#and dnis like that often feel like trying to control others instead of taking it into your own hands to control your tumblr experience

[daisyishedwig]

You ever think you're super chronically online and then you see a hyperspecific dni and can't understand 60% of what's listed and realize that maybe you're actually online a normal amount and you're totally fine.

[marleysfinest]

pure smut. nsfw. minors dni. fem readerxgojo

gojo is definitely the type to wake you up in the middle of the night and then tease you about it.

definitely wakes you so so gently, long fingers tracing delicate patterns across your hips, all the way up to your waist, before wrapping around you and dancing them everywhere but where you want him to be. mapping the insides of your thighs and brushing over your heat with agonising delicacy, enough to make you rut your hips up to meet him but not enough to satisfy you.

he'll play this game for as long as he can manage, relishing at how you turn to putty at his touch, how you snap into being entirely at his mercy despite your discomfort and frustration growing with each second, before turning you away from him and introducing himself to you from behind. he slips himself between your lips with ease, having gotten you so worked up, and takes as much time as he wants to coat himself in the slick that's built up between your legs.

but when he's had enough? he'll roll you on top of him before you can protest, and slide you down onto him with stunning ease. you catch your breath as he fills you up, but all the while he's wearing a grin on his face, enjoying the show. you begin to grind yourself against him, hips rolling back and forth, but his hold on you tightens, forcing you to stop.

"nuh-uh, kitten," he purrs, without further explanation, before pulling you down so that your lips meet his. his gentleness and slow pace are a stark contrast to your almost frantic anticipatory energy, and indeed his own slightly trembling breathing tells you that he's not in complete control. his thrusts in and out are painfully slow but equally delicious, as you appreciate his full length each time your hips meet. a few times you try to increase the speed, but each time you're met with a slap on your rear and a gentle "no", and despite your growing frustration, you do as you're told.

after what feels like hours of slow and sensual grinding against each other, gojo decides it's time for a change of pace, and grabs your thighs firmly as he flips you again onto your back, but pulls himself out, opting instead to rest on your soaking lips and pressed against your clit. you're reduced to a whimpering mess, having been fed just enough to keep your cunt wet and smooth for him, but you were still chasing that pleasure, that feeling of him fucking you as he does so well. he looks down on you, eyes wide with an almost innocent wonder, as you do your best to grab his hips and at least try to encourage him to be nice. despite your very obvious pleas, still he sticks to rubbing himself against your clit firmly.

"'toru please," you beg. he grins and breaths a laugh across your lips.

"really?" he utters, "begging?"

he adjusts himself so that he slips inside you once more, eliciting a groan from deep within your throat. the pace is slightly faster - slightly - and definitely harder. almost as if he was starting to enjoy himself a bit too much. it's better, it's more like what you want, but he's still pushing you to a point that was almost painful. like you need it.

"c'mon, pretty girl," he whispers with a smile, "say it again."

for a few delightful, intense seconds he ramps up his speed, hitting your sweetest spot with dizzying force, giving you exactly what you want. you can't help but whimper and whine beneath him when he slows to a stop again.

"pleease, satoru."

you hear how pathetic you sound, but you're past the point of caring. you're prepared to do anything to convince him to give up the act, to worship you so readily as he so often did. his speed fluctuates, building you up, and letting you down, over and over until you hit your limit with tears in your eyes as you plead with every lost orgasm. he knows exactly what he's doing; he just likes it when you say his name like this, where's the harm in that?

in a bid to convince him again, you lift up your knees to wrap your legs tightly around his waist, arching your back and holding him closely enough just to get him that little bit deeper, and at long last finding his achilles heel. with a panted "fuck" he finds the rhythm that's so familiar to you both. the strongest? not when it comes to you.

within minutes you can feel both of your juices sliding onto the mattress beneath you. gojo rests atop you with his face buried against your neck as you both catch your breath, chests resting against each other as you both float back to earth.

"3am," he mutters eventually, "alarm's going off at 6. you better get some sleep."

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter Five

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : R

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour including toy use. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.6k (I am so sorry)

A/N : This was originally over 7k long so... at least I managed to get it down to under 6k. Tumblr is still only letting me tag five people at a time, so tags will be in comments again.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR

MASTER LIST

Chapter Five

Minutes passed, your back against the door, barely breathing, the stuffed beagle clutched to your chest. Eyes closed, you tried to focus on any little sound that might tell you what he was doing, if he was even still out there. Part of you wanted to go to him, to carry on your conversation. To be near him. You’d seen a new side of him and it was enticing as it was frustrating; how could he be so aloof one minute and so sweet the next?

Your thoughts strayed to that night, to the way he’d kissed you and how his body had felt pressed against yours.

Tearing yourself from the door, you moved to your room, creating distance between yourself and temptation. But yet felt like a spring, coiling tighter and tighter with every little thought of him.

Surely he knew what he was doing to you, the effect he had every time he touched you and smiled that damned smile.

You barely knew him but he gave you butterflies. He stole your breath every time his dark eyes found yours.

Fuck. 

You felt like a silly school girl with a crush on the teacher, knowing that it was wrong and nothing could happen. Only, something had already happened. Just the thought of it brought heat to your cheeks and that fluttering feeling to your stomach.

Locking your bedroom door, you let your attention drift to your nightstand. To the top drawer. Cautiously you pulled it open and peeked inside. Embarrassment swelled inside you, reminding you why you’d been trying so hard to ignore it. 

It was as full as any other drawer in the room. No expense had been spared. Honestly, you weren’t even sure what half of the toys were for. Some you could guess but others were a little more confusing. All different shapes, colours and sizes. Some so large they looked downright painful.

Frustrated, you slammed the drawer shut.

You weren’t a virgin but you didn’t consider yourself experienced. Sex for you had been awkward fumbles with guys you’d grown up with, shameful moments that often ended in disappointment. Dates had been approved by your parents, and no one they approved of wanted sex unless it could be used to force an engagement.

But, now that you had the opportunity to experience new things, you didn’t even know where to start. Despite your age, you felt like a naive child.

Changing into your PJs you fell into bed, TV distracting you from thoughts of Billy and having dinner with him. When you finally settled to sleep, you pulled the stuff beagle to your chest again and realised that you could spell the faintest hint of his cologne on it. And, all you could think about as you drifted off, was how it would feel to fall asleep in his arms.

Panic gripped you the moment you woke, a thousand anxious thoughts about the evening to come filling your head. You didn’t know what you were going to wear or how you’d manage to make it through an evening without saying anything stupid.

You tried to read over breakfast but you couldn’t concentrate. The tension inside you, the desire that you didn’t know how to suppress, seemed to wind tighter and tighter until you couldn’t sit still.

Taking a cold shower didn’t help either. Instead, the cold water reminded you of his touch and, suddenly, it felt like his hands were all over your body, touching you and caressing you in ways that drove you crazy.

Returning to your bedroom wrapped in a towel, you threw yourself onto the bed, the frustration boiling over. 

He’d suggested talking, getting to know each other, but how were you going to do that when you couldn’t focus? How could you have dinner with him when all you could think about was him kissing you?

You realised there was only one thing you could do.

Closing your eyes, you fumbled with the top drawer of the nightstand, reaching in and pulling out the first toy your hand fell on. You took a few deep breaths before looking at it; blue silicone with a slight curve, not big enough to be intimidating but it still made your cheeks warm. A little button at the base caused it to vibrate.

Oh fuck.

You took a few more deep breaths, knowing you had to at least try. Parting your legs, you slipped the still-vibrating toy between your thighs.

Your breath hitched at the first little touch. The second touch was firmer, pressing the tip against your clit. Oh. It felt good, better than any pleasure your fingers were capable of creating. Biting your lip, you tried to keep from moaning, as the pleasure quickly started to mount inside you. You turned it off, knowing you needed more, you needed everything.

Gingerly, you reached between your thighs, feeling how wet you were before guiding the toy to your entrance. A low, gasped moan escaped you as you began to slowly slip it inside you.

Letting your head fall back on the pillow, you tried not to think too much about what you were doing, instead finding your mind drifting somewhere far more dangerous. To thoughts of him. And the more you thought about Billy, the better it felt. Soon enough, your eyes were closed and you were imagining him on top of you; the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress and his dark eyes fixed on you as he fucked you. You were certain that he’d know exactly what he was doing, that a night with him would be better than anything you’d experienced before.

“Billy,” you moaned softly, remembering the kiss, remembering the way he’d made you feel wanted. It became harder to hold back the sounds that were desperate to escape you as you descended further into the fantasy, moving the toy a little faster.

Your free hand reached for the first thing it could find, bringing the stuffed beagle to your lips to stifle your moans. Suddenly all you could smell was his cologne and it was almost enough to push you over the edge. 

Finally, you turned the vibrator back on and came almost immediately.

“Mr Russo,” you keened softly into the stuffed toy, every gasped breath filling your nostrils with his scent.

Your cheeks burned with shame the moment it was over, but you kept the toy inside you, imagining him as the sort of man who’d take his time before pulling out, making sure you were finished.

Suffice to say, you were mortified once you’d dropped the toy to the floor and your heart rate had started to slow.

It didn’t feel right, in fact it felt awful, like you’d used him for your pleasure without permission. But, you finally felt better. The tension was gone. You could finally relax and spend the rest of the day finishing The Picture of Dorian Gray, hoping it would give you and Billy something to talk about.

You drew blood early, getting it out of the way so you could spend an obscene amount of time obsessing over what to wear. Eventually, you settled on a casual little black dress that wasn’t over the top, but made it look like you’d made an effort. After tying back your hair, you put on some natural looking make-up, hoping it would give you a little more confidence.

And, when you finally stepped out into the penthouse, you could have sworn you saw his breath catch.

Billy was dressed more casual than you’d ever seen him, wearing a red sweater and dark jeans. A look that definitely worked for him. He watched from the sofa as you made your way towards him.

“You look lovely,” he said and your heart stuttered.

Glancing down at yourself, you bit your lip, feeling like it was too much. “We usually only have take out on special occasions back home, so...” you shrugged.

“I feel a little under-dressed,” he joked.

“You always look nice,” you remarked before realising what you’d actually said. “I mean... you always dress very nicely.”

“My tailor will be glad to hear you say that,” he smiled as you sat. “The food should be here soon. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered the fixed menu.”

“That’s fine.” If anything it made it easier; you wouldn’t have to worry about the food list.

“Wine?” He offered and you nodded eagerly, despite not being much of a drinker. “Is Riesling okay?” You weren’t sure so you nodded again.

The bottle and glasses were already on the table, in fact his was already half-empty. He filled a glass and you leaned to take it from him, your fingers brushing against his and, for a second, he didn’t let go.

“You smell nice,” he muttered, his gaze lingering as your cheeks warmed. You hadn’t put on perfume, so you assumed it must be your vanilla body wash. “How’s your hand?” He asked a moment later with a touch more reluctance.

Holding it up, you showed him the gauze bandaid across your palm. “It’s fine. Nearly healed.”

Billy nodded, his guilt obvious. But, thankfully, he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

“I finished Dorian Gray,” you told him, stopping an awkward silence from falling.

“Oh? And what did you think in the end?” He asked, crossing his legs so he could turn more towards you.

“I’m not sure yet. It was a lot to take in.” You shrugged. “He did some horrible things; especially to Sybil and poor Basil, but some of it wasn’t all that bad? And then when he tried to change, Henry made him feel bad about it.” You took a breath, feeling the weight of his scrutiny on you. “I get that it’s a cautionary tale about excess and hedonism, but I don’t think anyone should be punished for trying to enjoy themselves...”

“It was a different time,” Billy offered, still completely focused on you. “Dorian’s hedonism damaged almost everyone unlucky enough to fall under his spell.”

“I know, I just...” you let out a huff, not sure how to articulate what you wanted to say. “I think if he’d been given the opportunity, he could’ve changed for the better.”

“That’s very optimistic of you.”

He said optimistic but you were certain that he meant naive.  

“I still don’t understand why you like it.”

“Well, it’s -” he was cut short by the sound of a buzzer before the elevator doors slid open. “Saved by the bell,” he remarked, grinning as he got to his feet to go collect the food from the doorman and tip him.

While Billy got the food, you made your way to the dining table, taking your glasses and the bottle with you. Places were already set and you felt butterflies in your stomach when you noticed the candles. Realistically, he was probably just trying to make things nice but, in your mind, all you could think about was how it seemed intimate. 

You took a seat and a long sip of wine while Billy unpacked the food, almost covering the whole table. The smell was enough to make your stomach grumble. Once everything was on the table, Billy dimmed the lights with his phone and lit the candles.

“Dig in,” he told you, starting to fill his own plate.

You started with the things you knew you liked, taking a little and starting to eat, but it wasn’t long before you found your attention drifting to him, watching through your lashes. You watched him eat, watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way he licked his lips.

“What?” He asked, fighting back a grin. Your gaze dropped to your place and your cheeks started to burn. “It’s okay, you can ask.”

“What’s it like? When you eat, I mean,” you asked softly, knowing it really wasn’t any of your business.

“Same as when you do,” Billy offered without seeming to care, “only flavours are muted and it never makes me feel full.”

“Oh,” you looked up and instantly felt bad.

“What’s that look for?

“What look?”

“You get this look sometimes, like something I’ve said has made you sad. Like you feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not that,” you tried to explain, “I just... I can’t imagine not being able to enjoy things like food and sunsets.”

“It’s not that I can't enjoy them,” he shrugged again, “I just enjoy them less than I did when I was human.”

“Do you miss being human?” You asked before realising how inappropriate it was. You shook your head. “I’m sorry, that was rude, I shouldn’t’ve -”

“No, it’s fine,” he answered, reaching for his glass and taking a long, slow drink. “I do miss it. This - this wasn’t something I chose.” 

There was nothing you could say to that. There were questions, yes, but you weren’t entitled to the answers and you didn’t want to risk ruining the evening by asking them. Awkwardly, you reached for your glass and took a drink.

“There’s that look again,” he remarked with a soft smile, “don’t worry, I’ve had enough time to come to terms with what I am now.”

The small talk continued over food, mostly about the food, until you felt like you couldn’t eat another bit. Sinking back in your chair, you closed your eyes and let out a slow exhale. When you looked at Billy again you found him grinning at you as he reached across to top up your glass.

“I didn’t order any dessert but if you’re still hungry I could -”

“Don’t you dare,” you laughed. “But thank you, this was really nice.”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” he told you as he refilled your glasses. “I want you to enjoy your time here. I know things got off to a strange start, but I want you to be comfortable here.”

“I am - I mean, I’m trying to be,” you struggled to explain. “I’m still getting used to it, but being able to go out with Karen really helped.”

“She enjoyed meeting you. She found you very interesting,” Billy answered, an indecipherable smile on his lips. “I find you interesting too.”

The comment caused your head to pound a little harder in your chest and your thighs to press together. The lump in your throat kept you from responding. A moment later, he changed the subject.

“Let’s go sit on the sofa,” pushing his chair away from the table. You nodded, pushing back your chair and standing, hesitating when you looked at the mess on the table. “Don’t worry, the maid will deal with it.”

“Maid?” There was a maid?

“She usually comes around 4am,” he answered, waving his hand towards the sofa, indicating that you should go while he got tonight’s blood from the kitchen.

Wine glass in hand, you sat on the sofa, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city and, again, you couldn’t help but think how intimate it all felt. Billy soon joined you, leaving some space between you, but not much - even less when you folded your legs beneath you and turned towards him.

“So,” he started with a smile, “what do you want to know?”

What followed was a long conversation about Billy, finding out what you could. He’d been a vampire for fifteen years; in his human life he’d been a Marine and, now, he ran a private security firm that mostly catered to vampire clientele. He was born and raised in New York but had no family. And he was wealthy enough that he simply laughed when you asked about the credit card in your name.

Then, he turned the spotlight on you.

You explained that you were from the Midwest, a little middle-of-nowhere town, and that your family were part of an insular, conservative community. You’d spent the last few years helping homeschool some of the local children, but you’d decided you’d wanted a change. You’d wanted to see the world and experience new things. He didn’t ask why you’d taken the job, and you didn’t offer the information, instead you tried to make it seem like everything was simple and happy in your life. 

All the while, his eyes stayed fixed on you, as he sipped your blood.

“Does it unsettle you?” He asked suddenly. “Seeing me drink your blood?”

“N-no,” you tried to speak around the lump in your throat, “I don’t mind.”

“But you have questions?”

“Some?” You answered and Billy gave a nod, indicating you could ask if you wanted. “The other day, when you mentioned it was still warm, is that...” you couldn’t bring yourself to finish.

“It’s better, yes,” his voice dropped to a low whisper, tongue running over his lips. “It’s like drinking from the source.”

“And is that...” Again, you couldn’t finish, feeling breathless just at the thought.

“I don’t bite. You never have to worry about that.” But the way he was looking at you said something else entirely.

“Good,” you finally manage to take a breath, “I don’t want to be bitten... or turned...”

Billy simply nodded.

“What can you taste when you drink my blood?” You asked, remembering what he’d said about knowing you hadn’t been sleeping or eating. “You said you can tell certain things from it?”

“Hormonal changes can affect how it tastes,” he offered.

“That’s why you want me to keep healthy and eat right?”

“Yes, it makes your blood taste better, but it’s also because I don’t want you getting sick. I’m not entirely heartless,” he smiled.

Silence fell and Billy took another drink. The care he took not to waste a single drop had your heart beating faster and, this time, when he noticed you watching, you didn’t look away. You couldn’t look away. Maybe the wine had helped lower your inhibitions, or maybe you were starting to feel more comfortable with him. Whatever it was, the moment didn’t end until he’d finished the whole glass.

Billy licked his lips again, and you noticed his gaze drop to the neckline of your dress as you took deeper breaths trying to calm your racing heartbeat, causing your breasts to awkwardly rise and fall. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and your eyes dropped to the empty glass in his hand, now resting on his lap and - fuck, your eyes snapped back up awkwardly, the moment you noticed the way his pants were tented. He was hard. 

“I, uh -” you started, getting to your feet, “- I need a glass of water.” 

You didn’t wait for a response before heading to the kitchen, giving him space to deal with whatever that was. Your heart was still pounding uncomfortable, your hands shaking as you found a clean glass and started to run the cold tap. Filling it, you took a slow drink, hoping to drown the butterflies in your stomach.

