#and a lid for easy sorting

[grunge-mermaid]

Me: what is this feature for?

Google: BUY SHIT NOW! BUY EVERYTHING!!!

Me: but you haven’t answered my question???

google: YOU MUST CONSUME!

[meowdei]

“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”

Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.

He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”

“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.

His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”

“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”

“Which is?”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.

The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.

“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”

“Not until you give me what I want.”

“No!”

“Then I’m not moving.”

And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.

Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.

“You’re heavy,” you whine.

“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”

“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”

“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.

“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”

“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.

“No kisses for you forever.”

“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.

“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.

Sly, you’d call it.

Persuasive, he’d correct.

And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.

“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.

He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”

“So stingy,” he chuckles.

“I’m not—”

He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.

When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.

When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”

It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.

“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”

He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)

“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”

He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.

Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases

[slttygeto]

tags: pure filth, fem! reader, established relationship, use of a vibrator, squirting, dirty talk.

word count: 1k

sex with suguru could only be described as unpredictable. sure, you were able to detect hints of lust thrown your way by the tall man, thick and rough pads of his fingers skimming over your smooth skin underneath your shirt as he passes behind you, hands gripping your sides and squeezing. your body reacts to his teasing and it’s easy to follow him to the bedroom. he feels in control, likes that sweet words and soft touches can make you end up on top of him, riding his dick like the sweet girl that you are.

however, when the two of you are…excessively needier than usual, sex can turn into something sort of animalistic. the carnal desire to devour one another, bring as many orgasms out of each other and the sounds—the sounds should embarrass both of you.

suguru doesn’t consider himself to be extremely vocal. he groans, moans and shows his appreciation for your ministration on his body but right now—his mouth won’t stop.

“yeah baby, yeaaah,” his words are straight up filth as he presses the vibrator to your clit. his pace is unforgiving, strong hips driving into yours with the force of a predator hunting. your hands are on the headboard, trying to protect your head from the contact but it’s all hazy.

“suguru!” you cry out, eyes staring down at where your boyfriend is pressing the pink vibrator against your clit. your legs try to close from the overstimulation, but a strong hand keeps them open and your head turns to the side with a loud cry.

“keep em open for me, fuck—don’t run away from it, I know you want it.”

your hand grips at the pillow beneath you whilst the other makes a failed attempt at gripping suguru’s forearm. choked sobs and whines are the only sounds you can manage as he starts rubbing the vibrator over your clit, your thighs shaking and twitching at the unbearable yet delicious stimulation.

“yeah? pussy wants a fat cock ruining her and a vibrator, a lil greedy, don’t ya think?”

as he says that, his free comes to your stomach and traces the skin with his thumb, very gentle at first and your brain feels like mush at the contrast between his brutal fucking, the vibrator and his gentle touch. but you should’ve known that suguru is the type to softly lead you into his territory, only to jump you the moment he notices that you let your guards down.

the hand on your stomach presses down and you hear several clicks on the pink device, and when your body jolts up—you realize that he set the level higher.

the gasp that escapes your body sounds inhuman, and your body tries to run away from suguru despite being caged between his strong thighs. he is fucking you with a purpose, needing to prove something—he towers over you and presses his forehead against yours.

“look at me, come on baby look up—theere she is,” he grins at your fucked out expression, half lidded eyes glossed over with tears that had already fallen a couple of minutes ago. “feels good, huh? should’ve done this sooner,” he leans down and kisses your pulse and then travels back up to your cheek and finally your ear.

when he starts fucking you at a different angle, your hands fly down to his hips and your nails dig into his skin. you can’t talk, you don’t trust yourself with words now—but suguru always thought you were like an open book to him. especially when naked and vulnerable beneath him.

“oh here?”

“fuck! fuck fuck fuck—“ you choke out a sob. “suguru—oh baby, I’m close, I’m so so close,” you’re blabbering, barely breathing and suguru’s self control is slowly dissipating. up until this point, he’s been able to control himself and not explode inside you. your cunt was squeezing him deliciously, your cries, the way you said his name or how you held onto him—suguru needed to cum inside you.

“yeah you are,” he breathes out, any hint of playfulness overshadowed by the sudden lust washing over him. his orgasm crept up on him fast, and he needed to make sure you fell over the edge first. “come on, I know you can cum for me,” he says while rubbing the vibrator over your clit.

when you finally cum, the added pressure of his hand on your stomach makes something snap in your stomach and you feel wet. you don’t have time to register, everything is like white noise for a while before your brain leisurely takes control again. your breathing slows down, yet your hands hold onto suguru’s shoulders as he throws the vibrator somewhere in the corner of your bedroom to grab onto your hips properly.

his eyebrows are pinched, a sheen layer of sweat coating his forehead as his bangs stick to the skin. he looks magical, even more so when you start to fuck up into him, help him reach his own orgasm.

“fuck baby—“

“mmm sugu,” you whine at how his dick keeps abusing that one spot inside you. “cum baby, please,” your arms wrap around his neck to pull him down into a hug. “fill me up, I want all of it,”

when being the one talked dirty to, suguru malfunctions. his brain short circuits and his body seizes up as he drops his head on your shoulder. he empties himself inside you with a few more stuttered thrusts, thick and hot ropes of cum serving as the reward of his hard and incessant fucking.

running your fingers through his hair, both of you take the time to catch your breath, enjoy the intimacy and the nakedness of it all. moments like these are precious, suguru’s body nuzzles against yours like a cat trying to live in your skin— and you giggle when his nose nuzzles against your pulse.

“ya liked the vibrator?” he mumbles against your skin.

“oh fuck—“ the realization hits you that were all messy from squirting on him. “I…came messy,” the shyness that washes over you, preventing you from saying “squirt” makes suguru laugh into your neck.

“you mean you squirted?”

“not the point!”

note: another self indulgent piece. will i ever stop? no.

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[crushmeeren]

// ⋆ currently, i’m trapped in some sort of beautiful nightmare where every time i take a lap through the revolving door of my mind i’m smacked in the face with my alucard obsession. (even tho i should be finishing part three of my itachi arranged marriage mini series)

// ⋆ so here i am. this is my first time writing for him so bear with me while i figure out how to characterize his personality, and enjoy this random ass fluffy thing.

master list

ᯓ★ dividers created by me.

Alucard, often, will be found curled up with you. He adores stretching out between your legs like a fat, happy cat in bed. Nuzzling his face into your belly with a soft sigh, hugging you tight. Alucard melts into a puddle when your fingers card through his hair, nails scratching lightly at the base of his skull.

Your back’s supported by some pillows, a book in one hand, and the edge of said book rests on Alucard wherever you can reach. It’s easy to lose track of time and reality within the coziness of the moment.

Every time you release Alucard’s soft curls to turn a page he squirms. Then he lets out a sound that could very well be classified as a purr when your hand returns.

Eventually, it’s easier to give up reading altogether. It’s clear he’s not planning on moving anytime soon. You set the book to the side and run both hands through his hair. He shivers.

“Adrian,” you murmur, moving your grip to his shoulders and squeezing.

He lifts his head and props himself up on his elbows, lids halfway shut when you lock eyes. “Yes, my love?”

You’ll never get over the rich, smooth tone of his voice. It’s like whiskey, burning low in your belly. “Are you falling asleep?” You tease, brushing the hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“Mm, perhaps.” Alucard inches upwards until his face hovers above yours and braces his hands on the mattress. “It is truly unfair how soft and warm your body is. Can you fault me for falling under the spell of it?”

A soft laugh is your response. “I suppose I can’t. Tell me, would you like to sleep or should we watch something?” Your hands run up his biceps, over his shoulders, and frame the sides of his neck. Movies are still a strange concept to Alucard, but he finds he quite enjoys them.

“As long as I’m able to hold you close, the choice does not matter to me. If you are not tired, put a movie on, love.”

You tug at Alucard’s neck until he gets the hint to lean down. His lips meet yours with a soft, tender pressure, pulling apart and reconnecting a few times. The tip of a fang slides across your bottom lip before you break apart.

You place a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll put something on for now.”

Alucard clings to you like a koala once you settle under the covers. He takes the chance and assumes the position of big spoon. Alucard shoves his thigh between yours, an arm circled around your waist, and his hand slips under your shirt, fingers spread across your belly.

He buries his face into the back of your neck and falls asleep not even halfway through the movie.

// ⋆ should i write more alucard??? please help

[yawnderu]

Pornstar!König's cock is a bitch breaker— that much you know by the way he's ramming every single inch of thick, veiny meat into your sopping cunt, his large hands digging on the supple skin of your waist in a bruising hold, his heavy balls slapping against your sensitive clit every time he manages to bury himself all the way in.

His blue eyes are fully focused on the screen displaying your face, the rhythm of his thrusts only getting rougher to drag more whiny moans out of your parted lips, exhaustion written all over your face at having to take his large dick on what was supposed to be a day off— only accepting a job after thousands of comments bombarding your media, begging you to collaborate with König. Perverts, you knew, yet you're more than happy to play into their fantasies.

One of the cameras pans to your face, fully capturing the alluring scene of your fucked-out state, beads of sweat dripping down your warm forehead, half-lidded eyes barely managing to stay open despite the way they're threatening to roll back with each deep thrust, and that famous smile that shows you crave his treatment. A trademark of sorts, something that made you end on the front pages of popular porn websites more than once, the very same thing that caught König's attention months ago.

“Harder.” A command you instantly regret the moment his hips falter, his brow scrunched up in mild disbelief, yet what is the behemoth of a man if not a people pleaser? König lets out a muffled chuckle, his warm hand trailing up to your chest, lazily rubbing your sensitive, pierced nipple with his thumb.

“Harder?” He repeats, his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace, a smirk pulling on the corners of his lips beneath the mask the moment a whiny moan of protest is dragged out of your lips.

“Fuck yourself with my dick.” You can hear your own heartbeat pulsating on your ear, the rate steadily rising at his command. His breath hitches the moment you impale yourself onto his throbbing cock right after his words, his calloused hand giving your tit one last squeeze before moving back down to your waist, his large fingers digging onto the crevice of your warm skin, admiring the thin layer of sweat covering your body, the way your ass jiggles every single time you move on his dick.

His eyes darken with desire, his hands almost itching with the growing need to fuck into you, something he manages to ignore for mere seconds before thrusting back into you the moment you pull away, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the way his bulbous head hits your sensitive cervix over and over, his wide hips slamming against yours, filling the room with a lewd melody of skin slapping against skin and combined moans desperate for release.

König doesn't hold back, his thrusts deep and powerful as your fingers grip the bedsheets, trying to find a way to release the overwhelming sensations. He can feel your body trembling beneath him, the sound of your whiny whimpers only serving to heighten his own arousal, shooting one of the cameras a look that drips pure arrogance— his movements becoming more urgent and demanding.

One of the screens displays the way your eyes roll back in ecstasy as your walls tighten around his thick cock, a sense of satisfaction and pride filling him as you cum, only then allowing himself to succumb to his release, his cock throbbing inside you as ropes of hot white cum shoot right into your womb, a loud groan leaving his lips.

Despite how rough he likes to fuck, König pulls out of you, his softening cock coated with your slick and his own cum as your body falls on the bed, utterly exhausted. You can feel his large arms wrapping around you from behind, the sound of fabric rustling filling your ears as you feel his warm lips press a soft kiss to your temple, whispers of praise that have never come out of his lips slip out with so much easiness that it almost surprises him.

[rynwrites4fun]

Across The Hall (4) | Michael Robinavitch x Neighbor/Teacher ! Reader

Michael Robinavitch x F! Neigbor/Teacher ! Reader

Summary: You and Michael are catching up on home duties, tackling laundry and now grocery shopping. As you joke around in the aisles, having fun together, you’re suddenly interrupted by someone Michael knows. The encounter leaves Michael quickly defending himself, insisting that he doesn't have feelings for you, while you start to wonder if your playful behavior gave the wrong impression.

Word Count: 2880

Warnings: Age Gap (Mid 20s/ Early 50s)

Authors Note: Hello! This is prob gonna be my last post for now just because these last two weeks of May I am absolutely SLAMMED. Hanging on by a thread at my job, but I got 10 days left. I’m ready for summer. I’ll be back sometime beginning of June. Very sorry. Again thank you for all the love!!! This is gonna have to hold y’all over for a minute. - ryn

“Guess you had the same idea as I did,” you chuckle as you stand in the doorway of the laundry room.

Michael looks over his shoulder as he tosses his scrubs into the drum of the washing machine.

“Hey,” he smiles.

With your basket on your hip and holding it with one hand, you move towards the washing machine next to him.

“You’ve been neglecting home duties too?” you ask, popping open the washer and tossing in your clothes.

Michael lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Is it that obvious? I’ve been running on empty lately—just trying to keep up.”

He measures out the detergent, pours it in, shuts the lid, and turns the knobs with a practiced motion before starting his load.

“I have a mountain of stuff to do…I have to go grocery shopping,” you say, rubbing your forehead as if just remembering.

You toss in a couple of detergent pods and close the washer with a quiet thud and start the machine. 

“So do I,” Michael replies, leaning his back against the washer. “My fridge is completely empty”

There’s a small pause. The hum of the machines fills the space. You glance sideways at him, then back at your basket.

“We could go together…after our laundry's done?” 

” you offer, your voice gentle, almost careful.

You’d found excuses to spend time with Michael—more than just him stepping in to help. Taking you to dinner when Aiden flaked, fixing your jammed window, carrying that heavy shelf box up to your apartment and assembling it. As much as you appreciated all of it, something had shifted.

Your friendship with Michael was growing into something solid, something you looked forward to. You found yourself craving his company, wanting to be around him more than you ever expected.

It wasn’t because you needed something. It was because being with him felt easy, calm, and real.

You wanted more than just passing chats in the lobby or quick moments in the elevator. You wanted time together that didn’t need a reason.

So when you suggested grocery shopping, it wasn’t about the errands—it was about spending time with him. Just being.

He looks over at you, the smile returning—this time slower, warmer. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

—

You and Michael walked into the city’s grocery store, reusable bags in hand. The automatic doors whooshed open, letting in the familiar scent of produce and deli meats. Michael grabbed a cart, glancing over at you with a small smile.

“Alright,” he said, rolling up his sleeves a little. 

“What’s first on your list?”

You pulled out your phone, scanning the notes app. “Eggs. Bread. Fruit. Veggies. Stuff for dinner. Oh—sprinkle of junk food” 

He laughed. “A sprinkle?”

“Okay maybe more than just a sprinkle”

“How about you?” you asked, glancing over at him as he steered the cart forward.

“Pretty much the same as you��Minus the actual planning. I just sort of walk around until something calls to me.” He shrugs

You gave him a look. “So you’re a wander-and-wing-it kind of shopper.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright then,” you said, nudging the cart playfully. “Let’s start with my list, and if something speaks to you along the way, you can toss it in.”

The two of you start in the produce section.

You gasped, eyes lighting up as you spotted them. “Look at the tulips!”

Without thinking, you stepped closer, admiring them. “I love when they’re still closed or just starting to bloom. Not fully open—just that halfway point…”

You glanced back at Michael, smiling softly. “They’re my favorite flowers.”

You continued walking, not noticing that Michael had lingered for just a second longer.

As he passed by the cart, he glanced at the flowers again, filing it away.

Tulips. Half-bloomed. Your favorite.

He made a mental note.The two of you wander through the aisles. You grab the things on your list, while Michael picks up whatever catches his eye, things he wants, not necessarily things he needs.

You talk mostly about food. What you like, What you don’t and a few things in between.

In aisle nine, you spot a bag of Nutella Biscuits, your absolute favorite. Your friend had gotten you hooked on them.

You reach for the last bag on the shelf  and so does he.

Fingers brush.

Neither of you pulls away. Your hands linger, resting lightly over the glossy packaging.

The air shifts, quiet, still charged.

“Hey, I saw those first,” you say, raising a brow.

Michael smirks. “Pretty sure my hand got there first.”

“These are my favorites.”

“They’re my guilty pleasure.”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh don’t think I won’t fight you for these, old man—because I will.”

“Oh, you think you’re so funny,” he scoffs out a laugh.

You quickly yank the bag toward you. “Mine!”

“Come here!”

He steps forward, catching you around the waist, gently pulling you back against his chest. His arm wraps around you as he tries to grab the bag from your hands.

You shriek out a giggle. You twist and thrash against him, laughing, still clutching it. “Michael!”

“Hand it over!” he laughs

“Robby?” a voice calls suddenly from the end of the aisle.

You both freeze. Still tangled together. 

 Dana Evans, his colleague and charge nurse. His friend, the closest thing he had to a sister, stands there at the end of the aisle, eyebrows raised at the scene in front of her.

“Dana—” he says, startled. He quickly lets you go, the playful teasing evaporating as his hands fall to his sides.

“Hey,” she says, walking over with a grocery basket tucked in the crook of her arm.

You glance at Michael. There’s a flicker in his eyes, like surprise, maybe discomfort. His posture stiffens, the easy playfulness from a moment ago gone.

It almost feels like he doesn’t want her to see you together.

And that… stings more than you expect.

“Who’s this?” She asked to move closer to the two of you. 

You step in quickly, offering a polite smile and introducing yourself “…I'm his neighbor. Just… a friend.”

You don’t mean to sound awkward, but the words come out carefully, almost rehearsed—like you’re making sure they land a certain way.

Was she someone he was seeing? And here you are, being too playful, too comfortable with him. You didn’t mean to cross any lines, to overstep any boundaries. That wasn’t your intent.

“Right..” She nods. “I’m Dana,” she smiles, but gives Michael a look. 

You felt out of place—like maybe you had crossed a line after all. Like you were standing somewhere you didn’t belong.

You hold out the bag, whacking him in the stomach with it, not on purpose just out of being flustered. “I uh.. I don’t want these anymore. You can have them.” 

Michael blinked, taking the bag from you, confusion flickering in his eyes as you started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he asked, noticing the shift in your tone, in your posture.

Without meeting his eyes, you kept straight, not looking back “I just remembered—I, uh, need to grab something from another aisle.”

It’s a lie, you both knew it was, you don’t wait for a response as you turn the corner, needing more distance than biscuits.

Michael he calls after you, he watches disappear, the forgotten bag of Nutella biscuits still in his hand.

Your voice, your expression, the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes—it all hit Michael harder than he expected. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to introduce you to Dana before you slipped away.

His attention goes back to Dana. She had only laughed. “Oops. Didn’t mean to scare her off…”

“She probably thinks we’re dating,” Michael muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “With you eyeing her down like that.”

Dana shot him a look. She threw a hand up, still grinning “That’s your fault! You didn’t introduce me fast enough! I run to the grocery store for oat milk and walk into aisle nine to find my friend pressed up against a woman, playfully fighting over cookies!”

She begins to get noisy.

“So who is she?” She was waiting for him to give her more information about who you are and the moment between the two she witnessed. 

Michael rolled his eyes and placed the Nutella biscuits into the grocery cart with a little more force than necessary. “Dana, don’t start—” knowing what she’s thinking. 

