uno al otro, temerosos del vacío sin el otro. Tus manos recorren suavemente su estómago. Cada una de sus embestidas te acerca cada vez más al borde, te aferras a él cuando te caes sobre él. Y oh es, tan perfecto.

TAGLIST - @monbxby-blog - Comenta si quieres ser agregado al taglist 💗

[dev1lm4n]

sinful reunion

masterlist | ko-fi (help me survive college :/)

pairing: engaged!joel miller x f!reader

summary: frustrated with how things were, you left joel and jackson for a whole year. today, you decide to give him a little visit and figure out that he's indeed engaged! joel trapped you in his bathroom to make you feel better

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit (18+), extreme dubcon, mean joel miller, fingering, infidelity, again.. joel miller is a mean, mean man.

note: do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :) i'm so exhausted from college i'm literally gonna pass out after i post this

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the quaint city had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. The great trees, which you remembered looking shrunken and bare when you left, had now burst into strong life and health. Branches doubled in length and girth, mantle of bright green draped over deep browns. Masses of white flowers brought memories of the late winter. A bubbling cloud of hot steam evaporated off your exposed forearm. The rolled sleeves settling right above your elbow was damp with sweat, same thing goes for below your arms and between your thighs. You sighed. The folded porno magazine you’ve been using as a shield above your forehead didn’t help much after all.

If it’s not for that old, obscene, grouch of a man, you wouldn’t have returned in the height of summer.

Things hadn’t changed much.

People are still as hopeful as ever. Their eyes shone with a renewed brightness, as if a full stomach and a roof over their head was simply enough to keep them satiated. They still bake apple pies, shovel their walkways, go to work (even if it's not to the infamous Wall Street), return home and share a familiar tequila with a friend or fiend. People are still people. And the pretend normalcy drove you insane. It’s confining and overall suffocating. 

Being safe ailed you. You couldn’t be that lady in old commercials. Plaid apron over her chest, sandwiches on the table, husband and kid smiling at her happily. You couldn’t kiss your husband goodbye or craft lunch boxes for your kid. You couldn’t live if it wasn’t on the edge of death.

You tried. For Joel, you swore you’d try.

It’s been a full year since you fled. Maxine, your dear horse being the only witness to your escape. That and the night guard you threatened with a shotgun, an unloaded one you’d argue, but it’d still have you in big trouble if it was reported. With a few old friends or two, you managed to slip back in discreetly. You disguised yourself as a patrol unit. Practical jeans, some stitches torn apart from prolonged use, and a khaki button up. Boots that’s dipped in dust and dirt tight around your calves, a bold contrast to the neat wooden boards underneath. Your eyes landed on the welcome mat in front of his door. A shrilling memory invaded your head‒ how you picked it out for him, all smiles and giggles at the corny line printed atop.

You stepped on the mat, mocking it by grinding your dirty heel atop.

Then you knocked. Precisely three times.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come. It was shameless of you to return. Cruel, even.. disgusting for you to abandon someone who’s clearly dependent on you. 

He lived for you. Every morning he made sure to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips, or your clit if he’s being kind. Every night he’d always tell you how much you meant to him, never an I love you, but always in the lines of dangerous situations and how he’d save you from it. You made a promise to stay. A promise to accept a ring around your pretty fingers when the time comes; doesn’t have to be shiny, you said, anything will do. But then you left. While he was out, keeping the city safe from any potential threats, you buckled up and tugged on your horse’s reins. Maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe you should just-

You jolted, even stumbled backwards when the large door swung open in one grand movement.

In panic, your eyes oscillated. His eyes were the same shade of brown you remembered him by, though this time it was much rounder, as if he’s truly surprised. Then it came to meet his hooked nose, the one you’d poke everytime you’re laid side by side post-coitus,. And his cracked lips, oh how you remembered kissing them better. 

Joel Miller hadn’t changed one bit. It freaked you out, how he looked the same as he did when he practically proposed to you or when you promised to still love him even when he’s no longer young and strong. Your breath quickened. Your heart froze, cold sweat dribbled down your temple even when the air’s hot and balmy. You clutched onto the rolled magazine. The salacious pages of nude girls in cowboy hats creased at the strength of your bare hands. Is he going to say something? Anything? You’d rather have him furious than silent.

“Who is it, honey?”

The air thinned.

“The turkey’s cooked, but it’s kinda burnt.” The voice giggled. “Oh, who is this?”

