#Wow drabble

[neoheros]

sakusa knows he’s a bad date.

he’s quiet, timid, doesn’t speak much, and asks all the wrong questions at the wrong time.

he’s not very good at eye contact and a lot of the things he wants to say he feels he can’t say at all either.

(partially due to the feeling that everything he says when he talks to you ends up embarrassing him, and partially due to the fact that talking to you for long periods of time make him tongue tied).

(not that he’d ever admit that).

despite all that though, he does know the basics when it comes to going on dates:

he buys you flowers (and forgets it by his doorway), he opens the car door for you (and apologizes when it almost hits you as he opens it), and he makes dinner reservations at the restaurant you mentioned to him in passing three days ago (he did a good job with this one).

so yes, him being a bad date is not unbeknownst to him. quite the opposite in fact, it’s not only something he knows about himself, but it’s also something that he thinks about all the time.

or at least, all the time ever since he’s met you.

that’s how the two of you end up here — the evening of your first (and probably last) date, sitting on a porch step of an empty building, a bloodied handkerchief filled with crushed up snow pressed against sakusa’s left cheek, and a few missing buttons from your favorite winter coat.

sakusa always knew he was a bad date, but he never thought he would be this bad.

the plan had been simple: get you flowers, open the door for you, drive you to the restaurant you liked. sakusa had this game-plan of his memorized ever since you said yes to him four — now five — days ago.

he wrote it on a piece of paper, step by step, and kept it in his wallet sleeve in case he forgets, he repeated it to himself three times in the mirror this afternoon before he left the house to pick you up, and he said it to himself one last time in the car before texting you that he’d arrived.

he memorized it.

and still, he messed it up.

the streets are empty and the evening is quiet.

“sorry … for this.”

his words feel like they’ve been the first to be spoken all night.

on the snowy concrete just below your feet, there’s a few drops of blood making its presence known loudly against the whiteness of the snow, the drops scatter sporadically, and near it, there’s a button or two from your coat.

you sit next to sakusa on the cold steps, it’s a quiet night, and it’s not snowing anymore, but the soft bed of the cold flurry it left behind made for a beautiful evening.

you let your head fall slightly on his shoulder, “for what?”

you can feel him stiffen immediately under your touch, and he coughs, shy, and looks to the side.

it makes you smile a little bit — his efforts of hiding his expressions — it’s not like you can see him anyway with that big makeshift ice-pack covering his face.

“sorry for the bad date.” he clears his throat, more clearly now, a little louder too, but his tone almost sounds disappointed. “… and sorry for ruining your coat.”

you lift your head up from his shoulder, frowning, and you turn to face him, “it’s not a bad date.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. instead, he keeps his head turned slightly away from you, but his shoulders fall a bit when you move away from him.

“if anything, i should be the one apologizing.” you mutter lowly, “i’m the reason you got hurt.”

sakusa huffs slightly. a second pausing in the air as he refuses to return the look you give him, and finally, he puts down the “ice pack” from his cheek, and looks at you.

his cheek is scratched lightly, nothing too deep, just a red mark that’ll probably resolve itself in a few days, but his lower lip though — the culprit of the blood stained snow — is undeniably busted, still bleeding slightly, and making him wince at the sudden loss of pressure.

“don’t say stupid things.” he tells you, and if it makes him sound cold, he swears he’s not trying to be.

he just doesn’t know what else there is to say.

the truth is — it is a bad date.

he forgot your flowers, almost hit you with the car door, and now, the two of you are missing your dinner reservation because he got himself injured twenty minutes into the night.

it’s not fair, he thinks. half the things he wants to say to you, he can’t. half the things he wants to do, he messes up.

you make him fumble on his words, tongue tied, speechless, literally. you make him write things down on notes so he won’t forget them or practice on bathroom mirrors or worry in his car outside your doorstep.

he is the most capable man in his team, he is the sharpest, the most composed, his teammates and coach all count and look up to him.

but for some reason, one night with you, and it all washes away.

he doesn’t know what to say to you, he forgets things, and he falls face first flat on the hard concrete ground twenty minutes into your first date.

don’t say stupid things.

“you really won’t let me take you to the hospital?” you put your hand on his knee, turning even more to your side so you can face him better.

you have half a mind to put your other hand on his injured cheek but you don’t want to hurt him more than how he already does.

“it’s not as bad as it looks.” and as he says that, he winces, the gust of wind suddenly hitting his busted lip a testament to his bad luck tonight.

sakusa wants to kick himself, if there ever would be an appropriate time to act cooler than how he actually was, it would definitely not be now.

you don’t look so convinced, but sakusa wouldn’t know, he’s still only limiting himself to looking at you briefly before shifting his glance to something behind you or beside you or above you.

“hm. and it doesn’t hurt?” you cross your arms.

he shakes his head, “no. it doesn’t.” (it does.)

you raise a brow, “and you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me right now so i don’t take you to the emergency room?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not.” (he is.)

you give him a look.

listen — sakusa already knows that he’s a bad date, but come on! he has been planning on asking you to dinner with him since the first week he’s known you, he’s been worrying about this evening since the second you agreed to it, and he’s been kicking himself in the head ever since the night began.

he’d rather bleed out on this disgustingly dirty porch step than admit that he’s a date so bad he can turn an evening meant for dinner into a night at the emergency room.

he doesn’t want you to think that he can be so bad like that. (is it too soon to ask you out for dinner again?)

you still look frustrated at his answers. but at least, he’s looking at you now.

you let out a big sigh, shoulders falling, and suddenly, you clap your hands together loudly as you straighten up.

“then i have an idea.” you say, and sakusa furrows his brows at the sudden change in the atmosphere.

you give him a prompting grin. “heads or tails.”

and it catches him so off guard, he says aloud, “what?”

you dig for a coin in your coat, “i’ll flip a coin and if it lands on heads, we go to the emergency room, no arguments, no fusses, no nothing.”

he frowns at that.

“but.” you tell him, and your grin gets wider as you show him the dime laid out on your palm, “if it’s tails, we go to my apartment, and i’ll try to fix you up there.”

his frown falls almost immediately into something else.

one night out with you and he’s already bleeding heavily and injured, and now you wanna take him back to your apartment?

were you trying to kill him?

“heads or tails, omi.”

he blinks at your words. and once again, he finds himself saying aloud, “what?”

you shoot him a funny look, your eyebrows slightly raising as your lips curve upward into a crooked smile.

you say, teasing, “if you don’t know; heads is the part of the coin with the head of the person showing on it and tails is the–”

sakusa grumbles loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence, making sure you see him roll his eyes at you, and he nudges you slightly with his foot.

he mutters, albeit under his breath, and he tries to hide it, but you can always tell when he’s smiling, “i know what a goddamned head is.”

you shrug, your grin wider now when you see his mood lighten up a bit.

“do you know what a goddamned tail is?”

sakusa huffs out an amused sigh. the smile on his face a lot more prominent now, and you only wonder slightly if it hurts him when he does it.

his shoulders fall as he’s defeated, “just take me to the emergency room.”

you let out a short laugh and the night doesn’t seem so quiet anymore.

you fall back against his shoulder, “ah, omi, are you just saving the opportunity to be invited into my apartment for our next date?”

there’s a choking sound to be heard in the air.

his face almost feels like it’ll erupt into flames by how casually you just said that, a hot pink hue creeping up from his neck to nose all the way to the tips of his ears. he blames it on the cold, and immediately, he presses the “icepack” back against his cheek.

sakusa stands up suddenly from the porch step, “let’s go now.”

and just like he said, he strides away, faster than what would usually be safe on snow-covered pavement.

“omi, not so fast!” you yell after him, rising from your own seat and following his pace, “you might fall again and hurt the other side of your face and atsumu will think i beat you up on our first date.”

he walks faster.

“i can go to the hospital myself, please don’t follow me.”

“that’s ridiculous! let me take care of you!”

he trips on his feet slightly as you say that and his heart feels like it would’ve fell from his mouth had he not caught himself before falling again.

you really were trying to kill him, weren’t you?

maybe this date doesn’t feel so bad after all.

and, is it too soon if he asks you to come have dinner with him again?

[k0mmari]

Sword Spirit AU - Xiu Ya (pt.1)

Hello hello! This is going to be a very very casual AU with the first half being dedicated to Xiu Ya(jiuyuan) and the other Xin Mo(bingyuan), so sit tight, relax, and maybe put on some Soul Eater in the background, because this is basically it.

This post is going to be VERY LONG, so sorry in advance ^^;;

It's finally time for Shen Jiu to go to Wan Jian Peak and get his spiritual sword, one of the final steps for his Shizun to finally, oficially, name him Head Disciple, even if the rest of Qing Jing will most likely fight Shizun in her decision.