“Oh, come on!” Dana said, nudging him with her elbow. “Robby, she’s cute! You’ve clearly been spending time with her. How long has that been going on?! How come you never mentioned her?” Dana asked, with a smile on her face

Michael let out a breath and maintained his composure, pushing the cart forward a few inches. “Because Dana, nothing is going on. She’s just my neighbor.”

“She looked a lot more than a “neighbor” when I entered the aisle.” Dana said with a knowing look, cocking her head in the direction you’d disappeared.

He rolled his eyes.

He started pushing his cart, turned down the next aisle, hoping the shelves of canned goods might somehow end the conversation. “Dana, please drop it.”

Dana wasn’t going to drop it. She fell in step beside him, her gaze sharp. “So you’re seeing her?”

He froze, picking up a can of beans off the shelf, his fingers brushing the label like it held the answer. “No, I’m not seeing her. She has a boyfriend” 

Dana arched her brow. “That didn’t answer the question. You’re not seeing her—but are you wanting to?”

Michael didn’t respond right away. He turned the can in his hand, then returned it to the shelf, avoiding her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, she’s got someone.”

“But you don’t,” Dana pointed out, a note of challenge in her voice. “And last I checked, play fighting over cookies and laughing like that isn’t how you act with someone you’re indifferent to.”

He gave her a look, sharp and tired all at once. “You’re reading too much into it.”

“I’m reading what was right in front of me. Body language doesn’t lie, Robby”

Michael exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “She’s easy to be around, okay? She’s funny, she’s sweet. I like her company, but we’re just friends. I'm not trying to mess with someone who’s already in a relationship. I just help her out with stuff, you know be a neighbors ” 

Dana softened just slightly. “That’s not what it looks like on my end”

“Think what you want Dana, but she and I are friends. That’s all. Nothing more.”

He started pushing the cart down the aisle, leaving her standing behind. “I gotta finish shopping,” he muttered—and find you, he thought.

“We’ll continue this conversation later, Michael!” she called after him.

“No we won’t, Dana!” he yelled back in a sing-song tone as he turned into the next aisle.

—-

You were in the freezer section, staring at the wall of ice cream like you were deep in thought about flavors, though your mind was still spinning from the moment with Michael and awkward interaction with the woman Dana.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him approaching with the cart.

“So ice cream was that important, huh?” Michael said, pulling up beside you. “That’s what made you run off?”

You didn’t look at him right away. “I didn’t run off.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, you kinda did. You didn’t even give me a chance to introduce you to Dana.”

“I didn’t want to be in the way…” 

“You weren’t in the way” 

Silence falls between the two of you. 

“So you and Dana?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but the question comes out a little too pointed.

“I work with her,” Michael replies. “She’s the dayshift charge nurse—”

You nod, not really sure what to say, or what exactly you’re feeling. You weren’t trying to pry. Not really. 

Then it hits you—a wave of guilt, sharp and sudden. You start replaying the moment in the aisle. The laughter, the teasing, the way you’d been so at ease with him. If Dana was someone he was seeing, the whole scene would have easily been misread. Maybe you were too comfortable. Too close. You hadn’t meant to cross a line, but now you’re afraid you had.

Before the guilt can fully settle in, Michael speaks again—his voice softer now, his eyes steady on you, like he already knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

“Dana’s like a sister,” he says, and somehow, it’s like he’s reading your mind.

His tone is calm, even—but there’s a quiet urgency there, tucked just beneath the surface. Like he wants to be sure you hear him. Like it matters that you believe it.

You look at him “Oh… I thought you two were…”

“I know what you must’ve thought,” he interrupts gently, “but it’s not like that. Our coworkers joke that we're ‘work spouses,’ but she’s just my friend. We’ve known each other a long time. That’s all.”

He doesn’t really know why he feels the need to clarify all of that to you. He shouldn’t care what you think. But deep down, he does for some reason. 

A beat passes.

“Are you… seeing anyone?” you ask, your voice softer this time. You don’t know what made you ask. Curiosity, maybe since the two of you were sorta on the topic. 

“No,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “I haven’t dated in a while.”

There’s a quiet honesty in the way he says it. Not embarrassed. Just real. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a second, neither of you says anything.

You wondered how he was still single.

Michael was kind. Steady. The kind of man who listened, who remembered little things, who made you feel like you mattered. He wasn’t flashy, but he didn’t need to be. Just being around him made you feel calm.

Any woman would be lucky to have him.

He seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t make you question where you stood. Who would show up, say how he felt, and mean it.

You let the thought pass. 

“So…should I get Mint Chocolate Chip or Cookie Dough?” 

“Mint”

“Alright, Mint Chocolate chip it is” you open the door in the freezer section, and placing it into the cart. 

——-

“Here, let me get those—” Michael reached for your reusable bags  along with his at check out. 

“Michael, stop,” you said, trying to swat his hands away. “I can carry my own groceries.”

“I know you can,” he said, easily slipping them from your grip. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“They’re heavy, and—Michael, no—”

“Stop arguing with me and just let me carry the groceries,” he said, giving you a pointed look.

You huffed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Fine.”

He smiled, victorious. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

The two of you walked back to the apartment, climbing the stairs to the sixth floor, reusable bags in hand—well, in his hands. You stopped in the hallway, right between your doors.

“Thanks tagging along with me,” you said, turning toward him. “And for carrying my groceries… which, I’m more than capable of doing.” You take your bags from his hands. 

“Thanks for letting me tag along, and I know you can carry your own groceries,” Michael said, his voice low and easy. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“Oh—before I forget,” Michael said, reaching into one of his reusable bags.

He pulled out a small bouquet of tulips, their soft petals just beginning to open, one of the bouquets you were admiring earlier. 

You gasped. “Michael, what? When did you get these? I was with you the whole time!”

“I have my ways,” he said with a teasing grin.

You looked at him, touched. Your pout wasn’t sad—just soft, surprised, the kind that tugged at the heart.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful” 

“Oh, here—take these,” he says with a grin, holding out the Nutella cookies like a peace offering, but his eyes are still challenging.

You shake your head. “You take them.”

He scoffs, clearly amused. “Well, you fought me for them.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “Technically, I didn’t win.”

“Neither did I,” he says, shrugging like it's no big deal, but the tension in the air suggests otherwise.

A beat passes. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you suggest, “How about we rock-paper-scissors for them?”

“Alright, you’re on,” he replies,

You both set your bags down with a soft thud, the hallway around you oddly quiet as you face each other.

The air feels a little charged as you both prepare. The competitive energy lingers in the air. Michael steps back, getting into position with an exaggerated stance.

“Alright ready?” He asks.

You nod in response.

"Rock-Paper-Scissors-Shoot!" you both say in unison, your hands moving in perfect sync.

You take a deep breath and throw your hand out confidently—rock.

His hand, paper, covers your rock.

“Haha! Sucker!” he cackled, snatching the bag from the ground and holding it over his head like a trophy.

You gasped, mock-offended. “You are the worst!”

“I am the champion,” he corrected, already walking in a victory strut toward his door. “Rock? Really? Rookie move.”

You shook your head, laughing as you scooped up your bags. “Enjoy them — I hope they go stale before you open them.”

He glanced back over his shoulder with a grin. “Joke’s on you. I’m opening them now.”

And with that, he tore open the bag, popped a biscuit into his mouth, and held another one out toward you — his smile softening just slightly.

“Want one?” he offered.

You hold out your hand, and he rattles the bag to get one out for you. 

“Thanks,” you said, biting into the biscuit.

You held out your hand, and he gently rattled the bag until one slid free. He placed it in your palm like it was something more than a cookie.

“I’ll see you later, Michael.”

You unlocked it, picked up your bags, and stepped inside.

“I’ll see you around,” he called, turning toward his side of the hallway.

The door closed behind you, but the smile stayed — along with the taste of chocolate and something just a little sweeter.

Tags: @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @beebeechaos @antisocialfiore @delicatetrashtree @xxxkat3xxx @homebytheharbor @woodxtock @letstryagaintomorrow @livingavilaloca @elkitot @annabellee88 @hagarsays @emma8895eb @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing @jazzimac1967 @lafemme-nk @kmc1989 @whos6claire @harrysgothicbitch @trustme3-13 @qardasngan @silas-aeiou @k3ndallroy @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @ay0nha @404creep @dantemorenatalie @obfuscateyummy @steviebbboi @alliegc28 @catmomstyles3 @ardentistella @madprincessinabox @circumspectre @the-one-with-the-grey-color @thatchickwiththecamera @violetswritingg

Across The Hall (1) (2) (3) (4)

[gojover]

[11:00 p.m.] ⋆ sukuna thinks it’s adorable how riled up you get when he shows you videos of his nephew playing football at his first ever preschool football tournament.

not that he’d ever say it out loud, of course. but he watches you from the couch, one arm thrown behind your back, the other holding his phone steady while you lean in, legs crossed beneath you and your face the picture of righteous indignation.

“oh, come on,” you say, stabbing a finger at the screen. “that kid shoved him! where’s the ref? what sort of lawless league is this?”

sukuna hums, pretending to be engrossed in the video, though he’s more interested in the way your nose scrunches when you’re upset on someone else’s behalf. “you think i should write a strongly-worded letter to the preschool committee?”

“you should. i mean—look at him!”

on the screen, four-year-old yuuji stumbles, wobbles back to his feet, and immediately runs in the opposite direction of the ball.

“he scored on his own team three times,” sukuna says. “are we sure we want to die on this hill?”

“he’s learning,” you argue, smacking his arm. “and the point isn’t winning, it’s sportsmanship. that other kid was downright mean.”

“mm,” he says lazily, tossing his phone aside. “i’ll let his mom know you’re filing a report.”

you roll your eyes and shift to face him fully, legs knocking against his as you settle into the cushions. “you joke, but if i ever see that kid again—”

“you’ll what?” sukuna reaches out to tug you closer by the ankle until you fall back against his chest with a disgruntled squeak. “trip him with your foot while pretending to tie your shoelaces?”

you open your mouth. close it. “...you’re not supposed to encourage me.”

“you make it too easy.” 

he tilts his head back, rubbing circles into your thigh. his eyes are half-lidded, watching you with that same idle affection he always wears when you don’t notice him noticing. except now, you do. you shake your head, smiling all the same.

“you’re the worst,” you say.

sukuna grins. “tell me again while defending my nephew’s honour.”

by football, i’m referring to soccer for all you american folks out there ✊

[bitterreid]

🌷 Bad dream, baby - S.R. 🌷

summary: After Spencer gets wounded in the field, you do your absolute best to take care of your boyfriend in pain. He is having a particularly tough time with it, frustrations running high, and he thinks he knows how to solve it, but you're not so sure.

or: idiots in love that learn to communicate :) and have sexy times :)

Category: smut but also hurt/comfort and it's extremely fluffy and he's angsty. I did it, I collected them all. 

Contains: porn with plot, vague descriptions of canon typical violence and injuries, fem!reader, smut!!! so minors DNI!, dry humping, a lot of fluff, hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v (pretend she's on birth control idk), implied (?) cockwarming, intimacy, very many feelings, established relationship, whiny Spence but no s/d dynamics, I am so down bad for this man help me

Trigger warning??? I'm not really sure whether this is relevant but better be safe than sorry! At the start there is a case of a sort of dubious consent? It gets communicated about, resolved and turns out really sweet (and nothing malicious goes on at all), but always take care of yourself and skip this one if that sounds like something that's not for you <3

word count: 5.9k 

a/n: Look I'll say it first. I have a Thing™️ for wounded men. It's okay. You can say it too <3 This is our support group now.

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

"I'll be right back, baby" you said, as you took the dirty plates to the kitchen. 

A sigh escaped your lips as soon as the door closed behind you. Not because you were tired of Spencer, never, but your heart just felt so heavy having to see him like this.

It had been a little over a week now since Spencer had been seriously injured in the field. His injuries had been worse than any other member had ever been harmed, and after having to spend a few nights in the hospital, you finally had him to yourself again. The last few days had been some of the worst of your whole life. Getting the call about the shooting had felt like being shot yourself, and racing to the hospital in a perpetual state of panic and despair had felt like it lasted forever. Seeing Spencer unconscious on a hospital bed, being dragged away to surgery, it had almost been too much to handle. It all seemed so far away now, and getting to sit by his side as he opened his eyes again, that was a flood of relief that would never again be parallelled. "Hi…" he had said, large eyes lidded, a faint smile on his lips, and you had just burst into tears on the spot.

You shook your head to get away from the thoughts, feeling the warm water hit your skin as you started to wash the dishes. It hadn't been easy, having Spencer home and pretty much immoble for another while. Of course you had immediately jumped at the opportunity to take him home and care for him yourself, you loved him so much and nothing could change that, but that didn't mean it wasn't hard on you, or on Spencer.

You could see that he was really struggling. He was always so independent, from a young age already and now even more so, so naturally being unable to even stand on his own was like torture to him. You did your very very best to accommodate him, helping him where necessary and letting him take the wheel where he could, but it was a tough balance. He was extremely proud and though he was more than grateful and appreciative of your help, his frustrations were beginning to run high.

Not that you didn't understand, of course. Despite the frequent and sincere thank you's you were given every day, it must all have been so frustrating to him… Spencer was not good at being taken care of in general, you had noticed. He was a giver through and through, selfless, kind, generous, and he had never been in a position where he received just so much. It was eating him alive that he couldn't give you anything in return.

Of course you didn't want or need anything for your care, you loved him and would do anything to make him comfortable in his time of need, but you could see the (entirely misplaced) guilt on his face when you made him his meals, helped him into his clothes, or fetched him another book.

You strolled back into your bedroom, Spencer still in the exact position you had left him in. Not that he had much choice. He put his book down slowly and smiled at you warmly. You returned the smile, but seeing him like this made your heart hurt every single time, no denying it. His right leg was propped up on some pillows. The bullet had penetrated his knee, and at first the doctors weren't sure he would ever be able to use it again, but after emergency surgery, luck had finally been on Spencer's side. During the fall, he managed to sustain an injury to his ribs which had needed stitches, and he had hit his head on something, which had left a glaring gash right though his eyebrow.

"Hi, baby" he said, looking extra soft in his pyjama pants and shirt, "ready for the movie?" 

"Sure am," you smiled warmly at him and got on top of the blankets. You had deemed every single night movie night while Spencer was bed-bound, you know, silver linings and such. Spencer lazily put his arm around your waist as you cuddled up next to him - carefully - and pressed play on the old Italian black-and-white drama. (Spencer's pick, naturally.) You had had to beg him for subtitles, because no matter how much you loved his whispered translations in your ear, you just could not keep up that way. Not that you understood all that much of it this way either, but Spencer seemed to enjoy it, and anything for him.

"Hey, baby, you want some hot chocolate?" you were halfway through the movie at this point, not that you understood anything close to half of it, but anyway.

Spencer smiled sheepishly, which you had learned to take as a yes from him. "Yeah?" you smiled at him, kissing his shoulder briefly before getting up.

"Only if it's not a bother!" he was quick to say, holding your wrist gently in his palm, his eyes pretty and impossibly round.

"For you?" you kissed his nose, "Never."

He smiled in the bashful way that you knew all too well. You tried to sprinkle in little sentiments like that last one, in hopes that he would finally start to believe them, but for now you knew that some twisted sort of guilt over being taken care of was eating at him.

When you returned with the mugs, you placed his on his bed-side table, as it was still too hot to drink immediately. You got back into bed, right away finding your place next to Spencer again. The movie progressed slowly, but you were content just cuddling with Spencer all night, or this careful version of cuddling, at least, trying to avoid any bruised or battered parts of him.

"Did you know that actually-" (you already knew you would not know whatever was to follow), "the director of this movie wanted to shoot it by the sea, but the guy who plays Phillipe just absolutely refused to?" Spencer giggled to himself, "They had to shoot by a big lake instead."

"How do you even find all these fun facts at this point?" the warmth you felt for him was evident in your tone.

"Don't know," he smiled down at you tucked beside him, "just catch them here and there, I guess"

"Oh yeah," you drawl, "me too, I'm always just hearing about old Italian movie stars and their affinity for lakes."

This drew a chuckle out of Spencer, his eyes sparkling like they always used to do. "They actually did end up winning multiple prizes for this film back in the day, so people could hypothetically still be talking about it to this day, you know, it made a lasting impression on the way they still today portray loneliness in relations to large bodies of water and how people-"

Spencer suddenly hissed out in pain, after which you heard a dull thud on the floor beside him. He had tried to grab the mug off the table, but the wound on his ribs must have caused him to drop it, you deduced and, oh, you knew this was so not what he needed after the already difficult day- week- month he'd had. You charged up for maximum damage control.

"Spencer-" you tried.

"Shit. I- Auch," he groaned in pain again, clutching his side.

"Spencer, no, baby stop trying to twist your torso, it's alright, I-" He wasn't listening, he was looking over the edge of the bed with clenched teeth, staring at the slowly spreading stain on your white bedside rugs.

"I- I'm so sorry, I'm- I'm just-" you could see the emotions taking over, it was all just too much in this moment. You had known this would eventually happen, he had been so brave, so well-behaved, just like you knew Spencer to be, but the frustrations had to come to the surface one way or another, you knew that very well. 

"I, just, FUCK" he near shouted. It was strange hearing Spencer cuss in this setting, normally so calm and collected.

"It's alright, Spence, really, I know it was an accident," You slowly got out of bed to take out some paper towels to try and manage the bleeding stain. "I can just throw these in the wash and tomorrow all will be alright." You tried to smile at him, but he wouldn't meet your eyes, still transfixed on the rug. 

"No." he said, just as you crouched down. "No, let me do this, it's my mess." there was a red blush creeping up his neck from below his collar and his eyes were fiery. He tried to lift his leg off the mountain of pillows, to no avail, as he immediately had to cease his efforts due to another spell of pain washing over him. 

He groaned - in frustration or pain, or both - and your heart broke in two. "Spencer," you said softly, sitting down carefully on the edge of the bed. He tried to get back up again and failed, clenching his teeth as he held onto his side. You reached your hand out to him, wanting to stroke his hair, but he ducked away harshly. Your hand faltered in the air, not used to reactions like this, and so it took you a second to remember to take your hand back into your lap.

He looked back at you, his scrunched-up brows smoothing out again when he saw you sitting there. "No- God, I'm sorry, I don't- I didn't- mean to-" he was breathing irregularly now, almost hyperventilating, wringing his hands in strained motions. There was so much pent up emotion in his body, fear from the shooting, pain from its wounds, anger over their consequences and guilt for the care they required, it was all coming to a head now. "I'm just so fucking, it's all so incredibly-" he was trying to push it back in, keep it all to himself again, but you knew the both of you couldn't continue like this. And he knew it too. It was as if he was trying to cram too many emotions all into one envelope to seal it off again, but finding it impossible. The fiery waves still spilled out of his eyes, the desperation layering onto itself until he was nearly shaking.

"Just, let it all out Spence, you don't have to hold it in, you can just yell for a while if it would make you feel better." you tried to soothe him best you could, you didn't know what would calm him now, and you didn't really dare to guess, but his eyes looked so pleadingly in your direction, looking for answers you didn't have.