You counted to ten to ground yourself.

One.. Two..

“Just.. just an old friend,” he muttered.

There was a girl. A pretty one at that, standing on her tippy toes as she attempted to look past Joel’s broad frame to observe you. Her tanned skin glowed like a newly polished silverware under the summer sun. A cascade of glossy, ebony hair framed her round face, falling in gentle waves which closely resembled swaying palm trees in coastal beaches. You noticed that it was adorned with delicate, ornate hairpins as well. One of flowers and the other of a classic shape. Was it from him? He used to do that for you, picking up small items to gift like a bird in need of mating. The thin gold strap around your neck was from him, a gift from when the two of you were still operating high-risk jobs around Boston. A proof that you’re mine, he spoke that time.

Joel made the conscious decision to move to the side. Now you could see her more. How she’s cladded in a loose shirt with short sleeves rolled to her shoulders, how her shorts fit perfectly around her smooth thighs, how her supple breasts spilled out of the neckline. In any way you’d think of it, she was the better option. A masterpiece in the Louvre museum, a best-selling New York Times book. She’d be a model if the world wasn’t infested with flesh-eating nuisance. Your head lowered (you’re staring too much!), opting to scrutinize the details of your boots’ mud yellow strings. 

This was a bad decision. You shouldn’t have come. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d get on his knees and beg for you to stay. If only you weren’t curious of whether he’d embrace you back in his large arms. If he’d fuck you ‘til your little brain stop working.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” The feminine voice spoke up. “Invite your friend in, Joel.”

“No- haha, no it’s alright,” you panicked.

“No,” she reached for your hand. The free one, not the one with the porn magazine. “Com’on. I cooked a big dinner tonight! The more, the merrier.”

“I really shouldn’t,” you tried to convince her.

Her soft, greasy hands ‒ probably from stuffing the turkey she’s claimed to make ‒ led you through the entrance despite your many reasons. You found it a little funny that you still memorized the layout of Joel’s house like the back of your hand, like an old corny song you couldn’t quite get out of your head. The dining room was to the left, you remembered. It was just as you left it. An old, dull rectangular table sat in the middle. It used to be only filled with bread and fruits you pick up from the market. Sometimes you’re diligent enough to create a sweet jam, but there was never a fresh meal on the table. There’s no time for that. He would often times heat up a can of Chef Boyardee when you’re sick, or when he’s ruined your little hole so much that you’re pretty much bedridden, but that’s about it/

“Your name is?” you questioned, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Summer and yours?”

You mentioned your name half-mindedly as you sat down on one of the creaky chairs. You opted for the one on the left, your favorite one as it always gave you a five-star view of the lovely trees beyond. The room was much cleaner, curtains drawn and ceilings dusted. You’d even bet money that ‘Summer’ had also dusted all the compartments of the chandelier, wiped each and every window panel, and vacuumed the rotten patterned carpet underneath. The rounds of your pupils settled back on the sight unfolding ahead of you; how the Joel Miller, the same person who needed an entire year or two to be comfortable in expressing his feelings to you, led his new lover by the waist. He then proceeded to pull her chair back to aid her, a gentle smile on his face at all times.

He changed.

He looked exactly the same, but there was just.. something off about him. Was he a doppelganger by chance? Joel Miller is never warm. He’s naturally a tough lover. Reluctant, even mean at times, but right now he’s acting like the picture-perfect husband. A righteous man, which you knew he ain’t.

“So where’d y’all know each other from?” 

Her lovely, cheery voice pulled you out of your dazed state. You raised your head slightly to flash a small smile her way. The chair creaked once more at Joel’s weight as he settled on your right, heavy frame and all extremely obvious from the corner of your eyes. A man, his lover, and his sort-of-ex having dinner in the late afternoon of a warm summer day‒ how ironic! You couldn’t even look at him, because sparing him a glance meant that you had to look at those manipulative eyes of his. Those browns that could impose a certain feeling deep in your chest, whether hatred, fear, or something close to love.

“Work,” he spoke up, “used to deliver packets.”

Half the truth. Packets? Sure, but not ordinary ones.

“Mhm. We arrived at Jackson together.”

As lovers, you’d like to add.

“Long time friends then?” Summer beamed a sweet smile your way. 

Guilt pooled in your stomach almost instantly.

“Yup.”

“Oh well, me and Joel met last Winter. He’s fond of the horses and I work at the stables so things worked out,” she mentioned dreamily, “the winter festival’s our first date.”