It would be no surprise, ever since SJ stepped foot there, rumors have been spreading about him, usually about how he only got in so late due to Yue Qi's influence, or how he paid his way in as a young master (as if the rest of the disciples hadn't done exactly that) and thinks he's better than everyone, or how he never fights fair and uses underhanded methods during spars. All rumors don't hold a drop of truth in them of course, but SJ has better things to do than trying to clean his image to a bunch of spoiled brats.

It's not like any of them would believe him, anyways.

In all honesty, he'd rather not be Head Disciple at all, but this is the best way at getting to a secure enough spot that he won't have to worry as much about his safety, even if he will be forced to look after a bunch of children he couldn't care less about. Anyways, SJ's only hope now for something to go marginally right his way is for him to get a good sword.

He gets to the sword wall and, as luck would have it, he feels a pull, calling him to a beautiful sword: elegant, refined and everything SJ desperately hopes he can be.

SJ carefully pulls the sword out of the wall and immediatelly he can feel a connection forming, his slugish qi rushing into the blade and in exchange, a flash of bright, almost refreshing qi runs through him. For a moment his muscles relax as he feels the sword gently humming in his hand.

He walks away from the wall, a few of the other disciples that also had come to retrieve their spiritual sword already holding their own blades, but the only person that SJ cares to show his own sword stands a bit further away. His ever aloof Shizun and... Yue Qi, who was not invited, but decided to come anyways. Great.

YQ wastes no time in praising his sword and how it's a perfect fit for 'Xiao-Jiu' (which only earns him a nasty side-eye), but SJ controls his urge to bite the other boy and focuses on his Shizun. She merely send the sword a glance, unimpressed, and instead says "Disciple Shen has now a spiritual blade of his own. He will get to know his blade, which will aid him with his... cultivation problems, but also raise his cultivation to new heights."

SJ grinds his teeth, not wanting to be reminded about his shitty cultivation, but thankfully, Shizun doesn't dwell on the topic. "When Disciple Shen fully becomes one with his sword, the blade will reward him and show it's true self. It is only then that Disciple Shen will become a truly honorable cultivator."

True... Self? With a subtle glance, SJ confirms even YQ looks a bit surprised, apparently also never haven heard about a swords 'true self', but Shizun doesn't ellaborate any further on it, instead moving on as if she hadn't said anything special, and turning to head back to Qing Jing, uncaring if any other disciples weren't done getting their swords yet.

She unsheathes her own spiritual sword, intending on letting her disciples walk all the way back, but before setting off, she turns towards SJ. "Disciple Shen, the name of your sword."

SJ huffs but brings his sword closer, and reads the engraving on the base of the blade. "...Xiu Ya."

Just as SJ finishes reading the name out loud, the sword starts violently vibrating, catching SJ and his Shizun off guard, and it flings itself off of SJ's hands, flying a short distance before it stabbed the ground.

SJ's hands are left hanging in the air where he once held the sword, frozen stiff in his shock. It certainly doesn't help that is Shizun, who is never phased and now looks visibly shocked, mutters to herself: "I... didn't know a sword could do that."

.........Great.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week after the whole... situation on Wan Jian, SJ is now convinced his spiritual sword hates him.

It just... doesn't do anything he wants it to do! If his Shizun orders him to spar with another disciple with it, Xiu Ya could randomly just fling itself out of his hand, or physically pull him in another direction when he is speaking with another disciple, and no matter how Shizun instructs him to send his qi to the blade, to 'connect' with it, Xiu Ya refuses to cooperate, one day even straight up denying his qi.

Unbeknownst to SJ, his sword is no longer a regular spiritual blade, and actually a host for a recently deceased Shen Yuan, who woke up from his sleep to his new owner pulling him out of the wall and promptly panicked when he heard his name be declared Xiu Ya, which could only mean his new owner was none other than the scum villain himself, SQQ.

It was then and there that SY decided it would be now his life's mission to stop any evil wrongdoings a teenage SQQ must get up to. (It translated to him flinging himself out of SJ's hand any time he felt himself getting too close to another disciple's skin, or vibrating angrily when SJ started to insult someone.)

SJ takes Xiu Ya to his Shizun, and even to Wan Jian's Peak Lord, to check if there's something wrong with his sword, or if he had done soemthing wrong, but both reassure him that the sword is fine, and it must be testing him, urging him to 'clear his heart' to better connect with it.

SJ, feeling like his chance at being Head Disciple is slipping through his fingers the longer he can't get a hold of his own sword, it's supposed to obey him, tends more often than not to... argue with it. It, of course, only creates more rumours about him and his 'cursed sword', but he doesn't have time for this, and he won't let a piece of metal ruin his chances at rising up the ranks.

Everything starts to change one fateful day where everything just seems to go wrong all at once for SJ: His Shizun goes away in a three-day long mission, which leaves him the responsability to look after the peak, and none of the other disciples are willing to make it easy for him, constantly getting in his way, purposefully waisting his time and straight up insulting him to his face.

Yue Qi even tries to grace SJ with his presence, but it takes him no longer than 5 minutes before he manages to say the wrong thing, and it takes even less for it to snowball into SJ expelling him from the peak unless the whole Sect is set on fire. It gets so bad even SY, usually happy to mostly daydream where he sits sheathed at SJ's waist, takes note of it, and gets a bit concerned for the boy.

SY already notices SJ's spiritual veins where all sorts of messed up, but it only becomes relevant when he notices his qi heading straight towards a qi deviation, and no matter how SY tries to vibrate and wiggle, it only seems to upset SJ even further and by the end of the day, as SY suspected, SJ hides away at the bamboo house and falls to the floor, gasping through a qi deviation.

He'd usually just tough his qi deviations out, or pass them at the Warm Red Pavillion, but now he isn't even afforded the mercy of being to suffer alone, as some disciple might come looking for his 'help', and he'd be damned if someone snitched on him to Shizun for not doing his duty as (unnoficial) Head Disciple.

SY, as much as he doesn't really like SJ, for once understands SJ's constant state of frustration when the moment the Peak Lord leaves, his peers treat him like this, and no matter how shitty SJ is- or, rather, may become in the future, SY can't stand being idle as he watches the boy shaking on the floor, gasping in pain.

It's a bit awkward but SY manages to make himself float over towards SJ's trembling body, trying his best to project his own energy outward and reach towards SJ. It's there for only a second, but SY manages to feel a similar connection to when SJ first picked him up, and SY can feel, in a weird flash, the mix of emotions swirling in SJ's soul: his anger, his frustration, but most importantly his deeply rooted sadness, and fear.

It's not really an explanation for why SJ acts the way he does, but SY can understand when a child lashes out in fear when that's all they know. He reaches into SJ's qi, carefully patting it down and soothing it until SJ finally stops trembling and slumps onto the ground, knocked out.

Maybe... Maybe Shen Yuan was in the wrong, and Shen Jiu deserves a second chance.

[shouyuus]

18+, college roommate!vi cinematic universe thigh-riding, questionable vape-usage, oral (vi receiving), smut with a fluffy ending

"s-sweet fuck, pretty girl -- j-just -- just like that --"

you let out a soft whimper, rutting your hips over her flexed thigh, whining as she leans back, a palm resting on your waist, the other clutching her hot pink vape, bringing it up to her lips for a long hit before tugging you down, blowing the dragonfruit-flavored smoke into your mouth.

you suck in, tasting the bright tang of the vape smoke as your pussy clenches, your clit throbbing as you chase your orgasm, grinding down over vi's leg as she groans thick in the back of her throat, her eyes dark and hazed out as she watches you with parted lips.

"like -- like that?" you ask, your voice high and desperate even as vi bites her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall of her room, her cheeks high with color as you reach down and wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping your fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts to thumb clumsily at her clit. she keens, fingers digging into your waist as she jerks you against her, your juices now so sticky on her thighs that it squelches every time you rut your hips forwards and back.

"fuck -- yeah... mm --" she shifts, hoisting you further up just to meld her mouth with yours, licking into your mouth as your pace stutters and you groan, fingers clutching at her shoulders, her biceps, steadying yourself on her arms as she kisses a harsh line down your neck, sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your throat. "shit, you're so -- so hot, so pretty--"

"vi -- vi -- m'so close --" your lashes flutter as you feel the familiar twist in your gut, the warm already spilling through your limbs.

she chuckles, "c'mon princess --" she tugs on your chin, blowing another puff of smoke in your face, smirking when your breath hitches, "look at me -- wanna see your face when you fuck yourself stupid on my thighs --"

the tension in your belly snaps, your whole body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. and vi -- she guides you through it, groaning out long and low as she feels you twitch over her, your cunt squeezing around nothing as you ride out your own orgasm against her. you eyes flicker but she keeps you upright, forcing you to look at her even as the edges of your vision fizz out into white sparks of pleasure.

she kisses you as you come down, grinning at the way you whine when she pulls away for another hit of the vape, opening her mouth as you press back in, your fingers finding the soaked folds of her cunt, pressing in, her kissing you as smoke wreathes out the corners of your mouths. you trade the same breath back and forth till you lose count, till you can't figure if the sweetness is the smoke or just the tingling addiction of her mouth on yours.