"No, No," he shook his head, wincing again afterwards "I-" he groaned, now out of pure and visible frustration, and suddenly he took your hands, placing them on his chest "Will you just, touch me, please?" His amber eyes, impossibly big and begging, bored into yours.

"T- touch you?" you weren't sure you understood him right.

"Please-" his voice broke, desperate, desolate.

"O-okay, sure, Spence, anything," You didn't quite know what to do exactly, your hands stayed still on his chest, your mind racing with what to do. 

Clearly displeased with your inactivity, Spencer whined and his hands reached out, he took a light hold of your waist and tried to pull you closer, which was not as simple in your current position. You finally understood, he wanted you close, so you snaked one hand behind his neck to tangle in the curls at the bottom of his skull, and let the other one lightly graze the skin of his collarbones, making his muscles relax ever so slightly. His eyes still stared disparagingly back at you, as he kept clumsily pawing at you to get closer.

You leaned in slightly and gave him a quick, experimental peck on his lips. Hungry like a tiger, however, he kissed you back, hands immediately tangling in your hair, lips immediately seeking more contact. He kissed you like a man starved, like it had been ages since he had you close at all. You kissed him back, taken aback a little, but the familiar deep lull of his kisses didn't go unnoticed as you let your guard slip just a little, giving into his touch. 

Still not exactly sure where this was going, or what on earth he was trying to communicate, you let him manoeuvre (more like manhandle) you fully onto his side of the bed. You knew he was being careful - it was Spencer, after all - but in his desperation and need, he failed to account for his current situation, bumping into his painful leg or his bruises. He winced into the kiss, but still refused to break it, kissing and softly licking into your mouth as he went. 

"Spencer-" you tried, as you momentarily leaned away, but the amber of his eyes had molten, pools of craving peering back at you. He leaned forward with you, closing the gap again and once more capturing your lips with his. His gentle but guiding hands on your waist had directed your legs open on either side of him, essentially hovering you over him in a straddling position. You didn't dare to bring your hips down in fear of hurting his leg, so you just awkwardly loomed over him.

Getting his lips off of yours proved to be harder than you'd anticipated, with Spencer kissing you like you were the air he desperately needed, yet holding you so firmly to his lips that there was hardly any chance to breathe. It didn't help that his kisses were absolutely intoxicating. The need and passion he poured into each gentle peck and deep lick made you want to sink into him more and more. 

When you finally came back to yourself and managed to get some distance between your faces, he whined softly at the loss of contact, his lips red and slightly shiny in the dim light. 

"Spencer," your tone was somewhere balancing on a thin line between affectionate and scolding. He was blushing, of passion, of something more akin to shame, you didn't know for sure. He was pleading, he was pawing at your hips again before you could utter the next word. "I'm not sure we should- you're still-" he winced at your careful words. 

He gently pushed your hips towards his, softly, lovingly, like he had done a hundred times before, but this was different. "Please," his voice soft and almost breaking, "baby?" And with that plea, your hips slowly connected. How were you to refuse? Softly, you sat your weight down on him, terrified to hurt him, only thinking about his knee, his bruises, but Spencer only hummed when your core connected with his obvious hard-on. 

"Are you alr-" his large hands were on the side of your face once more, drawing you in for another kiss. It was intoxicating, his lips moving against your own just the way you liked it, slow, but drawn out long and passionate, with Spencer's little sounds mixing in here and there to pull you under completely. You had missed this so much, this closeness, this heat, his lips and touches. But you could not get carried away, he was being rash, he needed to communicate. This could not be something that hurt him down the line.

You kissed him back softly, trying to take the heat out of the exchange, but he kept pouring it back in, deepening and deepening. You slid your hands into his hair, which he took as an affirmation to grind your hips into his. He let out a flustered sound at the contact, like a craving finally being met. But you had other plans. You pulled his hair softly, just the way he liked, but you pulled his face away from you. His eyes shone with betrayal, being unable to reach your lips now.

He couldn't look at you. This was not his usual way of initiating anything. He was always so communicative, so in search of consent and praise wherever he went. This sudden desperation worried you, like it was all just a cover, a trick.

Despite his lanky frame and current state, he was strong, he leaned forward (your mind immediately going to the purple splotches on his ribs) and buried his face in your neck, so as to not look at you. There he began planting small kisses, carefully, sweetly, like you knew him. But his hands also continued to grind your hips into his, seeking friction.

"Spencer- are- are you sure?" You gently offered, still combing through his hair, feeling his hot, now slightly quickened breath on your neck.

He only whined in response, only grinding you down more desperately on his lap.

"Spence, baby," you shushed, trying to convey that it was okay, that there was no need for this urgency, that you were not going anywhere. His breathing in the crook of your neck was frantic now. "Spencer," you tried again, as you softly ground down your hips on your own volition. Immediately his grip loosened, a small moan being drawn from his lips. You softly continued the movement, as it seemed to physically melt his pent up state back to the man you knew. The heat low in your belly started to burn at the edges from the friction his clear arousal warranted, but you ignored it in favour of checking in on Spencer.

You carefully cradled his head and brought it so you could look him in his eyes, but he kept them closed. As long as you continued the movement, his face stayed relaxed and borderline content, though you could still sense his frantic state in the occasional scrunch of his nose or the semblance of a frown pulling his eyebrows tight. You made the movements come to a halt, carefully inspecting Spencer's face, awaiting his reaction. His breath stuttered, probably from the sudden lack of friction, and his eyes slowly opened. 

His big brown irises were overflowing with a desperation you thought only existed in Victorian novels. You could almost see the inner emotions of it all working, a glimpse of sadness, toppled over into guilt, pushed under by the sheer need for closeness, and then the fear of it. You carefully caressed his cheek with your thumb, "baby…", he immediately leaned into the contact. "I'm right here, okay?" Big brown doe eyes just peering back at you, 

"I'm right here, but, you have to talk to me, Spence. I don't know what's going on in your head," your own voice sounded surprisingly small and sad to your ears, and Spencer winced at the words. 

"I-" he opened his mouth and closed it again. You could see he was at a loss for words, that he probably also didn't know what was going on or where this was all coming from. "I'm, I'm so sorry" he spoke, his eyes wide and sincere, like he was just looking down on the situation for the first time. He let go of your hips at once, looking at his own hands with a degree of bewilderment, his eyes somewhat glassy as they floated back up to you.

"No- no, you don't have to apologise," you felt guilty at once, "there's nothing to be sorry about." A small smile formed on your lips, caressing the sides of his face once more. "Hey," you tilted his face to yours, eyes flickering over the gash in his eyebrow, down to the yellowing bruise high on his cheekbone, "It's alright."

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed at the gentle contact. "I'm sorry," he whispered once more, turning his face slightly to kiss your wrist softly as it passed by his lips. "I just, I just think I missed you… you know," a blush took over his cheeks, colour muddling with the bruises, "this… this way", his sentence trailed off towards the end.

"Oh," you felt your own cheeks burn at his gentle confession, "Oh, I- I didn't know," you were at a loss for words yourself now. You had been so caught up in caring for him that any physical intimacy honestly had just slipped your mind. 

"No! No, no, no, you couldn't have known, I, I should have said something, but I didn't know how, you're so sweet, for taking care of me, I didn't want to ask for even more" he closed his eyes, furrowing his brows, mentally beating himself up, no doubt.

"Oh Spence," you leaned in slightly and softly pecked his lips, "I'm sorry, I just didn't think of it, honestly, I was so focussed on taking care of you, your knee and your bruises, I just got caught up in it all I think… I was just so worried-" 

"Yeah, no!" he sounded slightly panicked. "I- oh God, I'm such an asshole," he pressed the palms of his hands against his eye sockets, "you're here taking care of me - excellently! Oh, so excellently, couldn't ask for anyone better, nicer, I mean- God, you're here caring for me and I'm just here complaining about not- not-" a deep blush found its way back onto his cheeks and he looked away, deflating just a little. 

"Look," his eyes bored into yours again and this time they were soft around the edges, a little pleading, "I don't want you to think that you did anything wrong. At all. I just, it's all been so much, you know…" 

"Of course, I know, baby," you stroked a stray lock of hair out of his face and he softly took a hold of your hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it.

"And you just, this just-" you quietly marvelled at how, still, after all this time, Spencer was just as bashful as the day you met, "brings me comfort?" his eyes were glued to your entangled hands. "I just really want you close, … this close." he sheepishly motioned to where your bodies connected.

The puzzle pieces fit. He just needed extra comfort, especially at a time like this. You smiled at him, hoping to calm the vibrations of nervous energy coming off of him. "Well, we can do that," you whispered, trying to make your voice soft and velvet to the touch. Spencer seemed to soften at the edges. 

"Yeah?" his eyes impossibly wide and full of adoration.

"Of course, Spence," you kissed his lips softly, combing through his hair once more and staying closeby. "It's just, I'm scared of hurting you."

He peered up at you, hands finding your waist once more, "Don't be. I'm not made of glass."

You appreciated the false bravado, but you also knew the way he winced in pain every time he had to do as little as get dressed. You could hardly stand the little sounds of pain, the way his pretty eyes screwed shut. "Spencer," 

The pleading look was back. He kissed you softly, intimately, his lips finding yours like they were made to fit there, "we'll be careful," he promised against your lips.

"Very careful?" you asked as you lost yourself little by little in the kisses. 

"Very careful." he confirmed, his voice low and breathy. God, you had missed seeing him like this, feeling him like this. The way he held your face while he kissed you, borderline possessive but mostly so insanely sweet. His tongue traced your puffy bottom lip, asking for entrance you gladly gave.

Your arms snaked around him for real this time, pulling him closer by his hair. He moaned into the kiss, a gentle vibration you hadn't known you missed so much until you tasted it again. He was hungry, hands tracing your body, but he was still so Spencer. So warm and lovely, large fingers caressing your sides and back like you were something to worship. 

You revelled in his adoration, letting yourself melt against the familiar warmth of his body, the distant smell of his sweet cologne and shampoo. You couldn't help but moan softly when Spencer squeezed the soft flesh around your hips, only now realising how much you had missed his gentle touch. 

You carefully brought your hands down from his hair and started undoing the top button of his pyjama shirt. Spencer smiled into the kiss, content with your cooperation no doubt. You never could deny the pretty boy in front of you anything after all.

The shirt falling away revealed a canvas of pale skin dotted with bruises in various shapes and colours. Peeling the fabric off his shoulders carefully, you finally broke the heated kiss and ventured to look down to his chest. Spencer eyed you carefully, not quite bashfully, but with an uncertainty in his eyes. You vowed to make it disappear at once.

Small kisses starting from his jawline found their way through the minefield of bruises, paying attention not to hurt him in the process. First his collarbones, then downwards to his chest and abdomen, you left no untouched space unkissed. Spencer revelled in your attention, your care, your love.

"Hey," he said softly. You looked up at him in the dim light, your hair falling in your eyes. He took your face into his hands and kissed you tenderly. His fingers found the hem of your t-shirt, gently lifting the edge until you raised your arms to let him pull it over your head. Wearing no bra, you were now topless sitting in his lap. Oh how you had missed seeing the warm brown of Spencer's eyes flash up into something sharper. He let his eyes roam over your body in a way closer to reverie than hunger, though you knew it possessed both. If he hadn't had an eidetic memory, you would almost believe he had actually forgotten what you looked like, the way he drank in the sight like it was his last meal. 

You couldn't help but smile at him, a coy little gesture that Spencer returned as soon as his eyes made it back onto your face. "Missed you," you whispered softly.

"You have no idea," he replied. 

Then his large hands slid up to your chest, one gently brushing your hair away over your shoulder, the other cupping one of your breasts in his palm. He massaged the soft skin gently while leaning forward to pepper your neck with kisses. You sighed into him contently, eyes closing upon the tender contact. His finger grazed over your nipple, making goosebumps spread over your arms like the fire did in your belly. A soft sound escaped you, not quite a whine, but not far from either. You felt Spencer smile against your skin, the kisses turning to little nips as he neared your collarbones. 

Your eyes shot open as you heard Spencer wince. "Spence?"

He shied away at the concern in your voice. "It's nothing," he assured. "Just, um, overdid it." He had leaned too far into you, the bruises on his ribs not quite allowing him to. "I'm fine, you're just, well," he raked his fingers through his hair and let his soft smile return, "well look at you, how could I not."

You tried not to worry, to let yourself melt back into the moment. "Well, let me help you, then," you purred, coming up off your knees so your chest was on his eye level. 

"Perfect…" Spencer mused, more to himself than anyone else, before he recommenced his sweet attack on your skin. Flicking his thumb over one nipple, he took the other one in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. Your head almost fell back, but you wanted to enjoy the sight before you. Remembering exactly what you liked, Spencer's skilled hands and mouth worked over the soft skin of your breasts until you were a whining puddle in his arms, just how he liked you.

And now it wasn't Spencer that was eager, no, you had felt yourself grow wetter for him with every passing second, and the want and need of the last few days washed over you in waves of anticipation. Your hands instinctively went to the hem of his pyjama bottoms when he came up for air, and you ran your finger along the waistband teasingly. 

Spencer looked up at you dazedly, big puppy eyes glazed over with lust, a sweet smirk playing on his lips. You carefully slid off of him, helping him out of his pants and boxer briefs, careful not to hurt him. Your heart ached a little when you heard him hiss in pain and steady himself, but you reminded yourself that you both wanted this. Once his pants were off, you shimmied your own plaid pyjama shorts and panties down your legs, now sitting completely naked on the bed next to Spencer. 

"C'mere," Spencer reached out his hands for you to take, affection muffling his otherwise perfect diction. 

His broad hands positioned you back into his lap where you belonged. The kiss that followed was hungry. Hungrier than you had ever felt Spencer before. His hands were everywhere on your body, grabbing your hips, smoothing down your back, on your tits, you felt him everywhere, except where you needed him most. 

You whined into his mouth, "Spence, please." 

His eyes glinted with something akin to mischief, and his teasing words of "Aw, is my baby so eager?" would almost be convincing, if he wasn't hard and desperate himself right underneath you. So you moved your hips slightly, your folds dragging over his erection. That shut him up real quick.

"Cat got your tongue?" You purred, drinking in the feeling of his skin on yours once more. 

Spencer's long, dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks as he breathed heavily from the friction. The sight was from a movie, the prettiest boy you had ever seen, bruised up, but revelling in feeling your body. You wanted him, needed him.

You slowly lifted your hips, careful not to put too much of your weight on him, and let Spencer position himself at your opening. The anticipation in the air was sweet, almost stifling, you could already taste the sweet release. 

Spencer dragged his tip though your folds, spreading the wetness that had accumulated up to your clit, circling it a few times before going back to your entrance. 

"So wet for me, baby."

"I'll be gentle, yeah?" you checked with him. 

"Yeah, hm, sure," his eyes flickered up from where you two almost connected to your face, "god, i need you, please."

Who were you to deny? You sank down slowly, just the tip at first, and the stretch was already delicious enough to warrant the soft, whining sound leaving your lips. Spencer looked dizzy with it, patiently waiting on you while he steadied your hips. You sank further down on him. God, you had missed feeling him inside you. 

When you had taken all of him, you tried to check in on whether this position was comfortable for him, but instead you were pulled into another desperate kiss. His tongue was in your mouth in seconds, making you lightheaded with the eagerness Spencer poured into you. He moved his hips up, thrusting into you once, and it felt amazing, but he winced into the kiss.

"Babe, Spence," you halted the kiss, "let me do the work now, please," you gently pushed him back against the pillows, "let me take care of you, yeah?" 

He looked up at you straddling him, hair messy and cheeks red. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he replied bashfully, his voice hoarse and deep with want.

You rolled your hips into his, soft but deep. His pretty lips, red from being kissed stupid, parted and he made a delicious sound that went right to your core. You continued to roll your hips, trying to get leverage to ride him, but not wanting to put pressure on his bruises.

"Here," Spencer positioned one of your hands on his chest and one on his shoulder. "And no, it doesn't hurt there," he replied to the silent question in your eyes. You believed him. 

With the new leverage points, you could ride his dick properly. The sensation was dizzying, feeling him so deep inside you. The drag of your clit against his skin with every bounce was delicious, making you moan into Spencer's neck. 

Spencer's hands were moving your hips along with you, squeezing and petting along with his own shallow breaths. He started attacking your neck with kisses again, open-mouthed and sloppy this time, leaving marks for you to discover in the morning, no doubt. 

The drag of him against your insides was maddening. The position gave you all the control and with just a bit of Spencer's help, you found the spot that made you go crazy every time his tip grazed it.

"That's it, that's it, oh god, keep going," the desperation is Spencer's voice set your core on fire. The way he said your name over and over sounded like a prayer, like a man starved. He moaned unabashedly when you sunk down on his entire length, looking at you like you personally cured all of his pain. 

"Spence, you feel so good," you practically whimpered, and Spencer nearly came right there and then. He held you closer, nearly all of you touching, like he couldn't get enough of you.

The way you moved together was perfect, a practised ease that came with knowing each other so well that you knew exactly what the other loved most.

"Fuck, baby, oh, I'm- I'm not gonna last much longer," Spencer said though laboured breaths as he snaked his arm between your bodies. 

You were already close, but when you felt Spencer's skilled fingers on your clit, you knew you were done for.

"Come with me?" Spencer spoke into your ear, planting more soft kisses on your jaw. 

Once again, who were you to deny him anything? With a loud moan from you and a stutter of Spencer's hips, you both came together, your release washing over you in white hot waves of pleasure, with Spencer buried deep inside of you. You rode out both your highs, seeing Spencer's eyes gloss over in real time once the satisfaction settled. 

He smiled his wide, dopey smile at you, the picture of contentment, an entirely different version of himself than the one before. You returned the smile, carefully draping yourself over his chest, completely spent.

"Hey," Spencer whispered into the quiet air, "I can't do it for you, now, but you'll have to go clean up, sweetheart." 

"Mmm," you bury your face in his neck, "I will, I will." You could hear the overflowing fondness in his laugh that followed.

"Hey," he said again, smaller this time, "thanks for taking care of me."

You languidly sat up, staring into his big, earnest eyes. Your fingers pushed his hair out of his eyes, revealing the cut above it. You leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "Was that an innuendo, Doctor Reid?" 

He burst out into an unexpected laugh, his eyes twinkling again, "maybe, maybe." 

<3

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I am but a humble fanfic writer and i beg for your feedback guys :))))))) xxxxxxxx

[gweelczz]

“Baritone”

Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)

Genre: Fluff, smut (Y’all KNOW he a FREAK) MDNI

Warnings: he eats the 🐱like a pro!

Summary: Y/N has always been a sucker for his voice, he’s about to put what Stack taught him to the test

Y/N or Sugar as. Sammie called her was addicted to Sammie’s deep voice, and Lord, he knew it too well. It rumbled low, like slow thunder rollin’ over the Delta fields, sweet and sinful all at once. Sammie, mischievous grin tucked beneath the tilt of his hat, made it his mission to use that voice to his advantage — especially in moments like this one, when he was tryin’ to sweet-talk her into lettin’ him sing to her.