You didn’t hear him move, didn’t realise he was right behind you until his hand came to rest on the edge of the counter beside yours, his cold thumb brushing over your pinkie. Your breath caught as his shadow swallowed yours on the wall, and your cheeks continued to burn. Desire and embarrassment warred inside you, but Billy didn’t speak until you did.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing without your consent,” he answered softly, against your ear.

He inhaled slowly, his nose inches from your hair. Then came that low, restrained groan. He sounded like a caged animal, desperate to be released, and you realised you were the one holding the keys.

For a second, you remained frozen, knowing that he was giving you a choice. It was a bad idea to complicate things between you, but some part of you wanted this, wanted him. Suddenly all you could think about were the fantasies you’d played out with the vibrator that morning.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped back, pressing yourself against him.

His hand twitched, his thumb covering your pinkie, holding it.

“Say yes,” he near-demanded, wanting your unequivocal consent, his lips ghosting your ear with every word. “I need you to say you want this.”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I want this.”

A split-second later, his hand was on your stomach, pulling you back against him, letting you feel the hard press of his cock against your lower back. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin in a way that made your heart race faster. And you quickly realised how much Billy liked that.

“That’s right, little hummingbird,” he groaned, moving his hand to palm your breasts over your dress. “Fuck, you’ve been driving me crazy all night.”

All you could offer was a whimper in response, breath catching as his hand started to slip down your body, reaching beneath your dress. Cold fingers trailed up your bare thighs, causing a shiver of delight to run up your spine and for heat to pool between your thighs.

His knee pressed gently between yours, urging your legs apart, letting his hand move higher. You bit your lip and tried to stifle a moan when you felt his fingertips against the wet fabric of your panties, but holding back anything became impossible the moment his cold fingers slipped inside. His touch was light to begin with, teasing, fingers stirring between your folds, drawing a gasp from you. A low growl vibrated through his chest as he coated his fingers in your arousal, his touches getting more pronounced the wetter you got.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as his lips and fingers continued their assault on your senses. You didn’t even notice his hand move from the counter until you felt his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling gently to turn your face enough so he could kiss you. His tongue against the seam of your lips was almost enough to distract you from his finger slowly easing its way between your walls. You whimpered and moaned against his lips, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, keeping you in the kiss until every inch of his finger was buried inside of you.

“Fuck, hummingbird,” he groaned, a dangerous glint in his eyes and a grin on his lips. You moaned as his finger flexed inside you, slowly starting to withdraw before pushing in again. “Don’t come. That’s the only rule you have to follow right now; don’t come until I say you can. Can you do that?”

“I -” you could barely think to answer.

“If you can’t, I’ll stop,” he warned, his finger stilling and causing you to keen at the loss of sensation.

“Yes,” you moaned.

Your relief was palpable the moment he started to move again. The fingers in your hair, tugging softly so his lips could return to your neck. It didn’t feel real. It felt amazing in a way you couldn’t comprehend. Your heart raced faster when you felt him start to press a second, cold finger inside you, and you realised you were gripping his thigh. Hard. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned against your neck. “Practically dripping all over my hand,”

The words alone were enough to cause you to clench around his fingers, letting you feel them more acutely as they started to move a little faster, fucking you to the knuckle each and every time.

“Billy, please...” you pleaded, not sure you could take much more.

“Not yet,” he groaned, his lips against your ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe in a way that made everything so much harder for you. “It’ll feel so good if you just wait.”

You wanted to wait, to play his game, but how could you when it already felt so good? You felt yourself on the precipice, every muscle tensing, your slick walls tightening and gripping his fingers. Your eyes closed tight and you almost felt ashamed of yourself, like you were going to ruin the moment because you couldn’t control yourself.

His fingers stilled again just before you could go over the edge.

“Not yet,” he told you, voice calm but commanding. “Just breathe. Let me be in control.”

You managed a weak nod before he pulled you back into another kiss, fingers staying perfectly still for a few moments, not moving again until he felt you start to relax. This time his fingers moved in shallow thrusts, bending inside you, pressing against your soft inner walls like he was searching for something.

Your whole body shuddered when he found it and you saw stars.

“Does that feel good?” He asked and you nodded, unable to do anything but moan when his fingertips brushed against the same spot. “That’s it, little hummingbird, sing for me.”

More moans slipped from your lips, each more desperate than the last, your fingers digging into his thigh through his jeans.

“Billy, I-I need to...” you begged, words fracturing into another cry of pleasure.

“Do you need to come?” 

“Y-yes!”

“Say it,” his commanding voice sending a thrill down your spine and right to your core.

“I-I need to come,” you pleaded, feeling more brazen than you had in your whole life. You’d never been the sort to beg to come, but the thought of it thrilled you almost as much as his fingers inside of you.

“Then come for me.”

Your reaction was instantaneous, so much so that you had to wonder if it was because you’d needed to come or simply because he’d demanded it. Your body started to tremble and shake, your walls clenching around his fingers as they continued to move inside you, and the sounds you were making - if you hadn’t felt completely out of your mind, you would have been embarrassed by the desperate noises.

As you came you barely noticed his hand slip from your hair to press against your chest, resting over your racing heart. Your head turned and his lips quickly claimed yours, swallowing down your moans, his fingers still dragging out your orgasm until your legs felt so weak you weren’t sure you’d be able to stand without his arms around you.

Without warning, Billy's hand slipped from between your legs and he swept you off your feet, carrying you back to the sofa. He sat back with you on his lap, holding you close, your body trembling so much that you worried it would never stop. It felt like he’d broken something inside of you and your body didn’t know how to process all the pleasure he’d created.

Being on his lap didn’t help, but it would have been a lie to say you hated the feeling of his arm wrapped possessively around you and his hand resting on your bare thigh. You curled against him, your head on his chest as you slowly caught your breath. 

Billy’s lips pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as you finally started to sill.

“Are we going to -”

“Not tonight,” he answered, not needing you to finish the question. “I’m not going to rush you.”

Even though he was still hard, he didn’t want anything else. You weren’t sure if it was a rejection or if he really didn’t want to rush you, but it left you feeling even more uncertain.

When you found the nerve to lift your head, he gave you a gentle smile, his fingers squeezing your thigh tenderly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

Any conversation felt like it would be for your benefit rather than his. Billy seemed perfectly comfortable with what had just happened.

“Thank you,” you told him softly.

“For what?” Both confused and amused by the comment.

“For - for asking first,” your voice broke a little.

His gaze darkened, an unasked question on his lips. He was angry, not at you but at what the comment implied. Thankfully, he didn’t ask, didn’t push for an explanation you didn’t want to offer.

“You always have a choice here,” he reminded you. “You can always say no to this. I’ll never hold it against you.”

You stayed silent for a beat. “What if I don’t want to say no?”

“Then I’ll make sure you enjoy your time here with me.”

“But that’s all it’ll be?”

“Yes,” he answered, “I won’t pretend I can offer you more than that.”

“Okay, good. I-I don’t want anything serious.” The comment earned a strange smirk from him. “What?”

“I just didn’t expect you to want anything so casual. You’re constantly surprising me.”

“I -” you paused, biting your lip, “- I want to have fun. I want to experience the things I’ve been missing out on.”

“That’s something I’d be more than happy to help with, hummingbird,” he told you, smiling that cocky smile, making you want to melt.

“I’ve never...” you trailed off and saw his eyebrow raise, “I mean I’ve never done anything like... friends with benefits?”

“I thought I was paying you for your blood, not your friendship?” He smirked, recalling the terrible comment you’d made when you’d been angry with him. Then he shrugged. “It’s simple; we hang out and, if you want me to touch you, I’ll touch you. We’re just two adults having fun with an equal say in what happens.”

“Even when you give me rules to follow?” A shiver running up your spine as you remember the way he’d commanded and you’d obeyed.

“I told you, I like to be in control. But if it doesn’t work for you, there are no consequences.” He fell silent for a moment, the smirk on his lips seeming to grow. “Unless you want consequences.”

All you could do was nod, not daring to ask what kind of consequences he might have in mind.

“I have a rule too,” you dared to say.

“Oh?”

“You can’t lie to me.”

Clearly he hadn’t been expecting that but he quickly conceded. “That’s fair. As long as you follow my rule, I’ll follow yours - even when you’re in bed with your vibrator.”

Your heart almost stopped and your cheeks started to burn with embarrassment. 

“How did you -” you could barely get the words out, completely mortified.

“You moaned my name,” Billy continued, not in the least bit embarrassed. He’d heard you across the penthouse. “All I could think about over dinner was how wet you must have been and the way you moaned when you came.” His hand moved to your cheek, making sure your gaze didn’t drop in embarrassment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve jerked off, but listening to you had me coming all over my hand.”

Biting your lip, embarrassment and shame filled you, but Billy still wouldn’t let you look away. His thumb grazed your lip and left you speechless.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he told you, “those toys are yours to use whenever you need to, as long as you remember that your orgasms are mine now.”

You weren’t used to anyone being so candid but, you had to concede, it was exactly what made Billy the best person to help you experience new things. He knew what he was doing and he wasn’t shy about what he wanted.

“I’m not embarrassed,” an obvious lie that Billy decided not to call you on. “Things like that just aren’t exactly acceptable where I’m from.”

“Was that your first time pleasuring yourself - or was it your first time using a vibrator?” He asked, sounding like he was enquiring about something utterly mundane.

“Using a vibrator,” you answered, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Well, you never have to feel ashamed of doing anything that makes you feel good while you’re here,” he told you with enviable confidence. 

“Like Dorian Gray?” You offered with the smallest of smiles.

Billy let out a huff of laughter. “Does that make me your Lord Henry?”

“Only if you plan on leading me astray,” you answered back.

“Oh, little hummingbird,” he smiled, leaning towards you, “you’ve got no idea.” Before you could answer, his lips were on yours again.

Minutes ticked by with his lips on yours, enjoying everything about the moment, about him. When he finally pulled away, you let out a content sigh, smiling as he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“So, this rule of yours... I take it you have a question, something you want me to answer honestly?”

You were quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Have you ever done this before, with someone living here like me?”

“No, not like this,” he answered instantly, and it was good enough for you.

As he pulled you close again, you found yourself yawning, exhaustion catching up with you. Billy checked his watch.

“Looks like I’ve kept you up past your bedtime,” he joked, sitting forward and helping you to your feet. “We can continue getting to know each other tomorrow night, if you’d like.”

You nodded, barely even noticing that the pair of you were moving until you found yourself at the door to your rooms. His weight shifted from left to right, and you knew without looking that he was still hard. Your fingers tangled with his sweater at his waist and, for a few seconds, you just looked at him. Billy gave you a smile before pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Goodnight, little hummingbird. And remember, I’ll know if you break the rules.”

Biting your lip again, you nodded, and finally pulled yourself away from him and slipped through the door. 

End Note : I never know what to say after the spicier chapters so... hope you enjoyed this and it lives up to expectations. Thanks so much for all the genuinely lovely comments and feedback over last four weeks, I'm loving how much people seem to be enjoying this story!! Hope you all have a great weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt. (Note: Tumblr is currently being stupid and only letting me tag five people at a time, so I'll be tagging people in the comments. Sorry if you get tagged twice!!)

Tag List : @vaguekayla @thdcre @rensolodriver @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @snowkestrel @danzer8705 @noortsshift @aoi-targaryen @lincerad @vxnity713 @readerinsertsaremyguiltypleasure @dreadfulxives18 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @glamourbabe17 @sweetserendipity65 @damagelove @strangerfromketterdam @a-starrynightwith-u @readingabouthim @countryday @weepingwitchofthewest @broadwaybabe18 @bunnygirlwriter876 @oliviaewl @rosey1981

[rubyreduji]

After Class — csc

summary: professor choi makes sure to always take care of your needs after class

tags: smut (minors dni!), college!au, professor!seungcheol warnings: explicit unprotected sex, daddy kink, age gap, power imbalance, breeding kink, dumbification, praise, seungcheol calls the reader a slut but like…in a praising way??? wc: 1.6k

pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4

“Ahhh~ harder daddy!” 

Fuck this is so wrong.

Despite knowing the moral extent of his actions, it still doesn't stop Seungcheol.

His hips snap into yours repeatedly as you drool all over his desk. He has you bent over the dark oak desk in his office with your skirt flipped up and your panties pulled to the side. Your pussy is sopping wet as he shoves his fat cock into you.

You two have had your arrangement for a few weeks now. Professor Choi gives you a little extra help in class and in turn you let him do what he wants with you. It’s truly a win-win for you because not only do you get a passing grade, but you also get to be stuffed full of cock every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Today he’s already fingered you and made you ride him and now he’s about to pull your third orgasm out of you. He’s always so sweet to you, taking care of your needs before his own. He gives you extra class help and sometimes even slips you test answers on top of always letting you cum first and checking in on you after railing you into next week.

“So good for me. So messy,” Seungcheol mutters more to himself than anyone else. His pants are just barely unzipped so his cock can poke out. He likes being in control like this, you half naked in just your panties and skirt while he’s still fully dressed. “You whore yourself out like this to the other professors?”

“N-no, o-only you C-cheol.” Seungcheol smirks a bit at the way you can barely respond to his question, too cock drunk to focus on anything else.

“That’s my girl. Only giving this slutty little pussy to me. God you just suck me in so well.”

Your fingers grip at the edge of the desk, trying to purchase you on something. Your feet are barely on the floor, just the tips of your toes touching. One of Seungcheol’s large hands is planted on your hips as he pulls your ass into his hips, the other is buried into your hair as he grips the strands hard between his fingers.

Seungcheol is probably in his late 30s, though you’ve never asked. He’s not like some of the other “younger, cool professors” around campus. He’s actually quite strict and instead of dressing more laid back he insists on wearing three piece suits that you swear someone’s grandpa died in. Despite his harsh attitude and outdated sense of style, he’s still one of the sexiest men you have ever met.

You often catch yourself staring at his dark, thick eyebrows and red, full lips in class, thinking about what he’s going to do to you later. No matter what he always looks so composed with his neatly styled black hair and his thin gold framed glasses. Whether he’s teaching a lecture or fucking your brains out, he never has a hair out of place.

Half the reason you struggle so much in his class is most likely due to the fact that you stare at him instead of focusing on what he’s actually saying. The other half is because you actually don’t understand biology, but that’s another story.

Earlier his warm, thick hand caressed your back as he walked past you to go help another student and it had your pussy dripping for him since. You love the way he touches you, the way his hands and mouth feel on you, even if the touch is fleeting. It takes all of your self restraint not to get up and suck him off under his desk during the lecture. 

“You’re doing so good for me baby girl,” Seungcheol’s hand comes down to smack your ass cheek. He groans at the way the fat jiggles.

“D-daddy, so close.”

“Me too doll. Gonna fill you up with my seed.” Seungcheol’s words are accompanied by the slap of his hips against yours, his pace speeding up to tip you both over the edge. “Is that what you want, baby? Daddy to breed your tight little cunt. Fill you up with my cum and let you have my babies. You’d look so sexy pregnant. So round and fat while you carry my children. Want me to make you a mommy?”

“Y-yes daddy! Please! I need it so bad. Wanna have your babies,” you babble, fucked out on his cock. Seungcheol chuckles at the sight.

"Such a needy little cunt. Always so ready to spread your legs for me. Always so wet and eager. God you don't know what you do to me baby."

Seungcheol has never done this before. He’s never been this entranced by a student, especially one who can barely pass his class. He used to be the guy who would think ‘How can teachers have relations with their students? How wrong is that?’ and then you walked into his life and he became the exact thing he used to be disgusted by.

He’s obsessed with you. The way you’re always so willing to take his cock after a long lecture. The way you kiss him with so much fever. The way your pussy clamps down on him with a vice grip when you reach your orgasm. The way you always thank him after every session before you go back to your dorm with his cum dripping down your legs. He can’t get enough of you.

“G-gonna cum!” Seungcheol’s tip keeps slamming into your cervix and you can feel the tension building up as tingles run through your limbs.

“Then do it slut, cum all over daddy’s cock like a good girl.” You whine at his words as your pussy clenches hard and you finally release. Blinding pleasure shoots through your body and your vision whites out. Your pussy is fluttering and your chest is heaving and you can barely think a coherent thought. The insane thing is this isn’t even the most intense orgasm Seungcheol has given you.

While you’re still blissed out Seungcheol is dumping his cum into your spent pussy. Ropes of cum fill you up and even start to spill out of your pussy as Seungcheol continues to rut into you. He always cums so much inside of you and Seungcheol swears he’s never came so much until he started fucking you.

“T-thank you, daddy,” you whimper from below him as he pulls out of you, more of his cum spilling out and onto his desk. He tucks himself back into his pants and after he buttons them back up nobody would even be able to tell he just wrecked you over his desk.

“Of course. You were so good for me today. Wanted to fuck you all day during class. You’re a little minx, wearing this tiny skirt and flimsy top. One day I’m going to fuck you in front of the whole class so those digusting boys stop staring at you,” Seungcheol sneers at the thought of the college boys who stare and whisper to each other about you. They could never pleasure you the way he can.

“Oh daddy,” you moan, “please. Want you to ram your cock into me while they watch. Want you to show everyone I’m yours.”

“Yes baby, all mine.”

As you two talk Seungcheol is pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and uses it to wipe at your legs and pussy. He cleans you off and helps you replace your panties and skirt before handing you your bra and shirt. You sit on the edge of his desk as he grabs you a water from his office fridge. As you drink the liquid down he rubs his hand up and down your thigh comfortingly.

“Thank you daddy,” you say in a small voice when you finish the water off. He takes the bottle from you and throws it away before walking back over to you.

“Of course, baby doll. Anything for you.” He leans down and captures your lips against his. You two kiss passionately and you relish in the way he’s so gentle yet demanding with you. He sucks at your bottom lip before pulling away. “Ugh baby, I hate to do this but I have another lecture in twenty minutes.”

You whine a bit but still slide off his desk to grab your bag. You can feel his cum still inside of you and you feel it drip out of you and onto your little lace panties. You know that when you get back to your dorm you’re just going to scoop it up and finger it back into yourself.

“I’ll see you Friday daddy?” Your eyes look up at him with a mixture of lust and innocence and Seungcheol isn’t sure how that’s even possible but his dick still stirs at the sight.

“Yeah, of course baby girl.” He pulls you in for a soft kiss before he pulls away and drops another kiss on your forehead. “Be good for me until then, okay?”