"mm... wow, princess -- that was --" she hiccups as you press a line of sloppy kisses down her neck, the pale, lamp-kissed bend of her shoulder, the small divot between her breasts, pausing to lave your tongue over her nipples, the piercings there cold as you suck them between your soft lips. your revel in the way she gasps then, the way her fingers bite into your skin.

you reach up wordlessly to tug the vape from her slack fingers, her eyes half-lidded and alight with a loose, liquid hunger as she watches you work down the length of her body.

"you're so wet, vi..." you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, smiling up at her as you tug on the waistband of her boyshorts. she lifts her hips, her cheeks darkening as she clears her throat.

"yeah well -- 's not like you can blame me -- oh shit --"

her head thunks back against the wall as you dig your nose into the thin trail of hair that leads to her sopping folds, the slick there glistening in the wane light. you only allow yourself a second to admire her before bringing the vape to your lips and sucking in a breath of the synthetically sweet smoke, and then you're lowering your mouth to her and pressing your tongue into her slow, moaning long and loud, your eyes fixed on her face, watching for the twitch of her lips, the slack in her jaw.

"jesus christ -- mm-mngh --!"

you fight back a grin as she whimpers, her thighs tightening on either side of your face. her fingers dig through your hair as she forces her eyes open to look down at you, an open, needy expression on her face that you doubt she'd willingly show to anyone else. but the knowledge that you can bring her to such pleasure quickens your own pulse and drives you forward as you give her clit a hard suck and she keens again -- that gorgeous, high, helpless sound even as she presses you harder against her folds and jerks against your face, guiding you into a rhythm that suits her needs.

"fuck, fuck, fuck princess --" she lets out a string of incoherent swears as you feel her shove your face into her harder and harder, and all you can do is offer up your mouth, your tongue, anything and everything you can till she shakes apart above you, her release coating your lips and dripping down your chin.

you lap at it hungrily, savoring the salty-sweet-tang even as she finally relaxes her thighs and you manage to pull yourself up for a breath. your face is sticky, and honestly, so is she, but her laughter is warm when she tugs you up to give you a lingering kiss.

your head is a smoke-filled euphoria of half-formed thoughts as the pair of you collapse, boneless, sweaty, and sated onto her messy sheets. she kicks off her boyshorts, leaving her just as naked as you already were as she curls around you, her arms solid and strong, yours curled against her chest, your fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of her skin, tracing abstract shapes as you turn to face her.

"you got somethin' on your face there, sweets," she says, rubbing at thumb down your slick-covered chin. you crinkle your nose, turning to wipe your face messily against her bicep even as she laughs.

"mm... why didn't we do this sooner?" you ask, curling into her, your faces inches apart.

"what, this like -- smoke each other out and have amazing, mind-blowing sex?" vi asks, grinning.

you giggle, shaking your head, "no! i mean -- well, yes, but like... this.." you reach out and cup her cheek, the touch so gentle it stills you both.

vi sighs, shrugging, "dunno, cupcake. i -- i guess i was caught up in..." her eyes cast about her room, the band posters and hand-scribbled workout notes tacked to her wall, "in wondering if you -- if you felt the same about me, i just..."

you purse your lips around a burgeoning smile, "you just... forgot to ask me?"

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever. we get it -- you had to make the first move but --" her eyes soften, and so does her voice, "at least we're here now, right?"

"mm," you nod, inching closer, "and we've still got another six months left on the lease."

"six months is a long time," vi says, her voice husky as she rubs a thumb along your cheek.

"yeah... plenty, if we're trying to make up for lost time but..." you hesitate over a held breath, "what happens after?"

"after... we both graduate?"

"yeah."

for a moment, vi's silent. and all around you, the future stretches out like the moonless night, tendrils of shadow reaching like spindled fingers into the unknown future.

"after that... i go wherever you go, cupcake."

you blink, eyes meeting hers, a startled spark of uncertainty rising within you.

"you..."

vi smiles, a crooked, honest thing of lips and teeth. she hooks her ankles around yours and presses your foreheads. her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck.

"if you think i'll ever let you go again after all that... you've got another thing comin', princess."

you let out a relieved laugh, leaning in for a kiss.

"right. i guess the orgasm really was that good, huh?"

vi laughs too then, a soft, breathy sound.

"sure. but really... i mean it. i'm yours, cupcake. for as long as you'll have me."

your lashes flutter; your heart skips. then, you're the one pulling her in for a kiss, one that's sweet as it is consuming. the skin-scalding simmer of a long-burning flame, a spark catching hold on a breath of summer wind.

"i might not be a theoretical physicist, but from what i've heard, forever is a really long time," you say. and vi, to her credit, only takes a second before understanding blossoms in her eyes and she pulling you to her, crushing you in a stomach-turning embrace.

"you're my everything, princess. you know that?"

you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. the room smells like sex and sweat and the soft perfume of your shared shampoo. you grin, a giddy heat pluming up your chest to coil at the back of your throat.

"and you're mine, vi."

vi puffs out a breath, her voice just a tiny bit shaky as she cradles your head in her palm.

"yeah. i know, sweets. i know i am."

[zephyrchama]

(Based off of the Birthday Stayover Devilgram)

"So, Barbatos isn't here?" you asked. It was hard to believe the butler would willingly agree to stay with the brothers for so long. You wondered where exactly he would be sleeping in the House of Lamentation for three whole days, and wondered if you should have tidied up your room before leaving.

"That's correct. The entire palace is empty except for us." Diavolo looked proud and giddy. His devilish grin stretched from ear to ear. "We can make all the noise we want, in any room we want, and no one will disturb us. You know what this means?"

You thought you knew where this spiel was heading. "Yes."

"I knew you would." Diavolo put his hand on your shoulder. From that moment on, you were partners. "We can finally slide down the railing instead of walking down the stairs. We can do this for three whole days and nobody's going to scold us."

[noctiva]

(tumblr’s glitching blah blah blah you get it we’ve been down this road)

anyway this is hot as FUCK. started salivating thinking about it tbfh. LMAOOOOO OKAY

so like walk with me - Toby was probably only really planning on popping in once, grabbing a few mags and then using those as jerk off material for a few months at least. He’s a simple man, he really doesn’t need much, he could beat off to a simple nip slip tbh

but then he sees you behind the counter. young and cute, nothing like the sleazy old man he would’ve expected to be working here. sat behind the counter with your legs kicked up on the desk as you scroll through your phone in boredom, you look like sin. Too fucking sweet to be surrounded by nudie mags and porno dvds. He nearly turns on his heel and fuckin beelines it out of there bc he’s not at all prepared for this - but then you catch his gaze.

So he awkwardly clears his throat, gives you a curt nod and scurries over to the magazine rack with stiff shoulders and his heart in his fucking throat. digging his nails into his palm to dry and suppress a fit of tics but it doesn’t work so he’s left with joints twitching and jerking because he can feel your eyes on him and it’s stressing him the FUCK out lmao. he just came to buy some porn man he didn’t sign up for having to interact with a cute girl!! that’s like so unfair!

doesn’t make eye contact with you the entire time he’s paying, and his hands are shaking so much that he drops all the coins in his wallet and has to pick em all up off the ground while stammering out pathetic little apologizes (so fucking pathetic I want to put him in a blender I love him so much) while you just watch on - pleasantly amused. Because this was a nice change. Most of your customers were gross old men or incels that just ogled your tits the entire time and tried to hit on you. This guy was struggling to even breathe the same air as you right now.

He’s red as a tomato when he finally pays and snatches the magazines from you so quick you can’t even say goodbye before he’s nearly fucking sprinting out of the establishment LOLLLL

Hightails it to his truck, all twitchy and so fucking hot under his collar he barely even gets the door fully closed before he’s slumping into his seat and bringing a hand down to cup the bulge in his jeans. He’s praying you didn’t see it, but he’s been hard since your sweet soft voice asked him if he was ready to check out.

Beats one out obv, bc he’d probably get into a fucking car crash if he didn’t with how fogged up his mind was. One hand stroking his cock, the other one thumbing through the mags he just bought - trying to imagine that all those models were you instead. What you looked like under those clothes of yours, what face you’d make as he all but folded you in half

Ruins one mag by nutting on it mere minutes after buying it lmfao. Good :) An excuse to come back and buy another one :)

He becomes a regular customer. Like way too often lmfao. To the point where you’re wondering how one guy could need so many playboy mags. He never gets better with you, staying as that same twitchy blushing mess that you’d met the first day. He doesn’t talk much, and when he does it’s so quiet you have to strain to hear him. Mumbled out stuttered words, his gaze flicking all over the place as he forces them out. Like being around you was slowly choking him out.

It wasn’t, it was just that being around you made all the blood in his body rush right down to his dick - not leaving much left to power his body to do other things. Like act normal lmfao.