They were loungin’ outside Smoke and Stack’s juke joint, the sun startin’ to dip low, throwin’ gold light across the dusty ground. Sugar was sittin’ pretty on the porch steps, her dress catchin’ the breeze just enough to drive him halfway mad. Sammie leaned against the post, arms crossed, his mouth curled into that easy, lazy smile she hated herself for likin’ so much.

“Come on now, Sugar,” he drawled, that voice slow and syrupy, rollin’ over her like molasses. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lettin’ a man sing for his lady.”

Sugar rolled her eyes, tryin’ — and failin’ — to fight the shiver that went up her spine at the way he said lady. “You just want to hear yourself talk, Sammie Moore,” she said, turnin’ her head away to hide her smirk.

Sammie chuckled low under his breath, the sound of it makin’ her knees weak. He knew he had her, and he wasn’t about to let up.

All that afternoon, he teased her without mercy. Every chance he got, he’d lean close, lettin’ his voice dip low when he whispered in her ear.

“You sure smell sweet today, Sugar…”

Or he’d brush by her, lettin’ the roughness of his hand skim her waist, his voice a murmur:

“Almost sweeter’n honeysuckle bloom in July.”

By the time night fell and the juke joint started hummin’ with music and laughter, Sugar was wound tighter than a fiddle string. Sammie watched her from across the room, his eyes heavy-lidded, his smirk growin’ every time he caught her sneakin’ a glance at him.

She tried to escape it — tried to busy herself helpin’ Stack and Smoke set up in the back — but Sammie wasn’t lettin’ her off that easy.

He found her in the storage room, her back turned to him as she sorted through crates of bottled soda and whiskey. The little oil lamp barely lit the room, makin’ it feel small and warm, the air thick with dust and old wood and that sweet scent of Sugar that drove him half-crazy.

He slipped in, quiet as a cat, and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

“Whatcha runnin’ from, Sugar?” he murmured, his voice damn near a growl in the dim light.

She jumped, hand flyin’ to her chest, and when she spun around, her glare could’ve set him on fire if it wasn’t for the way her lips trembled — like she was fightin’ a smile, fightin’ herself.

“Sammie,” she hissed, takin’ a step back, but he was already there, close enough that she could feel the heat radiatin’ off him.

“You know you love it,” he teased, his voice low and slow, velvet-draped and dangerous. His hand slid to her waist, thumb strokin’ the soft fabric of her dress. “You love the way I talk to you, Sugar. Gets you all flustered.”

She opened her mouth to fuss at him, but he didn’t give her the chance.

Sammie dipped his head, brushin’ his lips against hers — feather-light, teasin’ her the same way he had all day.

Sugar whimpered, barely a breath of sound, and that was all it took. Sammie deepened the kiss, pullin’ her flush against him, his hands roammin’ her hips like he couldn’t get enough.

Their mouths moved together desperate, hungrily, years of want pourin’ out between them. Sammie’s hat fell to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten, as he pressed her against the wall, his fingers threadin’ into her thick coils, cradlin’ her like somethin’ precious.

The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she clung to him — Sammie was losin’ himself, and he didn’t give a damn.

His deep voice rumbled against her lips between kisses, a rough, reverent murmur:

“Mine, Sugar… You hear me? You always been mine…”

The taste of her, the feel of her, the way she clung to him — Sammie was losin’ himself, and he didn’t give a damn.

Without breakin’ the kiss, he hoisted her up easy, settlin’ her on the old wooden table in the middle of the storage room. The wood groaned under their weight, but neither of ‘em cared. Sammie stepped between her knees, his big hands slidin’ up her thighs slow, bunchin’ the soft fabric of her dress as he went.

Sugar gasped, breakin’ the kiss, her hands catchin’ at his wrists. “Sammie… wait a minute baby, I-I ain’t presentable down there—”

But Sammie didn’t listen.

Didn’t even pause.

His hands slid up higher, sure and hungry, feelin’ every bit of that sweet, full body he’d dreamt about since he was a boy. His voice rumbled low against her skin, his mouth findin’ the crook of her neck, suckin’ and kissin’ like he couldn’t help himself.

He speaks clearly looking in her eyes, his voice a deep, sinful thing that made her whole body tremble. “You beautiful, I just wanna taste you”

He kissed her again, rougher this time, drownin’ out whatever protest was on her lips. His hands kept movin’, slidin’ up under that dress like he was claimin’ every inch of her, and Sugar — Lord help her — stopped tryin’ to stop him.

Stopped thinkin’ altogether.

There was only Sammie. His voice, his touch, his heart beatin’ right alongside hers, strong and sure and steady.

And there wasn’t no turnin’ back now.

He dropped to his knees pulling her panties down with him tucking them into his pocket, she wouldn’t be need’em right now anyway. He spreads her legs lifting them over his broad shoulders before diving in, going over everything Stack had taught him in his head he dove in head first.

His lips slowly kissed up her thighs sucking and biting the skin at times but never quite touching where she needed him. He blew softly onto her clit swirling his tongue twice before sucking on it harshly pulling off with a pop.

He remembered what Stack told him: “Once you find the button you wanna stimulate both her insides and her button, if you usin ya fingers then curl them upward while lickin on her button. If you just usin ya tongue then curl your tongue upward while making sure ya nose is nuzzling her button.”

He does as told and places a gentle kiss to her clit moving down to slip his tongue inside of her making sure his nose was rubbing her clit. Y/N pants heavily above him slowly leaning back while gripping the shelf next to her, her free hand lifting her skirt so she can see him better.

The sight of him staring up at her like a hungry predator making her heart stop for a second. Sammie speeds up the tempo of his tongue curling it upward while nuzzling her clit and gripping her thighs holding her in place.

Y/N moans quietly, her hips moving against his face slowly riding his tongue. Her chest heaves and her back arches feeling herself getting closer to the edge, “Sammie baby.. I-“ he cuts her off with a look, his eyes dark as he continues to feast on her slurping up her juices that spill. He brings her over the edge making her cry out his name while he swallowed everything greedily, not wanting to waste a drop.

He eats her through it until she’s pushing his head away causing him to pull back with a sly grin. Coming up he kisses her once again allowing her to taste herself before pulling back, “C’mon here, got folks waitin on us”

[the-californicationist]

he gives great gifts

Price/Reader - TW: remote vibrator, minor female ejaculation

“Hey, love, I’m home,” Price’s voice called out to you, summoning you to the front door. 

He was carrying all of your packages and mail, along with his rucksack, home for the weekend. You took the mail, helping him leave the worries of the day at the door to join you in the kitchen. You were making his favorite, chicken spaghetti, and you just started the oven. 

Your captain sat at the island counter, opening up the mail and sorting out the bills. He kissed you as you walked past him, his mustache tickling your lip and cheek

“Mm,” he moaned, “How was your day?”

“Good,” you smiled, flirting with him, “Missed you, though. How was yours? Any news from Laswell?”

“No, not yet. Still waiting on the intel. Oh, hey, it came!” He lit up, tearing into a small package with his knife.

“What’s that?” You asked over your shoulder, bending to put the chicken in the oven. 

“Bought you an early birthday present. Come see,” he was holding a black box, lifting the lid to reveal the prize inside. 

“John, I thought we said no gifts? What did you… oh, my God. Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he smiled like he had just won a medal, prideful and obviously chuffed, “...and it has a remote.”

You were staring at a lime green, silicone dildo. It was shaped like a curved smile, one large end for insertion and the other smaller end to be nestled on top of your clit. 

“A remote?” You asked, taking out the toy and feeling its smoothness in your hands. It was lightweight, but very solid. It seemed expensive, well-crafted, and like John had spent way too much money on you, as usual.

It buzzed in your hands, coming alive with a low rumble. It shocked you, and you almost dropped it.

“Oh, my God!” You laughed, “What was that?”

He held up a matching lime green remote. It was small, like a car fob, and it had a few different buttons to choose from. Price’s face was full of mischief,

“Put it in, love.”

“I’m making dinner,” you protested, but you didn’t put it down. 

“So?” He whispered darkly, dragging your hips toward him, kissing you deeply, licking your mouth and leaving little love bites down the side of your neck.

You giggled, smiling sweetly. He made it so easy to give in to him. You sighed,

“Okay, okay. Help me put it in, honey.”

Price put the remote down and slid your pants down to your thighs, pulling your panties down with them. He took the toy from you and opened the little packet of lube that came in the pouch, coating the thick end. He hesitated, slipping his own finger into you first, finding you a little too wet and already turned on. 

He made a face, full of delighted surprise, teasing you,

“Someone’s excited, hm?”

Impatient, he slid the toy into you gently, fitting it at your entrance and pressing it up into you. He pulled it back out again and used it to fuck you for a few strokes, making you moan quietly, leaning forward to steady yourself on his huge forearm. 

“Mm,” he groaned, “You like that, love?”

“Yeah,” you gasped.

He settled it all the way in and made sure the front was in the right place before replacing your panties and your leggings back up around your waist. You kissed him again, and went back into the kitchen to finish up with dinner. 

The excitement of knowing he could control your pleasure was building inside of you. You didn’t see the remote on the countertop, and he was busy recycling the boxes, so you thought you were safe. You leaned down again to check the chicken, and then you almost came out of your skin as the toy came alive inside of you. 

Price was unbothered, pouring a few fingers of whisky into his glass, innocently. He saw you looking at him and smiled knowingly, taking a long swig of the amber liquid into his mouth. You glared, but you needed to put the pasta on to boil. So, you turned back around to grab a pot. 

Inside of you, the toy buzzed, low and rumbling, shaking your clit and rattling against your g-spot in tandem, freezing you in place, riding out the waves of sensation. You struggled to bring yourself back to your task, but you wanted to play along, so you brought the pot over to the sink, panting, trying to work through the blinding pleasure, filling the pot with warm water. You had a few seconds to wait for it to reach the top, so you closed your eyes, reveling in the vibrations. 

You let out a moan, eyes still wrenched shut, hands on either side of the sink. 

“Um, love?” Price interrupted your lust, pointing to the pot which was now overflowing.

“Oh, shit,” you turned off the tap, and managed to pour out some of the water without too much trouble.

However, as you turned to walk it back over to the stove, he turned up the intensity. There was now some sort of… rotation… happening inside of you. It honestly felt like you were being fucked, like a cock was thrusting up into you, punishing your core. You stopped in your tracks, gripping the heavy pot for dear life, moaning in full volume. 

“John!”

Everything stopped. You gasped, your eyes flitting to him immediately. The captain was grinning from ear to ear, drinking his whisky and enjoying the show. He chuckled,

“What is it? You alright?” 

You laughed in short, panting breaths, rolled your eyes at him, and put the pot down to open the pantry for the spaghetti. When you reached for the door handle, the sensations were back, sending bolts of pleasure through your pussy, making your panties damp as you gushed out around the unrelenting dildo. You grabbed the handle tighter, steadying yourself against the frame of the door, resting your body against it, keening like a paid whore. Just as you were about to tumble over the edge, inches away from coming, it stopped again. 

“John Price,” you turned toward him, eyes wild, “You did not just - ”

“I’m starving,” he said casually, not even looking in your direction, pretending to scroll through his phone, “Think you’ll have dinner ready soon, love?”

You groaned, opening the door and reaching for the pasta boxes, waiting for him to click the button again. 

There was nothing. 

You waited in the pantry a little longer, baiting him.

Nothing. Not even a little jiggle. 

You barged out of the pantry, and as soon as he saw you, you were sent to your knees. He’d turned whatever setting it was all the way up. You dropped the pasta boxes, crawling on the floor of the kitchen like an animal, screaming out lurid cries and feeling your thighs tremble from the onslaught. 

“Did you think I would let you hide in there where I couldn’t see you?” His question was delivered with cold cruelty. He had left his seat and was now standing over you, remote in hand, watching you suffer at his feet. You begged for mercy,

“Baby, please, God… I need… oh, fuck!”

“Pick up the pasta. Now,” He commanded you, his voice loud and oppressive.

“John, please,” you clutched at the leg of his jeans, feeling like you were coming in waves and waves and waves. 

He reached down with his empty hand and grabbed you by the hair at the base of your skull, forcing you to look up at him, 

“I said: Pick. Up. The. Pasta.”

“Okay, okay…” You were trying to breathe. You let go of his pant leg and reached for the boxes, feeling your pussy clench around the toy as it fucked the life out of you. 

Your hands were shaking. The dry spaghetti made the sound of cheap maracas, clattering out of the box and splashing in the boiling water. You tried to open the second box, and you couldn’t. Your hands weren’t following your commands.

Price’s eyes bore into you as he stood next to you, watching you come apart under his control. Very casually, he took the box from you, opened it, and handed it back to you. He was breathing hard, as if he, too, was being subjected to the same sensations. 

Unable to stop yourself, you looked down at his cock. It was pressing against his pants, making a perfect outline of itself, hard as a stone. He caught you looking and palmed himself over the top of the fabric, squeezing the head to relieve some of the tension. 

You were practically drooling for him. But, you went back to the meal, putting the other box of pasta in as gently as you could. The way that this toy was fucking you almost reminded you of having John’s fingers in you while he sucked on your clit. The vibrations and steady rocking movements brought you to completion in a way where you couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and the other began. 

As you turned your back to face Price, he moved toward you, pulling you away from the stove and shoving you up against the countertop. He snaked his hand between your legs and pushed up on the toy, forcing it to fuck you deeper than normally possible, shoving it in you mercilessly. 

“John, I’m going to come, please!”

You came, but it was unique. You felt like you were wetting yourself, coming so hard that fluid was squirting out of you, soaking your panties and leggings, along with John’s invasive hand. 

“Mm, fuck,” he growled in your ear, “Did you just squirt for me? Bloody fucking hell.”

“I don’t…” you couldn’t form coherent thoughts, “I dunno. John, help me, please…”

“Sweet girl, do you need this cock?” he pulled your bottoms down, trapping your knees with them, and held you up by your waist. He turned off the vibrator and tugged it out of you gently. You were so slick that it slid out of you without much resistance. Your pussy was throbbing, flooded with come, and desperate for a familiar sort of relief. 

“Yes, please, God,” you begged, tears in the corners of your eyes. 

“Alright, love,” he let you feel his hot head at your pulsating entrance, ready to sink into you, “It’s alright, I'm here now.”

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

[gyuzgrl]

sixth sense //jww//

anon req- yandere/stalker Wonwoo

summary- when watching you wasn't enough, he'd sneak into your house to get himself off. what happens when Wonwoo realizes he might be able to get something more tonight?

wc- 6k

Wonwoo swore this would be the last time. As his feet carried him further and further, across the street into private property, he promised himself that this was it.

No more.

You see, no matter how hard he tried, Wonwoo just couldn't stop watching you. Where you walked around on campus, the way you spoke to just about everyone so sweetly, how you secretly drifted off in class- he saw it all.

He'd spend hours and hours staring at your face, observing the way your features would morph into all sorts of expressions- so much so he now knows them by heart.

What started as something innocent, however, turned much darker when he realised that you lived in the house opposite his.

Night upon night, Wonwoo would sit by his window, watching, observing as you went about your life, completely unaware.

Your curtains were open- always were.

He knew when you studied, when you slept, when you touched yourself. You were so naive, so innocent, he really just couldn't help himself.

You made it so easy.

And now he's here, inside your house- with an hour to spend and a filthy, filthy imagination.

He's been here a couple of times before. Once when you'd left to go study at the library, another time when Somi and you went out for brunch, last week when your mother and you went shopping.

This time was different, though.

This time, you'd left him a little present on your bed.

As he walks into your room with practiced ease, Wonwoo's breath catches at the sight of pretty pink lingerie and a matching vibrator, laying exposed on your duvet.

'oh you have plans tonight, don't you?'

His thoughts show so clearly on his face- that signature Wonwoo smirk, corners of his lips just barely tilting up, head tipping to one side as his eyes linger over the pink lacey fabric.

Tentatively, he takes hold of the toy, clasping it in his palm, feeling the smooth, shiny plastic against his skin. Wonwoo's thoughts drift to how you'd use it in a few hours, completely unaware that he's been touching it- in turn, indirectly touching you.

'didn't know you liked this kinda stuff,'

'dirty girl'

Your room's mostly clean, usually is, save for the tangle of wires under your desk and a few odd clothes tossed at the foot of your closet. The laundry bin's full; a lid keeps it under control, but fails to hide the silky red fabric of your panties- the ones he saw you take off earlier this morning.

His eyes light up. The vibrator is long forgotten.

Time is of the essence here- there's not a lot of it left- so he grabs the red fabric in a haste and holds it to his face, inhaling deeply to take in your scent.

"fuck-" he groans softly, knees weakening at how goddamn good you smell. There's a hint of that fabric softener you use, clean and floral, but there's also the intoxicating scent of you.

The most intimate part of you.

Wonwoo settles on your duvet, nose still buried into your panties, and his eyes flutter closed as an evil hand snakes it's way into his sweatpants.

His cock jumps at the contact, and he hisses, taking his lower lip in between his teeth. Thoughts of you flood his mind, and he replays the image of you from two nights ago, with your naked body on full display as you lay in this exact spot, touching that pretty cunt of yours.

Slowly, Wonwoo begins to pump himself, squeezing hard around his girth, trying to satiate that red hot pit of desire screaming within.

He takes in a shaky breath, letting you flood his senses, and he feels himself grow in his fist, now moving faster.

Wonwoo thinks of you- of your voice, of your face, of your body. How you'd sound, whimpering, sobbing under him, how your features would settle so perfectly into utter bliss, how your skin; soft to the touch, would jump under his fingertips.

Within minutes, he feels his cock throb. It's hot and heavy in his hand, the tip burns a fiery shade of red as he works himself up to his release pumping faster as he takes you in desperately.

"f-fuck y/n" he chokes out, head falling back into your pillows.

His fist tightens around the width of his dick, trying to mimic what he thinks you'll feel like, and in seconds he tips over the edge. Hot, white ropes stream out of his cock, dribbling out of the tip, and he hunches over quickly to your nightstand to pluck out a tissue or two.

As he cleans himself off, the guilt hits, like it always does.

This is wrong, he knows it is, but he really just can't bring himself to stop. It's as though you've cast a spell on him and now he's become your very own moon- chasing after you, endlessly.

Wonwoo tidies up the bed, fixing your sheets, fluffing up your duvet, and he deposits- albeit reluctantly- your panties back to their assigned spot in the laundry bin.

15 minutes till you come back home.

He heads to your kitchen and discards his soiled tissues into the garbage shoot, destroying all the evidence that he was ever here.

There's still a bit of time left for him, so he looks through your pantry, face falling when he sees the endless sea of instant-meal cartons and ramen packets.

'you really should take better care of yourself,'

Just as he's about to close the cabinet, something catches him eye.

A hand blender- rather, the hand blender you borrowed from him last week. In a sudden burst of genius, Wonwoo comes up with a plan.