“Yes professor.”

With that you flounce off. Seungcheol takes a moment to compose himself after your little comment but then turns back to his desk to clean off your slick and get ready for his next class. You still linger at the back of his head though.

Your feelings for each other go unspoken of, though he’s sure you’re aware of them as well. Even before you two started having sex there was always a little something there, even past sexual tension.

Seungcheol means it when he says he’ll do anything for you. He knows that one day he’s actually going to breed your sweet little cunt and fill you up with his babies, and you know that you won’t mind one bit.

[sanemisstalker]

no matter how much dick I get... the urge to do vile things to this man will always prevail

NSFW MINORS DNI - AFAB/GN REFFERED READER - HEAD - TOXIC MASCULINITY (Belief that a penis is needed to make a man) - Sanemi with a CANNIBALISM/DIETY kink? Idk I got a little frisky with the head talk. - He begs for help at one point. HYPER CONSENT.

NEEDY FOR HEAD - WITH SANEMI

-'I don't like it when you get- lower like that. Makes my teeth ache. I feel like you're gonna... bite it off.'

-You're a little offended by the implication. Sure you're a little weird and off putting, but fuck all, you weren't REALLY gonna bite Sanemi's cock off when it came to it.

-You sigh.

-This little fit of his had been going on for a while, now. Sure you can get head all you want, but lord forbid YOU want to GIVE. Lord forbid YOU want to SATISFY.

-'It's not funny anymore.'

-'Wasn't ever trying to be funny.' he spits in turn.

-'Then I'd like an unfunny answer.'

-'I'm being serious, damn! It feels like my balls are gonna go up when you're down there! Why don't you believe me?!'

-Sanemi had never been very explicit about his wants. Keeping your laugh to yourself was a little hard at such a question. Sanemi's face blared red in response.

-'That's it! I'm putting my cl-'

-You lept for him, pulling him back down to the bed. You forgot you had to be kind, and slow. Sanemi never really had the kind of face that begged for such things, but that was part of the problem. Sanemi never really liked to beg.

-'No! NO! I'm sorry- it's not funny, it's- Sanemi, you know how often this happens.' He stilled, more than a little tense at the accusation. 'You are- I know it's hard, but... biting it off?'

-'Y-Yes.' He'd huff. 'I- it just feels weird.'

-'Bad weird, scary we-'

-'Like I'm going to... Embarass myself weird.'

-Your silence followed, and then Sanemi turned even further away from you. He was unwilling to pull his hand from your grasp in an effective way. Instead resorting to a very feeble wiggle and slight whine.

-'Let me go.' He mumbled.

-'No way! No way-' You rush, tugging him down to the bed. You pull him against you. He seems to soften as your breasts press into his forearm. 'That doesn't sound all that bad.'

-Sanemi would rather die. The thought of him... letting go so... early. So explicitly at your will, so weak and helpless, his only call to manhood left in the fight of your biting maw-

-Part of it excited him, he figured. But he didn't figure that deep. If he did, he'd know this and that about submission, and maybe the light sense of masochism that made the concept all that more thrilling.

-Maybe it scared him a little knowing you could hurt him there if you wanted to, and maybe he got a little hard when he got scared. Maybe Sanemi missed being scared,

-When you talk him into it, he's most reluctant to see your teeth, but you let him play with the connection between his tip and your tongue. Giving him all the power to pull away when it just gets too much.

-Your tastes buds are far different from the ribbing of your pussy. They're delicate, and you have far more control over that muscle, so when you take Sanemi fully in your mouth, he's flung to the bed.

-He's seeing god, he thinks. He can almost imagine your jaw clamping down, taking it all away from him, keeping it for yourself.

-He's enthralled by how willing he is. By how bad he wants it to be all yours. How delusional he is for thinking you'd even think this way. This is simply an act of pleasure to you, but one of Divinity to him. This is God, for he, such a simple man, cannot grasp the eccentricities of religion when they are found anywhere other than the beads of spit between his base and your lips.

-He begins sobbing, almost hoping you'll make it stop. He can't feel this good, he can't know the world feels this good. How cruel to send him back to war when he's knows the sound of a song birds throat.

-He's a head pusher. He can't help it. He feels too good, he's blacking out half way through, which isn't very long. Not at all, practically convulsing on the bed.

-'Oh!- Ah--- Y/N- Oh- God- God- Ah!' And all the ooh's and aah's as he cums sobbing down your throat.

-It's enough to spill out of your lips, and find its way back to his pubes, all covered in your spit and snot. And he's breathing heavy and shaking still because god knows that cock never really gets to cum it all away- those balls can never truly be empty.

-'Oh- god- god- help- help-' He's choking, grabbing his face to brush the tears away.

-You're a little dumbfounded. You're not sure what the fuss is, but you're excited to try deep throating him for the first time. That'll probably make him die or something, he might die-

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers pt. 3

Gif not mine

Master list here

Author's Note: Nightmare portion written by @Never_Trick_OnlyTreats on AO3 - I outsourced the nightmare because it was a struggle my first time trying my hand at it, so thank you so much for your help with that scene!

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

A few days pass as you and Wanda settle into a rhythm, which you are currently referring to as a roommate situation. You hesitate to label it anything else since other labels seem... unbefitting. Everything feels so complicated, and you find yourself with more questions than answers. Whenever you try to ask Wanda about her plans for you, she distracts and flusters you, causing you to forget what you were trying to ask in the first place.

After casually exploring the grounds, you notice that Mount Wundagore no longer looks the same. Instead of the gloomy stone temple in the mountains, Wanda has transformed it into an idyllic countryside cottage. The weather outside is always perfect, with a gentle crisp breeze and the sun shining just behind the clouds. It feels like a perfect autumn day. The small cottage is surprisingly spacious inside for something so small, with multiple rooms including an office, living room, gaming room, quaint kitchen, and a library that you’re pretty sure resembles the one from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. There is only one bedroom which you and Wanda share, though Wanda frequently reassures you there is no pressure from her to do anything.

You are amazed by the witch's incredible powers and the careful consideration she put into creating your new "home". It seems as though she knew exactly what you wanted and turned it into a reality. The thought and effort she put into making it comfortable for you warms your heart. As always, after some time passes, you can't help but wonder when reality will catch up. You still have exams to complete, job applications to submit, and a life to live. When will you be able to return to that? Surely you couldn’t stay here forever, life simply didn’t work like that.

Wanda made an effort not to leave you alone for too long, especially if she knew you wouldn't be engrossed in an activity that would occupy your time, like playing a video game. When asked where she was going, she would dismissively say she was ensuring your safety, being intentionally vague on the details of what that entailed. You never fully believed her, partly because of the intense look in her eyes. However, she could easily distract you from her plans, and if you insisted, a brief glow from her eyes would suddenly have your mind immersed in another activity, causing you to completely forget what you were originally talking about.

The witch didn’t like to use her powers on you excessively; it felt like cheating. Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to have you scrutinizing her actions and movements too closely, especially when she would return, often covered in blood, from removing any possible threats that might have been trying to take you away from her. She couldn't risk you questioning her and discovering the truth, not until she had complete control over you. Wanda needed you to desire and depend on her, and for that, she needed your trust and happiness.

Most days, you would wake up with Wanda's arms wrapped tightly around you. Early on, you discovered that she preferred being the big spoon, and you had no complaints about it. Once she held you, she wouldn't let go anytime soon. While initially awkward for you because you weren't used to physical touch from others, especially from someone you found so beautiful, she made it easy for you by never demanding more than you were comfortable giving. When Wanda woke up, her raspy voice, and thick accent, would greet you with a good morning, usually asking if you wanted breakfast.

That was another adjustment you had to make - having regular meals. You had become so accustomed to skipping meals and practicing intermittent fasting that you originally felt a bit queasy when you learned that Wanda wanted you to eat three full meals a day. At first, you declined her offer, but Wanda insisted, after she somehow managed to make you admit that you had been practically starving yourself in an attempt to lose weight. Because of this, she was insistent that you would now have three meals a day, and that you would eat all of them in her presence. Although you felt a bit annoyed by said insistence, you secretly appreciated her concern. You remembered how your mother would praise you every time you went down a pant size, unaware of the fact that you were going days without eating to achieve it.

After breakfast, Wanda would ask if you wanted to watch a movie or go to the library to read a book. If you chose to watch a movie, she almost always let you pick. Once in a while she would decide what to watch, you found it endearing to learn that she enjoyed classic sitcoms such as Dick Van Dyke, and Bewitched. If you opted for the library, you both had your own books to read, snuggling together in the nook by the window, enjoying the warm glow of the sun.

For lunch, Wanda would usually prepare it herself, using fresh herbs and ingredients from her garden. At times she would ask you to accompany and help her, you always agreed. Unable to help but follow her around like a puppy. If Wanda wanted you around, you were happy to be included.

After lunch, you would either watch more movies or play video games for a few hours. Some games were multiplayer, where you would take turns beating each other at Mario Kart. Others were single player, where Wanda would ask you questions about the characters and the plot, or why you made certain choices in the RPG. Unlike when other people in your life had asked, you loved answering any questions she posed for you.

This went on for a few weeks, but eventually, you needed to know what the future held for you. One night, while Wanda held you as you were drifting off to sleep, you decided to ask, knowing in this moment there was nothing she could use to distract you.

"Wands?" you asked, quietly. If she was actually asleep, you didn't want to disturb her. Part of you almost hoped she wouldn't answer, dreading breaking the spell of the last few weeks.

The redhead hummed her acknowledgement.

"I-" You curse yourself for faltering so quickly. You knew you should have rehearsed this in your head at least a few more times.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful. The last few weeks have been... nothing short of... the most amazing of my life. But what are we doing here? I've missed finals. I have to go back and reschedule my proctored exams to see if I can still take them or if I have to wait for another semester. I need those to get my degree so I can get a job and start my life. As much as I appreciate spending this time here with you, when do I get to go home?" Your voice is quiet, afraid you have upset the witch who has shown you nothing but kindness. Probably the most kindness you have ever experienced in your entire life.

Although you can’t see it, Wanda’s eyes emanate a deep red as she delves into your mind in search for the source of your thoughts. Once she is satisfied that she has identified the core issue - your desire for independence and refusal to burden others - she begins to reassure you.

“Darling, why would you ever want to go back home to those.. people? After the way they treated you? Besides, you don’t need your degree, a job, or any of that. Everything you need, I can provide for you. It’s no trouble at all, detka, I promise you. You have no idea how… happy… I am that you are here, and I would do anything to keep you that way.” Her grip on you tightens slightly.

You can't fully grasp the extent of the truth of her words, or the extreme measures she has taken to bring you to this point. From your perspective, your parents, the very individuals who were meant to love and care for you have harbored resentment towards your very existence your entire life. The thought that this woman, a mere roommate, who has already done so much for you, could one day develop the same resentment for you as your own parents is agonizing. You don’t want to overstep your welcome in her life.

You have some idea of the lengths she has gone to. You know she has crossed universes to find you, although you still cannot understand why. You are not her deceased lover, and you never will be. Despite sharing the same genetic makeup, you are unsure if you could ever measure up to someone so courageous. It all still feels too good to be true, as if she’s gone to too much effort for someone like you. You worry that she will be disappointed when she discovers the truth - that you are not good enough. Accepting her kindness feels like an act of deception on your part, even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

You fidget uncomfortably. It hasn’t occurred to you that you have been silent for some time until you feel slender fingers running themselves soothingly through your hair. “Oh detka,” she whispers softly, her voice compassionate. “They really broke you, didn’t they?”

Your boy stiffens as you feel the unmistakable sensation of lips pressing themselves gently to the crown of your head, resting there for a moment. Surprisingly, the urge to flee doesn’t come as you had expected, and you allow yourself to relax into the witch’s embrace.

Wanda takes a moment to contemplate her phrasing. "You could never be a disappointment to me, darling. Even if you don't have powers like your other self, or if you never return my feelings, I don't ask for any of that from you, Y/N. All I ask is that you stay here with me, and I will take care of everything. Let me help you, rebuild you. Let me love you, and you won't regret it, I promise, darling."

You consider her offer. It sounds appealing. Nonetheless, you can't help but feel cautious. After all, nothing comes for free. You also feel uneasy about how effortlessly she can read you, leaving you vulnerable and defenseless. While you don't want to offend her, you have reservations about the idea.

"Wanda, I... I appreciate your offer. That's incredibly kind of you, but we can't stay here just the two of us forever. That's not healthy, and it's not how the real world works. I don't want to trade one prison for another, as beautiful as it may be," you add, trying not to offend the witch.

"I like you, and I would love to get to know you, but I also want to go out and live my life. Ideally, I want to have a job, a home, and friends of my own outside of these walls. We can still visit each other. Do you understand?" you ask, turning in Wanda's embrace and hoping she can see the sincerity in your eyes. You've never truly experienced freedom before, and now that it's within reach, you're unwilling to let it slip away so easily.

A range of emotions flicker across the witch's face before a stoney mask settles over it. "The world isn't safe out there, Y/N. Why do you need a degree, a house, friends when you have me?" Her voice grows louder in her exasperation, causing you to shrink in fear. "I can create anything you need. Isn't this house enough for you? What don't you like about it, hmm? With a wave of my hand, I can transform it into anything you desire."

Her voice turns frustrated. "Why do you even want to work? It's not enjoyable. Wouldn't you prefer to spend your time here, with me? You can do whatever you like, and I can provide for us. You don't have to worry about anything. You don't need anyone or anything except me!"

By now, her voice has practically risen to a shout, and you are recoiling in fear. After all this time with the former avenger, you had forgotten how powerful she was. She had only done her best to provide for you and care for you, asking nothing in return but your presence. Suddenly, you understood why she felt like you might be ungrateful, and you only had yourself to blame. Shame and fear roil in your gut. Still, it had been a while since you had felt fear like this, not since she had taken you from your parents. The only thing keeping you in her arms is her unnaturally strong grip on you.

"W-Wanda," you whimper. "Please stop, I'm sorry."

Realizing she has scared you, Wanda takes a slow, calming breath, in an effort to de-escalate herself. She knows that she won't earn your affection if she continues like this, but the redhead is furious at your lack of gratitude. Wanda has put in so much effort to create your ideal life, and yet here you are, wanting to return to the misery of the "real world."

 The witch mentally scoffs. She has grown tired of this argument that she has already had with you multiple times. Not that you recall, of course. Each time seems to end the same, and Wanda is frustrated that she never manages to clearly express her thoughts on the matter enough to convince you.

With a wave of her hand, red phosphenes surround your head, and you unwillingly close your eyes, drifting into a magic induced sleep. The argument is long forgotten by you as she holds you tightly. Something must be done to suppress this independent streak of yours. If you can't be molded to accept her as your provider, then you will be forced to accept it. She considers that perhaps she will have to have a firmer hand in manipulating your mind.

It's not ideal, but Wanda is unwilling to risk losing you. She has already come so far and done so much. As she gazes upon your sleeping form, she contemplates the rules she has broken for you, both in terms of human laws and magic. The people she has murdered.

It would devastate you to know that after those first few nights, Wanda had gone back and eviscerated your parents, and decimated your home. There was nothing redeeming about them. Yes, she had promised not to harm them, but after witnessing all they had done to you and seeing your panic attacks during those first few nights, the witch couldn't restrain her anger. Unbeknownst to you, there was nothing left for you to return to.

To have come so far only to lose you now? Wanda closes her eyes, tears sliding down her cheek as she envisions the consequences if you were to find out. Her heart aches at the thought of your possible rejection. No, the witch thinks firmly. She cannot bear to lose you. She is willing to wait indefinitely, to do whatever it takes. At this point, what do ethics and morals matter?

She would never force you to love her, but Wanda is not above subtly influencing events to win your affection. If that means making a few alterations to some of your memories, so be it. The witch drifts off to sleep, her body wrapped possessively around yours, as you dream on, unaware of the danger you are in. 

You know the minute your eyes open that this dream isn’t like the others. You’re lying in bed next to Wanda, but you can’t shake the sensation that something is wrong. You carefully slip out of her arms and pad softly to the door, opening it as quietly as you can. You can’t quite explain it, but the need to run is screaming inside your mind, an echo of the countless other nightmares you’ve had. As soon as the door latches behind you, you take off. If you can just make it to the front door, you can be free! It should only be a few more feet, after all… but the hallway stretches before you impossibly, and that dark laughter you recognize all too well rings in the darkness around you. 

Just keep running, you urge yourself. It can’t be much further. Yet with every footfall you find yourself no closer, and her laughter only seems to grow stronger as you push yourself to run faster. In your peripheral vision, something slithers, but each time you turn your head, there is only the dark hallway. The sweat pours from you, and you realize that you will never make it to that door, that freedom. You sink to your knees in that godforsaken, never-ending hallway and feel the despair swell inside you, just as you feel a familiar presence behind you. You turn slowly, terrified to face her… 

You wake up suddenly, your body snapping up in bed, rigid, and ready to run. Although you can't remember the specifics of the dream, your shirt is soaked with evidence of your fear. A cool hand gently presses against your sternum, rubbing soothing circles on your body.

"You're alright, darling. It was just a bad dream. You're safe here with me," reassures Wanda with her soothing, raspy voice, thickly accented in the early morning. "Lie back down, Y/N. It's still early, and we can still sleep." Strong yet comforting arms pull you into a warm embrace, and once again you drift off into the darkness of your dreams, this time blissfully free of nightmares.

Time passes in a similar fashion, with Wanda taking care of you and keeping you entertained. During this period, you found yourself becoming increasingly drawn to her. Wanda had made it clear that she had no expectations of you other than your presence. She didn't want you to replace her deceased wife, nor did she expect you to have romantic feelings for her. The witch simply wanted to be near you and protect you.

This was a new experience for you, as genuine altruism was not something you had encountered often in your life. True to her word, Wanda never pressured you for anything more than you were willing to give. As a result, you found yourself developing feelings for the older woman.

It would strike you with sudden clarity in the most unexpected moments. The redhead would laugh with you during a movie, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. This endearing sight and sound would bring a tender warmth to your soul. At other times, she would be busy in the kitchen, preparing one of your favorite meals. As you helped, you would occasionally feel her hand caress your lower back as she passed by, ensuring you wouldn't bump into each other, while managing to avoid being intrusive to your orbit.