You get curious. Doesn’t help that you think he’s just so cute. A little pervy, obviously, but downright adorable with the way he acted like he’d never spoken to a woman in his life. So you start doing your own imagining. What he gets up to, what kind of place he lives in, how he interacts with other people, what he looked like when he was getting an eyeful of those mags you sold him. You’d bet big money he’d get just as red as when he was with you. All twitchy and gasping for air, face crinkled up with glassy eyes.

It’s a bad idea, but one day you follow him. Going through the motions of the same old routine - greeting him only to get a weak little nod in response, taking the cash out of his shaky fingers, watching him scamper out of the building like he had just committed a crime. You just can’t help yourself. He always looked so eager to leave, and you wanted to know why. Was it just because he was that socially awkward? Or did he have… Other matters to attend to?

You weren’t blind, you’d noticed his hard on quite a few times while cashing him out. You’d just never mentioned it because you were pretty sure he’d pop a major artery and pass the fuck out right in front of you if you did. But you knew. Had seen him not so discreetly trying to adjust his pants while you thumbed through the bills he gave you way slower than you needed to. Just to keep him here longer. Just to make him sweat.

You wait a minute before slipping out of the store behind him. Flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and locking up early. It’s not difficult to spot him, already halfway down the street, speedwalking like a madman towards some old beat up truck. You watch as he unlocks it then slips inside - and through the windshield you can see it when he just absolutely slumps into the seat. His whole body going more relaxed than you’d ever seen him.

You notice his hands reach down, but you can’t see much else. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was doing though. And that’s fucking bold. Right here on a public street? In a truck with no tints, no less. It probably should’ve turned you off completely, probably should’ve had you thinking he was a fucking creep you should stay far away from.

…But it didn’t.

It only spurred you on more. Made you into the creep in the situation, watching this guy jerk off in his truck from a few feet away. You don’t even realize you’re moving until you’re finding yourself walking right up to his windowsill - eyes going wide at the sight you’ve found.

One magazine open and abandoned on the passenger’s seat, his pants tugged down just enough to get his cock out. Which, he was furiously stroking like a man on a damn mission. Like he’d burst into flames if he didn’t get his rocks off. Face all scrunched, head tilted back as he gasped for air - precum dribbling down onto his knuckles.

And it’s exactly what you’d been hoping to see.

You don’t really think it through before you knock on his window, maybe you should’ve - because honestly you could’ve fucking killed him. It looks like you shocked him into having a damn stroke. You’d swear his ass left the seat with how violently he jolted. Limbs flailing, eyes straight up bugging out of his skull - looking like he could damn near cry as he hastily tried to shove his still hard cock back into his boxers while staring at you like you’d just killed a man in front of him.

You just giggle softly, and motion for him to roll the window down. This time he nearly does pass out. Because you’re smiling? You’re not disgusted? You just caught him in the middle of absolute depravity and you’re smiling at him??? It takes a few moments for your actions to compute in his head, before he reaches over with his clean hand and rolls the window down like you’d asked.

He’s too stunned he can’t even speak. Can’t even attempt to defend himself.

Good thing you don’t want him toooooooo ;)

“Need help?” You ask him softly, leaning up against the door of his truck, and he’s struggling to breathe. You’re looking at him, lips curved into an intoxicating little smirk, pupils wide as your eyes flicker between his face and the barely covered bulge in his jeans.

He blinks a few times, mouth gaping like a fish out of water because… what? He’s hallucinating right? Did he actually pass out somewhere along the way beforehand, and now he was dreaming? Because there’s just no way. There’s no way you’re offering what he thinks you’re offering.

“..Huh?” He manages to choke out, beginning to feel lightheaded - because he’s just now learning that he hasn’t taken a single breath since you showed up.

“Can’t be fun, gettin’ off like this.” You murmur back out to him, leaning your elbows against his windowsill. “You’ve spent a fortune on those mags. Dont’cha want more?” You meet his eyes for a split second before he’s looking away again. “I could give you more.”

It takes a second, because at first he thinks you’re fucking with him. It sure seems like a joke, having someone as beautiful as you offering up something so lewd. But you don’t laugh, You don’t snicker or point fingers, you just stay as you are - leaned up against his truck, the desire in your gaze so potent it makes his skin itch.

So, he finds himself nodding, almost on autopilot. The throbbing in his jeans making it hard to think rationally. Besides, this was definitely a once in a lifetime experience. If he shooed you away he’s be kicking himself for ages. You were the object of his fantasies after all. You were what he had been cumming to for weeks on end. Not the magazines he was buying. You.

“If… If you’re o-offering.”

That’s all it takes. You’re pulling open the door of his truck so quick it makes him gasp softly, crawling onto his lap even quicker. Sat on top of him, so close he’s breaking into a nervous sweat - his abandoned cock twitching beneath you. And got you can feel him now. So hard, big enough it makes your hips jolt instinctively. You should’ve guessed it. It’s always the quiet ones.

“Shouldn’t you tell me your name?” You ask him softly, hands already going down to where his cock strains against his boxers - tugging him free in an action that makes him let out a hiss through his teeth. You had been right. He’s even cuter like this. “Seen you so many times and you’ve never told me.”

“Toby.” He gasps out, his skin flushes and so hot to the touch as he watches you reach down to pull your own jeans down. Hindered a little by the confined space, but you still get them off - kicking them off of your ankles and throwing them into his backseat. “I-I’m Toby.”

“Toby?” You ask softly, watching him with rapt attending as you bring your hips down, your cunt only covered by your panties, grinding right up against his bare skin. He looks like he could die. “That’s cute. Is it short for somethin’?”

“T-T-“ He can barely even get his lips formed around his own name for fuck’s sake, but you can’t really blame him. None of this feels real. Not your heat, not your touch. Not the slickness of your pussy when you tug your panties to the side. He was sure that any minute now, he be gasping awake in his room - drenched in a cold sweat. “Tobias. It’s sh-short for Tobias.”

“Tobias. I like that.” You grind your bare cunt against his cock, shivering at the feeling of his hardness sliding between your slick folds. “Sounds real formal.”

From there it just progresses and progresses. Almost too fast for Toby to even keep up with, but he’s shocked back to reality real quick when you line him up with your leaking cunt. He can’t help but gasp, teeth gritting so hard he may just crack a tooth and you haven’t even gotten him inside you yet. “This is what you wanted, right Toby?” You ask him softly as you lower yourself down. “This what you’ve been fantasizing about?”

“Y-Yeah- Yeah, fuck-“ He can’t help it when his hands fly upwards, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips. “Please- Please-“

“Had a feeling you’d be the type to beg.” And then you’re sinking down lower, taking him inch by inch, almost caught off guard by the stretch he gives you. Filling you up so good it should be a crime, a dick this perfect hidden within the jeans of someone so unapproachable.

It’s not long until you’re setting a rhythm. Not long until his truck is filled with the filthy sound of skin on skin. The freshly bought magazines on the passenger seat forgotten - abandoned in favour of something real. So wet you’re soaking the front of his jeans, so tight he’s gasping out a moan ever time you drop your hips down. He can barely even breathe, barely even think - but that was alright, he didn’t need to. All he needed to focus on was the feeling of your pussy wrapping around him like a glove. Like you were made for it. Like you had been waiting for it.

Fucking him like your life depended on it. For all you knew the entire truck was shaking, but you didn’t care. Not now. Not when he was nestled so perfectly inside you, nudging up against your g-spot with each stroke in.

You would’ve liked to last longer, but you just can’t. Especially not when he starts bucking his hips up to meet yours -fingernails digging deep into your skin as he leans forwards. Face buried in your tits, panting and huffing against your skin, downright whorish groans slipping from between his lips. He had needed this, you could tell. And well, so did you.

Your orgasm hits you hard, clamping down around him so tight that the grip on your hips nearly breaks skin. Strained whines muffled against your chest, drool and tears wetting the fabric of your shirt. You’re barely able to move, all but convulsing on top of him, but he fucks you straight through it. Iron grip on you as he fucks up into your wetness, begging you so desperately all the while. “P-Please- Please, can I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Pussy’s so tight. Please, baby-“ Incoherent. Just a babbling mess that’s drooling all over you - and it’s so cute. So cute, you’d have to be a much stronger woman not to give in.

“Yeah- Yeah, give it to me.” Choked out, eyes foggy as he fucks into your twitching cunt, fingernails scratching against your skin. You feel his thrusts grow more desperate, feel his hips jerk and his cock twitch inside you. Then, he’s cumming with a strangled groan - bringing his face further into your chest, clinging onto you like he’d die if he ever let go.

And well, you might’ve just lost your most loyal customer.

Good thing you’ve gotten something much better in return.