It's hasty, definitely reckless, but he has a shot at getting to touch you.

step 1- hide the blender inside the highest shelf of your pantry.

check.

step 2- head back home, shower, put on the cologne you seem you like, change into loose grey sweats and a fitted white wife beater.

check.

step 3- wait till you get home and watch as you settle into bed, ready to play.

check.

step 4- once you begin to work yourself up, almost on the verge of release, that's when he'll strike, ringing your doorbell to ask for his blender.

Wonwoo's heart thuds against his chest as he presses your doorbell. The sound echoes around in his head and he swears he can feel his heart in his throat. Scuffling footsteps draw his attention back to you, and he smirks, imaging what you look like right now; scrambling around to cover yourself up, frustrated that you've been interrupted.

The distinct slap of your house slippers against wooden floors grows louder and louder, in time with Wonwoo's speeding heart, and he feels his mouth go dry.

This is happening.

Creaking your door open, you pop your head out, eyes widening when you see Wonwoo at your doorstep.

"this a bad time?" he asks, tilting his head to the side as his eyes rake over your body, observing the loosely tied robe you've covered up with.

"uh n-no, what's up Won?"

Fuck there was that petname you used all the time. He hated petnames, hated when people called him stuff like that, but with you? God, there was something so cute about it when you said his name like that. Makes him want to push you down and fuck you senseless right here on your doorstep.

"you remember that blender you borrowed? I kinda need it right now," his voice is deep as he speaks, and you notice his apperance.

Tight white vest, baggy grey sweatpants, wet hair- fuck he's your very own wet dream, delivered right to your doorstep. A deep blush spreads across your cheeks and you wonder if he knows what you've been up to.

"y-yeah, come in I've got it around here somewhere," you stutter, stepping back to let him in. Wonwoo steps forward, his long legs closing the distance between your bodies, and you gasp, eyes flicking over to his as he towers over you, barely an inch between your frame and his.

Once again, he let's his eyes skim over you, taking note of the way your cheeks heat up under his stare.

'oh? you like this, don't you?'

There's that smirk again, the knowing twitch of his lips, the condescending look in his eye. He's assured, you're far too desperate to turn him down when he makes his move.

Despite the rambling thoughts inside him, Wonwoo appears composed. He quirks a brow at you, looking almost unimpressed, and you scramble around for words..

"you w- you walk really um, really fast,"

"you don't," he states, bemused, "I really do need that blender, though."

Embarrassed, your skin burns crimson and your lips part, forming an 'o' shape.

"o-oh uh yeah that. it should be in here," you mutter, sauntering your way over to the kitchen with him trailing right behind.

Wonwoo has to physically restrain himself from reaching out to run his palm over the curve of your ass, swaying enticingly as you walk.

'fuck you made this so hard-'

You slip behind the kitchen island, throwing a quick glance his way over your shoulder, before opening up the first cabinet- the one that originally did have Wonwoo's blender.

Clumsy hands, pat around the surface of the shelf in vain, and you turn around, pouting. Wonwoo thinks this is his breaking point (it isn't, but still).

"not here, sorry this might take a while Won"

His heart swells at the petname, and inside he's got fireworks going off. On the outside, however, he remains unmoved.

"yeah take your time, baby, I've got all evening"

You flush.

He called you baby.

Turning to face him, you offer a watery, nervous smile.

"m'sorry Wonnie"

'oh fuck me-'

You turn back around pulling open another cabinet, and then another and another. Moving from the ones at eye level, you kneel down, digging through the shelves under your counter top. The angle makes Wonwoo dizzy.

'you're doing this on purpose, I swear'

On your knees, eyes a little teary from embarrassment, you look up at him, shaking your head. This is the sixth shelf.

"sorry-"

"you're good, here- I'll help you look"

Wonwoo's voice soothes through you, it's low timbre running along your nerves like guitar strings. He steps beside you, eyes scanning over the counter top as you stand up and open your highest cabinet.

You stand on your tip toes, arm fully outstretched, and you begin to search around; this time in the right cabinet. As your fingertips glaze over something that feels like a blender, your eyes light up, and Wonwoo, standing behind you, takes notice.

"think it's here"

The only issue now, is that you can't reach it. It's too high up for you to grasp properly. You stretch as far as you can, straining your body as you try to reach the little plastic device, and before you know what's happening, you feel a presence directly behind you.

Wonwoo.

His chest pushes flush against your back as his arm extends out far beyond yours, and you let out a surprised squeak.

He grins.

The hard muscle of his torso has your mouth watering, only adding to your desperation. Sure, having your orgasm so rudely ripped away is one thing, but to have Jeon Wonwoo of all people, dressed the way he is, pushing up against you, all while you're defenseless and unable to satisfy yourself? Oh this is just pure torture.

"found it" he whispers right above your ear, his breath tickling the shell of it. You shudder.

Wonwoo brings his arm back down, setting the item down on the counter. You turn around, caged between his arms, and your knees go weak at the sight in front of you.

The thick muscles of his arms are on full display, veins jutting out deliciously right beside you. Wonwoo's eyes stay trained on your own, a dark desire, a hunger, running wild in them.

Suddenly, you realise, your little bullet vibrator won't be enough for you tonight.

You gulp noticing the proximity of your bodies, of your faces, and Wonwoo smirks.

"you're all red,"

"s-shut up"

"but you are, I mean look at these" he grins, bringing his fingers up to press your cheeks together. "so fuckin' cute when you blush,"

You're stunned into silence.

"and this-" he motions to your robe, now loose, falling apart at your cleavage, revealing the delicate pink lace of your bra, "who's this for?"

Your eyes almost double in size when you glance down, and you scramble to adjust yourself.

"it's nothing! I was just- I was just um,"

"just what?"

Your brows scrunch up as you bite your lip, suddenly conscious of your surroundings, and you avoid his gaze, opting to look down at the fabric of his vest.

"were you playing with yourself?"

You shake your head furiously, tears welling in your eyes. God, this is embarrassing but for some reason, you find yourself growing hotter, wetter by the second, with your body pressed up against his.

"dirty girl,"

Wonwoo's voice is sultry and low, he's practically purring at you, eyes glazed over with desire. The way he calls you has your cunt clenching down around empty space, and you know you need this. You need him.

"if I was t-touching myself, would you be upset?"

'hook, line, and sinker.'

"oh princess, you were just trynna feel good, of course I won't be upset" he coos, stroking your hair.

"a-and if I say that I was thinking of y-"

"hm?"

"if I say that I was thinking of you, while I was... y'know, would you be mad?"

Oh he wasn't expecting that.

Not one bit.

The stoic, unmoving persona dissipates within seconds and Wonwoo let's out a shaky breath, bringing his face closer to yours, leaving barely an inch of space.

"not at all,"

There's a short pause as you both share understanding glances- a wordless confession.

"this is my mess to fix, isn't it?" he whispers, breath fanning over your face, burning hot against your cheeks.

You nod, desperately, and he leans his forehead against yours.

"and you want me to fix it, baby?"

"please," you whimper, pressing your thighs together helplessly.

Wasting not a second more, rather, unable to wait a second more, Wonwoo pushes his lips to yours, enveloping them in a hungry, needy kiss.

Hot, wet skin greets your mouth, cradling your lower lip as he sucks feverishly at the tender flesh. Wonwoo slides a hand up to your chin, tilting your face up between his thumb and forefinger, and you gasp when he prods his tongue into your mouth.

A pathetic whimper escapes you, and you give in to his body.

"you want this?" he pants, his breath hot, meshing with your own.

"I do- fuck I really do Wonnie"

Your voice is whiny, your eyes gloss over, Wonwoo curses under his breath.

Without warning, he slides his hands under your thighs, and hoists your body up, moving you to sit on the counter. You gasp at how easily he manages to lift you- like you're a fragile little doll, completely at his mercy.

As your thighs spill out from under the robe, they make contact with the cool, hard marble below, and you jump at the sudden sensation.

The fabric of your robe rides up, giving Wonwoo access to the hem of your panties, and his eyes flick down, darkening considerably when he looks at your pink lingerie.

"oh? what's this you're wearing?" There's a smirk in his voice, plain as day. His hands smooth over the front of your thighs, stopping right at the edge of the robe.

"may I?"

His eyes draw back up to yours, and he looks at you, the question genuine in his gaze.

"yes," you breathe, swallowing at the thick lump in your throat.

Eager hands slide up, disappearing momentarily under your robe to feel you first, before pulling the loose fabric apart completely.

Wonwoo slips the silky fabric over your shoulders, letting it pool around your thighs on the counter, and it's as though life presses pause for a while.

He stares at you in awe, in wonder, eyes tracing over every curve, every contour of your body and the lace against it.

"you're so beautiful-" he shudders, unable to stop himself from looking.

"I am?"

Wonwoo rolls his eyes.

"what, you didn't know?"

"uh uh," you shake your head, staring up at him through thick lashes, "nobody's called me that before"

There's a pause. You can practically hear the gears twisting and turning in Wonwoo's head, with his brow set in a frown.

'you really didn't know'

'how do I show yo-'

His lips twitch up, revelation written all over his face.

"as much as I'd love to fuck you into this counter, there's something better in store upstairs,"

"u-upstairs? but how do-"

"shh, princess, don't bother your pretty head about silly things, hm?" he cooes, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In a swift motion, you feel the surface beneath you shift away as Wonwoo lifts you into his arms, hands hooked under the flesh of your ass.

You yelp, eyes wide with panic, but the adoring grin painted on his face calms you down. He walks up the stairs, turning to the right, unlocking your door.

"but how do you kno-"

"patience, pretty- we'll talk when I'm done with you" his voice takes on a darker tone, and you feel your arousal seep through the flimsy lace of your panties. Feeling the tip of his fingers dampen, Wonwoo smirks knowingly.

"someone's eager"

You blush, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, but Wonwoo's quick to pull you back.

"don't you dare hide from me."

The familiar, plush mattress of your bed greets your thighs as he sets you down gently, eyes practically glued to your face, scanning for discomfort.

"if you wanna stop you're gonna tell me, kay? if you can't use your words, tap twice" he says, bringing your hand to his bicep.

"uhuh" Your eyes are hazy, staring into his, as you marvel at how breathtaking he looks crouched down towards you, watching, observing.

Your hand smoothes over his muscles, dipping into the ridges, feeling how firm and strong he really is. Wonwoo shivers under your touch, revelling in how soft your fingers feel tracing over his skin.

"keep touching me and this is gonna go a lot different than how I planned,"

"oh yeah? what did you have planned?"

"you see that mirror there?" he tips his head to the side, angling it toward the mirror standing opposite your bed,

"I'm gonna make you watch."

Wonwoo crawls his way up the mattress, shifting himself to sit up against the head board. His legs are folded at the knees, spread just enough to fit you in between, and he smirks.

An arm moves to rest on his knee, and he crooks two fingers at you, a dangerous smirk playing at his lips.

"c'mere"

Wordlessly, you obey, moving shyly into his embrace, facing him so innocently, Wonwoo can barely bring himself to tell you that you need to turn around.

You shuffle onto your shins, awaiting his next command, and he sighs.

"so fuckin' eager- god I bet you're soaking"

Bashfully, you nod your head, eyes lowered.

"turn around for me, hm?" he ushers, his voice gentle yet firm, and you comply once again, turning in between his knees.

The sight before you has your face flaming. Right there on the wall sits a painting of you and Wonwoo, exposing your most intimate moments, bringing them to view. Your eyes meet in the mirror, and his own shine knowingly at the blush searing across your cheeks.

"keep your eyes on us, sweetheart" he mumbles into your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps spreading over your neck and shoulder. "don't you dare look away"

A soft whimper escapes you as Wonwoo's lips attach themselves to the skin just below your ear, kissing so gently it raises the tiny hairs on your neck. Your eyes narrow in on the spot connecting your bodies- his lips, your neck- and you feel yourself grow hotter, needier, just from the sight alone.

Leaving wet, dull red marks as he moves to the side, Wonwoo reaches a sensitive spot just above your collar bone, grinning against your skin when you gasp.

"see how pretty you look right now? all marked up for me- all mine,"

"a-all yours," you breathe, head lopping to the side, giving him better access to your neck.

His hands grasp your shoulders, smoothing down your arms slowly before settling at your stomach, essentially caging you into himself.

The sharp sting of his teeth nipping at your skin, the way he holds you so secure, how his voice- sensual and deep like the ocean- resonates deep inside you; it's simultaneously soothing and exciting.

While one part of you wants to melt into him, let yourself drown in the ebb and flow of his voice, the other part is on fire, raging within you, begging to be quenched.

"can I take this off?" he murmurs into your skin, hands grazing over the hem of your bra.

"please,"

Tantalisingly slow, Wonwoo rakes his nails lightly along the width of your bra, until they find your clasp.

Deftly, he clicks you free, ridding your body of the fitted fabric.

"oh would you just- just look at yourself, christ-"

Feverish hands slide under your arms, cupping your breasts, toying with your nipples, as your eyes remain trained on yourself and on the way he handles you.

Wonwoo kneads the flesh of your breasts, squeezing the supple flesh in his grasp, feeling how you fill up his palm so perfectly.

"Wonnie-" you whimper, watching how he manhandles your body, doing as he pleases with you.

"that's right, baby, Wonnie's right here"

His lips resume their work on your neck, pressing sloppy, heated kisses along your skin, occassionally nibbling at a particularly sensitive spot.

The hardened peaks of your breasts poke out enticingly, and Wonwoo knows it'll be criminal to leave them untouched. He pinches each one between his forefinger and thumb, rolling, tugging, squeezing the dark nubs, giving you a different kind of pleasure.

"oh my god-" you gasp, back arching when he tweaks one of your nipples with more pressure than before.

The motion sends a jolt of light all over your body, and you feel yourself yearning for more.

"didn't know you were such a dirty girl," he mumbles into your skin, "letting me touch you like this- must've needed a cock inside you really fucking bad, yeah?"

"uh uh- wanted you for so long Wonnie, just you"

Your voice is embarrassingly whiny and breathy, but Wonwoo hears you loud and clear. He looks at your reflection, meeting your eyes.

"just me, huh?"

You nod, biting your lip, suddenly embarrassed of your sudden confession-

"I- I like you,"

Wonwoo let's out a quivering breath, hands leaving your chest to pull you into a hug. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your scent as he leaves you with a muffled- "I like you too, god I really like you"

He sighs into your skin, relaxing as he doesn't have to hold his cards so close to his chest anymore. His feelings, your feelings, were out in the open. You feel for him the way he feels for you and that's enough.

The moment you share is almost sweet enough to let you forget the ache deep in your cunt.

Almost.

You need him.

"Wonnie,"

"yeah baby?"

"need you to touch me" Your voice is a mere whimper, you sound pathetic, but you can't bring yourself to care.

The corners of his lips turn up into a sly smirk, and you feel it against your skin. Wonwoo lifts his head, eyes finding yours, and you note a dangerous fire dancing behind his gaze.

His ankles hook over your own, trapping your legs under his as he spreads you open, completely at his mercy. You gasp, feeling your limbs move without your command, and Wonwoo mimics you, mocking your naive surprise.

"oh look at how pretty-" he mirrors your gasp, your wide-eyed expression, "all spread out for me, hm?"

For some reason, you can't bring yourself to bite back. Insults and snarky remarks flood your mind, and you chastise him internally, calling him an asshole, a cocky, arrogant idiot; but the sight in front of you brings you back to reality.

You like this- you like being mocked and ridiculed. You like being at his mercy, unable to control your body. The flush on your cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, tells you all you need to know.

Curse him in your head all you want, your body likes this.

Wonwoo let's his hand trail down, snaking past your collarbones, your tummy, just above the hem of your panties. You watch, transfixed, as his touch raises the tiny hairs on your body, creating a path of goosebumps.

A thick lump forms in your throat when he reaches where you need him most, and Wonwoo notices how your eyes are narrowed in on his hand.

"good girl, keep looking at yourself baby-" he breathes into your hair, sending a shudder down your spine.

Your heart swells at his praise, and you look at him, wide-eyed.

"hey," he warns, sliding a finger along your clothed slit before pressing down on your clit, "here. keep your eyes right here- you're gonna watch me fuck you,"

Your hips jerk up, jolting at the sudden stimulation, but his legs force you back down, pushing your body further against him.

Words escape you, your mouth feels dry, and your eyes snap back to the image of your clothed sex. The way his finger toys with your clit, teasing just enough, has you growing so desperate, you're willing to do just about anything to get him to touch you.

"Wonnie p-please," you shudder as his finger presses into you again, "please just- oh," Your voice breaks off into a broken moan when Wonwoo begins to rub firm circles into your clit.

The textured fabric of your lingerie adds an additional layer of stimulation to your nerves, sending sparks flying all over your skin like scattered fireworks.

"please?" he echoes, his tone mocking your own.

His fingers move faster, pushing down on your most sensitive spot, and you can't help but stare shamelessly at how effortlessly he plays with you.

Wonwoo reads the silent language of your body like no other, watching each crease in your forehead, each stutter of your hips to see what you need. Those long, slender fingers flick at you so easily, so deftly, it's as though he knows you better than you know yourself.

Soon enough, your clit throbs under his touch, and he knows you're close.

"oh sweetheart-" he coos, "I haven't even touched you yet-"

Your cunt clenches down at his condescending tone, anticipation building to a shocking crescendo. Just how far is he going to push you?

"m'gonna- fuck m'gonna cum-" you moan, head tipping back. Your legs twitch under his, and your thighs work tirelessly to press together, but in vain.

You're trapped.

"aw baby look," Wonwoo brings his free hand up to clasp your neck, forcibly turning your head straight. "so pretty like this- fuck you're shaking,"

Your eyes flick over your reflection, hazy as ever, and you feel your orgasm coming on. There's something so sexy about watching yourself come undone, watching Wonwoo spread you apart and use you like a little toy.

A wave of pleasure, approaching fast, washes over you as he works you up to your orgasm. The rough texture of your panties has you drooling, and soon enough, you're nerves ache from overstimulation.

"that's it, princess- so good for me,"

Wonwoo pushes the crotch of your panties aside, without warning, and dips two fingers into your cunt, pushing deep inside to collect your essence. Your body jolts in his embrace, thighs tensing with effort to squirm away from him, but again, there's no escaping.

"oh you taste like heaven," he groans, slipping his fingers into his mouth, licking up every drop he collected.

You find yourself entranced by the sight, watching him clean off his fingers, slipping his tongue so deftly between each digit, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like inside you.

Noticing the fascination with which you observe him, Wonwoo shoots you a sly smirk, letting your legs slip free.

'I know what you're thinking,'

"turn around,"

Your body moves on its own, following his voice, and you shift in his arms with your back to the mirror.

"now c'mere," he licks his lips, moving his hands to your waist, pulling you onto his thigh.

Within seconds, his lips are on yours, pressing needy, hungry kisses to your mouth. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you dizzy, in dire need of more.

Air escapes you quicker than water in a broken dam, and you find yourself growing light-headed, pulling away for breath despite Wonwoo's grumbling.

When you draw back for the third time, he's beyond frustrated, groaning as his lips chase yours.

"get back here." he seethes, hands gripping the flesh of your waist, "right. fucking. now"

Your body, unfortunately, is slow to respond.