Some of your favorite moments were when you could just exist in your own world on your Nintendo Switch, wandering through the halls of your home. Sometimes, you would nearly bump into a wall, just like you often used to at your old house, but instead Wanda would gently guide you back on track, while she continued doing whatever else she was occupied with - usually being on her phone or reading a book.

She would follow quietly behind you without saying a word. She never made you feel bad for being clumsy and uncoordinated. In fact, she didn't seem to consider it a problem at all. A simple gentle touch to your side for adjustment and a quiet "hmm" to get your attention, but she never made a big deal about it. Her actions made you feel cared for; even if you still worried about inconveniencing her, she continued to insist that you weren't.

Wanda always wanted to know what you were thinking but made an effort to ask instead of simply taking that information from your mind at her leisure. Conversations with her could last for hours, with topics flowing effortlessly between the two of you. Rarely did you two run out of things to say. Even when you did, the silence was not overwhelming. To your delight, you discovered that you could coexist in the same space, each doing your own thing, and still feel content in the other's presence. You had never felt this comfortable with anyone before.

There was one day recently that stood out in your memory. Wanda was making adjustments to the house, and you casually mentioned how the drapes in the library could look prettier if they were a different color. You suggested that a new color would make the room brighter and more inviting. Without hesitation, Wanda took you to the room you had referenced and with a flick of her wrists, used her magic to make the change.

It was these little things that caught your attention and made you feel seen. This particular instance made you believe that she genuinely cared about your opinion and was willing to make the effort to meet your specifications.

As Wanda changed the colors and asked for your opinion, all you could focus on was how incredibly beautiful she looked. She was in her element, completely at ease with herself and her abilities. Put simply, she was stunning, almost otherworldly. Your mind didn't even process that she was asking about the color of the drapes when you replied in a soft, breathy whisper, "Perfect."

Upon hearing the tone of your voice, the witch paused in her actions and looked at you with curiosity. She didn't need to read your mind to understand what had happened. A delighted smile slowly formed on her lips, completely charmed by you. Part of her wished to take this moment and playfully flirt with you, since her favorite activity was causing you to become flustered. Instead, she decided to cherish it as a sweet and endearing moment, and let you get away with it.

"I'm glad you think so, darling," she said in a soft, knowing tone, and you realized you had been caught nonetheless. Bright red bloomed across your cheeks, reaching all the way up to your ears.

You mumbled a quick "The colors look great, Wanda. Thanks," before hastening to escape her scrutiny.

Although she didn't want to, Wanda allowed you to make your escape. She bit her lip as she watched you flee, knowing that you hadn't experienced much kindness after enduring so much trauma. Seeing the progress you had been making brought her a great deal of happiness. Maybe one day you would be receptive to her advances, but for now, she would be patient and give you the space you needed.

She didn’t often actively read your mind these days, you still had yet to master shielding your thoughts from her. Not that she wanted you to. Additionally, being so familiar with your other variant, she was intimately aware of your mannerisms and facial expressions. While there were some differences and new quirks for her to learn, she found that she loved each new aspect she discovered. Wanda almost couldn't wait for the day when you would finally be hers completely and when you would embrace her love for you the way she desired.

You were growing more comfortable with her, Wanda could tell, simply by observing your reactions to her. The way your body would relax and lean into her touch, the way you appreciated the small gestures she did for you and how you tried to assist her wherever you could, even when she didn't necessarily need it.

Wanda certainly couldn't mistake the lingering glances you would give her when you thought she wasn't looking. She knew you would never objectify her; the few times your thoughts did wander in appreciation, were often followed by an immediate scolding from yourself. But sometimes, she wished you wouldn't get after yourself so harshly. Wanda wanted you to see her in that way. Craved it, even.

Unfortunately, you didn't seem to understand the distinction between objectifying someone and appreciating them. Throughout your life, your parents conditioned you to believe that you were a predator of some sort. Consequently, whenever you felt any attraction towards someone of the same sex, self-loathing would kick in almost immediately, accompanied by a deep sense of shame. Your conditioning making you believe that you were no different from a man on the street who harassed women, thereby making them feel unsafe.

As you quickly left the room, you couldn't help but notice the way Wanda's knowing gaze had lingered on you. You intended to spend the rest of the day hiding out in the gaming room, trying to process what had just happened. Your Imposter Syndrome was rearing it's ugly head, making you doubt yourself. While Wanda's constant reassurances that she only wanted your presence and nothing more had been comforting in one way - at least you didn't have to worry about her making any inappropriate advances. However, another part of you had begun to wish she would, inspiring deeply conflicting emotions in you.

What if Wanda never saw you that way? Someone like you could never hope to measure up to a superhero. You were simply... you. Knowing that she was the widow of your Avenger variant left you feeling inadequate to say the least. Besides, what if Wanda was being honest about not wanting anything more from you? What if all you were to her was a means to get over the grief of her lost wife?

It was this thought which sparked a new fear within you: what if, once she finished with you, the witch simply discarded you like so many others had and moved on? Your stomach tightened into knots, and your breathing quickened. Thoughts raced through your mind as you realized how much the idea of being abandoned, now that you finally felt at home for the first time in your life, terrified you.

If she grew tired of you, your only choice would be to return to your parents. Considering the way you left, it was unlikely that they would welcome you back with open arms. While you were only a few exams away from completing your degree, it dawned on you that you had been constantly stressed and overwhelmed long before Wanda had come into your life. Did you really want to go back to that? Was having a job after earning the degree even worth it? You had few, if any, friends, and if they weren't upset with you for disappearing for however long you had been gone, it would be a surprise. You had nowhere to go.

As your thoughts spiraled and your body froze in place, Wanda could practically hear your unshielded anxiety screaming at her all the way from the library where she had remained. At first, she thought maybe there was an intruder within their home, but that was impossible - her wards always alerted her to any external presence. No, she realized the threat must be internal. Fear gripping her, Wanda waved her fingers, opening up a portal directly to you.

The sight she came upon was heart wrenching. You were curled up on the couch, clearly trapped in a panic attack, completely disconnected from reality. Although Wanda had been trying lately to respect your thoughts and not delve into them without permission, she needed to understand the root cause of your fear in order to support you better.

Not that she needed to go far, your thoughts were so loud, but they were also disorganized and scattered, like a whirlwind. It took her a moment to decipher exactly what you were afraid of, but once she figured it out, the redhead regretted not taking more time to reassure you earlier.

"Oh darling, no, hey. Honey, listen to me," she said, kneeling in front of you and taking your hands in hers. She rubbed soothing circles into them, trying to provide comfort. As much as she wanted to pull you into her arms until all your fears evaporated, she knew that unexpected hugs often had the opposite effect on you, as even your Avenger variant occasionally struggled with anxiety attacks.

“Y/N, can you hear me? Can you focus on my voice for just a moment? Please?”

Her soothing voice barely interrupted your thoughts, and if Wanda used her magic just a little to help her reach you, well, that was in your best interest. You didn't move much, but your eyes lost their unfocused look, to meet finally shifting to meet Wanda's, indicating that you were paying attention.

“Darling, you are perfect, just the way you are. I will never discard you, okay? I didn’t come this far to let you go. This is your home now Y/N. Our home. And I’m never letting you go, alright? I don’t expect you to be a superhero, Y/N. I like you just the way you are, and I would never abandon you, lyubov moya.” Throughout her words, Wanda was continuing to rub soothing circles into your hands, occasionally straying up your arms to grip you reassuringly.

“Can you breathe with me please? We’re going to take some slow, deep breaths. In for four, hold for four, and then out for four, okay Y/N?”

You nodded, blindly following her words.

The former avenger spent the next few moments guiding you through breathing exercises. These exercises were designed to calm the parasympathetic nervous system, and as she went through them with you, she continued to speak quiet reassurances and hold your hand. The goal was to keep you grounded in the present moment. She wanted you to focus on what you could hear and feel, while also settling your breathing.

It worked. Within a few minutes, you regained your calm, or at least as calm as you could ever be. This wasn't the first panic attack she had witnessed from you, but it was certainly the most intense one. The way Wanda always came to your rescue, assuring you that it was perfectly normal to have these moments and helping you recover from them, made your heart melt a little more for her. Especially when she brought you back to your shared bed, helped you change into your favorite comfy pajamas, and snuggled up next to you for a nap to help you overcome the episode.

Truly, Wanda was your savior.

A/N 2: I've never done a taglist before so I hope this works? @dorabledewdroop Chapter three, hope it lives up to expectations!

[creative-crybaby]

Vixen

PAIRING: timeskip!Hanamaki Takahiro x fem!reader

GENRE: smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: oral (m receiving), cum eating

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY: With your boyfriend's help, you put your new lip stain's transferability to the test. All characters are 18+

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

“In here!”

Having called your name from the kitchen, the former athlete follows your voice. Your tone indicated you were distracted, and with his current need for your attention, he knew he had to get to the bottom of this.

Hanamaki pokes his head into your shared bedroom at your response, quirking his brow. There, he finds your back to him, seemingly focused on your reflection in the full-length mirror. Careful not to startle you, he quietly approaches your figure, soon hearing a light click.

“Whatcha’ doin’?” Hanamaki hums, peering over your shoulder. You blink in surprise, then compose yourself quickly before facing him.

“Just getting ready,” you respond. In your hold is a tube of lipstick, and you return your attention to the mirror to fix potential makeup errors. “Some girl friends and I are having lunch and going shopping today.”

“Was that today?” Your boyfriend purses his lips. Your brows crease as you eye his reflection. He chuckles, a twinge of nervousness still somewhat noticeable in his voice. “Kidding, kidding.”

You don’t bother answering, instead opting to fan your lips, which sport a mid-tone rose hue. You then face your partner again. 

“What do you think?” You step back to give him a once-over, tilting your head at different angles to show off your makeup. 

Hanamaki whistles lowly, his eyes scanning every inch of you before he takes your hand, pulling you into him. “I’m a real lucky guy.”

“Obviously.” You laugh airily, tightening the embrace before pulling away several seconds later. His eyes soften; no matter how often you two tease and poke fun at each other, he meant what he said. Judging by your equally-smitten expression, you’re aware of this fact. 

Hanamaki’s eyes trail to your lips, his lids drooping slightly. “New lipstick?”

You hum in confirmation, the corners of your lips twisting upwards. “Lip stain.”

“Lip stain?” 

“A lipstick that basically won’t come off.” You plant a kiss on his cheek, staying there for a few seconds before pulling back and making your boyfriend face the mirror. No evidence of your affection is to be found on his face, and his brows raise in slight fascination. “Totally kiss-proof.”

Hanamaki perks up at your last comment. “Bet.”

Not a second later, you smash your lips against his, making him produce a strange noise in surprise before following your lead. Unfortunately for him, you pull back before things can escalate, and he pouts. You quickly kiss his pursed lips as an apology, then gently turn his head to look at his reflection once more. Not a stain in sight. 

“Oh, wow,” Hanamaki mumbles, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the mirror. You giggle silently before leaving a trail of soft kisses from his jaw down his neck. Your boyfriend subconsciously tilts his head, giving you more access as he sighs from your touch. “Oh, wow.”

You giggle again, tickling his skin as one of your hands slides down his body and playfully tugs at his sweatpants’ waistband. Hanamaki’s head snaps towards you, meeting your narrowed gaze. A familiar smile grows on your painted lips, and he gulps. 

“There’s one more thing I wanna try to test this product,” you whisper like you two aren’t the only ones in your shared apartment, like you’re palming his bulge in a crowd, in front of an audience. His face explodes with heat like he’s being watched. “Mind if I give it a go? Just to be sure, of course.”

Your boyfriend’s mind draws a blank. It’s not uncommon for either of you to initiate sexual acts, though it doesn’t stop him from getting flustered whenever you make the first move. As much as he loves taking care of you, having you take control gets him feeling like a high schooler again—antsy, surely sweating as heat radiates off his body, and his thoughts reel past him as he stays stuck in his brain. The same person who put him in that spiral is the only one who can pull him out of it.

Your hand slowly glides back up his body and away from his crotch, and Hanamaki snaps out of his state. He grabs your wrist, halting your retreat, and your eyes widen at the sudden action. You’re quick to regain composure, however, and a smirk grows on your face. With your lips back on his, you lead him to your shared bed, the back of his knees hitting the side and forcing him to sit on the mattress. Neither of you pulls away from the kiss, even as you assist him in removing his sweats and boxers down to his ankles and freeing his cock. 

Much to Hanamaki’s displeasure, you break the little makeout session, dropping to your knees and settling between his thighs. You give him another look–peering up at him through your lashes with that same smirk–though you wait like he might back down. Your lover only further spreads his legs, leaning back on the bed with his hands and giving you a reassuring smile, doing his best to ignore the acrobatics in his belly. 

Knowing you, your boyfriend braced himself for your upcoming teasing, only to hiss when you took about half of his cock in your mouth. A shiver crawls up his spine, and he lets out a gurgled whine. 

You’re not wasting any time, your mouth warm and wet as you coat his shaft with your saliva. Hanamaki has to refrain from snapping his legs closed with you in between them, flexing his thighs to keep him grounded as his breathing grows shallow. The view below doesn’t help; pretty painted lips wrapped around his cock, a light sheen of drool glossing them the more of his dick they take. He’s almost embarrassed at how fast his vision grows hazy. 

The sounds are just the icing on the cake, ringing in his ears and sure to bounce around in his skull for the rest of the day. The loud slurping and gulping have him gripping the sheets, trying his best not to grab your head and force the rest of him down your throat. Not that it was necessary, what with you reaching his base in no time, the air from your nostrils fanning his trimmed pubes. Every time you pull back, a clear ring of your spit and his precum stays behind, some of it even oozing down to his balls. 

“Shit, baby,” Hanamaki drawls, throwing his head back as you bob yours faster. You moan–on purpose, no doubt–and the vibrations make his toes curl. It isn’t until he hears you gag does he realize he’s been lazily rutting into your mouth. Your nails dig into his thighs as you match his rhythm, encouraging his desperate movements. “O-Oh~”

His release is approaching a little too quickly for his liking. It’s nothing either of you isn’t used to, but it doesn’t embarrass him any less. He can only hope you’ll spare him any teasing this time, especially considering no coherent words can leave his parted lips. Just louder whimpers, a desperate gaze falling on you, and hope that you’ll get the message.

And you do, it seems. The coil in your lover’s belly snaps, his core muscles tightening as he shoots rope after rope of cum into your warm and awaiting mouth. The contractions of your throat as you swallow every drop make him quiver, and soon your touch becomes too much for him to handle. Something else you seem to be aware of, as you take your time sliding the rest of his cock out of your mouth, teasingly pulling back from his tip with a loud and wet pop.

Hanamaki has to blink a few times to steady his vision, his chest rising and falling with every heavy breath. You, on the other hand, rise from your spot as if the past couple (yes, couple) of minutes didn’t happen, making your way to the nightstand to check your phone. 

“Gotta get going,” you say, your voice somewhat hoarse. Your boyfriend doesn’t miss how you lick your lips clean before glancing at the mirror. “These stains are something else.” You face him again, offering a smile while smoothing out your dress. He couldn’t respond even if he wanted to, your nonchalance entrancing him and sending blood rushing downwards once more. After several seconds of silence, you pick up your purse by the vanity, plopping your phone inside as you exit the bedroom. “Might have to get more shades later today.”

Your tone was so casual that Hanamaki hadn’t realized what you said until he heard the entrance door shut. His gaze immediately falls to his cock, with the only evidence of your activities being the subtle shine from your spit blanketing his shaft. No colour in sight, aside from the vermillion hue of his tip, it’s like you weren’t wearing any makeup when you were sucking the life out of him.  

With his eyes rolling to the back of his head, he drops onto the mattress, his pants still bunched at his ankles and his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat.

Oh, wow.

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[secretfoxsposts]

Eyeless Jack - Now You're Mine (Smut)

Hey guys, this is my first post on here and my first proper attempt at smut, but I hope you all enjoy.

Female first person view.

Warnings: small amounts of fluff, smut, use of the word cunt, swearing, slight orgasam denial, creampie, unprotected p in v (stay safe out there!)

Minors dni

Don't copy my work, don't post it to other platforms.

1,840 words

NOT proof read

I knew this was wrong. He's a murderer, a demon for crying out loud, but why did this feel so right?

I was reading a book when Jack knocked on my door, well banged on it. I swiftly stood up to answer the door.

"Jack, what's wrong? It's really late." I questioned.

He didn't really respond. He just snarled slightly. His mask wasn't on fully. Something wasn't quite right. Did a mission go wrong? Was he hurt? My mind was running a million miles a second, trying to figure out why he was here, not that I was complaining. I went to open my mouth to ask him a question, but he quickly silenced me by kissing me.

He was quick to enter my house, shutting the door with his foot. He turned me, pinning me against my now shut door. His lips never once left mine. I felt him relax from the kiss.

I had to pull away to breathe, which he didn't like.

"Jack, is everything okay? Why are you here?" He looked down at me. He was very tall, about 6'5 whereas I was a lot shorter than him. He didn't respond for a while, but finally, he spoke.

"Just a bad mission, Jeff almost got us caught because he was too busy in his little zone. I needed to get away because I was pissed. So I came to see you. Just say the word, and I'll leave." He explained to me.

"No, you can stay, I'm glad to see you, but are you okay? You're not hurt, are you? He chuckled at my questions.

"Always so worried about me, aren't you, my love? I am fine, but right now, I want you to stop with all of the questions." I knew that it wasn't just about the mission, but i lost my train of thought as his lips were back on mine. The kiss became heated quickly. He caged me against the door by putting his arms on either side of me. He was intoxicating. All I could think of was him.

He slowly and reluctantly pulled away so we could both breathe. Our foreheads barely touching, he slowly stood up straight and grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the couch, where I was reading my long forgotten book.

He sat down and pulled me down, so I was straddling him, my legs on either side of his. He sat back and just looked at me, admiring me. Before I met Jack, nobody would ever just admire me. He's told me before that he could just look at me all day, I laughed and said that he sounded creepy, but inside, I thought it was sweet.

His hands rested on my thighs, slowly stroking them, and he gradually moved his hands further up. I rested my hands on his shoulders. He didn't look it, but he had a decent amount of muscle underneath.