[flofaiiry]

show me ; pope cody x reader

warnings: fem!reader, reader touches herself and pope watches (and talks her through it), use of vibrator, swearing

wc: 1.3k ... i got a little ahead of myself.

note: this idea has been floating around in my head for a while, and ever since i saw @erwinsvow 's blurb that was sort of along these lines last night... i just had to get this written down. + this is my second time ever writing smut so pls be nice!!! feedback is always appreciated :D

"what's this?" pope asks, holding a small vibrator in his hand like it's a foreign object. you quickly cross the room to him to grab it, your face heating up. he smirks & takes a step back "no, no..." he lowers his hand, "what is it?"

he knows damn well what it is. but he wants to hear you say it.

"it's a..." your voice trails off. "oh shut up, you know what it is." pope's smirk only grows, "nah, i don't think i do," he says, voice oozing with sarcasm. you huff, "it's a vibrator, andrew." you're currently cursing yourself for forgetting to get rid of it before he got back- in hopes of avoiding an exchange just like this one.

"and what would you do with this vibrator?" he asks, still sarcastic. he is loving this; you on the other hand... not quite. "what do you think i did with it? i used it to get off," you say plainly. "three years with no sex is not an easy feat, i'll have you know."

"so what would you do with it?" he says again. you scoff, "what, do you want me to show you?" you say, full sarcasm. you're hoping pope will pick up on that but he just stares at you. your scoff turns into a laugh somewhere along the way, "you cannot be serious." he doesn't say anything just raises his hand holding the toy and presents it to you.

"show me." he says, voice low.

you don't take it at first, your eyes locked with his. "andrew, i'm not going to-" you start.

"show. me." he says slowly, definitive this time.

your eyebrows shoot up. "seriously?" you say, voice embarrassingly high pitched. "you want me to, like, touch myself? and you just watch?" he nods slow. "i want you to show me how you'd get yourself off when i was gone." he tosses the small toy behind you onto the bed and moves his hands to the waistband of your pants, starting to undo them.

"but the whole point of you being here now is that i don't have to do that anymore." he doesn't answer, just works off your pants until they're in a pile at your ankles. "andrew," you start, but are cut off when he looks back up at you. those pretty hazel eyes practically boring into yours.

"please?" he asks, and suddenly you forgot how to argue. who are you to deny a man who says please so nicely?

you break your eyes away from his intense gaze to look down at the floor and sigh. you cant believe you're actually about to do this, but when andrew cody asks, you oblige.

"fine." you look up at him, "but after this- i'm getting rid of it." pope smirks, "we'll see about that." you shake your head through a laugh and turn to go sit down on the bed, searching for the toy among the sheets. you find it and hold it up. "you're sure you want me to do this?" you ask, while sitting back into the pillows and shuffling forward to lie down a bit.

he nods, "oh i'm sure." pope moves to sit at the foot of the bed, allowing him a perfect view of your body. you feel that warmth in your face again as his eyes rake over your body, greedily taking you in. you take a deep breath before hooking your fingers under the waist of your panties and pulling them down to sit at your knees. pope wordlessly leans forward and grabs them, pulling them the rest of the way off. he tosses them somewhere in the room before turning his attention back to you.

"so do you want me to like... i don't know, narrate? or just..." your voice trails off, "just start?" he shrugs. "do whatever you would do when i wasn't here." you take a deep breath, "okay then." you start slow. spreading your legs and tracing your hands down your body. one hand stops at your breasts to squeeze one through your shirt and the other trails down between your legs.

you find your clit quickly and start making slow circles around it. the sensation is familiar, but it doesn't stop the small gasp that escapes your lips. your other hand wanders its way under your shirt, rolling the now stiff nipple between your fingers. as the pleasure you're giving yourself grows, your hands only get faster, more reckless.

the circles on your clit are no longer lazy and slow, but fast and concentrated directly over the sensitive area. the pinch of your nipple is teetering right on the pleasure/pain threshold, but hasn't quite crossed that line yet.

your eyes have fallen shut in the midst of all this. you crack them open just enough to see andrew. he hasn't moved. not an even an inch. his eyes shamelessly dividing their attention on your fingers between your legs, and the hand snaked under your shirt palming your breast.

you've yet to make any noise, safe from your heavy breathing, and pope has noticed.

your eyes fall shut again, then you feel his hand. rough against your leg. "come on, baby. wanna hear you." he squeezes at your thigh, gently massaging the flesh there.

you open your eyes again, giving him a smile before the hand under your shirt moves to search for the vibrator on the bed. you find it, and close your hand around it, bringing it between your legs. you click the small button until you find the setting you like, and move to press it onto your clit. your back arches off the bed at the new sensation, a proper moan leaving your lips this time.

"there we go, good girl." pope praises as the sinful noises falling from your lips continue. your other hand travels down your body from your chest to join the other between your legs, toying near your entrance and feeling the slick that's quite literally dripping out of you at this point.

you slide one finger inside yourself and your eyes cinch shut at the sensation, head rolling back into the pillows. "fuck," you breathe, your finger now fully inside, curling to try and knock against the spot that feels extra good.

(you never hit it as well as pope does though, no matter how hard you try.)

you press the vibrator harder against your clit and slide another finger inside, moaning loud at the exponential increase in pleasure. "thaaat's it, keep going for me baby, make yourself feel good," pope says, voice low. with both hands working you towards orgasm and pope talking you through it, you're tumbling closer to the edge by the second.

"i'm close," you breathe, "so fucking close, andrew, please." you're practically squirming now, fingers pumping in and out of yourself while the vibrator is unrelenting against your clit.

"come on baby, cum for me," andrew encourages, "show me how good you can make yourself feel"

and with that, you're coming undone. back arching further, eyes closing tighter, fingers curling deeper as you barrel towards your climax. "fuck," you catch yourself with a gasp, "oh my god, oh. my. god." your hands don't stop as you ride out the high, breaths heavy and laboured as you slowly bring your movements to a stop.

you open your eyes to andrew smirking down at you. "feel good?" he asks, cocky.

you nod. "not as good as you though." you smile, moving to sit up.

"where do you think you're going?" pope says, scooting over closer to you on the bed, pressing you by your shoulder back down into the mattress. you smile, "i was going to go to the bathroom... but i have a feeling that's not going to happen."

he shakes his head, smirk growing on his face. he tucks your hair behind your ear before he moves to position his head between your legs.

"now's my turn. show you how good i can make you feel." his voice is low as he presses your legs apart.

it's going to be a very long night.

i hope you enjoyed!!! as always send me any thoughts / ideas / requests you may have :P

[wttcsms]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ you know i'll take you there

ᝰ.ᐟ shinsuke isn't too happy after your little escape attempt, and he makes it known. (fem!reader)

word count 2.5k content contains mating press, creampie, yakuza au, yandere themes, dubcon, praise kink, pet names (good girl), depictions of violence (not towards reader) author's notes sorry for lack of context; this is meant to take place after this fic concept

Shinsuke Kita doesn’t flinch when he pulls the trigger on a gun. 

The recoil doesn’t even register for him; when you do something for so long, eventually, it just becomes second nature. Like the mechanical movements you do when you brush your teeth, or the way you can tie your sneakers without having to actually look at the laces — shooting someone in the head is a mundane thing for Kita, for his line of work. He does it so often, has practiced it ever since he was a young boy, that what he does after is muscle memory. He removes the handkerchief from his suit and wipes the tiny splatter of blood that ended up getting on his cheek. He folds the sullied handkerchief neatly, tucking it away in the inner pocket of his suit. He makes sure the safety on his gun is in place, and he nods for Aran to drag the dead body away. 

When Aran takes his leave, the still-warm corpse in tow, the only people left in the room are Kita and a very scared young man. 

One of these men will be leaving this room, and the other will be hoping for a death as swift and merciful as the flawless execution Kita just delivered. 

“I told you there would be consequences,” Kita doesn’t taunt his victims. He’s not the type to do so. Cold and calculated — his own gang considers him to be a robot, and for the longest time, Kita agreed with them. But that was then, and this is now. Now, Kita has a reason to drag out his torture. Now, Kita understands what it’s like to find his very reason for existing. His purpose isn’t to lead one of the biggest yakuza families in the underground criminal world of Japan. His purpose is to devote his very being to you, and vice versa. 

So imagine how heartbroken he felt when he caught you trying to escape from the farmhouse he built for the two of you. And this man, a low-level runt in his group, had been foolish enough to give in and help you. 

“Please, sir, I wanted no part in the escape! She begged me, she—”

“She’ll receive her own punishment. I value fairness, after all.” Kita interrupts him, sounding as cold as the blood running through the young man’s veins. He’s frozen in fear as he tries to stammer out more excuses, more explanations, more promises to do better in the future but—

—there really isn’t much of a future for him. Not one that he’ll be happy to live in, at least. Kita is fair; having you slip away would have killed him internally. So now, Kita has to kill this man internally. Crush his spirit. Make him dream of death, dangle death in front of his face like a treat to a dog, but never, ever allow him such a kindness. 

(Kita is a fair leader, but very rarely is he kind. 

Kindness will get you killed. 