An eerie tension stood between you and him. It was thick, as thick as blood and as nasty as pus on a wound left unattended. 

He stood up after a moment or two to help slice open the thick turkey and only then did you dare to look at him. To ogle at his large forearms that’s tightly gift-wrapped in a thin breathable shirt, to dig deep into where his veins start and where it ends, to finally relish in the sight of his thick, bushy hair. It’s been awhile. A long time actually since you get to properly look at a man. You continued to watch as he sliced a chunk and placed it right on top of your empty plate, the knife he’s holding reflecting his tight-lipped smile your way. The winter festival’s supposed to be your thing. The two of you’s thing, where you’d gift each other a surprise and smoke a blunt or two and maybe fuck, but you left.

“That’s nice,” you replied, albeit a little dry.

“He’s a nice man,” Summer chimed in. “Kind, caring, a true Southern gentleman that is.”

You could argue on that.

“Is he now?”

“True thing that is. Swear on my life,” she continued. “Must be nice having him as a friend.”

“Well, don’t toot my horn too much, darlin’.”

There it was. That masculine drawl. That voice that’d have you begging on your knees if he asked you to. You’d commit the greatest crime‒ no, you’ve commit notable crimes just to have him stay right by your side. Just to have him acknowledge what you’re capable of, so he’d take you under his wings in the depth of Boston’s trenches, because protection from him meant a good life. Maybe that’s all you’ll ever be to him, a little bird to protect. And maybe that’s all he’ll ever be to you, a protector in times of need.

“It’s a little warm here in Jackson,” you chuckled. “A cold beer might help a lot.”

“Oh sorry, honey, we don’t drink alcohol ‘round here.” She sounded apologetic, but you swore her almond eyes were judging you for a second.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Summer leaned her head to the side. “Been going to church these days. Pastor said it’s better to pray than indulge in past addictions. Ain’t that right, Joel?”

“That’s right, honey,”

Joel Miller is a church-goer now? For the first time in forever, you had the courage to look him in the eye. He was looking right back at you when you looked, though he had one of those expressions you couldn’t quite decipher. His tired eyes were hooded, enough that the top and bottom curve of his dark pupils are nowhere to be seen, along with a much obvious glint of mischief. It was either morbid curiosity, rooted hatred, or desires of past addictions as Summer puts it. The strands on your brow bone twitched ever so slightly, as if in pure disbelief that a man like him would kneel for a God. It’s not that sinners couldn’t repent. It’s him that you knew could never change. You took a bite out of the supple meat, never leaving his eyes as you do so. Maybe.. just maybe he’d crack under pressure.

“You go to church too?” Summer questioned, mouth full of boiled asparagus.

“No, not really.” You chuckled awkwardly. “There’s not a lot of churches out in the wild.”

“Ah, that’s right,” she hummed. “Why don’t you go to church with us this Sunday? A lot of fun y'know.”

You plastered on a smile, before briefly scooping some of the stringy meat up your mouth.

“I’ll consider it.”

Joel was the first one to snip the ungodly attraction‒ his eyes torn away to meet Summer’s much brighter gaze. Your gut tightened, gag reflex emphasized even more at the sight. Joel Miller was yours, that’s all you could remember despite the extent you took to avoid him, and having him give his precious attention to someone other than you brought a sense of disdain. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't land his eyes on anyone other than you, weren’t you the best thing he ever had? It took awhile to school your expression to a level of believable nonchalance. You found the vintage canvas hung atop of the fireplace a great help in distracting yourself. It’s easy to get lost in every stroke, every clash of colors, instead of the green man squeezing himself between your heart chambers.

“Oh, when did you-” you paused mid sentence.

A ring. 

“Ah.”

Your vision blurred, splotches of red and blue tearing at the edges.

“Engaged, huh?”

A solitary engagement ring encircled her long finger, miraculously preserved by time’s embrace. A relic at times like these. You watched as it glimmered under the orange hues, jaw propped up on your palm to stop it from gaping. A small, radiant stone set in tarnished silver‒ the object mocked you silently, a red flag in front of an agitated bull, it’s purposefully making you reel into the depth of your hatred. Where the you one year ago rested in peace, where the you you’ve been trying to erase off the planet’s surface hibernated, and everything’s starting to resurface all at once. The need. The desperation. The desire to be wanted by something.. someone you couldn’t acquire entirely. You laughed. A dry one at that. Might even sound condescending if it were a tad bit shorter.