"You look beautiful tonight, love." He said to me. I started to blush. He always knew what to say to me to make me blush. I was so caught up in his words and looking at him, that I didn't realise that he had moved one of his hands from my thigh to the back of my neck. He pulled me into a heated kiss.

We slowly moved apart and Jack removed his mask completely. I looked into his black eyes (a hc of mine. He doesn't have just black sockets, but black eyes instead) He looked me up and down hungry for something else. Jack was quick to resume the kiss with his pesky mask out of the way, he gently ran hus tongue across my bottom lip asking for entrance, which I gave him, I tried to fight for dominance of the kiss, but Jack won with ease.

I didn't even realise I was subconsciously grinding on him, until I felt his hands on my hips moving me more, taking control as he often liked to do. I was getting wetter by the second and feeling his hard cock beneath me wasn't helping.

Jack swiftly laid me onto the couch with him caging me beneath him. We were both breathing heavily. He was quick to discard of his top. He kissed slowly down my neck, occasionally sucking on my skin. Suddenly the air in the room felt too hot, all I wanted was him.

Jack slowly lifted his head from his place against my neck. Slowly lifting the bottom of my top, I got the message, I sat up slightly to help him take off my top. I wasn't wearing a bra. His eyes looked over my chest hungrily. He was quick to push me back down as he trailed kisses against my collarbone. Painfully slow, he moved his kisses down to my stomach, then to just above my shorts.

"May I love?" He looked at me, I nodded a little too desperately. Wanting him in any way possible. He was quick to take off my shorts, kissing up my thighs. By this time I was a squirming mess underneath him. He was doing this all on purpose, the tease. Jack looked up again looking for the go ahead to remove my underwear. I gave him a quick nod again.

All I heard was the ripping of fabric, before I could open my mouth, one of his fingers was rubbing against my pussy, collecting my wetness. Jack slowly moved his finger to my clit, teasing me by only putting a little bit of pressure against it. I quietly moan.

"Love you're soaked, and it's all for me?"

"Fuck, Jack please don't tease me. Please I need you." I was getting more desperate by the second.

"So impatient, don't worry. I'll take good care of you." He put more pressure on my clit and slowly moved his finger in circles. This is what I needed. I moaned again. He went faster, until I was a begging mess.

"Please Jack, I'm so close. Please don't stop!"

Even after I begged he stopped. I was about to complain until I felt his tongue against my clit.

"I can't have you just cum from my fingers love. I want to at least taste you."

He gave small kitten licks to my clit, then he dove right in, like a starved man, he feasted on my pussy. It wasn't long before the knot in my stomach was there again.

"Fuck, fuck I'm gonna cum Jack, please let me cum." He kept up his pace, and then the knot snapped and I was cumming, I was letting out pornographic moans. He slowly eased up as I came down from my high. I was really sensitive, but he continued to give my pussy small licks.

"Jack, too sensitive, please, it's too much."

"Sorry, sweet thing, I just can't get enough." He moved so he was above me and kissed me hard. I could taste myself on him.

He pulled away and removed his trousers.

"You sure you want to keep going?" He asked me.

"Yes Jack, I just want you. All of you." How he had managed to keep in control this long shocked me, I should be worried that he was going to loose control as soon as he fucked me, but I just felt excited.

Once he had removed all of his clothing, he looked at me to make sure I was okay with this all. So I gave him the go ahead.

He teasingly rubbed the head of his cock over my pussy before slowly pushing the tip in. He was big, he and I knew it all too well. We had, had sex before, but each time felt like the first time with him. His cock stretched me out and I relished in the pain and pleasure mixed together. Jack planted kisses down my neck. As he eased himself in, I could tell he was struggling to go slow with me. He finally bottomed out, the stretch was painful, but felt so good.

"You can move Jack. You don't have to hold back on me."

"You sure love? You sure you're going to be able to handle me? Just say red if you need me to stop okay?" He gave me the safe word as always as he knew he could get a little carried away.

"Go ahead, I'm all yours." That set him off. He didn't start off slow, he was rough, his hands went to my hips to hold me still as he pounded away. I was a complete mess, completely at his mercy.

I felt his claws slightly digging into my sides, not enough pressure to break skin, but definitely enough to leave marks.

"Please Jack, fuck, feels so good." He released a low growl as he buried his face into the crook of my neck. He bit my neck gently, and I moaned out. He was addicting, I would never be able to get enough of him. I was getting close, my cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Getting close Jack." I whimpered.

"So am I, cum for me. Cum around my cock." He said, his voice rough. My legs closed around his waist like a vice.

"Let me mark you my love? Let me bite you so everyone knows your mine."

"Fuck, yes mark me, make me yours Jack." I don't know if it was because I was feeling so euphoric, if I wanted everyone to know I was his or a mix of both. I felt the sharp pierce of his teeth in my neck, and that's all it took for the knot to snap. I was cumming and cumming hard. Jack wasn't far behind as he gave a final thrust and came inside me.

He gently lapped up my neck which was now bleeding from the bite, I winced a bit and he whispered apologies to me as he continued to clean up my neck.

After a while he slowly pulled out of me, admiring the seed that spilled out of my pussy.

"You okay my love?" He asked me.

"I'm okay Jack."

"You're now mine." He said to me, my mind then wondered to how we ended up in this situation. We sat up as Jack pulled me against his chest and pulled a blanket over us both.

"What actually happened aside from the bad mission? What made you want to mark me as yours?" I asked. Jack sighed.

"Not only did Jeff fuck up the mission, he also said to me that if he wanted to, he could steal you away from me and you would be his. So I marked you as mine. Now none of them can have you." I giggled slightly.

"Well you shouldn't have worried anyways, I only have eyes for one demon in my life."

Soon after our conversation sleep started to consume me. I felt Jack give me a small kiss on my forehead and he whispered.

"You're all mine now, my love, and I'm never letting you go."

Well that was longer than I expected it to be. I hope you all enjoyed!

Written 22/06/23

[infernalodie]

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 || 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡é𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐭

“𝘚𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺?“

Inspo: DESTIN CONRAD - UNPREDICTABLE

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x Black!Male!reader

Summary: You liked having control in your life. When Timothée shows up and destabalizes that, you put him in his place.

Warnings: Heavy smut, rough sex, bulge kink, and brat taming

Words 1323

DNI IF YOU’RE YOUNGER THAN 18!

Unpredictability wasn’t something you could say you were fond of. Having a clear base of what to expect and such helped you feel some sort of assurance. Perhaps it has just been something you preferred over chaos. Or maybe it was something you hated being a witness to just judging by your past. Constantly being picked up and dropped from projects or friends when you believed things to be well. But instead of you making the possible assessment of you being naive, you blamed it on unpredictability. Now, when that came into the form of a person - the specific pet peeves you had, you knew you were doomed.

Timothée had been a different type of refreshment when you joined a movie project. A romance that seemed far more graphic and thriller-esque than you would’ve expected your co-star to take. But when you saw him wielding an axe, swinging down on the dummy corpse, you were very much proven wrong. Again, his unpredictability and his skill of acting had taken your life in full swing. How he seemed to harness the complete psychotic boyfriend your character was with, it had done some other things to you as well.

Specifically in the way that Timothée’s character had just killed someone and your character might’ve been nothing less than turned on. And when you read the script, it wasn’t supposed to be as intense as it had been. But Timothée improvised and kissed you. The cameras continued to roll and the director was shocked to practically catch a full-on one-take of you two making out with a body laying on the floor behind Timothée.

The hype around you two being in a movie together was already pretty crazy. But when the trailer came out and the director made sure to have a brief snippet of that scene in the trailer, the world went ballistic. Paparazzi were searching for every scoop they could get on you and Timothée. And in the middle of the chaos, there you were trying to gain a grasp of some sort of control you needed. If it was to be the smallest thing, you would be glad.

But you were subjected to attending the red carpet and premiere for the movie. Made to answer questions about Timothée instead of directing them elsewhere. Which made you justifiably flustered in certain moments.

And then, the living embodiment of unpredictability arrived, shocking you, of course. Wearing what seemed to be a shirt with the entirety of his back open. Sleek and tight pants that persuaded your eyes to stare at his ass longer than needed. There was no doubt in your mind that over the time you two had been working together, there had been a mutual attraction shared between the two of you. Often times ignoring the fact that in any intimate scenes in the movie that you had felt Timothée’s cock hard against your body.

It was those times when it felt like the make-out or “sex” scenes felt extremely real. Creating a sense of unknown whenever you came onto the set knowing that you and Timothée would have to go and do something intimate.

“Did you make the decision to wear this?” You inquired, walking over to your co-star.

The sound of your voice had made Timothée’s lips curl into a large grin with him turning to you. Your hulking height and figure overshadow him from all the cameras and fans watching the two of you. Timothée had been poking and prodding at you since the moment you two did the read of the script together. Flirting on set, whilst trying to keep it minimal so you didn’t exactly catch on. Because you were genuinely the most gorgeous guy he had ever seen.

You stood a good 5 inches taller than him with muscles that could absolutely break him in half. Brown skin so soft to the touch it would be hard to believe you had a normal 9 to 5 job before you made it into Hollywood. And finally, you were charming in all the right ways. But Timothée quickly discovered how you didn’t like sudden things, so that would be the reason for him teasing you every chance he got and hoping some of his action knocked you off balance.

And for today, he seems to have been successful when finding your eyes constantly running up and down his body. But you had reached your breaking point with the man. From the world being ballistic, stardom seeming to finally hit you, and Timothée being under your skin, you were finally at your precipice.  “Do you like it?” Timothée asked, lips having taken a smirk, as you continued to stare at him.

“Oh, yeah, totally,” you answered, an arm wrapping around the man’s waist. Timothée suppressed the surprise when feeling your hand grip his hip tightly. “But I’ll definitely like it off when we get inside.”

Timothée’s eyes widened as he looked up at you. Instead of finding that usual soft smile that you usually wore, he was greeted by a deadpan. Your eyes are unwavering from his and a complete contrast of colour and brightness. You were pissed, that wasn’t hard to see.

But Timothée still felt his cock slowly begin to awaken with the dirty thoughts of how you would be with him when you were angry. Maybe how you would fuck him stupid. Or maybe how you would leave him high and dry; your own personal toy.

Turning his attention to the paparazzi that begged for both of your attention, Timothée muttered, “Then maybe we should hurry up here, huh?”

Timothée let out groans and quiet moans as your hips snapped into his. Watching the reflection of his flushed face contort in pleasure as he was bent over the sink. Unbothered by the fact that the two of you had taken a public bathroom and had locked the door. Wanting this space to be only for the two of you, especially you who would control this entire situation.

Your hands held his waist in a firm grip. Each stab of your cock into his delicate and sensitive hole made a noticeable bulge in Timothée’s stomach. Rearranging his guts and stretching him to lengths that he wasn’t at all expecting.

“Fuck- Y/n!” He moaned, head falling forward.

It fell short with your hand grabbing his hair and yanking on his head. He cried, eyes half-lidded and filled with an unrelenting amount of lust that you could only deliver. And he was not afraid to show it with his hips often bouncing back to meet your thrusts.

But he wasn’t allowed to have any form of control now. No, that wouldn’t do. “No looking away,” you growled. “You asked for this, dumbass.”

Wrapping a hand around the nape of his neck, you pulled him up flush to your exposed chest. Using your other hand to press to the bulge of your cock. Causing Timothée to mewl and groan, wiggling his hips to get free from the extra pressure on his insides.

He was a complete and utter mess. Body dripping in sweat, blush from the multiple places that you had sucked and bitten at. In the very few make-out scenes in the movie, you rarely got to see this side of him. The submissive side of him that seemed better than the little brat he always was

So, with your eyes focused on his through the mirror, you pressed your hips against his ass. The instant of you fully sheathed inside of him, he gasped and tried pulling away. A growl vibrated through your chest as you reached around and grabbed his cock, beginning to pump it. Thumb brushing over the slit and feeling him tremble in your grasp with a moan.

You smirked in amusement. “There’s still a few showcases before us,” you pointed out. “I wonder how many times I can make you cum before we’re needed.”

[thisisarcanereverie]

Your Dark MoonKnight fics are my oxygen right now. They are incredible! If your taking requests could i request a #14💔 or #15💔 with a dark Moonknight system?

Monster (DARK! Moon Knight x Fem! Reader)

A/N: So there will be a part 2 to this, I didn't use any of the prompt words but they will be in part 2.

Word Count: 3.8K

WARNINGS: Dark themes; mentions of abuse (domestic, physical, mental),Marc being an absolute wreck of a person, unrequited love, Layla being ooc, Marc being a little ooc, 18 + MINORS DNI.

Summary: Marc has loved you for ten years, ever since he met you, Layla's best friend. But can you truly love the monster beneath the skin?

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Marc has loved you for ten years. 

Not that you ever knew.

You were Layla’s best friend and from the first moment he saw you he felt this instant connection that he had never felt before. It was unnerving how attached he had grown to you by time a year came and went, but he never realized what he was feeling was love until the day he came to ask you for help. 

His mother had just died and he started to feel himself slipping, losing control and for once, he didn’t fight it. But he knew he couldn’t be Steven all the time, being Khonshu’s avatar was keeping him back from that and Steven had started growing suspicious. Leftovers from the night before being covered in mold and dust covering books that he had opened a few hours before. So he came to you, explained everything and asked that you housekeep for him while he was away. Now he knew it was a lot of information, you already knew about Khonshu and the suit, but everything else was new. When you went silent he felt this shame bubble inside him, it was familiar and dark as he already was berating himself for unloading all of this on you. He expected you to run away from him like the monster his mother always called him. Instead you took his war worn hand in yours and smiled at him and agreed, but that you had one condition.

That you became friends with Steven. 

It was in that moment he knew just how deep in love he was with you, like the shit you read about in Greek tragedies or Arabic poems. 

You met Steven eventually and became close. Marc watched like a fly on the wall as every laugh and smile towards him made Steven blush and smile. Every brush of your hand against his would send shivers down his spine. It was almost too good to be true. 

But then he couldn’t hide himself any longer from Steven, the lines keeping them separated were blurred beyond recognition. Steven became aware of everything, Layla, Khonshu, Marc, even the fact that he, himself, was an alter. But everything turned out right in the end. Sure they were still working things out but there was one thing they had in common. You. 

You still do housekeeping for them, three times a week. Marc pays you extra if you get groceries as well because often times than not both him and Steven forget that food is a necessity. Marc or Steven would often help you as you cleaned, although sometimes they would be counterproductive and create a mess while you were still there to keep you around for longer. Once the cleaning was done you tended to stick around, talk about your day and what you were planning this weekend. Even after the hell that had been Khonshu, divorcing Layla, and figuring himself out, you were still there. You would occasionally tell him a thing or two about Layla and what she had been getting into but he didn’t care. Layla was the past, he realized it was doomed from the start and there really had been no other way for it to turn out. 

Today was Thursday, one of the days you came in to clean and make sure he was alright. He had gotten up early and put a pot of coffee on. He knew Steven liked tea better but today was his day with you. He showered and sprayed that good cologne sparingly on his skin, messed his hair in a sexy (but not trying) way, and got his best sweats on along with his tightest shirt, (gotta show off the goods) was how he thought of it. By the time everything was done he sat on the couch and waited. You usually were either a few minutes early or on time exactly. So when ten minutes passed by the time you said you’d be there he was a worried mess. His thoughts raced and Steven’s incessant anxious ramblings didn’t help. 

“London can be dangerous, what if something happened?” 

“What if someone took her?”

“Maybe she didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and now she’s a bloody wreck.” 

Steven was good at coming up with different scenarios of horror, the one thought that shook Marc to his core however was What if she finally realized that I am a monster?

By twelve minutes he was getting his shoes on, no longer able to wait in the apartment wondering what happened to you as he opened the door and saw you. The sight of you immediately relieved the tension in his shoulders and that sinking gut feeling subsided. You smiled and waved as you made your way to him, seemingly nothing amiss. 

“Hey Marc,” You greeted as you slid past him, “sorry I’m late I ran into Layla on the way here and got distracted.” Marc caught a whiff of your hair as you passed him, the sweet and slightly floral scent of apple blossoms brought a smile to his face unknowingly. He wondered if your kiss was as sweet. He was brought back to earth as he heard the dull thud of the brown grocery bag you carried hit the counter. He closed his door and shook away the romantic thoughts that clouded his mind. 

“I was starting to get worried,” Marc said as he helped you unload the bag full of both vegan friendly and not so vegan friendly options and put them in their proper place. “What did Layla say?”

“Nothing much,” you responded as you put the brown paper bag away and began cleaning off the clutter that had gathered on the various counters, “she asked me if I wanted to go to the club with her Saturday.” 

“Oh?” Marc tried not to sound too caught off guard by this. He remembers the club scene, the blinding lights, horrible music, the stench of alcohol, and the crowded dance floor with strangers grinding on each other. It wasn’t a place for a lady like you. “Whatcha say?” 

“I told her sure,” You said, turning to face him with a smile, “I haven’t hung out with her in a while and who knows,” your smile turned mischievous, “I might get lucky.” you winked as you moved past Marc who had, at that point, become a statue. It took everything in him not to press you against the wall and confess right there in some sort of desperate plea to not go. 

Maybe you will get lucky, Marc thought as he turned to watch you put away the books Steven had left out the night before, humming an aria he’s sure Steven had heard before, maybe you will get very lucky indeed. 

Friday came and went and Saturday arrived. Marc had no trouble locating the club you and Layla would be attending. It’s one that he knew well, having been an occupant a time or two when he tried to fuck the feelings he had for you out. A brief time that had lead nowhere but to him looking for you. 

He entered the club and it was just as he remembered, blinding lights, alcohol, and people with no inhibitions left in them. He decided to go to the crowded bar, get himself a beer while he stalked the dance floor from afar, trying to spot you. 

He eventually did, he didn’t know why he expected to be able to think clearly when he spotted you. The multicolored lights reflecting off your hair, the dress that hugged you enough to leave him imagining, and the alcohol induced flush on your cheeks leaving your skin glowing. He knew that if he were to kiss your cheeks right now that they would be warm. His eyes traveled lower as his gaze fixated on the light sheen of sweat that covered you and made you glow. Marc had seen gods and goddesses, he’s seen beautiful places and horrible tragedies. But nothing could compare to you, you who was so full of life that it made him ache. His mind wondered if your body would glow like that in moonlight, how you would sound as he worshiped you like you deserved. Would you gasp or moan, what would they sound like as his war worn hands felt you, how would you feel? He already imagined kissing every curve and stretch mark that stretched across your skin like lightning, he had imagined it every night for almost ten years. 