The boy dumb enough to help you — he’s kind.)

Kita retrieves a knife from one of the inconspicuous cabinets in this room. The fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling casts a warm glow over the both of them, but the blade of the knife reflects back the light, makes it shine in the poor boy’s face. He flinches. 

“Do you remember?” Kita asks him, turning the knife as if to inspect it from every angle. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters out, sounding breathless. He might be on the verge of a panic attack. That’ll make things messier than they need to be. 

“Do you remember what hand you used when you held hers?” Kita clarifies. He sounds calm, but the sight of another man holding your hand had him seething. Even now, it takes everything in him to not plunge the knife right into this young man’s heart, to twist the blade ‘round his insides, make him hurt like how Kita hurt when he witnessed it. 

“It was your left hand.” Kita answers for him. “Fortunately, you’re right-handed. Surely it won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you after I’m done sawing it off.” 

Kita’s chopped off a few fingers and one hand before, but never has he attempted to do it with a medium sized knife. A knife with a purposely dull blade. 

He smiles faintly. Sometimes, it can be fun to break routine and try new things.

You’re in bed by the time Kita returns home. He’s back later than he expects; it turns out, his little experiment with the dull blade is very, very messy. Maybe with practice, he’ll perfect that, too. That boy still has another hand to spare, after all. 

Feeling satisfied with himself, Kita starts humming gently as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Before you, Kita never bothered making unnecessary noise. He rarely listened to music, but now—

The sting of your betrayal has lessened considerably. Kita isn’t even upset with you anymore. It’s normal for couples to fight and want to storm out on each other, but what matters most is that at the end of the day, he’s coming home to find you warming his bed. 

In his line of work, simple pleasures aren’t usually so sweet. 

You don’t stir when he joins you in bed, the mattress dipping just the slightest bit due to the sudden shift in weight, but he makes his presence hard to ignore, even in your slumber, when he presses his chest against your back, his lips nipping gently on the soft skin of your ears. 

You whine, your eyesight blurry as your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re instantly aware of Kita’s body covering your own, and when he feels the subtle shivers of your body, the both of you know it’s not because of the chill of the air conditioner.

He makes a tiny grunt of disapproval. Even after all this time, you’re scared of him? Silly girl — he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

Well, nothing that would hurt you too badly. 

“Did ya have a good dream?” He asks you, breath warm against your ear. 

You swallow hard, not brave enough to shift your body. Ever since the truth came out, the fact that sweet Shinsuke is more than just an average overworked businessman but is a yakuza crime boss, things have never been the same between you two. Kita is nothing if not persistent, though. He still cuddles up against you, he still whispers sweet nothings in your ear, he’s still affectionate and downright loving in every action he does towards you. 

He knows not to expect an answer from you, especially when he plays with the bottom hem of your silk nightgown. “Wish ya would tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.” 

You can picture him frowning; as perceptive as he is, you know that he prefers hearing your thoughts directly from you. 

“What happened to Goto?” You dare to ask, and the air seems to shift in your bedroom. 

Kita is gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, his hand large and imposing, rough with calluses and forever red with blood. You never really learn, you suppose, about how there’s a time and place for such questions. 

“Goto received his punishment.” Kita answers calmly, voice steady but cold. “And I nearly forgot about yours.” 

Liar. You want to call him out, but you at least have enough self-preservation to bite your tongue. As if Kita would ever forget. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since your little escape attempt. 

Kita adores you, loves you, because in a world of greedy, nasty, spiteful little creatures, you are kind and caring and full of the sugary sweet goodness he’s always going to have a taste for. It’s why he’s not surprised when you ask him, 

“Is he… alive?” 

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Is that what you’re really worried about? Goto, over the broken heart of your husband?” 

When you don’t answer, Kita tightens his grip on your thigh, contemplating his next move, before he lets his hand travel to the apex of your thighs, his knuckles brushing against your bare cunt. He’s pleased to find out that you’re still his obedient, sweet girl, following his direct order of going to bed without a bra or panties. Some nights, he’s so tired, any excess fabric is a hindrance. 

“If you have a heart, you’ll tell me what happened to him.” You mumble, trying to ignore the way your body craves for Kita’s touch. Before the truth of his second life came out, you were an addict for him. No one has ever touched him the way he’s touched you, and even now, when you want to ignore him and try to remind yourself of what an awful person he truly is, you can’t.

There’s a traitorous part of your heart and soul that still longs for Kita, no matter the truth.

“It’s because I have a heart that I didn’t kill him.” Kita isn’t lying. The torture was for his pleasure, sure, but he knows how upset and inconsolable you would be if you felt like you were responsible for Goto’s death. The register of his voice lowers as he speaks again, though. His warning leaves you frozen in fear.

“If his filthy hands ever touch you again, I’ll kill him.” 

There are a litany of reasons why you find yourself in the position you’re currently in: wanting, waiting, whining for Kita. Fear, for one thing. You feel compelled to do whatever he wants, considering the sheer difference in strength and power between the two of you. But try as you might, it’s hard to ignore the tiny, nagging voice in your head that lulls you into a state of docile desire. Kita’s always taken care of you, right? You were in love with him, for fuck’s sake. And as you ride his fingers, content to wrap your warm, wet heat around three of his digits as he chuckles at your wanton display, that nagging voice reminds you that you still do — love him, that is. 

Three fingers buried deeply in the warmth of your cunt is enough to make you forget about the events leading up to tonight. He withdraws his fingers, much to your displeasure, and you whine out for him to continue with his ministrations before he shuts you up by forcing you to suck his thumb. You can feel the rough skin of his finger on your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, treating this situation as if you were about to suck his cock, and your tongue laps at the pad of his thumb before he removes it from your mouth. 

Without any preamble, he’s back to burying his fingers into your pussy, his thumb — wet with your saliva — pressed firmly against your clit. 

“Do you wish it was my cock filin’ you up?” He grunts out, rubbing mercilessly against your clit as you continue to writhe against the bedsheets. Your cheeks feel warm, blood rushing up to your chest and face, and you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing your answer. A shameless, pitiful yes. 

“You’re so beautiful, so sweet, so kind.” In his world, kindness gets you killed. Kita’s no different from any other man in his line of work, and it’s why he’s ravaging you right now. Pumping his fingers in and out of your slick hole, making a mess of his fingers, of your pussy, of the bedsheets, of you. It’s why every time he brings you to your climax, you cum violently. You’re letting out a string of stuttered, fractured fucks mixed in with sharp intakes of breath and Shinsuke’s, and you buck your hips wildly against his fingers, pushing his digits even further in as you cum. 

With your mind hazy from pleasure, your brain scrambled from sleepiness and an intense orgasm, Kita wastes no time pouncing on you. There’s no chance for you to beg for him to wait, and you register that this must be your punishment.

Shinsuke is going to fuck you without any of his normal restraint.

He slides in your sopping wet cunt in one sharp thrust, burying his thick cock deep into your warm, snug hole. He likes having a routine, he likes having set boundaries and rules, he likes being a man of practicality. But right now, he’s fucking you like a wild beast. All you can do is just take it; take his relentless thrusts, his anger, his need to dominate you, to remind you who you belong to. 

“Open up.” He demands, his voice rough and thick with desire. You comply; it’s so easy, considering that you haven’t been able to hold back a single moan as he has his way with you. He spits directly into your mouth, watching the way his saliva sits on the surface of your pink tongue. He doesn’t need to command you to swallow, because you do, savoring the taste of him.

He makes you look him in the eyes as he fucks into you relentlessly. One hand is gripping your hip, practically crushing you as he pounds into your pussy. You’re so fucking wet that the sounds of him moving in and out of your cunt are so lewd, so loud. The inescapable burn of pain and pleasure, the sensitivity of your cunt having to endure his insatiable lust, has you moaning like a bitch in heat. 

“Shin— Shinsuke! G-gonna cum!” You squeak out, and it only motivates Kita to double down. He holds up your legs, your limbs burning from the stretch as he continues to get rougher with his movements. You’re looking at him with a dazed, fucked out expression, and he has the audacity to let out a chuckle. 

“There’s my good girl.” He praises you, spitting into your open mouth once more. 

With your legs trembling and the foggy haze of pleasure clouding your head, you greedily, happily accept his praise. Your legs press tightly against his sides, and with his spit in your mouth and his cock drilling into you with even sharper movements than before, you cum. 

Kita lets out a grunt of approval as he finishes inside of you, a load of hot seed pouring deep inside of you as he keeps your legs folded, his hips pressed against yours, as if he wants to plug you up with his cum. He kisses your forehead that’s glistening with sweat from the heat of his body colliding with yours; it seems the two orgasms he wrung out of you have taken its toll on your body. You’re a pliant, fucked out little mess — his pliant, fucked out little mess. 

“Good girl.” He murmurs sweetly. “I love you so much.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to say it back. He just pulls out his cock a bit before thrusting back into you. This action causes you to let out another long, drawn out moan. He’s absolutely relentless, and as tired as you are, you realize that you don’t want him to stop.