He fucking proposed to her. 

Of course he did.

Of course he had to change his ways after you.

You don’t deserve being treated right. She does.

“Oh, you noticed,” she giggled, the noise shrill in your ears. “Just last month actually. We were having dinner and I-”

“Sorry, I..”

You were suffocating, chest inflated twice the size.

“Feel a little sick. Gonna go to..” you held your hand over your lips, genuinely feeling like emptying your entire stomach. “To the bathroom.”

You stared at your own reflection, pitiful, glazed with a layer of disappointment and grief. The vision you had for this visit slowly crumbled. Every unfulfilled dream, every missed opportunity, and every question left unanswered converged into a heartache‒ dull yet throbbing, coursing through every inch of your skin and crawling much deeper. The laughter and conversations you had with him seemed so.. distant, as if they were mere echoes of what once existed a million lightyears ago. You held yourself, worn down fingers clinging on your forearms, nails digging down onto the warm skin underneath. What were you expecting? For him to mourn your exit for the rest of his life? Perhaps. Joel Miller was great at making you feel like shit, but today takes the cake.

Leaving was the only thing on your mind and so you gripped the rusty door handle. A quick exit, you knew you were good at that. Though instead of a brightly lighted hallway, your chest collided with a tough chest wrapped in a flannel shirt. A sandalwood, musky flannel shirt you might add and all those plans you had in mind dwindled down like a damp paper airplane. Plan A, B, and C were quickly crossed out on the chalkboard. Frozen, your lips trembled in fear. You stumbled backwards. Boots thudding against the old tiles, you’re afraid. Chest inflated with fear, you’re terrified!

“Move, Joel.”

Silence.

“Fucking move. Get out of my way.”

You threw quick, meaningless punches on the broad of his chest. It did nothing but made him get bolder with his actions. He took a step back, which you’re grateful for, but not when you realize that it was to lean back against the bathroom’s door. You’ve come a long way from how meek and helpless you were in the QZ, managing to survive the scary outside world for a whole year and keeping all your limbs attached, but you knew that you’d never manage to budge his weight. He was heavy. Used to be a massive ball of muscles, though now slightly worn down by his age. Joel threw you a look. A dirty, demeaning one that’s always been reserved for you. Only you.

“Fuckin' hell are you deaf?”

You bubbled up.

“Fuck you and your little play house. Going to church? Should repent the many souls you took yourself,” you seethed. “You’re just a big asshole on legs y’know that? Now fuck off. It’s a fucking mistake coming to see you.”

You stormed his way. Big mistake. He took you by the shoulder. Rough fingers dug deep into where your bone sits, his knee quick to slot itself between your legs. He was quick to switch the dynamic, to be the offensive one instead as he had you pinned on the wall. The frail wooden bathroom door creaked at the contact, its hinges banging against one another. You looked like one of those dead butterfly displays, spread out forcefully to show your entire potential. Was he going to murder you? Was he going to bang your head against the mirror and leave you there to bleed? He looked like it. With those blown out pupils, you're not even sure if he’s going to keep you alive or dead. If he's going to finally end your misery at last.

“You’re gonna kill me?” You tried to shove his chest back, but it’s no use. “Gonna choke me to death?”

“No!” The grip he had on your shoulder never once loosened, even at your viscous accusations. “You really think I’d kill you?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyebrows sunken in sorrow.

“You don’t know?””

“You’re not the man I once knew, Joel.”

“I’m-”

“I don’t know you anymore! You’re not the same.” Your feet tried to tackle his legs, a move he taught, but he stayed unbudged. “You’re kind, attentive.. you’re there, Joel. You’re present in time. You’re never present with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh fuck off, Joel. You’re not gonna gaslight me.”

That had him briefly loosening the grip around your shoulders. You were quickly met with his cold finger tips, grazing the soft skin of your cheeks, only to settle on your cracked, bloody bottom lip. In a haze, you’re unprepared for the hand slithering its way onto your throat. It squeezed tight enough to impede your airway for a brief second or two, only to loosened when your eyes grew teary. You gasped for air immediately.

“You left!”

“You proposed to her!”

His expression toughened. The Joel Miller you knew was back. The cruel one with tendencies to abandon, to be hollow of true meaningful feelings, and he was inching closer. His soft scruff brushed against the tip of your ears. Warm puffs of air made you turn your head to the side, avoiding his serpent-like hold. He's quick to guide you by your jaw when you start straying off.