When he saw you approaching the bar he turned away, back to his beer. He tried his best to blend in with the crowd, even started talking to the person next to him. 

“Marc?” 

Shit

Marc looked up from his beer and met every man's worst nightmare. 

His ex wife. 

“Layla,” He greeted, for all things considered the marriage ended amicably, even after finding out he was part of the reason her father was killed and that he had hid this whole other life from her. 

“You look well,” Layla pointed out, as she quickly flagged down one of the bartenders and asked for a cocktail of some kind, “I thought you hated clubs?”

“I was lonely,” He lied, “decided to try the club scene again.” 

“And?”

“I hate it.” Layla laughed as she called out your name, ushering you over to her. He could see your eyes widen ever so slightly as you saw him. 

“Marc?” 

“Yup.” 

“I thought you hated clubs?” you asked quizzically 

“Still do.” Marc watched you sip from the glass you had before setting it back down at the bar. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Decided to try it again and see if it was any better.” you were about to respond when Layla told you she was headed to the restroom, you offered to join her but she declined. You stood there for a fraction of a beat after Layla left before you both said something. 

“Do you wanna-” 

“Why don’t we-” 

You both laughed for a minute before Marc ushered you to go first. 

“Maybe you’ll like the club a little more once you dance.”

“Are you offering?” 

“A dance,” You said, reaching out your hand, “yes.” his half drank beer was long forgotten as he accepted your hand. It was soft against his own, and oddly a little cold, not that he minded. You led him to the floor as a new song began to play, not that he could really tell. Personal space became minimal as you both danced in time, his hands on your waist as your hips moved in time with the music. His hands never wandered although he desperately wanted them to, he was close enough to you that all he could hear, see, or smell was you. You invaded every sense, except for one, though he wasn’t sure if that was going to be a problem much longer as he drew you closer. He could feel the beating of your heart in time with him, and never for one moment did his gaze stray from you and the way you moved with him. Your eyes shimmering with the lights and a smile adorning your painted lips. It was all so tempting, you were tempting, you were the forbidden fruit hung on a low branch just begging to be eaten. All he had to do was bend down, that’s all, tilt his head and connect your lips with his own and he would finally know what temptation and hope tasted like. 

“I’m going to go look for Layla!” You yelled, though even still Marc could barely hear you over the music. He didn’t even comprehend what you had said, still in a trance, until he could no longer feel the warmth and beating of your chest against his, and his hands no longer held your waist. In a matter of seconds he went from being surrounded by you to being alone on the floor. Marc groaned in frustration as he exited the dance floor himself, ignoring the others who invited him in. He had no intention of dancing with anyone but you. 

He himself was about to enter the men’s restroom when he heard your voice carry into the hall. 

“Layla I swear it’s not like that.” 

“Maybe not for you,” he heard Layla say her voice quivering slightly, “but for Marc, most certainly.”  Marc finally understood what was happening, he was about to leave the hall had it not been your voice responding to her. 

“I don’t like Marc like that, he’s like a brother to me.” . 

“In Alabama maybe.” He could hear the disdain in Layla’s voice. “He loves you, he’s loved you since he first met you. I’ve seen it, he used to whisper your name in his sleep, and when push came to shove he came to you when he needed help…not me, not his wife.” Marc heard the clacking of heels and sink turning on, muffling them a bit. “I suspected it for years but I didn’t want to believe it, I- I didn’t want to believe that all those years were nothing to him but repaying a debt that he owed. Not when they were everything to me.” Marc felt a heavy, painful weight on his chest, one that he was familiar with. It was the same one he had every time he looked at Layla during those years they had spent together. Guilt. 

“Layla,” he heard your voice, soft and apologetic, “I’m not in love Marc.” 

“No, you’re not,” Layla responded, “But you’re intrigued by him at least. That is as clear as day, you like the fact that he’s dangerous. You’ve always liked men like that, the type with full lips to kiss you and a sturdy boot to kick you with.” 

Silence, nothing but Marc’s breathing and the bustling of the club going on to fill it. Not even the sink was running anymore and he was sure that any other woman still in there was keeping silent as well, wanting to see this play out. 

“You’re drunk Layla,” You say, your voice eerily calm, “you don’t mean it, let me call us a taxi and get you home.” 

“Oh I mean it,” Layla said, “I mean every word, I’ll get my own damn taxi homewrecker. Enjoy the club.”  Marc entered the men’s restroom after hearing Layla walk towards the door, and as he waited for a suitable time to pass before exiting thoughts clouded his mind. 

What did Layla mean by you’ve always been attracted to men like him? Layla should never have said that to you, who does she think she is? Layla liked him for the same reasons she claims you did. Are you crying, had Layla made you cry?  The thought of your tear stained face was enough to make him absolutely violent, how dare she make you cry. His nails bit into his palm painfully, he was sure if he unclenched them tiny droplets of crimson dotting along crescent moons would be what he would see decorating his palm. But he didn’t care, he’s never cared about what happens to himself. But to you, oh gods, did he care about you. 

Layla was going to pay for tonight, he promised himself, but right now he needs to comfort you. He needs to make sure you’re ok, because that is all that matters. Period. 

Marc exits the bathroom to already find you in the hall, sure enough he could see unshed tears sparkle in your eyes as you stare at the empty space in front of you. He noticed your body language, you were hugging yourself and seemed to tense every now and then. Marc recognizes that look, those mannerisms and stance, he did the same thing for years before the marines. He takes off his coat and approaches slowly, before softly calling your name. You turned to face him, sharp eyes studying briefly before looking away. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked, unsure of what else to say. 

“You heard, then.” You say, “what Layla said.” 

“We don’t need to,” he replied, coming to lean on the wall next to you, “if you don’t want to.” He knows it’s alright if you don’t, he’ll find out one way or another. 

“It was a long time ago,” you said, “I was in this relationship and it wasn’t great. He only hit me once but once Layla saw the bruise on my cheek she almost killed him, she helped me leave him. She gave me a place to stay until I got back on my feet, I went to therapy, I honestly don’t know where I would be if it wasn’t for her.” the tear on your cheek was wiped away almost as fast as it appeared, “it took me years to get here, and her saying that I just-” a sob left you as you sank to the floor while Marc wasn’t far behind. He grabbed your hand and just held it, soon enough your head was leaning on his shoulder. You both didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there and looked like individual train wrecks. 

After a few more minutes of silence you both hailed a taxi, Marc had insisted that you stayed at his for the night. That you shouldn’t be alone. When you got there neither of you bothered to turn on the lights, the only light filtering in through the window were street lights. But it didn’t matter, Marc lent you a pair of sweats to change into as well as a shirt. He let you have the bathroom first as he made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. He didn’t like the stuff but Steven certainly did, as well as you. Steven helped instruct him to make a proper cup of tea while you showered, by the time both teas were made you were out of the bathroom, your hair was still damp and hung around your bare face. His clothes suited you well, he thought, you really could be wearing a potato sack and still look like an angel sent from heaven to him. Marc handed you your cup before excusing himself to the bathroom, he took only ten minutes before he was out and dressed. You had already made a bed out of the couch. 

“You can take the bed sweetheart.” He said as he made his way over to you, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“This is your flat though,” you replied, “I don’t want to intrude.” 

“It’s no intrusion,” He said, “please, take the bed or else I’ll carry you there myself.” 

“I’d like to see you try Moon boy.” You dared, not thinking he would actually do it. A second passed before suddenly you were lifted from the couch and into Marc’s arms. A sharp yelp of surprise came from you as Marc chuckled lightly. He actually enjoyed your reaction far more than he thought he would. Your arms wound themselves around his neck as you held onto him for dear life. He carefully brought you to his bed and set you down gently onto the sheets. Tucking you in before you could protest. 

“Told ya,” He said, his mouth tilting to that side grin of his. 

“I guess you did,” you said breathlessly, eyes never leaving him. 

People are braver in the dark, they do things they never would in the light of day. They dare to lie, cheat, and steal. But they also dare to do wonderful things, like write and dance and sing. But they also dare to love, which is the most dangerous thing of all. 

Without realizing it his hands drifted to cradle your face gently, maybe it was how your eyes looked at that moment. So wide, holding so many unspoken words he knows you must be thinking. Or maybe it was your lips, opened slightly, inviting him to press his against them. Or perhaps, it was just you, everything about you. From every crooked toe on your feet to every stray hair on your head. 

Before he could stop himself he felt himself dip down and capture your lips with his own. God was it intoxicating. You tasted divine, you tasted like something so holy he could only imagine that this is what heaven was like. He could taste the apple chapstick on your lips, along with the mint of his mouthwash. His thumb brushed gently over your cheek as he felt you return his kiss. And just as soon as it had begun it stopped, he pulled himself away. And unsure of what else to say, he only said one thing. 

“Good night.” 

He left the bed and went to the couch where he stared at the ceiling, you must have not known what to say either as you didn’t get up or say anything else. 

Did he push it too far? Were you telling the truth when you said you were not in love with him? Was he reading everything wrong? Would it matter?

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, all he knows is when he woke up you were gone. There were no messages on his phone and you were gone, like he had dreamt last night up. The only reason that he knew he didn’t was that as he laid down on his bed he could still smell apple blossoms and the warmth your body emitted throughout the night lingered. Like smoke from a burnt out candle. 

The days passed by and he was in torment. If he focused enough he could still feel the warmth of your cheek in his hands, and the soft press of your lips. He could even smell fucking apple blossoms. It was torture to have had you so close and so far. Marc had gotten a taste of paradise and everything he had ever wanted and hoped for, only to rip it away from himself and scare you off. Even Steven was of no help, he was in agony too. He was there in the mirror when he kissed you, while if Marc focused he could still feel you; Steven could not. To him it was he had been kissed by a ghost, a wisp of something you could never quite grasp. 

In between the two men moping they slept, they had thought about sending you a message but didn’t. You were radio silent as well, but he didn’t blame you. 

It wasn’t until Tuesday, the day that you usually came to clean did he hear from you again. The London rain had been pouring and Marc had fallen asleep, when he woke up half the day had gone by and your number was blowing up his phone. He immediately answered, wanting to hear your voice, 

“Marc?”  Your voice was trembling, something was wrong. 

“What happened? Are you ok?” “It’s Layla-” you started, “Can I come over?”

[smokeypeaches-and-honeyplums]

Hello!

I’ve come to request some nsfw headcanons of Redson from you or if you feel up to it maybe the nsfw alphabet with him?

I’m starved of content pertaining to nsfw with this man ong TT

Byeee! Thanks for reading this and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day

FIRST NSFW REQUEST AND IT'S FOR REDSON-- IT HAS COME FULL FUCKIN CIRCLE LMAO

Gonna do alphabet cause I've always wanted to do one

Reader is Gender Neutral by default NSFW!! MINORS DNI

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) I imagine that Redson is a very catering partner. At this point in his life he's soft enough to get to this point so he'll make sure your needs are met WAY before his

Need water? Gotcha A Bath? Oh for SURE

Hungry? He's a pretty good chef!

And if you just want to be held, he's a pretty warm human (demon?) pillow

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands! Redson's able to do so much with them. Invent, use his powers, make himself and you feel good, they're very useful with getting what he needs to get done, done If you're masc leaning, he loves your collarbones. There's something about them that drives him wild and want to mark them up the most, especially given that as a demon, marking territory and keeping it from others is one of his core primal instincts If you're fem leaning, he loves your lips, especially when they get swollen and puffy from kissing or servicing him, it makes him go mad with lust sometimes from how undone you look from him alone, whether or not he's domming or subbing

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Redson prefers to finish inside more often than not when he's topping, letting your body know and remember who you belong to

Though this doesn't stop him from marking you with it either. If anything, it turns him on even more if he were to finish on your face after a blowjob or on your stomach or back. Drives him up the wall

If he bottoms, he doesn't mind painting the both of you with his cum, it gives him a special sort of connection when he's in sub space and still falls back to the whole marking thing with demons

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Redson has had plenty a fantasy of fully succoming to his primal urges and just taking you in a mating press or full nelson and going to town on you until you're absolute DRUNK on his dick. Going until he's satisfied or until you tap out, also having fantasies of having the same done to him and finally be able to not always be the one in control and giving the reigns to you instead

He's also wanted to try using his powers on you, but he'll never really do something you don't want

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Redson's lived for thousands of years. He's gotta know a thing or two

Given with demon culture there's a whole courting thing, I wouldn't be surprised if he's been with a partner or two before you. Maybe not to this extent but he knows enough when it comes to mostly vanilla things

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where Redson gets to see your face in full view when he tops or bottoms. Mirror or not. Missionary, mating press, against the wall, doesn't matter. He wants --no, NEEDS-- to see your face as he makes you feel good in either way, so he knows he's doing a good job

Seeing your face, how it twists and turns, it feels him with a sense of pride

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Oh, Redson is VERY serious about being serious. Given how important this is to him, especially as a demon and what it solidifies in your relationship, he refuses to INTENTIONALLY get goofy when getting the deed done

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet definitely matches the drapes. As royalty, Redson has a thing about if he has hair down there, he'll make sure that, just like his appearance, he'll look decent and proper from head to toe.

It's a pretty tamed bunny trail, kinda stylized like a flame with the same yellow/orange hairs in the center

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As much as Redson wants either of you to just go to town and give in to instincts, (at least a part of him does) he much perfers making love to you above all else. It's a time where he can truly be properly vulnerable and he wants to value every second

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Redson doesn't do it often, even when the both of you get active. His hands and him himself are so busy he doesn't really need to focus on his libido or pleasure otherwise. He always used inventing for distraction anyways, so he could go some time without paying attention to himself unless you encouraged him to do so now and again

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

TEMPURATURE PLAY! Redson loves it if you give him the chance to indulge!

Bondage!! He's more interested the fine arts of it like shibari in comparison to just a one n done tie of the hands and/or legs

Believe it or not? Roleplay! He's already pretty damn dramatic, so why not lean into it?

He really loves to watch you masturbate, whether or not he joins you doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Just having you on display for him unraveled is enough to get him going

Love Brat taming or being a Brat. Bite me

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Obviously the bedroom. Redson values privacy when doing something intimate like this above all else, so he primarily will do it in the bedroom. If he DOES feel risky, the farthest he'll go is his workshop, so he still has that same privacy he values

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When Redson focuses on his respective favorite body parts of yours, his mind follows suit and he's raring to go.

If you're masc? Show off your collarbones, he's like a dog to steak.

If you're fem? Wear a set of lipstick or lipgloss he really likes and talk slowly and sensually, he'll hang on every word and then suddenly, his work can wait

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Redson outright REFUSES to do anything in the public eye that's for your or his eyes only. Exhibitionism is a big turn off for him, given his drive to "keep what's his, his" as a demon. He could share with one or two others he knows if he were poly (Like MK or Mei), but a bunch of strangers out in the open? Huge no

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Redson has no preference on whether or not he gives or receives all that much. If he were to say he did, maybe giving, as he wants you to feel good as much as he could. He's pretty good with his tongue and mouth too since he uses it doing so much talking

If he feels like teasing, he'll go the extra mile. If you have a penis, he'll deepthroat as much as he can take or make small noises to send vibrations through your body

If you have a vagina, he'll get those hands to working along with his tongue, you are not safe

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Redson tends to go slow and sensual when he's on top at first. He wants to relish in these moments for as long as he possibly can and bask in the glow of it, but once you go for any more rounds is when he'll begin to pick up the pace

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Redson isn't very fond of quickies given his view and value of your intimacy with him, but if either of you REALLY need it, he won't argue about it too much, but don't be surprising if he drags it out into more. A quickie can't really satisfy him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Redson's willin to experiment or get risky within reason. He won't do it if it gets too far for the either of you, but for you he'll dip his toes in something you want to do

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Oh Redson has stamina. He's lived for a long time, and no matter the time of day has a ton of energy in him due to his fiery personality. So he could go for as long as you needed him to. Hell, he'd be willing to go til the sun comes and/or sets, whatever you damn well wanted.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Redson invents his own toys, primarily using them on you when he feels remotely sadistic and feels like teasing or punishing you. Though he does encourage you to do the same if the moment strikes you fancy

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Redson likes to tease a LOT, regardless of his position in bed. He will use his very skillful hands in every manner to be unfair to you as possible, so if you have the chance to, bind his fucking hands jesus fuck

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Redson keeps his volume in check surprisingly enough. He doesn't wanna get too loud if he can help it, but if he gets loud he'll purposefully moan or groan in your ears because of the reaction he gets. He'll even growl if he's feeling particularly dominant

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Redson is a service top 100%. I've been hinting at it a lot throughout this post but I'm saying it outright now. Mans is a people pleaser.

Also remember when I mentioned being a brat? He perfers being one than taming. It's a natural element for him

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Can I talk about his dick now?

Anyways, Redson has at least have 10 inches in length at most, 6 at least with 4.72in. in width. He's the son of a bull, come on now

It has a small natural upward curve to it, the base having a darker tint to it in comparison to everything else with a slightly flared tip. He's pretty proud of it

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

As a demon, Redson's libido is pretty high, but he has a good grasp on it. He's not horny 24/7 of course, but if the moment is presented to get to fucking, he'll pounce on it

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Redson's resilient enough to not fall asleep before you to make sure you're okay, but once it's done it does leave him pretty damn tired. He's up at ungodly hours of the night and always working, scheming, doing something. So this is a pretty good reliever for him and once he's done making sure you're okay, he's quick to fall asleep next to you afterward

If you're the one taking care of him instead, he's like a damn baby in how soft he becomes in the afterglow, clinging onto you and just so tired.

Hold him gently like hamgurber

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter II.

gif credit / @azertyrobaz

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Javier is slowly beginning to realize that monotony isn't as bad as he initially thought…

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: Mutual pining, mentions of masturbation, they really wanna fuck each other, that good slowburn angst, lots of smoking, southern gothic vibes are strong with this one, if you love worldbuilding then this is the fic for you, mentions of a religion, mentions of sex workers, dbf!Javier Peña because I have no self control.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS:   The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Lexi, my beloved, who has been a BIG help in helping me figure out this crazy ass story. Love you bestie, I don't know where I'd be without you < 3 I am… so obsessed with these two and the little universe they live in… *muffled screaming* I hope everyone reading so far is having a good time because I know I am! I've got a lot in store for this pairing, and if you're a fan of the horror/thriller aspect of this plot there's a lot comin' your way ;) Anyways feel free to drop any type of feedback on this blog < 3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

It’s an extraordinarily warm day, which isn’t uncommon for the area however it’s the type of warm that reminds her that summer is just around the corner. 