(Pity that you’re not capable of speech at the moment.

Because you would have told him that you love him, too.)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

proper thank you

words: 600

warnings: 18+ only!, stepbro!rafe, sending nudes, stepcest, kinda dumb/baby reader???

“carry me up to bed rafey?” you coo at your step brother, fluttering your lashes as your pout turns into a giggle when he sighs, unable to resist your pleading face.

“you're the most annoying little sis ever.” rafe says, calling you the nickname just to tease you as he leans down, scooping you into his arms. he carries you like you weigh nothing, so easily slotting into the good older stepbrother role when your parents married, despite him being only a few months older than you.

“thank you rafey.” you say sweetly as he walks you up the stairs, your arms holding him around the shoulders, head leaned against his broad chest.

“yeah, you gotta give me a better thank you than that.” rafe rolls his eyes as he carries you into your bedroom. only once the door is closed do you press a wet kiss to his cheek as a proper thank you.

rafe plops you down on the bed unceremoniously. “there ya go.” he waves as he walks away, knowing it's not actually goodnight as you let out a whine.

“tuck me in?”

rafe hides his smirk before turning around, putting on his slightly annoyed act like he always does when you ask him.

rafe pulls the fluffy blanket out from under you. it's slightly weighted so it naturally tucks around your body anyways as rafe covers you, but his hands still move slowly, feeling your body as he pushes in the blanket until you're stuck tight underneath it.

“anything else? want me to tell you a bedtime story?” rafe says it as a joke, but with the way your eyes light up, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, recounting three little pigs from memory the best he can.

“alright, you gotta get to bed now.” rafe glances at the clock on your nightstand as the hour hand ticks closer to midnight. “goodnight.”

“goodnight rafey.” you smile softly before letting out a yawn. “ill give you a proper thank you soon.”

rafe isn't sure what you mean until he makes it back to his room, scrolling aimlessly through his phone until a text message appears from you.

he clicks it to open up the image, his eyes widening and dick swelling as he sees you in a silky nightgown, the swell of your breasts clearly visible, nipples poking through the fabric. he recognizes the nightgown from a few days ago, but you clearly got further undressed.

rafes eyes bulge as the next image loads, the same pose, now sans nightgown, tits bare and thighs clenched together to make a delicious looking v that rafe wants to dive into.

a proper thank you ;) reads your text, along with one last image, this time with your legs spread, smile on your face as your cunt is on clear display. you took the marker tool to add to your lower stomach “property of big brother.”

rafe is in your room untucking you from your bed before the clock reaches midnight.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut

[korn-dawg]

in my defense the edit was fire as fuck (sub!vi under the cut)

you’ve got her legs tied open, knees bent and pressed down against the mattress to keep her spread for you. vi’s hands are cuffed to the railing of the headboard, straining against the fluffy lining of the black leather. you spread her labia open with your pointer and middle finger, biting back a smile at the sight of her, already soaking and clenching around nothing.

“already this wet? honestly, this is pathetic. you look sloppy.” her soaked panties acting as a gag, vi can only let out a muffled whimper in response. “what? nothing to say?”

you continue to fuck with her, gathering her arousal with the thumb on your free hand, rubbing it all over the length of her pussy - paying special attention to her clit, already swollen. once you were satisfied with the way her cunt glistened in the low light of your bedside lamp, you pull your hand back for a second, landing a sharp slap right onto spread pussy. vi reasonably jolts at the impact, attempting to pull her legs closed to no prevail.

“aww, that hurt?” you question with a snicker, repeating the action with a little more force behind it, watching her cunt clench. “oh you like that, huh? didn’t know you were so slutty, violet.”

the culprit for this :

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.

the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.

it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."

then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."

then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."

that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.

"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."

but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.

'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.

if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.

if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.

"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.

for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-

the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."

eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.

"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.

three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.

he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.

"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"

there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.

"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"

eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.

"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."

eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.

he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.

"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."

"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."

eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?

but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.

and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.

eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.

"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.

it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.

there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."

"holy shit."

it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.

"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"

choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-

"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."

he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.

"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"

and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.

"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.

"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."

eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."

steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.

"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."

"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."

he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."

eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.

"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.

"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.

"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.

"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"

the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.

and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.

"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."

it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.

"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."

"...are you bribing me, harrington?"

"is it working?"

eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.

"of course it is."

the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.

"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"

it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.

he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.

"lucky indeed."

[yayll]

~ a little something about Dazai's impeccable detective skills... only when it comes to you ~

"Uh-huh... And you said you were meeting someone last night?" Dazai pretends to jot down this information, his brows slightly furrowed as he scribbles into the notepad he conjured up from his long tan coat just a few seconds ago.

"Yes, that's correct."

"Ah, I see.. Fascinating. And how was it?"

"How was what?"

"Your date." He says, smugly. His head tilts in mock innocence, and his smile stays plastered on his lips while he watches you practically choke on your own spit. Now he's really going to start writing details down...

"Oh, no, it wasn't like that. Nothing that official, heh." You fidget with your fingers, looking down, and suddenly your shoelaces are the most interesting thing you've ever seen. You didn't think questioning would last this long, you weren't even involved in the crime, but this eccentric detective before you says all witnesses are vital for the investigation and you're just doing your civil duty as a valued member of society!

And this drives Dazai insane... how ridiculous that you don't have a clear standing within the life of whomever you were seeing. It should be a crime, really! If you were his, no one would ever hear the end of it. He hums to himself, nodding as if in deep thought as he draws a heart around your name in his notepad, adding his own name right under yours. He clears his throat and looks back up at you, making sure his knees don't give out at the way you seem so bashful around him.

"I beg your pardon? Do I hear that a young and beautiful person has not been swept off their feet successfully?"

Just before you can answer, a young man with white hair and a peculiar asymmetrical haircut runs to Dazai's side. He peers at his notes, and nervously chimes in.

"Er, Dazai? Mister Kunikida wanted me to come find you, but I didn't think you'd actually be working- Why are there so many hearts drawn-"

Dazai immediately moves his hand over the young man's face and comically shoves it away from his notepad, still smiling at at you. He speaks through gritted teeth and a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Atsushiiiii, I'm working~"

This causes Atsushi to grumble, his face deflating into an annoyed sigh as his gloved hand scratches the top of his head.

"But Dazai, this is kind of important, and I really don't want to have to be the one to tell Kunikida that you're slacking off again..."

Dazai instantly snaps his head to look at Atsushi, pointing at you with dramatic flair, his voice reaching a mocking pitch.

"Oh, but I'm not, young Atsushi! I've come out here on pure basic instinct... I'm conducting a very serious investigation, and so unfortunately Kunikida and the rest of the folks at the agency will just have to wait for my genius intellect to come up with a tantalizing resolve. Get Ranpo to help. 'Kay byeee!~"

Dazai grabs you by the arm and though the gesture is hasty, he's surprisingly very gentle as he drags you away from the white haired young man. You're now standing outside a cafe and Dazai takes out what looks like a business card, presenting it to you. He scans your slightly confused face, and thinks about what other precious faces you'd make for him if he stuck around you long enough like the hound dog he is. He wonders if you'd let him touch your arm again, maybe even your hand... maybe even your-

"Are you okay, Dazai?" You ask in slight concern. Oops! He's been nonverbal for too long. He shakes his head rapidly and lets out a soft chuckle.

"Never been better! Here, take this, it's my personal contact. I think I've got all the notes I need to finish my work, but I seem to be missing one last thing-"

He proceeds to lean in a little, his now softened hazelnut eyes looking into yours intently, and his voice becoming drastically more serious. There's a glint of sincerity, and an emotion you can't quite place, but it makes your blood pressure spike and your cheeks flush at the casual intimacy of it all.

"... A time and date so I can see you again, perhaps?"

You feel yourself feeling giddy, and slightly stammer as your response flows out of you coyly.

"Ooh well, maybe tomorrow in the evening? I'll be off of work then. We can um, get coffee here?" You nod your chin up at the cafe sign, and flash him a soft smile. A smile that will keep him happily satiated until tomorrow.

"Ah, then it's a date! An official one..." He winks at you, and pats the top of your head, the feeling is light and angelic. By the time you recover, he's gone. You get a last glimpse of the way the tail of his coat swishes as he sharply turns the corner of the street, and you stand there smiling like a giddy schoolgirl. What you don't know is he does the very same thing, thinking about how playing with the fire of his own destiny is worth ruining if he could cement himself into your heart. In his adoring eyes, you could do no wrong. That's his job.

[stars4ani]

nsfw 18+

tw dumbification

anakin skywalker is mean when he fucks you, but it’s hidden behind his faux sympathy. he dumbs you down so much so that you can’t get off without him.

you’re sitting on his knee, short skirt ridden up and pink panties pulled to the side. his hand is big enough to engulf both of yours, holding them firmly behind your back as his other rests on your shoulder, keeping you still.