Wonwoo curses under his breath before flipping you over, arms straining as he lays you down as gently as he can.

You yelp, clutching onto his biceps like your very own safety belt, and your eyes widen at how easily he moves you.

"what are y-"

"can't have you running away," he smirks, tongue running along his lower lip.

Balancing his weight on one arm while bringing your hand to touch the other, Wonwoo repeats himself-

"if you want to stop, tell me. if that isn't possible-"

"tap twice, got it" you interrupt hastily, impatient as ever. He smiles fondly at you, a soft huff of laughter spilling past his lips.

"that's my girl,"

Your nails run over a thick vein jutting out from under his skin, and he swallows thickly, Adam's apple dipping low into his throat.

"you're really fucking distracting, y'know that?" he tuts, grabbing your hand and pinning it up above your head.

Before you can respond, Wonwoo captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, shoving his tongue past your lips, and exploring the expanse of your mouth fervently as if he's trying to memorize the way you feel, the way you taste.

The hand on your wrist loosens its grip and Wonwoo runs his fingers down the inside of your arm- ghosting a feathery touch over the sensitive skin.

"Won-" you whimper into his mouth, desperate for air, but he doubles down, pushing his lips closer to yours. Your helpless, muffled whines fill his ears and he can't help but grin against your lips.

'you make the prettiest sounds,'

Finally showing mercy, Wonwoo lets you breathe, moving from your lips to your chest, kissing his way down to your soaked panties.

"made a mess of these-" You can practically hear the smirk in his voice and you want nothing more than to smack it off, but you know he's right.

"you'll clean me up though, won't you?"

Silence.

Wonwoo sucks in a deep, composing inhale. His eyes meet yours, and your breath hitches. There's a deep, dark desire, an untameable lust behind the browns of his eyes, one that sends a shiver down your spine.

His fingers hook into your panties, tugging them off firmly, and his jaw clenches at the sight of your bare cunt.

"fuck-"

As if under a spell, Wonwoo finds himself drawn to you, placing his lips to your sex. He sticks a kiss to your slit before running his tongue along your folds and you know you're done for when your legs begin to twitch.

"oh please-" you whimper, hips bucking up into his tongue, and his lips twitch up. He brings his tongue to your hole, prodding it inside you, flicking in and out as his hand splays over your lower belly, thumbing your puffy clit.

Your jaw falls slack, hanging open, and your head lolls over to the side in pure ecstasy.

Wonwoo moves inside you with ease, pressing into every spot you need, rubbing lazy circles into your sensitive nerves. A choked moan claws its way up your throat, flooding the room, and Wonwoo knows he's doing something right.

All those nights studying you, the way you touched yourself, the things you seemed to like- they paid off in the end.

Your breathing grows unsteady and rapid, and he moves faster, pushes deeper into you, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

"f-fu- Wonnie m'gon-" you stutter, breathlessly, and he hums an affirmation, his voice sending waves reverberating through your nerves. The added stimulation of his voice, buzzing through you, is just enough to send you over the edge, and you cum on his tongue, back arching off the bed.

Unable to control the sounds escaping you, you're a whimpering, moaning jumble of nerves.

"that's it, baby-" he soothes, easing his tongue over your cunt, lapping up the remnants of arousal as you shudder uncontrollably. "taste so fuckin' good,"

Wonwoo kisses up your torso, settling on his knees to take his clothes off.

The white tank goes first, revealing his chiseled upper body, and your jaw drops. He looks unreal. The sweatpants are next, leaving him in a pair of fitted black boxers that cling to the width of his thighs and do little to hide his size.

"you're still okay with this?" he asks one last time, fingers halting at his boxers.

Stunned by the view, you nod dumbly, lips still parted in surprise.

"baby- I need wor-"

"yes! yes- yes I'm o-okay with this" you blurt out, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"do you hav-"

"I'm on the pill" The boxers are shucked off.

Oh my God.

The mattress dips under his weight, dimples forming under his knees and elbows as he hovers over you. Wonwoo places a chaste kiss to your forehead, aligning himself with your entrance before easing into you.

"you-you're so big-" you breathe, feeling the wind knocked out of your lungs. "Wonnie- oh my god"

Your eyes widen, brows knitting together as he pushes further and further, until he bottoms out inside you.

"shi-shit that's it- takin' me so good-" he hisses, clenching his teeth.

The girth of his cock has your walls stretching wide, trying desperately to accommodate him, and your eyes roll back. Wonwoo finds himself in a bit of a dilemma, unable to figure out whether to keep his eyes on your face, contorting in undeniable pleasure, or on your cunt being stuffed full by his cock.

With each thrust of his hips, you feel him move further, reaching deeper inside you until his tip nudges your cervix, coaxing out strangled moans on your part. The thick, pulsating vein running along the underside of his cock drags against your walls, and you feel him grow inside you- getting even bigger than before.

"W-onnie-" you mewl, words cut off by sharp gasps every time he slams back into you. "too big oh my g-"

"shh, you're takin' me so good doll, doin' so fucking good for me-" His voice is tainted with effort, each consonant ringing sharp and breathy as his lips ghost over yours.

Every fiber in your body buzzes with electricity, sweat glistens off of you like gold- you're on top of the world right now. The pleasure you feel in this moment is simply unparalleled. Nobody has, or ever will, come close.

Wonwoo's motions pick up speed, as he hooks his arm under your thigh, pulling it over his back- angling himself deeper into you, reaching spots you don't even know exist.

The first thrust with this newfound angle has both of your lips parting, breathing out shaky "oh"s against each other. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head, breathing ragged and fast.

Wonwoo lets out a huff, smirking like he isn't gasping for breath the same way your are-

"that's it- I know you're close baby"

His hand leaves your thigh, rubbing zig-zag patterns into your clit, just enough to steal that orgasm out of you. The calloused pads of his fingers show no mercy, pressing directly on your nerves, and your hole spasms around him. You're certain you can feel your heartbeat where his finger presses, you can feel his too with the way his cock throbs inside you.

"so goddamn tight-" Wonwoo seethes, now feeling his own high approaching. He continues his motions on your clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves from left to right, until you finally give in with a sob.

"m'cumming oh fuc- oh fuck"

The muscles of your thighs tense momentarily, cunt clenching down hard around his cock, before you let go completely. A warm, prickly relaxation washes over you, and Wonwoo grunts, releasing himself inside you.

His thrusts slow to a halt, and he lets out an airy laugh, in disbelief. He stares down at your disheveled frame- flushed, sweaty skin, blown pupils, hair tangled up around your head.

"you're beautiful," he breathes, unable to hold his tongue, and you giggle, turning away bashfully.

Wonwoo tilts your chin back, pulling you to face him-

"I really like you, y/n,"

You smile, eyes shimmering up at him. "I like you more"

There's a brief pause as you gaze into each other's eyes, before you realise something.

"wait- how'd you know wh-"

"sixth sense" he grins, eyes carrying just a touch of madness. "I know everything."

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! love your writing, its so comforting to me <3 if it takes your fancy, would you consider writing a little something for james or sirius w a reader who has a hand tremor? i have one in my left hand and its been frustrating me a lot lately!! no worries if this doesnt interest you, sending love!

Sending love back sweetheart !

cw: reader shaves her legs

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 756 words

You’ve taken to shaving sitting atop the bathroom counter. You go slowly, using the sink to rinse your razor. With the amount of time it takes you lately, you started to feel guilty about the amount of water you were wasting doing it in the shower. 

Sirius has taken to sitting on the toilet and chatting with you while you do it. 

“I liked it,” he says, fingers drumming absently on the toilet lid. He’s got his legs spread and his arms resting between them, devastatingly handsome even when he’s not trying to be. He’s telling you about the film he went to see with his friends at the cinema today. “It was funny. Remus said it was sort of idiotic, but he’s in one of his pretentious moods. James thought it was funny, too, so.” 

“I’ll have to see it and pass judgement,” you say, concentrating on the line of foamy cream on your leg as you drag your razor up it. Your hand trembles, but the line stays mostly straight.

Sirius grins. “I’d go again, if you wanted to. You’d like it, there’s this one part where—” 

He cuts off when you hiss, hissing with you in sympathy. A bead of blood forms near your knee. 

“Hey, be careful.” 

You give him a sideways look, wiping the blood away and reaching for the tap to rinse your razor again. “Do you think I’m not?” 

Sirius frowns. He shakes his head. “No. Sorry, that came out wrong.” He pushes himself up, coming over to you. “Why don’t you let me do that?” 

You look at him for a moment, deliberating. There are lots of things that Sirius does for you. He writes letters if you ask him to, buttons your work shirts in the morning, does your eyeliner when you want to feel pretty and put together. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to let him do this for you, too. 

At your hesitance, he says, “You know I don’t care if you shave anything. Right?” 

It’s a conversation you’ve had before. Sirius is anticipating your answer. 

“I know, but I want to.” He nods, accepting. “And I don’t want to stop just because I can’t make my hand—”

“Easy.” He uses a warning tone, playfulness hidden beneath. “Don’t start insulting my favorite girl. You don’t have to stop, sweetness. Let me, okay?” 

You relent, passing your razor to him. Your hand quivers obviously during the transfer. Sirius closes his over it, giving your fist a loving squeeze before extricating the razor from its grasp. 

“Don’t cut me,” you say. 

Sirius tsks. “Are you kidding me? I’d sooner go to Remus’ and sit through whatever he thinks a good film is.” He wants you to smile. Kisses you when you do. “Don’t worry. I shave my face all the time, I’m not going to cut you.” 

You know he does. You like to watch him do that too, often teasing in lamenting tones about how roguish he’d look if he let his facial hair grow out just a little. Sirius will threaten to leave just a thin mustache, and that always shuts you right up. 

“It’s different than shaving your face,” you say. 

“Well, I think I’ll get the hang of it.” 

He really is rather good at it. This likely has something to do with how exceedingly gentle Sirius is being with you. He steadies you with one hand on the already shaven part of your calf, his brows lowered in concentration as he draws the razor up your leg hardly faster than you had. The touch of the blades is so ghostlike you’re slightly concerned he’s not getting any hair off at all. 

Your throat aches. You bite down on your lip to keep from crying. You feel so lucky, to have someone who would do this for you. Sometimes you resent that you can’t do it for yourself, or that you can’t do it better, but Sirius being so willing to step in when you falter makes it a thousand times better. He really seems happy to do it. It’s overwhelming. 

You don’t make any sound, Sirius doesn’t look up, but he’s skilled at sensing moods. 

“Alright, lovely?” 

“Yeah,” you reply in a soft voice. “Tell me about the film.” 

“Oh, I think you’re going to like it. It’s a bit stupid, but in a silly way, you know? Actually, are you busy after work tomorrow? We could do the thing where we get one drink and two straws; it’ll be romantic.” 

[mxurelle]

synopsis: gojo helps you ride out your high by eating you out. cause why not?

cw: high sex, mentioned/implied drug use, oral sex, a slightly geeked out satoru. -18 dni.

wc: 1,765.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“you must be absolutely fried, ain’t hear a thing i just said.”

you perk up against the wall, half-lidded eyes lifting up from the ground to follow the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice at your side. as your eyes met, your gaze instinctively narrowed to examine his face, gauging the look of mischief behind those rounded glasses he wore. you were high as all hell, no doubt about it. droopy eyed, excessively dry lips and parched throat, gravity weighing itself on you unlike anything you’ve felt before; aside from when you’re stoned.

“huh?” you bat your lashes, brows creased a look of iminiate confusion as you attempt to decipher his sentence. which worked, partially. “—so you aren’t? and don’t say it like that, makes me feel self conscious.”

gojo chuckles a delightful sound at your side and you lick your lips, an otherwise seamless ‘keke’ swelling a fluttering sensation to sit at your chest, traveling throughout your nerves before shooting down directly in between your legs. you click your tongue, displeased with how easy you’ve become, deciding to blame your alerted state of mine.

“my tolerance isn’t all that low, been there done that, though i only ever take part in this sort of thing unless i’m with you or suguru.” he explains beside you, blabbering off about god knows what at this point, presumably ignorant to the effects his voice alone has on you. you refuse to look his way, tired eyes focused on the bare wall ahead of you.

“wouldn’t that make your tolerance lower than mine?” you mutter to yourself, unaware of the fact you spoke aloud. you fold your arms over your chest, gulping down the lump in your throat as you stare ahead. or so you tried, your eyes were barely open, not to mention disinterested in an empty wall.

what you really wanted was your legs wrapped around his neck, mindless whimpers muffled against your throbbing cunt, echoing against your ears as you used his tongue to your heart’s content. not that you would say any of that, though.

gojo fell silent for a moment, piercing blue eyes poking holes through your side profile even behind the glasses. “eh, i suppose.” he shrugged, shuffling against the wall as he took a step closer. “how come i’m staring at half a face, hm? you shy now?”

“the fuck? no,” you immediately blurted out in a means to supposedly defend yourself, lips etching into a distasteful frown; resembling a mean mug with the way you do it. “i’m in deep thought. thinking, in simpler terms for you.” you were snappy in your response, masking what proved to be factual behind an attitude.

gojo hummed a response, his presence looming over your side as he drew closer. “look at me.”

you gulped once more, soothing an itchy throat as you angled your neck to the side, instantly met with the realization of how close he’d gotten. your eyes widened as a gasp caught in your throat, effectively startled. your mind began to race for a bit, the events of just a few seconds prior and the present moment meshed a foggy blur, you found yourself wondering how long the two of you had been standing there.

though, the heavy atmosphere packed with an intense sexual tension between the two of you quickly redirected your attention. an exaggerated ‘damn’ pulled from his lips as they quirked into a toothy grin, his hand lifting to gently tuck your hair off to the side. “your eyes are bloodshot red! it’s kinda cute though, i dunno.” he teased; and to which you swatted his hand away. being the only one baked out of your mind was already bad enough, but of course, who would he be if he didn’t tease you for it.

“you piss me off.” you leisurely shook your head, eyeing your boyfriend up and down, giving him the nastiest look to prove a point.

gojo raised a brow as his grin shamelessly deepened, visibly amused by your frustration. he moved in closer, as close as the two of your bodies would allow before his hands were wrapped around your waist, pressing your back against the wall. his lips morphed an ‘i’m sorry.’ against the heat of your neck, his nose nudged beneath your jawline as he drew in a deep inhale, followed by a relieved sigh as he shrunk against you. he’s always loved your scent, you knew that.

he peppered small pecks along your neck, quickly transitioning to open mouthed kisses as he traveled downwards, focusing on the area right above your breast. you nipped at your bottom lip, angling your head to the side as an invitation; permission to keep going. his teeth gently grazed your skin to serve as a warning, promptly bracing you before sinking into your skin, electing a sharp hiss from you.

your hand flew up to the nape of his neck, fingers gliding upward to clench around his white locks, holding him in place as your eyes fell to a close. though your efforts proved meaningless as he promptly pulled away, dipping down to praise your stomach with gentle kisses as he positioned himself on his knees.

you blinked down at him, squinting as your reddened eyes met with the air, your hands now resting at his shoulders. gojo made quick work of your shorts, tossing the article of clothing once you’ve stepped out of them. he then leaned forward, warm palms placed at each side of your hips as his lips hovered your clothed clit, pools of your arousal staining the fabric of your panties.

his tongue finally laid flat against your clit, and you panicked, yelping as if you’d seen a ghost. gojo pulled back to look at up you, startled by the tone of your exclamation.

“that!—wait, it feels weird. i can’t really feel it like usual, so are you sure you wanna keep going?” you huffed, half-lidded eyes searching for his. truthfully, you could feel it. it felt even better than usual, almost as if you took an aphrodisiac, and the intensity of it all freaked you out.

“can’t feel it?” he analyzed, brows raised as he gaped up at you. after a short pause he resumed the previous laps of his tongue, lathering the surface of your clothed cunt, collecting every inch of you on his tongue. “you can’t feel this?” he muffled against you, barely audible as he explored what felt like every bit of your pussy. even over your panties.

your left hand flew up to cover your mouth with a slap, a low, guttural moan muffled against your palm. your hips rolled against his tongue, sparks of pleasure erupting in jolts throughout your lower abdomen as you shivered. his hand slid beneath your upper thigh, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and providing you with extra wiggle room in the process.

with your lack of an answer to his question he pulled back, replacing his mouth with his thumb, teasing your throbbing nub in circular motions. he lifted his gaze, exacting eye contact with you. “want me to stop since you can’t feel it?”

you sighed into your palm, the loss of his tongue leaving your soaked core vulnerable to the cold air. you slowly shook your head, sluggish in the motions, eyes silently pleading with his. his head titled to the side, gaze flickering away from your eyes to briefly glance at the hand clasped tightly around your jaw. “move your hand,” his index and middle finger gently pinched around your folds, shifting up and down. “c’mon, talk to me. tell me what you want.”

though you wish you had the resolve to be stubborn, you swiftly removed your hand as instructed. you took a shallow breath in, choked up halfway through as the pallets of his tongue pressed against your clit once more. “i—okay, i can feel it. please don’t stop.” you managed with a hiss, prodding fingertips digging into the flesh of your upper thigh.

gojo seemed content with your plea, swiftly pulling your panties to the side and ogling at the bare sight of you. his tongue dove in-between the heat of your folds, tracing the gape of your entrance before slipping inside of you. he groaned as you shamelessly clenched around the muscle, back arching off of the wall and further into the sensations, rutting your hips against his mouth.

your heavy breaths left rigid, the pound of your heart threatening to burst through your chest, fingers clasped a tight hold around your boyfriend’s hair. his eyes never left yours, drinking up and basking in the lewd expressions you’d make, eager to pull even more from you.

your head fell against the wall with a thump, tears swelling at the corners of your eyes, completely overwhelmed but in the best possible way. “shit, i think—i’m close. i’m gonna cum.” your fingers tugged at his hair, earning a quiet whimper from the man beneath you.

“go ahead, i got you.” he reassured below you, giving the flesh of your hips a gentle squeeze.

your hips stuttered within his hold, thighs enclosing around his head with a tight squeeze as you sobbed. overbearing waves of pleasure enveloped the heat of your body, leaving your knees weak, legs trembling as they tried their best to keep you upright. gradually, your hips began to move in unison with the motions of gojo’s tongue, serving as a guide as you rode out your high.

“satoru,” you called out without reason, allowing your back to slide down against the wall once gojo had pulled away to acknowledge your call. the sight you were met with was one you’d wish you’d seen sooner; disheveled white locks poking out in each and every direction, swollen lips glossed over with your arousal, a lovely flush of red spread along the bare skin of his neck and cheeks. if you hadn’t been so exhausted, another go wouldn’t have seemed so taxing.

you raised your hands to cup his cheeks, gently kneading as if he were a stress ball. “you um.. have my cum all over your face.” you cleared your throat, eyes beaming as you marveled at the sight, dumbfounded.

“mm, and you taste good,” he smiled, his palms slinking beneath the fabric of your shirt to caress the smooth surface of your skin. he traced small shapes with his index finger along your sides, unintentionally teasing as shivers shot up your spine.

“you okay? you look absolutely gone, but completely fucked out. it’s hot.”