It’s Paloma’s favorite season. While the Seminary heat was unforgiving as all hell; she loves the way the sun feels against her skin, the thin layer of sweat that clings to her gives her the perfect glow and nothing beats cooling down by the creek. The town is also much more lively during the season, too, since tourists heading west often take a rest stop in Seminary.

It’s how she gathers most of her summer weekend crowd. People who do not expect this drive through town to be as charming as it is. While small, it has a community actively keeping it thriving. The businesses that line the streets of their downtown all owned by families who have been here for decades. A lot of love has been poured into their settlement, and while most of the time Paloma feels suffocated by the repetitiveness of her days, she’ll always have a soft spot in her heart for her hometown.

She’s become the performer that she is by staying here. Her shows at The Whiskey Fox have been the perfect training grounds for her to get a comfortable grasp on her stage presence, which aside from singing, is the most important thing about being a musician. An aspiration that she keeps to herself, mostly, just telling those who ask that she’s doing this ‘singing thing’ as a hobby. That her ‘real job’ would be going full time at the library.

That is her plan, the future she damns herself with. As quick-witted and rambunctious as Paloma can be; she’s still not valiant enough to take control of her own life.

Instead, she’s at the beck and call of her father’s.

It is much easier this way, she justifies it to herself like that all the time. If she goes out into the world, pursues her want to be a musician; there’s a chance that she fails and has to return home with her tail tucked between her legs like a shameful dog. At least staying here in Seminary provides her with a stability to keep her content for the rest of her life.

But would she really be content? Would she regret not trying and potentially not even failing?

Paloma bikes the familiar path from her house down into town, woven bag with her belongings in the basket that’s zip tied to the front of the bicycle she’s had since she was in high school. There’s a small grocery list and an even smaller to-do list accompanying her things; a brown paper bag with her father’s lunch also tossed in there.

When Darla, her 1970 Buick Electra, officially died on her; she hated having to bike everywhere. Her father was able to take her places whenever he could, but most of the time it was just Paloma and her bike against the world. 

The sheriff even made the suggestion of sending one of the deputies to escort her wherever she pleased, but Paloma despised the idea of having an officer always following her around. So after a few awkward car rides to and from town; she decided it’d be more convenient for her to bike it until further notice. The only time she requests an escort is after a closing shift at the library or a show at the bar. 

The most peaceful part of the trek is riding over the abandoned railroad tracks near the old train station. Something about the scenery; being surrounded by the lush forest with nothing but her and her thoughts for miles and miles is very comforting to Paloma, so whenever she arrives at this little landmark of hers, she makes a point to stop and soak it all in. 

On days like this, where she doesn’t have much to do; she stays for a while.

Paloma approaches the familiar tracks, stopping entirely and propping her bicycle against a nearby tree. She pops a Linda Ronstadt CD into her portable player, the headphones slipping over her ears as she approaches the tracks. The sound of the gravel crunching beneath her boots is muffled out by the soft country tunes that begin to play. Paloma sits right on the track, a little unorthodox but she doesn’t care. Using her bag as a makeshift pillow, she lays flat and looks up at the sky until her eyes shut close; sighing wistfully as she slips away into another world entirely.

She has been struggling to finish any of her music lately, inspiration lackluster to the point where she’s had to revert to covering songs instead of performing original material at the bar. It is frustrating, to say the least, especially when she knows she is more than capable of writing a good song.

There just hasn’t been much happening that warrants a spark in her passion. No romantic love to pour her heart over, no life-altering event to process with instruments and lyrics. Nothing exciting.

She was in a rut…

That was until a few days ago.

Mind seemingly wanders over to the handsome man that had been in her family home.

Those dark brown, intense eyes that had her flustered any time they made eye contact, the strong cut of his jaw and how it flexed when he spoke, lips that looked so inviting underneath the mustache that she hates she’s so attracted to.

This is the first time any man has left such an impression on Paloma. She giggles softly to herself, remembering how she was harping on her own father for bringing out the fancy scotch in order to impress Javier.

“Man must’ve left quite an impression for ya to be bustin’ out the crown jewel.”

Now she understands why. Aside from being nice to look at–– she found herself completely engaged in any conversation he partook in. While he was not a man of many words, the few that he did have had her feeling like a freshman schoolgirl crushing on a senior athlete.

She is particularly interested in the fact that he had lived in Colombia for a better part of however many years; curiosity bubbling anytime he mentioned anything about his time there. She is envious that he has been able to experience a country filled with such culture and ecological beauty, even though she understands that the nature of his job probably didn’t entail to him sightseeing much. 

That’s another thing; he was very vague about what his role was down there. All Paloma knows is that he was a DEA agent, responsible for cornering one of the most notorious drug traffickers to exist in the modern world. One thing led to another and now he’s back in the United States as a Deputy Sheriff for a small town in the middle of fuck-knows-where Texas. 

It intrigued her to know his backstory and how that led him here. What all he’d done and witnessed, even if it wasn’t any of her business.

She finds it fascinating and it adds a layer of mystique to his persona.

Then her thoughts begin to turn into something more… sinful as she imagines the way his mouth wrapped around the colored end of the cigarette, his fingers flexing around the drinking glass before downing its contents in one swift movement, tongue peering out to lick at his lips. Fuck, her eyes flutter open and she squints slightly as the sun beams down on her. Her skin is warm, just how she likes it, buzzing with excitement at the image of the older man nuzzled in between her thighs, teasing her until she was at his mercy. 

She takes her bottom lip between her teeth, fingers slowly trailing down her torso then drumming along the exposed skin of her lower stomach. The thought of moving her digits beneath the fabric of her panties crosses her mind for a split second before she remembers where she is. Not that she would be interrupted at this time of day but she has to have some shame, right? It’s already bad enough that she’s fantasizing about him, no need to fuel that fire by touching herself in plain daylight.

Paloma sits up, removing the headphones from over her ears and twisting her body to reach into her bag as she pulls out her notebook and pencil, a sudden stroke of inspiration striking her. 

Javier lazily leans back against the leather chair he’s sat in, typical cigarette dangling from his lips as he scans the report in front of him, brows pulled in to a frown as he half ass reads it. He’s only been in Seminary for a week and it hadn’t taken him long to fall into routine. 

He gets up early to exercise, finding the time in his day to be able to do that again, eats what he considers a ‘healthy’ breakfast (it’s just toast and eggs… maybe some fruit if he’s really feeling it) then heads to the sheriff’s department. The day drags by until he’s at home again. He spends the evenings glued to his couch, takeout remnants on the table, nursing a beer and watching reruns until he goes to bed.

That is the part he dreads the most. The night time. Javi has always had trouble sleeping, but his time in Colombia only made the insomnia worse. He’ll stare at the ceiling, replaying all his fuck ups over and over until day breaks and soft sunlight seeps into his room. 

On the nights where he does manage to fall asleep, it’s restless and doesn’t last very long as he jerks awake from whichever nightmare decides to plague him that night. He has a few that revisit him often, involving Helena and how things ended with her. Others about Carillo and his untimely death.

It is quite a vicious cycle that he has not been able to break himself free from. It was much more easier to get ahold of it back in Colombia where he could go pay for a distraction at a brothel or bury himself in the demanding job.

Here, there isn’t a damn thing he can bury himself in.

Well, there’s one person he’d love to find a distraction in but fucking the sheriff’s daughter just to get some sleep is not the best move for him to make considering he’s trying to be a better person nowadays.

There is barely anything happening at the station. The few deputies employed are constantly out on patrol, which Javi had recently revamped by giving new routes for them to follow. A task he’d conjured out of pure boredom yet left Sheriff Leighton impressed by his proactiveness.

Furthermore, the department is left partially empty with just himself, Romeo and Lorraine holding down the fort. 

With no further updates in the ongoing homicide cases; there isn’t much to do. He isn't in the mood to go make small talk with the locals, and he’s already driven and familiarized himself with most of the roads within town limits, so he’s stuck in this building for the time being. 

The sheriff had reiterated many times not to expect the same hustling and bustling he experienced back in Bogotá or Medellín. A fact that he knew when coming in, but experiencing it is just so damn grueling.

Instead of going home and bullshitting there, Javier decides to be responsible and help Lorraine reorganize their filing system. It is outdated to all hell and messier than anything he and Murphy could have ever conjured up at the embassy, but in attempts to be a more… responsible person, he tells the front desk clerk to not worry about a thing and that he’d handle it all himself.

He might have gone in over his head, but they’re just files. The tedious task something he is very familiar with. Javi had done his fair share of mindless tasks during his DEA days.

He’s at his desk, an unused one he plucked from the center of the room and moved over into a corner that gave him just a pinch of privacy. Romeo apologized about the lack of space for a private office, but Javi didn’t mind it. Being in an office is stifling; and he enjoys, for the most part, being out in the open. 

Also, Lorraine is great company. Very unfortunate that she shares the name with his ex-fiancée.

Javier sets the sheet of paper he’s reread a dozen times down, ashing his cigarette and scratching at his nose with his thumb when he hears the sound of their front door opening. 

His eyes lazily trail over to the entrance and an immediate smirk tugs at his lips, crease between his brows disappearing.

Paloma Leighton.

Oh, how he’s been thinking about her since that night he had dinner over at their house. How wrong it is of him to be pining after a woman like her.

It is not that difficult to capture Javier’s attention, he is very self aware in that regard. As long as you were interested; you were pretty much on his radar.

Javier loves women. He loves the way they look, the way they smell. Their soft moans and pants in response to his coaxing, how their nails feel digging into the soft skin of his shoulders as they come down from an intense orgasm. 

Can anyone blame him for being so attracted to them all the time? Women are a godsend.

He watches her carefully as she saunters over to his desk that’s on the opposite side to where her father’s office is. 

“ Now, Miss Leighton–– to what do I owe this pleasure, hermosa?” He asks, taking another drag of his cigarette as he keeps his position leaned back in his chair.

With an air of curiosity, he casts a lingering gaze over her form, his lips moistening involuntarily as he drinks her in.

She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts that hug her in all the right places and a halter top with an exposed back. She isn’t wearing a bra so her stiff nipples are prominent against the fabric. The sight gets him stirring below his belt, and he has to keep smoking in order to keep his antsy hands off of her. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” She throws the typical line at him with a smirk.

“I forgot my camera at home. Mind comin’ back to mine, cariño ? I’ll make sure to take the prettiest pictures.” He ashes the cigarette, flirtatious as ever despite telling himself he was not going to go down this route.

But there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting, right? Especially not when she’s playing into it.

“Clever, charming and cocky. I’m starting to sense a pattern here, cowboy.”

“And what would that pattern be?” 

“I’m still figuring that out, unfortunately.” There’s a brief pause, “Those things’ll kill you.” Paloma changes the subject entirely, nodding her head towards his nicotine stick.

“I’m going to die eventually.” Javier rebuttals and she just hums, honey colored eyes watching as he takes another long drag.

Javi is thankful that Lorraine had left early today. He's certain that this little conversation of there’s would have played out differently had there been a third person in the room.

Maybe it wouldn’t have happened at all and he would have been stuck fantasizing about her like a perverted fool.

“S’that why you’re here? To criticize me smoking?” His toned biceps flex as he brings his hands behind his neck, fingers interlocking and cigarette hanging from in between his lips.

“No, just stopped by to drop off daddy’s lunch before I ran some errands. That man wouldn’t eat if it weren’t for me.” Now it’s her turn to do the ogling, her gaze traveling from the cigarette to his arms, eyes sparkling down at him.

“Sheriff isn’t in right now.” He informs her but something tells him she already knew this. Her brows raise at the news and she shrugs. 

“‘Course he ain’t. Probably already went down to Carl’s for lunch. I keep tellin’ him his arteries are gonna get all clogged up if all he eats is greasy burgers and beer.” Javier can sense a hint of irritation in her voice.

“ So just let him. He’s a grown man, M’sure he doesn’t need nor want his daughter looking out for him every second of the day.” He interjects, watching her carefully as she rolls her eyes. 

Her hair is in two neat braids, bangs framing her beautiful face leaving the entirety of her back exposed to him. A few droplets of sweat slowly roll down her spine and he imagines himself licking them right up; preferably while he has her bent over his desk. 

“Well if I don’t do it then who will? He’d barely last a week on his own.” Though she is irritated, Javier catches how she genuinely seems to care for her father so with that, he decides to not meddle in their family business and instead moves on swiftly.

“You know him better than I do.” Leaves it at that, finishing his cigarette, “Heard you got a show comin’ up” And when he says ‘heard’ what he really means is listening to everyone else rave about the sheriff's daughter's incredible talent and how he simply must attend one of her performances.

That sparkle in her eye glistens brighter at the mention of her show and she nods, “Yup,” pops the ‘p’, fiddling with the pens he’s stuffed into his faded DEA mug, her body turned slightly to face him. “Every Friday and Saturday. Will we be blessed by your presence, Mr. Peña or are you going to hide out in your trailer home all weekend?” Hearing his last name coming from her has his jaw ticking ever so slightly and he watches her eyes take notice of it.

Paloma likes it.

“Dunno. Gotta check my schedule, querida. Things tend to get crazy ‘round here. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Well… if you do decide to find some time in that busy schedule of yours; the show starts at six both nights.” And who was he to deny her? Especially as she bats her eyelashes at him, an unspoken way of letting him know she wants to see him there.

The front door bell dings, announcing the arrival of someone new, interrupting the comfortable pause of silence they were sharing. 

That someone new is the sheriff, and Paloma immediately rises from her spot on the edge of his desk, making her way to her father. Javier straightens up, picking up the previously discarded sheet and feigning interest in it; but Romeo doesn’t seem to notice a thing. He looks deep in thought.

“There ya are. I brought you lunch.” Paloma calls after him but he’s already in his office. She lets out a sigh, looking over her shoulder at Javier whom she catches getting an even better view of her backside.

“ See you around, Mr. Peña. Maybe you should start carrying around that camera of yours. Y’know… to get all them pretty pictures.” She makes a point to sway her hips as she walks away and he runs his tongue over his front teeth slowly.

This girl is going to get him into trouble.

At least he won’t be so fucking bored anymore.

Paloma leaves the building twenty minutes after getting her father to agree to eat the lunch she brought and not go down the street to the local diner. He seemed pretty distant so she didn’t press him like she usually would, instead giving him a peck on the cheek before leaving his office. Her gaze wanders over to the opposite corner, hoping to find Javier sitting in his seat already watching her but he is nowhere to be found.

She feels a slight pang of disappointment in her gut at his absence but she pushes it down, a budding smile on her lips at the thought of seeing him at her show. 

She doesn't even care that the man is older than her, she’s down bad for him. 

Paloma swings her leg over her bicycle, kicking the kickstand inwards and riding down the street towards the farmer’s market until she’s stopped by a familiar voice calling her name.

“Paloma!” It’s Sloane, who’s jogging to catch up with her. 

Sloane McCarthy is the only best friend that Paloma has ever had. Like, ever.

Growing up, she was a very shy child and only had your typical schoolyard friends, but not any that she would willingly swap secrets with or any of that other stuff girls usually do within their social circles.

After her mother’s death, Paloma became more of an introvert. She didn't maintain a friendship outside of school, instead all her focus and energy was put into her artistry. To her, instruments were her best friends. They would always be there to listen, to help her navigate through her grief alongside coming into her own without a mother to guide her through the trials and tribulations of girlhood. 

As lonely as it sounds, it was probably for the best that Paloma chose her musical hobbies to be what got her through the hard times. It allowed her to navigate the creation process at her own pace, figure out her strengths and work on her weaknesses.

She is grateful, however, for the guidance she received from Tammy, Kristy and Lola: the sisters that owned The Whiskey Fox . 

They helped fill the void left barren by her mother, Abilene, and were the ones who convinced her to start performing at their bar when she was only fourteen.

Paloma met Sloane a few months ago at the library. She had come in with two other guys whom she can barely remember now, asking her about Seminary’s selection on books about the occult. There are hardly any, she had replied, since this town is too obstinate to allow many sacrilegious books on their library shelves.

Ever since that afternoon, they had hit it off and began to hang out together more regularly. Paloma had even hooked her new friend up with a job as a bartender.

She stops, steadying herself as the girl hugs her from the side then rounds the bike to stand in front of her.

“Hey Slo, whatcha up to today?” Paloma asks, eyeing the book in her friend’s possession before meeting her gaze.

Sloane possesses a striking beauty. Waves of rich brown hair cascade down to her collarbone, framing her face like a halo. Her button nose, perfectly proportioned, adds a charming innocence to her features, while her inviting chocolate-colored eyes shimmer with warmth and depth.

But it’s the freckles that truly distinguish Sloane’s features, far more pronounced than Paloma's. They form constellations upon her round face, like tiny stars scattered across a canvas of porcelain skin. And above them, her signature touch: baby blue eyeshadow delicately applied across both eyelids, enhancing the color of her brown eyes.

Paloma found herself being envious of Slo and comparing her beauty to that of her best friend’s; especially when she was the main one being approached whenever they went out.

Not that Paloma cared about male attention, however, she still felt that pang of rejection deep in her belly each time Slo was being hit on while she was left making small talk with the bartender or waitress, depending on where they were.

It wasn’t because she wasn’t attractive, anyone could tell you that Paloma is one of the most beautiful women in town; but more so because of who her father is. Sometimes, men don’t approach her in fear of being shot at by the sheriff. It can be very frustrating, but it does help keep the creeps away.

“Well…” She drags out, “I went to the library to look for ya, but Olsen said you didn’t work today so I’ve just kinda been roamin’ town… hopin’ to run into ya before poppin’ up to your place unannounced. What are you so smiley for?” Her bubbly and chirpy southern accent reminds Paloma of the bright smile she’s still sporting.

“Just havin’ a good day, s’all. Why are you lookin’ for me?” She questions, deciding not to tell Sloane about her infatuation with newly appointed Deputy Sheriff Javier Peña just yet, gaze once more flickering down to the thick book in her grasp.