“Didn’t know if you’re alive or dead.”

“Oh I bet you’d be enthralled if I were dead,” you chuckled humorlessly. “You hated me, Joel.”

“I was worried,” he continued, ignoring your comments entirely. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your temple, slow and steady as if you’d vanish into dust once more if he was too rough, and proceeded to smother sloppy kisses down your cheek and onto your neck. It glided like warm butter or sunscreen on a beach day. Joel never forgot the way in which you enjoyed getting those sweet spots below your jaw sucked, a mark to show his claim over you, to show his ownership even if you had to drape a shawl over it every time you had to shop for groceries or go on patrols. You weren’t as pretty and prim today though. You were untamed, always attempting to pull yourself away from him, to avoid his rough fingers and needle-like beard.

“Went on a search team every day for a whole month,” he hummed. “What if my sweetheart’s bleeding out in the midst of winter? Low visibility and endless snowstorms. What if you’re shot dead or worse, turned into one of those creatures?”

“But you’re a smart little minx, ain’t ya?” he huffed, his fingers gentle as it slowly popped the buttons to your shirt. His musky scent infiltrated your head. You’re drunk on him. “Threw a tantrum so big you disappeared on me.”

“No, Joel, we- we can’t,” you forced those words out, even when your soft breasts were spilled out of your chest. Those sensitive peaks were already stiff, you’d lie and say it’s simply because of the cold, but there’s no such thing. “Can’t- you’re en- engaged..”

He toyed with your nipples, squeezing and tugging on the right one before giving the same attention to the left. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated as he swirled around the sensitive skin with his coarse fingers. Your breath hitched and your chest spasmed. Every inch of morality left your headspace at the twinge of pleasure, your knees grew weak and he had to prop you up against his strong shoulders to aid you.

“You’re cheatin- oh fuck..”

“I am, huh?” he chuckled lowly. “You don’t want this then? Want me to leave?”

“No! No, please please,” you begged as his fingers carefully began to undo the stiff belt around your waist. He tugged on your zippers, tortuously, slowly unraveling the pretty skin he’s been missing so goddamn much. “I need you..”

“Needy minx,” he insulted teasingly. “Shameless, aren’t ya? Didn’t ya just say ya hate me?”

You whimpered. This shouldn’t be happening. This wasn’t in any of the plans you’ve concocted, it was just pure desire. He felt sinfully good. So warm and firm against your body, so strong and dependable. His shoulder proved to be the perfect place to bury your head into, muffling out the noises you’re prone to make when he shoved his entire palm down your panties. Joel Miller didn’t tolerate the misdemeanor. The hand he had around your neck tightened ever so slightly, before he abruptly pushed you back onto the wooden door. The hard material thudded against your back, resulting in a soft, breathless whine for more. He might be a mean, mean man for afflicting such things, but you’re even more insane for tolerating it.

“Ah, look at you,” he hummed, fingers tapping slow beats onto the hood of your clitoris. “No one fucked you good enough out there.”

You shook your head no. Annoyed, Joel slid his index and middle finger down onto your slit. He cumulated the slickness gathered around your pathetic little hole, before he slid it back up to tease. Up and down. Up and down. Then a full circle. The motion left you breathless, thighs bucking up against his hand, but he’d give you a light slap on the thigh if that happens.

“Oh.. you haven’t fucked anyone else out there?” he cocked his head arrogantly. “Dunno if I can believe a pretty girl like you. After all..”

He had the audacity to slip his finger in. A whole knuckle down your entrance, which is much more than you anticipated. Almost instantly, a sticky clear substance started dribbling out, gushing all around the foreign object infiltrating your cunt. It’s been so long, far too long that you kept yourself untouched. You could basically be categorized as a virgin again at this point. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, it’s just that no one turned you on this much. No one could shove their fingers inside you without getting their head blown off. No one but him.

“You’re not the girl I once knew.”

He turned your little insults right back at you. A single tear dribbled down your warm cheeks, hot and invasive, your fragile heart torn into two and stomped on the ground. Joel retaliated by pressing his lips right onto yours. Starting out soft and smooth, gentle and reverent, as if it was his way of apologizing and professing his undying love for you, but then it grew rougher and unrecognizable. A clash of teeth, a vicious fight for dominance. You had to put up a little fight, show him the kind of girl you’ve turned into, but when he eased a second finger down the tight rings of your cunt, it’s all over. You squirmed, desperately grinding down against his rough palm.

“Fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Jo-”

A knock.

Your eyes blew wide open. The soft fluorescent lights flickered above, casting an eerie shadow that danced across Joel’s expression. You let out a soft whimper, eyes pressed into a crescent shape as you felt the need to cry out of fear and guilt, a sobering shot that made you realize how wrong this was. How disgusting this is. Immoral. Even when he was still three knuckles deep inside your pussy, even when you knew you couldn’t push him away. Your knuckles grew white as it clung onto the fabric of his flannel. He didn’t pay any mind to the interruption, instead, he continued to thrust his dripping fingers in, reaching around to find that squishy spot of yours. The one that’d send stars onto your vision.

“Are you okay in there? I didn’t know why you got sick..”

The muffled voice strengthened the guess you had in your head. It’s Summer, the girl with the engagement band around her fingers, the girl who’s supposed to have his two fingers deep inside her cunt. Your heart raced like a wild stallion, thunderous beats resonating in your ears. A small moan barged its way out your lips when he pressed on your clit once more with his thumb, he quickly guided your jaw back to face him with his free hand. Joel’s expression hardened, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a tight-line, then his mouth contorted into shapes. A wordless order to stay quiet and respond accordingly. You nodded, bottom lip slotted between your teeths.

“Was it the turkey I cooked? Oh god.. it’s my first time cookin’ in. I didn’t know that it’d be terrible. I’m so sorry, do you need some help in there? I can-”

“No.. oh! No.. no.. I’m fi- aaagh- fine.”

Your eyes darted around the small space, looking for any means to escape, but the solitary window was far too small to be of any use. Panic had seized you, but Joel’s fingers brought you back where he needed you to be. On the edge of an orgasm that you knew was going to melt your brain and make you go dumb.

“Really? You don’t sound too good.. I could maybe cook you up a remedy.. Oh, or we can go to the infirmary together? Just I don’t-”

“No.. ooh. Summer, I’m- shit- Summer, I’m fine.”

“Oh.. okay then. I’ll be waiting outside. Um, do you maybe know where Joel is? Kinda wanna see if he has some meds for you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to navigate your way to release. The thumb he had on your clitoris started rubbing faster, tighter circles, leaving you on the very edge of a dangerous cliff.

“Dunno- oh fuck.”

He’s in there with you for fucks sake. Her fiancé’s here fingerfucking you!

“Gonna cum,” you muttered out a little too loud.

“What was that?”

“Gonna.. mmph.. Gonna come out so- sooghn.”

Your knees buckled, for once he allowed it, and you buried your face onto the crook of his neck. His fingers continued to thrust in the perfect rhythm, fucking back in the arousal that’s slowly dripping down. You weren’t shy in grinding back down onto his palm, neither were you shy when you came all over his fingers, the remnants left in an embarrassing pool down your trousers. His thumb tickled your clitoris, making sure the sensitive nub deserved all the pleasure it could get as he watched you crumble. Everything was just how you remembered it. Sinful, warm, and helpless.

“Okay.. I’ll go look for Joel in the backyard shed!”

[florinaranja]

Holaaaa, primero que nada escribes INCREÍBLE, me encanta tu redacción, cuando encontré tu blog mori por qué quería leer más trabajos tuyos y no encontré, ánimo.

Y segundo quería pedirte algo con pipeeee, es un golden tiernon, no sé, se me ocurre algo como una fiesta post partido de fut y que Pipe sea medio reservado, pero por estar tan feliz, no pueda esconder el PDA y se la pase buscando contacto físico inocente y al final no le importe nada estar sobre, mostrando afecto frente a sus amigos.

Espero con ansias leer todos los trabajos a futuro que escribas. 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

afición de enamorados ; felipe otaño

pairing: felipe otaño x fem!r

summary: ¿qué hay mejor que pasar un día muy futbolístico y amoroso con tu novio pipe? exacto, nada. 1.6k.

warnings: none!! puro fluff como debe ser

n/a: muchas gracias por el request! siento la tardanza, los exámenes me consumen viva. espero que te guste muchísimo y de verdad muchas gracias por el apoyo y tu mensaje😢 me ha hecho super feliz y motivado un montón!! love u!!! also esto creo que es obvio, pero soy española así que siento que no tengan el habla argentina🙏 i'm trying

nunca hubiera pensado que se emocionaría viendo un partido de fútbol, pero ahí estaba ella: gritando a puro pulmón cada vez que la pelota recaía en los pies de su novio. ahora entendía la euforia que sentía felipe cada vez que veía un partido de river, equipo del que era hincha hasta la raíz, y este ganaba. 