“..goddamn freak.”

[bruisedboys]

I have an idea maybe after a night out partying Joaquin taking care of reader like wiping off her makeup and like taking off her heels and carrying her home 😛😛

thank u for the thought gorgeous!!! also my love @inkdrinkerworld recently wrote something similar to this here, I totally recommend checking it out!

joaquín torres x fem!reader, 0.8k words

Joaquín loves nights like this. When you’ve had a little too much to drink and decide you’d rather put all your weight on him and have him half-carry you, than attempt to walk properly on your own. He’s got his arm around your waist, holding you up while you drag your feet along next to him. You’re clinging to him like he’s your lifeline.

He loves it more than he’d ever admit.

“Baby.” Joaquín laughs a bit, straightening you up against him. “C’mon, walk properly.”

You’re exhausted, clearly, and he wants to hurry up and get you home so you can go to bed. You’re not making it very easy.

You whine. “My feet hurt,” you mumble dejectedly.

“Aw, honey.” Joaquín twists you in his hold so you’re facing him, your chest slumping against his. “You should’ve said so earlier. Want me to carry you?”

You’re almost at the front door, so it’s sort of pointless. But Joaquín hates that’s you’re frowning, and he’s not opposed to holding you closer than you already are. You nod eagerly and throw your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, please.”

Joaquín hauls you into his chest, arms around your waist, and covers the rest of the way to his place easily, up the small set of steps to the front door, your feet dangling and your arms like a vice around his neck. He holds you tight with one arm and digs in his back pocket for his keys with the other, reaching around your waist to unlock the door.

He puts you down in the entryway and locks the door behind him.

“Sit down, honey, I’ll get your shoes.”

You do as you’re told and Joaquín kneels by your feet, slipping your heels off for you and placing them on the shoe rack next to all of his. When he gets up, you’re hanging your head like it weighs half a tonne, your hair a cascade over your face.

Joaquín laughs softly, “Hey.” He slots a hand under your chin and tilts you up to look at him, pushing your hair from your face with his other hand. Your eyelids droop and Joaquín strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“Tired, hm?” He murmurs fondly. He thumbs the hollow under your eye, notices the mascara coating your eyelashes. He knows you won’t want to take your makeup off, no matter how nicely he asks. He compromises, “Can I wash your face for you?”

You groan and shake your head. “M’tired, Joaquín. Jus’ wanna go to bed.”

Joaquín knew you’d say something like that. He bends to press his lips to your forehead, wanting to butter you up.

“It’ll be five minutes,” he promises, pressing a warm, slow kiss to your hairline, another to the space above your brow. “Then you can go to sleep. I’ll do it for you, okay?”

You comply, though Joaquín hasn’t given you much choice. He half carries you to the bathroom and sits you on the toilet lid, grabbing your makeup stuff from the counter. You sit there with your eyes closed, your hands screwed in his shirt, and you look so cute Joaquín has to exercise a lot of restraint to not kiss you right then and there.

Instead, he takes out your makeup wipes and gets to work. He’s done this about a hundred times over, and he’s watched you do it twice as many times, so he knows your routine like the back of his hand. He’s gentler than you ever are — where you usually scrub harshly at your eyes and cheeks, he’s achingly careful, dragging the cool wipes over your skin ever so gently.

You sit very still with your eyes closed, tilting your head when he asks and somehow managing to tug him closer with every minute that passes, so by the time he’s finishing up he’s standing in between your legs with your hands on his hips.

“You’re all done,” he tells you quietly, and watches as you slowly blink your eyes open.

You smile up at him and your cheeks apple. “Thank you,” you say softly, your voice raspy with exhaustion.

Joaquín feels suddenly struck by how lovely you are. You look so pretty, smiling up at him like this, your skin all dewy and your face clean, your hair pushed out of the way behind your ears. Your smile is sleepy but no less stunning than usual. His heart thrums and he tries his best to ignore it.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he tells you.

He curves his hand around your bicep and bends at the waist to give you a kiss on the mouth, your lips soft and pliant under his. You sigh against his mouth and screw your hand in the back of his shirt, greedy even in your sleepy state.

When Joaquín pulls away you keep your eyes shut. He grins, pushing his hand over the hill of your shoulder to thumb at your collarbone.

“Pyjamas and bed?” He asks you softly.

You open one bleary eye. “Will you help me get changed?”

Joaquín hauls you up into his chest, your body slouching against him. “Yeah, of course I will.”

He thinks, quietly, that he’d do whatever you asked him.

[hannibalised]

Guardian angel - the salesman

Kidnapping, manipulation, forced feeding, mild dumbification [ Read Guardian devil here ]

He watched your face, ridden of any turmoil. Sleep laden and lips parted, blissfully lost in a foreign dream.

It pleased him to see you sleeping so peacefully, in your dingy apartment with broken windows and leaking ceiling, loud hostile music coming from upstairs and poor regulator that did nothing to warm your room. The bed left your body sore and cold, there was no comfort there for a pretty one like you, so soft, so tender. But it's alright, he'd got you safe here baby.

As much as he loved watching you sleep, but it's been hours after he had taken you out from that shitty apartment, paid the six months due rent and slapped the landowner three times — for all the windows he never fixed and only asked for payments. Next he logged into your email, sent the resignation you had drafted months ago but never sent because there was no work except it. You don't need it now, you needed none of their bullshit. 

You belong to him, he'll take care of you.

“Easy…wake up now, sweetheart.” He cupped your face, skin warm and soft. Your lids slowly opened, expecting harsh day light that came through the broken panels, cheap curtains did nothing to block out the rays. 

There was none of it, your body felt rested and warm. 

“I..Y-you— this..” You scrambled back like a kitten spotted stealing bread. Banging your head hard against the headboard and pain ozzed up in short waves.  His big palm coming to rest on the back of your head and smoothing down the pain, “You must be hungry.” 

It wasn't a question, a statement.

“Who are you ?” You snapped back, trying not to waver your gaze at the tray he was hoisting up with careful, with a steaming bowl in between. 

“Chicken soup,” He said, then smiled like a devil masquerading an angel, “oh, me ?” 

“Who are you ?” you asked again, desperation pouring its way inside you. He was handsome, very handsome. 

“I am your everything baby. Your lover, your family, your angel….” His eyebrows tugged manically, “And your devil.” 

You bite your lips hard enough to draw blood, then open your mouth to say something, counter him. He wasn't. He wasn't. He — 

Meanwhile he blew the steam away from the scooped up herby soup, countering him wasn't something that would please him. You can be a brat all you want later, talk back all you like. He's here, he'll listen, maybe you should give him a list of all the people who've pissed you. That will be good, but for now you must eat and rest. He didn't want to drug you, but there was no other way. 

“Eat, love.”  He pushed as your lips parted, it wasn't hot enough to burn your tongue. He knew it as well.

“Is it good ? I made it for you.” 

Your eyes teared up, it tasted similar, it was the sort of thing that tasted like home, although you haven't known it for so long after your parents' home smelled too much like alcohol and bruises. 

“Hey, hey, hey —” He cooed, as much as he liked how puffy your lips became and goddamn those star like eyes. But it pulsed his heart to see you cry. “What happened ? Tell me.” His sleeve came up to wipe away the soup from the corner of your lips . 

You breathlessly shaked your head.

“Was it you who sent food every day ?” You looked up, eyes into eyes. He leaned forward, his hands holding up the tray.

“Don’t worry too much baby. I've got you.” He whispered, pressing his lips on your forehead and taken aback with your raised chin, a moment, then his lips met yours in a peck. He pulled away, you were all flushed, another moment. He kept the tray aside on the bed table, and smiled like the tempted devil. Slender fingers came and held your jaw hard, before he drank you up all the way in. His lips glided and pried open your mouth to let him get a taste of home, rawly he fucked his tongue in your mouth and felt his cock erect in the simple thought of using your mouth. His beautiful kitten, his cock slut.

It's alright, he's got you. His baby, all his.

[cornerstoreclown]

Workshop Fun

Summary: This is a short one-shot (7021 words) where the Reader (female) has an established relationship with Art the Clown, and has been kiiiind of collaborating with him passively. Reader is wearing a dress for the sole purpose of easy access. Reader has a vulva and breasts. 

Contents: Biting, light spanking, ...phone... sex? Having an unknowing participant on the other line is the only way I can word it, light spanking, lots of making out, clothed sex, BDSM, Art being cruel, p in v penetration, finger sucking and light body worship

Author’s notes: Sorry what took me so long to do this, I’ve been sitting on this for years! Male version will be out in a few days. This is LIGHTLY proofread, so keep your expectations at a level where you won’t be surprised if there’s any mistakes. Also once again I am an Art the Clown front zipper truther for my clothed sex kink.

——————————————————      

You loved him.

Did he kill people? Yes. Did he sometimes allude to killing you as well? Absolutely. Has he acted on it yet? Not fully, but you could tell that sometimes he had that compulsion to go through with it, when he’d get that twinkle in his eye.

 Especially when you were up close and personal with him, your bodies merely inches apart, sometimes with him even holding a weapon in hand. He’s a wild animal. A force of evil locked away in the confines of a corporeal body made of flesh and bone.

And yet, all the same, you loved him. The way that his hands would travel across your flesh and explore the parts of you that you never let anyone else. Sometimes he’d leave bruises, other times scratches. Then there were the bite marks. Each intimate encounter would leave you in a different state of mess. He was the lover who was like a cat. One day he’d be here, gone the next. You couldn’t put a thumb on the patterns.

The waits were long, but you’re loyal, and you’re patient. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’d wait until the ends of the earth for him. Sometimes during the months that he wasn’t here, you’d dream of him. All of these little fantasies you’d have in your head would sometimes come to visit you behind your closed lids, where reality had no limitations. It would make the ache feel less. Every time that he’d come back, you made sure to find him as quickly as possible the second you heard whisperings pertaining to sightings of him, or any kind of crime scene that felt like it had his signature on it. Sometimes he’d find you first.

Art wasn’t someone who was very materialistic. And money meant next to nothing to Art—the personification of evil had very little need for the vast kinds of desires that plagued man.

But he wasn’t necessarily immune to the pleasures of the flesh, you learned. Despite how for the most part, he remained heavily uninterested in intimacy, he had a few moments here and there, and you capitalized on them when you could. You had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.

Or, well, you hoped.

Worst case scenario he’d turn you away or ignore any advances, and he has a few times. And that was okay.

You came into his hideout tonight with confidence instilled in you, but yet the excitement still makes your stomach do flips. It’s been too long, and the fire within your chest is reignited. You feel passion, you feel love so strong that it’s enough to keep you up at night, and it has happened plenty of times before. You wonder if he’s got some sort of spell over you, and you’d believe it if that were the case. You’ve never fallen so madly, deeply, for anyone before like you have him. It could be enough to make you physically ill if you thought about how much you loved him. Such a passion came with such a detriment to you.

Past the damaged doors of a since abandoned fairly abandoned warehouse, you have a smooth descent down the stairs, leading you to a type of basement setting. There’s plenty of water dripping. Rats squeaking as they chitter and skitter along. You catch glimpses of them in the dim lighting, but they don’t bother you. As long as you didn’t see a bunch of them with their tails tied together, you wager you’ll be pretty okay.

You dressed up nicely for him tonight.

You weren’t really a dress kind of person, but tonight you made it an exception. It wasn’t fancy or over the top, and by the love of god, it had pockets. You refused to wear heels however, whatever shoes you had that worked and didn’t give you the possibility of breaking your ankle down these flights of stairs was the option you went with. Art might have found it funny if you hurt yourself, but you aren’t too keen on getting yourself dinged up before he gets the chance to do it himself.

The dress was about one thing–accessibility. Easy to lift up, easy for him to slide in right where he belonged.

You loved when he was inside of you, when you’d feel the heat of his heavy breath against the back of your neck. You run your hands over the spot where you last remember feeling the warmth of his breath. You remember being beneath him and feeling as if the very heat that he quietly exhaled felt as if it were smoldering your skin, burning you like the way the flames of hell were supposed to. If being with this clown meant that you’d be burning in the afterlife, you’d gladly bathe yourself in the inferno.

Your stomach flutters.

You shouldn’t be this excited. He’s a murderer. A killer. A man with no morals, and you’re not even sure if he was a man sometimes at all. Yet, his darkness is what drew you in. He was your safe space, and no one would dare come into that space to try and harm you so long as you were in his arms.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see it–a single dangling light, and illuminating this dark space is a double door that is plainly rusted. You see a bloody handprint on it. It’s since dried.

You recognize the size of that hand, and feel slightly lighter, just in the moment.

Placing your own hand in the exact space over Art’s bloodied print, you push the door open. The door is a little on the heavy side, but with enough force, the door opens.

“Art?” You call out, making sure that your presence is acknowledged as friendly and not hostile. The room is a little darkly lit, very heavy on the minimum lighting that’s needed to navigate in the space. It most certainly added to the creepy ambiance. Straight ahead, there sat none other than Art. His back was given to you. He was sitting on a stool, hammering away at something on his workbench. He turns his head upon hearing his name, and you see that he gives you a smile, baring his rotted discolored teeth as his eyes are closed. You can see the wrinkles form a little in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

You liked that. You liked the details etched into his face. It added character among those otherwise gaunt features of his.

“Hey, buddy.” You call out to him, and he gives you a little wave, before gesturing for you to come closer.

You approach him, and once you’re near the bench with him, you can see when you’re close enough that he gives you a once over, assessing you… Judging you, for what it is you’re wearing tonight.

“Like it?” You ask him, twirling from side to side so that your dress splays out a little. It’s simple. Gets the job done. And if it got ruined? No love loss.

Art’s gaze seems fixed on you, first on your dress, then up at you. For a man who doesn’t speak, his eyes seem to say all that needs to be said, as he reaches for the end of your dress and starts to lift it, until you gently smack the top of his hand. Art draws his hand back to his side immediately, glancing up at you, looking a little like a kid that was chided.

Naughty of him, trying to get a sneak peek beforehand.

“Not yet,” You tell him.

Art looks a little irritated, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. At least he seems interested tonight.

You clear your throat, and Art’s attention is still locked on you. He’s watching you expectantly.

“You’ve settled in quite nicely.” It was just yesterday you surveyed the area on his behalf, and helped him move in properly. Already on his workbench, he has got quite a few improvised weapons he’d been working on. Your eyes go to one weapon in particular, and you point at it.

“What’s that?”

Art turns to look at the weapon you’ve pointed out, and when he lifts it to proudly show it, it’s exactly what it looked like–an improvised flail. Attached to a long metal rod, is a long wire, and when your eyes follow to the end of the wire, you see wrapped around in such an intricate and meticulous way are a variety of knives, serving as what would be the ‘spikes’. You’re impressed. He even hands it to you, to which you take it. It’s got a decent weight to it, too. Not too heavy, but not too light.

“Woah.” You say, as Art watches you, quite proud of how dazzled you are. He’s an artist at heart, you knew this. The knives have some rust on them. One of them looks stained from a previous bloody encounter. He’s clearly working with whatever he’s got on him.

“If anyone survives this, they better pray they don’t get tetanus.” You muse, and Art’s face twists in amusement in a silent laugh. You hand the weapon back to him, and he takes it once he’s done getting in a few silent chuckles at your joke, gently placing it back down on the table.

No one escapes Art with their soul still in their body. Literal or figurative. You were either dead, or you were burdened with his encounter your entire life, both physically and mentally.

You weren’t any different. Your bruises and bites and scars have been out of love. One could argue that you got off easy, but you’d argue otherwise.

Being in love with the Miles County Clown is torture in and of itself. There were nonstop dreams that came with it. It seemed as if every other week he’d plague you in your sleep. Not to mention that you had to be extremely clever to not be caught under affiliation with him–which was even more stress. So far, though, so good.

He’s worth it, you tell yourself. Even if he wasn’t anymore, there’s no way you could leave. He’d kill you. And you have zero doubts that your death wouldn't be painless.

After a few seconds of silence, you sigh.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave all the time.” You begin to tell him. Art’s expression is neutral, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. His teeth are bared, as they often are. Your tone isn’t one of whining, but of yearning. You know that this came with the territory, and you readily accepted his lack of presence at any given time.

But it didn’t hurt to dream. Art tilts his head, watching you from where he sits curiously.

“Maybe one day we can find some place that… Is ours. Separate from… This.” You gesture towards the weapons he’s making. Every so often he hides somewhere different to prepare for the trouble he intends to cause. “A place that maybe once you’re done for the day, we both can be in to unwind. And a permanent place for you that isn’t just my apartment. But like. A place for you. For us.”

Taking him to your apartment kept getting riskier and riskier each time. Also, he made it quite clear he didn’t really care for your decor. Giving him his own place to make his own that he could express himself would be ideal, and it wouldn’t be like a place he’d have to abandon every year. He could actually have and keep stuff… If he wanted to even do that.

The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to think it sounds silly. You see the way that he’s looking at you, and he appears very stern. Sharp.

Your confidence begins to drop, and as you’re about to speak again, you stammer, before laughing nervously.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, that was a silly idea–any long term space we made for you would probably get found out eventually, too. I–”

The stool screams as it’s slid across the ground, back towards the bench when he stands up. It sounded like one of his many victims. You go quiet as he’s hovering over you, and you swallow any words that you might have wanted to tell him.

The silence is heavy. His shoulders are rising and falling, and you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Seconds tick by and they feel more like minutes, and you can’t stand it any longer. You open your mouth to speak, but you’re swiftly cut off.

Art yanks you by the collar of your dress, and forces his lips against yours.

Your eyes are wide briefly in surprise, but they close as soon as you register what’s happening, and you moan in the kiss. Art’s a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you’ve come to love it. His taste was acrid as well, but you craved the bitterness at this point, no longer gagging like you used to. As he leans forward to kiss you harder, you put more of yourself in it as well, mixing his intensity with your passion and desire that’s been left simmering for months.

Now it’s boiling over.

Art places both of his hands on either side of your face, and it’s like he’s trying to suffocate you with his kisses, barely giving you much time to breathe in between them. You’re getting a little lightheaded.

He pulls away from your lips to kiss you a few times on the cheek, then nuzzling his face against yours. Almost like a cat.

It gives you the chance to catch your breath. His hands reach for yours, and you let him, feeling the way that his fingers interlace with your own. You look down at the way that your fingers intertwined with his dirtied and calloused ones. He was a man who worked with his hands–in more ways than one. Those same fingers belonged to the same hands that would worship you, tear and pull at you without ever breaking you completely in half. Sometimes it’d be close, but never fully. They would sometimes draw blood when the nails would sink into your flesh and leave behind crescent marks. Other times, those hands would strangle you, smack you–slap you, and bring a sting across your body that reminded you just how alive you were. Then those same hands would caress you. Cradle you.

He’d cut you on a few occasions, but they were never lethal. And with every cut, his tongue followed.

You feel reverence. Especially as you press a kiss to the tip of his fingers–you kiss each one, tenderly, making eye contact with him as you do so.

Art watches knowingly. He raises his head a little so that when he watches you, he’s looking down at you, all too aware of how you worship him. And he accepts it. But only from you. Just you. No one else.