“please, i need to feel you” your desperate pleas are dismissed, responded to with a smirk.

“you can move yourself you know…s’not that hard baby” he chuckles, mocking you. you fight against his hold but instead his grip on your wrists tightens, probably bruising your weak wrists.

“move your hips, i mean. god, do i really have to tell you how to do everything?” he sighs, taking matters into his own hands as he bounces his leg for you, causing cries of pleasure to escape from your throat. the sharp movements make your poor cunt clench around nothing, the fuzzy feeling in your stomach spreading all over.

“stop- fuck- stop acting like i’m dumb” you respond between ragged breaths. this ignites a chuckle from him, bringing his rough fingers down to circle around your puffy clit so you could shut up again.

“never said that” he narrows his eyes at you slightly, studying your seemingly expression, “i’m making you feel good and you accuse me of calling you dumb? i guess i shouldn’t even be touching you here baby…but you need me to make you feel good right? can’t do it yourself can you? maybe you are dumb.”

[sugurouge]

── "𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚."

Calm. Happy. At ease. Tamed. Words Sylus would have never chosen to describe himself with. Much rather proud, striking, confident. A creature of control, always the hunter. But it all changed the first time her fingers ran through his hair after he took his helmet off, a gentle touch laden with a gravity he hadn’t realised he was orbiting. Suddenly, his favourite ritual became picking her up on his bike just to have her fix his appearance, letting her rewrite him strand by silver strand. And he would come to return the kindness tenfold. Because the sight of her rendered him defenseless: Windblown and laughing, cheeks glowing bright under the ruby moon of the N109 zone as he ran his fingers through her tousled strands. Though it were those predatory eyes that dared him into a silent game of who would fall first that Sylus grew addicted to.

He did.

He crash landed, collided into her. By now there is a weight that settles in his chest when she isn't near, followed by a strange lightness when she is. It clings to him like a pulling force, leading him to her arms, her lap, the curve of her neck, where peace hums just beneath her skin. She became the atmosphere that holds him together. With her, he doesn't feel like he's lost anymore. He just wants to land. To rest. Home, it turns out, is a place right by her side.

Maybe he's the one who walked willingly into her trap, weightless and disarmed from the beginning, eager for her to catch him. And now that he's here, floating in this quiet euphoria of being known, Sylus admits: he would give her the whole universe if she asked.

the wild and untameable make an exception for their beloved. close proximity and touch are how animals show affection. i’ve never tried to hide them from you. my gaze, my gestures, and every single step i take toward you.

happy birthday, my beloved 🖤

art: puri24a on twitter. please don't reupload or use

[leyyvi]

Levi doesn't mind helping you study, but you definitely get distracted with him. Sometimes he has to be a little strict with you or you're not gonna get anything done. It becomes very apparent that you're really not trying to memorize the content of the flashcards he's holding up, because he keeps meeting your eyes instead of seeing you read what you wrote.

"Don't look at me, look at the card," he finally says when you take a bit too long to recall what's on the back of the card.

"I can't help it! You keep looking at me first." You huff, hunching over with your face in your hands.

"It's to make sure you actually read..." Levi sighs and ruffles your hair despite your protests.

"I give up. i can't focus, you're just too pretty--"

"That's not a valid excuse," Levi deadpans, ignoring your pout. "Hey, c'mon. You need to know this for tomorrow."

"Ugh, okay..." you trail off in thought, pursing your lips as he holds up the card again.

"Tell me the answer," he encourages. You frown before slowly reaching over and moving his hand so that the card covers his face.

It marginally works. Less so distracted by his expectant gaze, you manage to offer a partial explanation to the prompt on the card. Though he doesn't look too satisfied.

"It's closer than you've been the last ten minutes." He murmurs with an exasperated sigh.

"Hey, just keep your pretty face covered and I won't get distracted! I'll get better, I swear."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Is it really that distracting?"

"Obviously! i think anyone would be with how pretty--"

"Nevermind, I shouldn't have asked."

"Just take the compliment already, god." You grin at him and he shakes his head, the tiniest smile painting his lips.

"Fine. Thank you," he says, tone laced in sarcasm as he holds the next card up over his face. "Answer it before I start making you rewrite these instead."

[flofaiiry]

note: this is my first time writing smut so if it's terrible........ i'm so so sorry (please give me feedback i have no idea what i'm doing)

thinking about slow mornings with jack abbot... your head on his chest just staring out an open window while the sunlight floods the room, maybe some slow music on the radio, but even if it's silent, it's comfortable. it's not often you wake up with jack next to you, so you cherish these mornings together (in other words, have soft and slow morning sex.)

you hoist yourself on top of him, straddling his waist and kissing from his lips to his jaw to his neck and down his chest. "stop teasing me baby," he mumbles, fingers lazily toying with the waistband of your shorts, trying to coax them off of you. jack's not an impatient man, he's quite the opposite actually, but something about you makes him throw all that learned patience out the window.

you don't say anything, just a smile and glance up before you oblige him, removing your shorts and his boxers. you take him in your hand, his tip prods at your clit just hard enough to make your breath catch before you lower yourself down onto him. the stretch is familiar, gasps passing between you as your walls perfectly hug around his length.

your hips finally meet his, hands splayed across his chest and head tilted back at just enough of an angle that allows you to revel in the sensation while maintaining eye contact (this man's staring problem is worse during sex).

you don't move immediately, just bask in the feeling of how deep he is inside you and how full you feel. another moment elapses before take it upon yourself to move, sliding slowly up and down the length of his cock. jack's hands find your waist, not moving you, but just there. the warmth keeps you grounded in reality despite the pleasure.

"god," jack breathes, "feels so fuckin' good baby, takin' me so well." he praises, pads of his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. you continue your rhythm above him, bringing you both steadily closer to the edge, until you're just teetering there.

"so close, jack," you practically whimper, "so fucking close, feels so good." though the pleasure is close to all consuming, your movements never stop. feeling a few tell-tale clenches around him, jack takes his hand from your hip to lazily circle your clit, coaxing your orgasm from you at last.

"that's it baby, justtt like that. good girl," jack coaches, as your climax takes over all your faculties. he keeps a firm grip on your hips, partially taking over the movement as you ride out your orgasm. after coming down from your own high, you're desperate to feel jack reach his own inside you.

"please cum for me, jack, need it so bad," you whine. you lock eyes and that's all it takes for jack to tumble into his own orgasm, a breathy groan leaving his lips as he spills inside of you.

heavy, deep breaths fill the quiet of the room, as you pull yourself off of him, a short gasp escaping your lips upon the feeling of emptiness. you practically flop back to your spot next to him on the bed. your breathing still synchronized, you find his hand amongst the sheets and lace your fingers together.

"i can get used to that," you smile, bringing your head back to rest again on his chest. jack presses a kiss to the top of your head, "yeah," he says into your hair, "i definitely could."

[honeyblackberries]

there's always someone else

yandere(?) caleb x reader angst (w mentions of the other leads)

cw: caleb being consumed by his repressed feelings and as a result is kinda mean, hypocritical, entitled, and just generally a liar. he’s also such a hater and does slander the other guys. basically caleb's intrusive thoughts.

caleb wants to fly you to distant skies, far from anyone who knows you. he wants to hide you away, keep you in a place where not even the gentle breeze can kiss your skin.

please understand that this is all he can do to keep you safe.

for even though he always seemed big and strong in your childhood home. when it comes to the outside world, he is nothing but a mere man in the face of monsters. a mortal against demons disguised as the kindest most alluring of dreams. and yet here you are wholly unaware. ever the foolish little girl he’s always known. he has to wonder whether you’re just stupid or in denial to the threats that circle you. eagerly feeding the vultures who seek your affection for themselves.

it’s upsetting the way that coworker is so casually familiar with you. sharing books, eating together, napping in your apartment– caleb hates the way it all seems so natural for him to do, like you were once close lifetimes ago.

it’s irritating the way that artist clings to you, whining like a child when you don’t pay attention to him. caleb hates the way he touches your hand, his own lingering on your ring finger like he wishes something were there.

it’s concerning the way that criminal gifts you the most expensive of things, all paid for with blood money. caleb wants to rip you away from the arms of that killer. you should realise that men in power are the worst kind.

but most of all it’s aggravating the way that doctor looks at you, like he has the right to know you. caleb never liked him, a leach always hanging around when there was clearly no space for him between the two of you.

it drives him mad to think about the lies they feed you. it makes him sick to imagine what poison dipped terms of affection they call you.

nevertheless caleb will sit in silence. bite his tongue until it bleeds and hide the hands that itch to sink into your flesh. always left having to remind himself that they’re your friends who have done nothing wrong. that you are your own person. that he doesn’t need to be involved in every aspect of your life. 

but you must know that they can’t love you. they don’t love you. not like him. 

maybe that’s the worst part.