alegrarse por su novio no cambiaría el hecho de su poca afición futbolística, pero de vez en cuando era divertido pasar la tarde gritando como una loca apoyándolo. es un tipo de orgullo explosivo, eso era indiscutible. 

no era más que un partido entre amigos, una forma más de pasar el tiempo. pero felipe estaba corriendo decidido hacia la portería contraria, esquivando con agilidad a los contrincantes y con el sudor de un ganador corriéndole por la frente; y maría, desde su posición de espectadora, tenía los puños apretados y se iba levantando poco a poco de la grada hasta que felipe marcó gol. la chica pegó un salto emocionada, aclamando el último punto que le daba la victoria al equipo de su novio. 

bajó corriendo las escaleras hasta llegar a las vallas que la separaban del césped, esperando a que todos los amigos de felipe acabaran de felicitarlo. en cuanto terminaron, el joven se escabulló y dirigió directo hacia su novia, como un perrito que regresa a traerle la pelota a su amo. maría lo recibió con una amplia sonrisa. acunó su cara entre sus manos y comenzó a llenarlo de besos sonoros por toda la cara, casi pareciendo una madre orgullosa. 

—¡has estado increíble, cariño! eres bueno en todo lo que haces, que lo sepas —pipe rio acalorado, bien por el cansancio y el calor del verano o por las palabras cariñosas de la joven—. además me hace tan feliz verte disfrutar así, como un niño pequeño… 

maría se encontró con sus ojos azules, melosos. jugaba con los piquitos ondulados que se formaban en la nuca de su chico con una sonrisa tonta y felipe no pudo aguantar más sin sentir sus labios contra los suyos. se inclinó por encima de la valla y cogió firmemente una de las mejillas de la chica, entremezclándose en un beso de simple amor. 

los silbidos de los amigos de pipe no tardaron en llegar, como era lo normal. pipe cortó el beso y se giró hacia ellos, sacándoles el dedo. —no se cansan de joder ustedes. 

volvió a dirigirse a su novia. —esta noche los chicos y yo pensamos en celebrar la victoria y ya de paso ver el partido de river. ¿qué decís?

ella entrelazó sus manos. —si dijera que no a pasar tiempo contigo estaría loca. 

llegó la noche y la pareja estaba lista para la larga celebración que les esperaba en casa de uno de los amigos de felipe. lo primero que hizo su novio al entrar en la casa fue tirarse en el sofá, ansioso y con los colores rojo y blanco de su camiseta vibrando más que de costumbre. no era lo mismo que verlo en el estadio donde el ambiente estaba cargado de los gritos de los aficionados, pero si estaba con su chica cualquier cosa era extraordinaria. se giró por encima del sofá a mirarla, estaba charlando con otra chica y, cómo no, estaba radiante. cada vez que la veía, le era imposible no pensar que era todo lo que necesitaba con él, la chica de sus sueños. se acomodó bien, de nuevo enfrentando la televisión, mientras se mordía el labio intentando reprimir las ganas que tenía de besarla allí mismo. 

nunca habían sido del tipo de parejas que están pegadas todo el rato, uno encima del otro, sino que guardaban los momentos más íntimos y cargados de emoción para la mera presencia del otro. no es que no se mostraran cariñosos en público, siempre paseaban con las manos entrelazadas y se robaban besos cada vez que podían, pero el verdadero sentimiento que se tenían se daba en la soledad de su hogar.

el partido comenzó a las nueve en punto. fue acompañado por pizzas y fernet, las risas de los amigos (entre las que maría siempre destacaba la de felipe) y la pura afición que solo el fútbol conlleva. cuando su equipo marcó el primer gol, los bramidos se escucharon por todo el vecindario. felipe no cabía en su felicidad. buscó con la mirada a su novia, quien ya se encontraba mirándolo y le hizo una seña con el brazo mientras gesticulaba “vamos”. con ese simple acto, se le llenó el pecho de una alegría abrumadora. incluso llegaron a subírsele los colores y a cosquillearle la barriga, como si fuera la primera vez que hablaba con la chica que tanto le gustaba. 