After kissing each finger, from pinkie to thumb, you stop back at his index, soft lips pressed against the pad of it. His fingers were stained. Caked in whatever gore and dirt and grime he’d touched earlier.

Not that you cared, nor would you let it stop you. You’re a freak. Not well in the head. You’d lick any and all of his love off of the world's sharpest blade if that’s the only way he gave it. If he wanted you to cut your tongue on it, you would.

Bringing his index finger to your mouth, you wrap your lips around it, and watch him. He tastes exactly how you’d expect—foul and wretched. You catch the faintest hint of iron. A taste that you’ve come to associate pleasantly with him. That part feels right.

Art’s gaze is fixed on you. You can’t read his thoughts, and though he doesn’t speak, you recognize what that look means. Even as he observes you, teeth bared subtly, head still held high, which he inclines just slightly as you take another finger in your mouth–his middle one.

You suck his fingers lewdly, and close your eyes. You imagine it’s his cock, even though you know that his fingers can’t compare to the real deal. You push your tongue through his index and middle as you take more of him in your mouth. Art watches your tongue work around him, until he decides to press down on the muscle, effectively stopping you.

You stare at him.

Seconds linger in silence, and he relinquishes pressure off of your tongue, letting you move it freely again.

And you do. You hold his hand and go back to kissing his fingers before fellating them. Index first. Then the middle. And finally the ring finger–all three at once. The taste of iron is stronger. You sigh a gentle moan as you pull your head back and give him back his hand. You kiss at the tips of his fingers again. As you’re about to take his fingers a third time, he leans forward instead, his lips taking yours. You feel the way that he seizes both of your wrists as he floods your senses all over again, and you let him.

You try to say his name in between the kisses, but each time you get a breath between the barrage of affection that seems to practically swallow you whole, Art steals your voice with another passionate kiss. Again, his taste is bitter, his teeth are damn near rotten, but you’ve gotten so accustomed to the flavor that it doesn’t make you gag. It makes you feel only slightly sickly. But the arousal overrides any lingering discomfort.

It’s disorienting. It’s all so much at once. You feel your body temperature rise. Art gives you back one of your wrists, but in doing so, he places his hand at the small of your back and pulls you in against him, until there’s no space left between you.

That’s when you feel it. You feel the heat of his erection pressed against your thighs. You’ve excited him enough, it being quite clear the effect your mouth had on him.

You smile, but his lips are back at yours again, and the taste of bitterness hits at the back of your tongue—the most sensitive taste receptors lighting up and ripping any smugness you had straight out of you as you close your eyes and sigh softly. His tongue mingles with yours.

He begins to move, forcibly taking you with him as you change where you’re standing, so that he’s no longer the one whose back is facing the workbench–it’s you. You feel the edge of the table bump against your ass. With your positions effectively switched, you don’t mind at all, far too enraptured by the kisses of your clown lover.

This was pure bliss.

He pulls away from your lips, now kissing the corners of your mouth, then going to your jawline, until he’s at your neck, sucking and licking and nibbling, giving you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard. You close your eyes and moan softly.

This is the few times of the year that you get this. It was the time that you’d be peppered in kisses, ravaged, and torn asunder in such a way that it would take you almost the remaining however many days, months, or years until you’d see him again to put yourself back together.

“Art…” You laugh a little when his lips tickle a part of your neck. He silences you again with his lips to yours. You feel the way that he nips at your tongue this time and draws a little blood. The endorphins from the pain gives you a pleasant buzz. He bites your bottom lower lip next, taking note of how he’s beginning to use his teeth more and more during this exchange, and you think about how he’s eaten the faces of his victims before.

You could be next.

He pulls away and kisses at the corners of your lips a second time. He’s obsessed with using his mouth. Your eyes finally open, and you gently move your head back a bit, until Art finally stops, the both of you staring into each other's eyes. His teeth are bared all the same as they were before, but there’s a sultry gaze you’re familiar with. Up this close, you can see the more subtle details of him.

Like his lashes, which otherwise, from a distance is obscured by the paint over his face.

How could someone–or… Something, be so monstrous… Yet so… pretty? You could get lost in his gaze. You could drown in it. And he knows that. And he likes that power over you.

Your lips turn upwards into a soft smile, and you feel a desire pool at your groin. It’s an undeniable throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. Nevermind that you can feel his own arousal against you. He’s warmer than you–he feels like he’s practically burning up, compared to you, and the body heat radiating from him only serves to make you hotter in turn. Right to the point where you’re developing a thin sheen of sweat across your brow.

“I love you.”

He watches you, and through his body language and eyes, you understand him through his reaction. You see a slow, smug smile appear on his face.

Very much an, I know. No sign of reciprocation. That would be too heavy of an ask from someone like him. But him being receptive to your love was a testament to how much he liked you.

Not that you expected anything less from a cold killer such as the Miles County Clown. The fact that he hasn’t yet killed you throughout all these years speaks in a kind of love on its own, you’d think.

Maybe not the one that people would refer to as being actually in love, but for him, for Art, it was. Love was tolerance. Love was allowing you to live.

You feel a hand slip up your dress again, and this time, you don’t stop him. You part your legs for him this time, willingly letting him indulge in what you denied him earlier. Through your panties you feel his thick fingers, his index and middle pressing against your clit, sliding down between your cunt and back up again. He threatens to penetrate you with the tips of his fingers through your panties with a gentle prod, but doesn’t follow through on it.

You ache, feeling more empty than ever.

He’s doing this on purpose. All because you told him to wait earlier.

“Art,” You say his name with a weak laugh, and he stops to look at you, knowingly, at that, well aware of what it is he’s doing. His little way of being petty with you, and he continues once more, trailing his fingers up and down between your thighs, waiting for you to continue.

“It’s been months,” You plead for him. His face is still inches from yours, and you lean more of yourself against him, as your voice gets low. He observes you through half lidded eyes, analyzing you, assessing you and sizing you up. He’s no longer smiling, and his lips are downturned ever so slightly. The expression looks more neutral now.

“I wanna have some fun.” You purse your lips. “Put your weapon crafting down for a bit?”

Your tone is pleading. It’s a mix of a command and a request–you’re voicing your thoughts. You try to get a reading on his response through his eyes, but he’s put up a wall that you can’t breach. He’s unreadable. It’s been months upon months since you’ve both done anything together.

“…Please?”

Art’s gaze is still indecipherable. It makes you a little nervous. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Did he change his mind suddenly?

Had it been anyone else, you know they’d be dead instantly. There was no wondering about that. Not a speculation or doubt in your mind. You hated when he did this, when he was fucking with you like this, leaving you in silence. It’s in times like these that you’re reminded that you’re with a wild animal, and he could snap at any second if he decided he was hungry. It was part of the risk you took and the bargain you struck.

Maybe he’d just stab you here and now. Slit your throat and call it a fucking day because he decided that, nope, don’t wanna keep doing this anymore! He could. Again, he’s pushed you away before. Other days he’s yanked you in against him. His mood was unpredictable, hard to guess, and as volatile as a storm across an ocean.

Without another word, you’re turned around, and the flat of Art’s palm travels down your spine as he presses the front of your body forward and down onto the workbench. He gives you time to adjust, so that you’re at least able to rest your forearms on the table top. As of right now, your tits are squished against the surface of the table. It’s a little uncomfortable.

This is surprisingly tender, all things considered. You remember one time when he’d been fucking you on his workbench, how he tied your hands together with some zipties and then choked you out by wrapping some rusty metal chains around your neck. And that was only after he’d finished whipping your breasts, thighs and ass until you were a bloody bruised mess barely hanging on. You still have some scars from those times. He loved to twirl you over the line of death like it was all one dance, pulling you back at the last second.

You go from feeling his palm to the fingertips travel down your back. If it weren’t for the fabric of your dress in the way, you know those blood and dirt stained fingertips would have tickled you by now. And he’s done that in the past while fucking you–tickling you mercilessly. He even makes a point to wiggles his fingers a little against your back on the way down playfully. You can’t help but laugh a little as you exhale, letting some of the excitement stirring within you leave your body through your lungs. Your breaths are getting deeper, and in times like this, when he thrills you in such a way, you’re reminded just how much he makes you feel…

Alive.

Because when you’re with him, death is always hot on your heels. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t be gentle,” You tell him. He knows. You know he knows.

You hear the metallic zipper from the front of his suit go down as the teeth on the track separate and reveal the body of a man beneath that clown visage. You steal a glance over your shoulder to admire his pale skin that covered over such a thin frame. Amazing how a build such as his carries such supernatural strength.

Unceremoniously, he gets right to work, giving your ass a firm slap after lifting the back of your dress, letting it crumple up over your hips. You yelp gently as you know that there’s likely already a red spot on your rump. Art rubs the spot on your ass he’d slapped, then gives it a gentle squeeze.

You make the decision to look over your shoulder, right on time to experience watching when the killer clown makes the decision that you no longer are in need of your panties. His dirtied fingers slip within the space between the elastic waistband of your undergarment and your skin. He lets it snap against your flesh once–that’s about the extent of use it gets before he grabs whatever meager fistful he can of that excuse of ‘modesty’ you brought to him and rips it clean off your form.

“Ow!”

You told him to be rough. And he’s planning on taking that quite literally, as he’s taking it for not just the sex, but all of what precedes it apparently. He’s quietly laughing to himself, teeth showing, eyes crinkled.

“Glad you got some entertainment out of it.”

A few more noiseless giggles then he sobers up. Back to the task at hand—fucking your brains out.

He aligns himself right up against your warm dripping cunt, hands gripping your hips so tightly that his filthy fingertips leave stains on your dress. His nails are so sharp you swear that if he tried to sink them in any further, he’d pierce the cloth and right into your flesh. You inhale sharply again, bracing for the moment he sinks in. You feel the tip of his cock press against you and begin to push in, the head barely getting the chance even to get inside you before it slips and glides between the crack of your ass as he misses. Your excitement stutters for a second, but then ramps back up higher than before, impatience and desire washing over you wholly like a wave.

You’ve been grabbing at the edge of the workbench, hands holding tight and then releasing them of their grip every so often to relax your muscles. You don’t say anything.

He’s annoyed at missing you the first push in.

With a look of disgruntlement he instead opts for one hand reaching to push your head down against the table with such a cruel force that makes you worry for a split second that he was trying to crush your skull. It was his way of trying to steady you as he then uses his other hand to line the head of his cock right against your cunt for the second time.

You shiver as you feel him, hands turning to fists that you clench tightly as inch by agonizing inch, he spreads you and fills you out easily. Your body did the heavy work, and has been prepping for him for the last ten minutes. It’s slick, and he can feel the wetness of your cunt hit against his balls when he bottoms out within you. That’s when you sigh in relief.

He almost pulls all the way out, then rams into you roughly, making you exhale sharply as the table shakes upon impact. The few tools laid out shuddered until they stilled. Give or take a few more times of this, and he finally releases his hand on your head, but you still opt to keep your head down.

The rhythm he has is a little awkward at first, but he is quick to course correct, both hands firmly planted on your hips, keeping you steady. You can’t see his face right now, but you’ve seen it plenty of times when you’ve fucked before. How his mouth would go into that ‘o’ shape, and the way his eyes would go half mast, holding nothing but a glimpse of paradise behind him as you could see that he was as close to heaven as his wicked self could get. You were beautiful to him, as far as sacks of flesh and blood went. And you could tell the times that he looked at you in such a predatory manner that there was restraint behind it.

You feel the pressure build up within you at a steady rate as he leans over you, chest pressed against your back, sucking on your neck, marking you. Then he nips. Then kisses, then sucks so goddamn hard on the same spot that you swear that he’s trying to suction your flesh right off your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to be so close. He’s so warm. The sound of his body slapping against yours, mixed with the creak of the workbench that’s forced to undergo the assault of you being rammed into it, a few quiet moans slip past your lips to join along.

You’re unbearably close, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, just a little more and—

Your phone goes off.

You forgot to silence it.

You feel it vibrating in the pocket of your dress. The ringtone scares the shit out of you and Art, who abruptly jumps a little while still on top of you.

“Of course.” You say sarcastically. “Of course! Who the fuck is calling me?!” You’re irritated now, mood under threat of being ruined. The excitement you felt shrivels up.

Reaching inside your hiked up dress pocket, you pull out your phone and check to see who had the audacity to try and get a hold of you in your time of undoing.

Your friend. Sort of. He was like a close acquaintance? If you could call him that. You met him when you were out and about one night. He’s an okay dude, hasn’t done anything wrong.

If only he didn’t harbor a romantic interest in you when you were already spoken for. But how could you begin to tell someone that you’re involved with a psychopathic killer clown? Specifically the Miles County Clown?

You’re ready to send him right to voicemail, until the phone is seized right out of your hand from over your shoulder.

“Hey!”

Your protest is in vain, as Art too, looks at who is calling you right now. You had HOPED he’d take a look at it, have his curiosity sated, maybe turn the phone off or better yet, you’d even forgive him if he tossed it over his shoulder, just this once!

But the look he’s giving you, then the phone, makes your heart sink as you realize.

“Art, don’t do it—“

His expression turns wicked, mouth upturned into the most shiteating grin you’ve ever seen.

“Art, I swear to god—“

But god’s not here, nowhere to be found in this workshop. God’s forsaken you. Doing the devils tango with a demon can do that.

Giggling silently to himself, in an act of deliberate defiance against you as well as likely for his very own amusement, he accepts the phone call for you and places it right to your ear.

What a gentleman. Truly.

You’re going to fucking kill him. You try to take the phone away from him, but he merely pulls it back out of your reach.

“Hello?”

You can hear the voice on the other end of the line. Art brings it down to your ear again and you try to make a reach for it a second time, only for him to do the exact same thing as before, silently cackling all the while. It’s become apparent that he’s not going to let you have it.

“Hellooooo?”

With a resigned sigh, you don’t fight him any further. Art puts the phone to your ear for the third time.

“Hey.” You answer wearily.

“Hey!” His voice on the other end of the line is suddenly lighter, filled with levity. You can hear the way that his breath is hitched in the back of his throat. Static tinges at the edges of his words.  Must be a shoddy connection down here.

“How are you?”

“I’m–” You start to answer, but are interrupted by Art going back to rocking his hips into you while still over you. Once again, you look over your shoulder to give him the stink eye.

“I’m good, just uh, you know. Hanging out.” You respond, exhaling deeply as Art stirs the fire within you again after it had just begun to cool down.

“Nice, me too.” He says, and lets the silence between you both sink in for a few seconds. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

This would all be so much easier if you weren’t getting dicked down.

“I… I’m uh–”

He’s pounding into you from behind now, still leaning over you, holding the phone for you in one hand and keeping the other on the workbench for stability. Each fluid roll of his hips is equally tantalizing as the previous, his body connecting with yours in such a familiar way you craved. The table shakes, and you’re gripping the edges of it for dear life. You can hear his heavy breath from behind you, excitement building in each time he fills and empties his lungs.

“Art–” You say his name through grit teeth like a warning, with annoyance in your tone, but the excitement you feel, the rush and the thrill of it all has you coming close to release. Why does this feel so good? This man, this sweet man, who has done nothing wrong to you, interested in you, blissfully unaware that your heart belongs to someone else, being fooled like this. It’s wrong. This is wrong. Art knew about this man. He knew about him for some time. Art made it clear that he hated him. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked Art not to put this man’s head on a pike, but you fear it’s only a matter of time until your clown lover eviscerates this trespasser for encroaching on what he perceives as his territory–you.

“Art?" He repeats.

This is all an act of revenge done on the Art’s part. His pettiness knew no bounds.

“Yeah, art. You know–Mhn–” Your nails dig into the edge of the workbench as if that’ll somehow make a difference in the fact that he’s pounding into your cunt with such an aggressive force that begins to make you ache.

“You know, p-painting? Drawing. That sort of thing.”

You can only pray the ungodly sinful noises of his skin slapping against yours can’t be heard over the line.

“Ohhh… Well, hey, you wanna hangout sometime soon? It’s been a bit. Wanted to catch up with you if that’s fine.”

You’re not paying attention to a damn thing this dude is saying. It’s just words, in one ear, straight out the other.

“Uhuh.” You say without thinking. You’re close. You’re unbearably close as Art angles himself in such a way that hits just right. He knows how you work all too well. He knows how to unwind you and how to pull you apart piece by piece like it’s second nature to him.

Art’s pushing you towards the cliff, and there’s no stopping it. Your vision starts to blur a little. Your breathing deepens, and Art knows what’s about to come next, which only seems to spur him on as well, exciting him to the point where now he’s going fast not just for you, but for himself, chasing his own orgasm hot on its heels.

“How’s about next Thursday, at 7pm? There’s a new restaurant across the street from where we both met—“

The phone becomes nothing short of white noise. This shouldn’t feel so right, it shouldn’t. But it does. Gods above, it does.

You feel yourself lose sense of the world around you. There’s nothing but ringing in your ears, and you realize how little time you have to prepare before it’s too late.

Your orgasm crashes into you and is ripped out of you all within seconds. You try to keep quiet, your voice strangled and choked out in the process. Your release is violent as it tears you between what feels like the state of life and death. Your cunt tightens around his cock, squeezing him in contractions that trigger him in turn. Art hisses like a serpent, feeling his muscles lock up and knowing that he only has a few seconds to bury himself to the hilt within you, and he does. His face twists into an ugly and horrid expression as he comes inside you, dropping the phone on the workbench in the process while filling you with all the pent up energy he had been keeping away from you for months.

All of what he’d been denying you was now yours.

“Hello?”

You’re finally coming back into your own body a few meager seconds later when you register the voice, and hurriedly grab the phone before Art gets the chance.

“Can I call you back?” You ask, holding the phone to your mouth, but you weren’t really asking. Your friend had no real say in it, and before he even gets the chance to respond, you hang up. And then you lower your head and sigh. All the while, Art has since recovered, but his legs are shaky. You shove him off of you, and he stumbles back with an uneven balance, post orgasm weakened. Goofily he fumbles past the stool from earlier, which he tries to grab but fails in doing so. Instead, he lands right on his ass.

You’re sure to follow that up by throwing your phone at his head, which it does, but it lands with a clack right beside him. The only reason you felt remotely confident in doing that is because you’re both that close. Well, that and irritation made you a bold motherfucker sometimes. Yet despite all of that, he sits there, a wickedly amused smile on his face.

You pull your dress back down. Your legs tingle and you swear you feel some of his come dripping down your thigh, but you’re not sure.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” You ask, leaning against the bench for balance until you get your footing.

Yes. Yes he was proud of himself!

The rest of the night was spent at Art’s temporary hideaway space, lamenting the loss of your panties and calling back your guy friend who had unknowingly been part of something much more than he knew. And you’d never tell him. Not that you would ever have the chance to tell him really anything at all anymore in the future.

You had no idea at the time that Art would meet your friend the day you were both set to reconvene. But you should have known better, and a part of you already did. The reason you know he was dead was because he ended up on the local news the next day missing.

That, and Art had saved the man’s heart specifically for you when you came to visit him again.