le recorrió la necesidad de cogerla, apretujarla y dejar el partido de lado para susurrarle al oído y oír sus risitas en respuesta. pero lo único que hizo fue darle una sonrisa en respuesta y volver a sentarse en el sofá cuando el ambiente ya se había calmado. 

hasta que marcaron el segundo gol a favor de su equipo, el chico echó en falta algo, o mejor dicho alguien. de vez en cuando se le colaba por el rabillo de ojo la imagen de su novia charlando con uno de sus amigos —desde el primer momento se llevó bien con todos ellos y es que, ¿quién podría no hacerlo?— y en su mente solo podía pensar en tenerla cerca. así que, aprovechando la nueva emoción, felipe pegó un salto del sofá y se acercó a la chica. le tendió la mano y esta la aceptó gustosa aunque extrañada. la condujo hasta el sofá y miró a los dos chicos que lo ocupaban.

—échate para allá, dale. 

su amigo lo hizo, no sin antes lanzarle algún que otro insulto cariñoso y burlarse de él. ahora, con maría a su lado la noche de felipe solo había mejorado. no quería hacer tan obvio que estaba anhelando el tacto de la piel suave de su novia pero falló irremediablemente. mantuvo sus manos entrelazadas y acercó su rostro al cuello de ella, descansando en su aroma a lavanda. 

la joven rio por lo bajo por las cosquillas que su pelo le hacía y llevó su mano libre a su cabeza, acariciando cada mechón de pelo castaño.

—¿y este repentino cambio tan amoroso? —el chico suspiró.

—siempre puedes volver a irte si quieres, amor —siseó juguetón felipe, para luego dejar un casto beso en su cuello. 

por nada del mundo la chica se iría de ahí. se acurrucó contra él, intentando tener el mayor contacto que podía. estaba disfrutando esta muestra pública de cariño como la que más, era un hecho. 

sin embargo, las cosas comenzaron a complicarse para los rojiblancos. el equipo contrario había remontado acabando en empate, teniendo solo quince minutos de prórroga para ganar. el ambiente en el pequeño salón se notaba preocupado. felipe apretaba la mano de su novia con fuerza cada vez que veía un gol cerca aunque terminara en nada. cuando ya quedaban cinco minutos y todo los chicos habían aceptado la derrota, un jugador de river marcó, dándoles la victoria. 

todos los amigos que se habían reunido aquella noche saltaron exaltados, incluso maría se alegró por los vencedores. los chicos comenzaron a corear mientras saltaban, con unas enormes sonrisas plasmadas en sus caras y la joven esperó que felipe se les uniera. en cambio, fue sorprendida por un agarre brusco que la hizo girar para encontrarse con sus labios estampados contra los de su chico. correspondió a su beso, brusco y desaliñado por la emoción del momento, con su agarre fuerte en sus caderas derritiéndola por completo. 

al separarse, maría cogió una bocanada de aire jadeando. tampoco le dio tiempo a mucho más, porque pipe la tomó levántandola del suelo y girándola por el aire. la sala se inundó de sus risas.

—¡pipe, bájame! voy a vomitar la pizza.

el joven obedeció sin mucha resistencia y le plantó otro beso y otro y otro y así hasta que un carraspeo los interrumpió. —no bueno, si queréis nos vamos y os dejamos solos.

felipe reaccionó como hacía apenas unas horas: le mostró el dedo del medio. nadie le dio mucha importancia y la celebración continuó. maría alcanzó la mano de su novio y le sonrió. 

—quiero pasar toda mi vida contigo, cariño. acompañarte a todos los partidos de fútbol solo para verte así de feliz, a todos los castings que quieras… no sé, no puedo imaginar no estar a tu lado. es algo raro para decirte justo ahora, pero es que me lleva rondando la mente por un tiempo, quiero que sepas lo mucho que significas para mí. 

—nena, algún día de estos vas a matarme —le regaló un beso en la mejilla—,  no puedes ser más perfecta. no puedo esperar para que pasemos juntos toda la vida. 

la joven se colgó de su cuello y esta vez fue ella quien inició el beso: lento, saboreado, rosado. 

y así continuaron el resto de la madrugada, más melosos que unos recién enamorados, siempre a menos de cinco centímetros el uno del otro. al final, ni siquiera ellos podían escapar de la necesidad de sentirse cerca, no importaba el público o la situación. y qué decir que después de esa noche, maría comenzó a ver los partidos de fútbol con más cariño.