“‘Cause, babygirl, I got the answers to all those existential questions you think up in that pretty little head of yours.” she shows off the printed work, “Right here. Got a sec?” with the look Sloane gives her, Paloma knows she can’t say no.

So they situate themselves on a nearby bench, Paloma’s bicycle propped up against the backside of it. Sloane turns to her, their knees knocking against each other as she begins to explain.

“Ya know my friend August? He wrote that poem I showed you a few weeks ago… the one that had your face as red as a ripe tomato.” She pokes fun at her, pinching her thigh which Paloma swats away playfully.

“It was more explicit than anticipated, but yes I know who you’re talkin’ about. Didn’t he come in with you that one day? In the library?” She just barely remembers him, since he hadn’t said much; just browsed the shelves with the other guy as Slo did all the talking.

“Sure did! Well, he’s written a few books, none of them published…. they’re more so for record keepin’. However, I told him you were… a fan of his work––”

“Fan is a bit of a stretch, don’t ya think?” She snorts, stare flickering over to Slo. 

“–– So he asked me to share this with you. It’s his prized possession.” She continues, eyes twinkling as she slides the book over to Paloma.

Paragons of the Sacrificed

By Augustus Rutherford Dixon

“Augustus? What a name.” Is the first thing Paloma notices, thumbing through the book and scanning some of its contents. “This reads like a manifesto, I’m not sure I’m all that interested.” She tells Slo, closing the item shut and attempting to give it back.

Sloane blocks her from doing so, shaking her head. “No ma’am, you’re gonna read through it. I promise you’ll enjoy it. I know how you like to get lost in your books and music… this is right up your alley.”

She seems almost desperate as she makes her case, so Paloma reluctantly keeps the book in her lap.

“Right up my alley. What exactly does that mean?”

“You know… the adventurous fantasy stuff. He’s really into religion and history but not in a weird, bible thumpin’ way how the people ‘round here tend to be. Eye openin’ stuff… real, tangible things that make you want to pack up all your shit and get the hell outta dodge.”

Slo doesn’t have to say much after that, it’s as if she knew exactly what words to say to get Paloma to be more open minded about reading the book. She chews on the inside of her cheek, eyes falling to her lap and she sighs, giving in.

“Sure, why the hell not. If it’s crappy, though, and you waste my time I swear I’m gonna get it back in blood.” She teases, nudging Sloane with her elbow. 

“Oh please, I wouldn’t be bringin’ this to ya if I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

Sloane was right. This book is right up her alley.

After getting over the initial weariness of the man’s introduction, she is fully immersed in the historical events he writes about as well as the practices of an unorthodox religion that’s been on the rise, according to him, since the birth of Christianity.

Her relationship with religion in general is pretty unadorned. Paloma is a practicing Catholic, just like the majority in Seminary, and she attends mass every Sunday with her father.

It’s enervating, in a way, but she knows just how much it means to Romeo for her to accompany him every week so she does it just to pacify him. Now whether she’s as devoted as she makes herself out to be is a completely different story.

She’s not. Paloma believes in a greater being; but not in the same manner that organized religion does.

It would quite literally break her father’s heart if he heard her say that outloud.

August is a talented writer, his words transporting her entirely while also making his message concise and informative. Paloma’s been tucked away in her room, obsessively reading the book for about three hours when the landline in her room suddenly rings and it makes her jolt out of surprise.

The antique clock on her nightstand indicates that it’s nine o’clock and she blinks away the sudden tiredness at the realization. Inserting her bookmark on the page she’s currently reading, she closes the book and reaches over to pick the receiver up and wedges it in between her ear and shoulder.

“Paloma speakin’.”

“ Hola, hermosa” Javier’s voice cuts right through her and she’s instantly smitten, the book she was so engrossed in not even a minute ago now forgotten.

“You sweet talk every girl you meet in Spanish?” She can't help but ask, feeling the flutter of the butterflies in her stomach at how he flirts. Between his sultry southern accent and alluring dash of Spanish; Paloma can’t decide which one she likes to hear more.

She hears him shuffling on his end of the phone, “Why? You don’t like it, cariño?”

The Spanish. She definitely prefers the Spanish.

“I do. It’s different.” Twirls the telephone cord around her index finger,  “You call just to shower me in pet names?”

He chuckles, the deepness of it having her bite down on her lower lip.

“No, querida, I was hoping I could speak to your father.” This makes her frown slightly, but also what other reason would he have to call their house at this time of night?

Call for her? Talk her through an orgasm through the phone, telling her to imagine his fingers instead of hers and whispering those goddamn pet names until she’s panting; wailing out for him? Or even better: offer to come by to get her out of the dry spell she’s been under before her father made it back home?

Both so appealing. Both so ridiculously out of this world.

She realizes she’s been quiet longer than intended, so she snaps out of her sudden wet daydream, speaking up.

“He’s out with some friends from the bar. Don’t anticipate him comin’ back home till way later so you’re just goin’ to have to catch him at his office tomorrow, Mr. Peña.” She had taken notice of the way he was so bothered by her calling him by his last name earlier that she does it again, just to fuck with him.

“You make me feel so old callin’ me that.” He scoffs and her smile doesn’t budge.

“Well aren’t you?” She fuels the teasing, wondering how far she could push it before the fire she’s been harboring burns her.

“You really want to play this game, corazón?” 

“Maybe…”

There’s a swift pause, all that’s heard is both of their breaths on either side of the line. Paloma braces herself for whatever racy event decides unfold but he breaks the silence first.

“Just be a sweetheart and tell your dad I called. Have a good night, nena.” He doesn't even give her the opportunity to give a closing remark, the dial tone ringing in her ears before she pulls the phone away and sets it back into place.

She hadn't realized how tightly her thighs had been clenched throughout that whole exchange. It’s embarrassing how her body reacts to him. Whether it just be his voice or his presence itself. 

Paloma groans, standing from her bed and deciding to shower to calm herself down, August’s book being placed on her nightstand next to the landline.

Javier walks in to the crowded bar much later than he intended to, stuck at the station with some chatty citizen who called to complain about her neighbors dog.

This is the life he lives now. Went from tracking down dangerous sicarios to listening to elderly women bitch about pets.

Nevertheless, he does what he’s been hired to do.

He hears the music that’s currently got the entirety of the place rumbling spilling out into the street upon arrival. The decently sized bar is filled with so many patrons, that it took him a second to recognize it. Honest to God. 

Javier has definitely underestimated Seminary. It becomes clearer the longer he's here. While he does find himself complaining about the monotony most of the time, he’s slowly but surely easing into it.

He finally makes it to the bar and orders himself a whiskey, neat. It’s been his go to order for as long as he’s been drinking.

Dark eyes scan the crowd until they land on the stage where the first person he notices is Paloma; dressed to the nines with a bright smile. A smile he mimics as he watches her strum her guitar, the three other woman sing along with instruments of their own adhered to their bodies. Paloma isn’t currently singing, just adding in to the instrumental of a song that he doesn’t recognize. After paying for his drink, he maneuvers the crowd until he finds Romeo sitting front and center, swaying along to the music with nothing but adoration in his eyes for his daughter. 

When he sees Javier approaching, his entire face lights up.

“ Javi, my man! You made it. ” The two share a friendly handshake as Javier sits down in the empty seat besides him, digging in his leather jacket for a smoke. 

“ Woulda been here earlier but had a Margaret Lipton call complainin’ about how her neighbors dog won’t stay on its side of the fence. ” He grumbles, lighting the cigarette and taking a lengthy drag as the song finishes.

“ Sounds just like her. Expect a lot more’a those. Poor woman is just lonely; her husband of fifty years died not too long ago. Ever since then she’s been callin’ nonstop over petty shit. She’ll complain if a fly buzzes by, I tell ya. ” Romeo adds on, taking a sip from his drink and this gets a brief chuckle from Javier, making a mental note to limit his calls with one Margaret Lipton.

The next song begins, a very lively country tune that immediately shifts the atmosphere of the already buzzing bar. People begin to flood the dancefloor in front of the stage, but it doesn’t obstruct his view from the person that he’s here to see. He watches as she strums her instrument before approaching the microphone.

♫

Her voice is so rich and smooth, ears perk up at the angelic singing and he takes a swig of his whiskey, eyes not leaving her for a second.

She shoots a wink towards their table, and while Javier knows it’s directed to the man besides him, he can’t help but be selfish enough to think that’s it’s meant for him. 

That her attention is all for him.

The music picks up, can feel it embedding itself in his bones and he’s so entranced by watching her perform that he just barely notices when Romeo leans over to talk to him.

“Told me she wrote this with me in mind. Swear I’ve never been more proud of her.” Javi peels his gaze away from her before the man notices how he’s basically eye fucking his daughter.

“She usually write her own songs?” He can't help but ask, her voice ringing out passionately as the song continues.

“Majority of ‘em. Always got her nose stuffed in one’a her journals. When she’s not writin’, she’s at the piano or on the porch with her guitar. Melts my heart every time I see it.” 

Javier doesn’t say much in response, intrigued to hear how her voice sounds when it’s just her singing.

Paloma reproaches the microphone after the long instrumental that had the crowd dancing along to the upbeat country track concludes.

“My daddy warned me about men like you He said, "Baby girl, he's playing you! He's playing you!”

She sings with a vigor he was not expecting, making eye contact with him and he catches the way her red-stained lips pull into a smirk.

Just like that, she has captivated him all over again. 

Under the stage lights, Paloma radiates with an otherworldly glow, her presence as captivating as a celestial being. Clad entirely in black, she stands out against the band’s more colorful attire. A leather miniskirt, paired with sleek black stockings, hugs her form, the oversized silver buckle of her belt gleaming beneath the spotlight pointed at the stage.

Her leather jacket, mirroring the skirt, features intricate silver detailing that catches and reflects the light with every movement. Beneath it, she wears nothing but a black bra, veiled by a sheer mesh top that adds a layer of sexiness to her ensemble.

Atop her head sits a black cowgirl hat that perfectly complements her outfit. And completing the look, her feet are adorned with matching black boots, tying everything together.

They drag the last lyric out with the rattle of the drum’s percussion before the song officially ends and bar erupts into a boisterous applause. The women take turns hugging and congratulating each other, though his focus is solely on Paloma. He doesn’t even acknowledge when Romeo gets up to get them all another round of drinks.

“Well, folks, I reckon y’all just witnessed a taste of the good ol’ honky-tonk spirit tonight. Ain’t nothin’ like harmonizin’ with the talented Lone Star Sisters and feelin' the energy of this fine place. Let’s raise a toast to good music, good company, and good times at The Whiskey Fox—where the spirits are high and the music’s just right!” The bar laughs and this gets a bemused chuckle out of Javier, who stubs out the cigarette he’d been puffing on throughout the performance.

After a few more formalities and some announcements, Paloma disappears for a brief moment before he spots her again, this time heading in his direction.

She’s stopped a few times along the way by some patrons who simply cannot get over her and her performance.

All Javier does is admire and be amused at how they treat her like she’s a celebrity. Even watches as she signs a slip of paper and crouches down to give it to a little girl. The interaction has his heart racing so he downs the drink in front of him to slow it down.

The adrenaline that Paloma feels after a show is indescribable. It’s like she transforms when she’s up there, giving it her all and making sure that the crowd watching is being entertained to the fullest extent. It’s why she absolutely loves it when she sees everyone dancing, has even spotted a few people singing along to some of the original songs she performs regularly.

It’s an even better feeling when she gets off stage and is being praised left and right; it makes her feel like the art she puts out is important as it’s being appreciated by everyone and not just those in her immediate circle. What really melts her heart, though, is when she sees the gleam in the eyes of the younger girls who come see her play. As if they’re looking up to her, seeing their own aspirations performing out on the stage. Knowing that she’s somewhat of a role model to them is all she needs to stay content in her passion for creating music.

After finally getting through the crowd of… admirers (she doesn’t like calling them fans; it feels odd), Paloma reaches the table her father always sits in but is pleasantly surprised to see just Javier there.

“You came.” She doesn't even try to hide the large smile on her face, heart still beating wildly in her chest due to the high energy performance.

“Found a small window of opportunity in my very busy schedule to be able to make it. You’re lucky, hermosa.” He teases and she laughs with a shake of her head, shaking off the leather jacket on her shoulders and removing the hat that sits on her head.

It is entirely too hot for her to sport it for the rest of the evening, so she drapes the jacket over the back of the chair and lets her hat hang over the corner of it.

“You’re a damn good singer.”

The compliment has those butterflies stirring in her stomach again. Paloma won’t ever admit that she made sure to be on her game tonight in anticipation of his attendance. She doesn’t want to come off as desperate, despite how flirtatious their interactions have been since they met.

“You sayin’ that ‘cause you mean it or are you just tryin’ to become my groupie?” She cocks her head to the side slightly, sliding into the seat across from him and crossing her legs. She bites her lip as she watches his eyes divert down to her thighs; the top of her stockings showing and a soft slither of her skin teasing him to reach out and touch.

“I genuinely mean it, querida , but being your groupie doesn’t sound half bad.” Paloma giggles, scrunching her nose and he smiles at her.

Why does she feel like she’s drunk off him? What the hell does he lace his attention with?

Romeo returns right on time, setting down three glasses on the small, round table.

“Alright, a bourbon for me, whiskey for Javier and a root beer with muddled cherries for my beautiful daughter.” She reaches for her drink, ignoring the look Javier gives her and she takes a lengthy sip from the straw; the carbonation feeling so refreshing as it travels down her throat.

“No post-performance drink?” He asks her, fingers once more fishing out his cigarettes and lighter.

“I only drink on occasion. Try not to do it when I sing unless I need to loosen up the good ‘ol pipes.” Two fingers tap against her throat to emphasize her point, his dark eyes trailing the area and she knows his soft lips would feel divine against her warm skin.

The trio fall into small talk for all but five minutes when Javier’s pager buzzes in his jacket pocket. He excuses himself from the table and he saunters away to the pay phone outside of the bar. Paloma’s gaze follows him all the way out, sound of her father talking muffled as he overtakes her thoughts.

 Javier digs into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a few coins to insert into the public telephone then punching in the familiar number of his former partner. The line rings three times before Murphy picks up.

“We got him.”

The words knock the wind out of him and he stabilizes himself by sticking his hand out to lean against the payphone stand.

“Alive or dead?”

“Trujillo shot the fucker right between the eyes.”

He presses the phone against his forehead at the news, eyes closing as he allows it to fully sink in. He knows he should be relieved… that the weight on his shoulders should dissipate now that Pablo Escobar is dead.

Not in custody or cornered. No, dead.

Yet he isn’t relieved. Not as much as he would have wanted to be. It’s a bittersweet feeling, really. They can rejoice now that they got one dirty narc over and done with but if Javier has learned anything in the past few years–– it’s that this war on drugs is far from over. The rest of the Medellín cartel has yet to fall and Cali just reached its peak. 

You know what they say: cut off one head and two more take its place.

But that’s no longer his problem. He had been reassigned, sent somewhere where he could chill the fuck out and start making amends for his fuckups in Colombia. His only focus now, as long as he’s concerned, is dealing with what happens in Seminary and Seminary only.

He and Steve finish their conversation, reminiscing on all the crazy ass shit they had to do and endure in order to get to this point. Steve ends the call by telling him that he should have been here to see it all the way through and that, in a strange turn of events, he was proud of everything they accomplished together despite the bullshit that ensued.

Javier doesn’t say much, as per usual, but he doesn’t have to. Steve knows he’s appreciative. 

Fingers itch to pluck out another cigarette but he goes against the urge, instead collecting himself before reentering the bar.

Paloma was left alone shortly after Javier left to take his phonecall, her father being pulled away by his buddies while she finished up the rest of her drink.

When Javier does return, she immediately notices the change in his demeanor but doesn’t know how to ask him what’s wrong without coming off as bothersome.

“Everythin’ good?” Is what she decides on, leaning in to rest her chin on the palm of her hand as her elbow sits on the perpetually sticky top of their table.

“Everything’s alright, muñeca.” He takes his seat again, still being flirtatious but there’s an edge to it. He grabs his drink and swishes its contents around the glass before downing it all in one swift shot.

Paloma doesn’t say anything else, and she doesn’t get the chance to when her father returns to them.

“I gotta go handle some shit that’s poppin’ off with the Sullivan’s. Go get your things, baby, we’re leavin’.” This pulls a groan from the back of her throat.

“I do not want to tag along while you deal with whatever the fuck they got goin’ on. Not after last time.” Very rarely does she tag along with her father when he’s on the job; and last time they had been called to the Sullivan farm–– she didn’t expect to be there for almost three hours trying to help calm down Mrs. Sullivan, who was threatening to shoot her husband with their shotgun.

The conversation seems to intrigue Javier, eyes darting between the both of them as he begins to smoke again.

“Well, you’re gonna have to hitch a different ride, then.”

“That’s no problem, Mr. Peña will take me.” They both look over to Javi as she’s just volunteered him to drive her home.

“Paloma––”

“It’s fine, Romeo. Go handle it, I’ll make sure she makes it home safely.” His thumb drags against his bottom lip as he stares right back at Paloma and his intense gaze has her shifting in her seat, the familiar feeling of arousal shooting heat up between her thighs.

It doesn’t take much convincing to send the sheriff on his merry way, her body tingling at the idea of being alone with Javier in his truck as he takes her home.

“You gonna make sure m’fine? That I make it home safe and sound?” Paloma asks with a bat of her eyelashes, leaning close enough to where their knees brush up against each other beneath the table.

He follows her lead, leaning forward and taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from her face. “S’what I’m here to do, princesa. Make sure beautiful girls like you stay safe.”

There’s still some bite to his words but it’s hot the way he flirts with her. She catches the scent of his musky cologne mixed with the liquor and cigarettes he's consumed and it’s intoxicating.

“I thought I told you these things’ll kill you.” She plucks the nicotine stick from between his middle and index finger, putting the thing out against the ashtray.

“And I thought I told you I’m gonna die eventually.”

“Try not to make it anytime soon.”

“Why? Would you miss me, cariño?” His brows raise inquisitively as he asks her, brown eyes twinlking beneath the dim lighting. 

Paloma shrugs, sliding out of her seat. “Probably not. I’ve just met you.” She replies nonchalantly, despite her head spinning from how badly she wants him. She grabs ahold of her jacket and hat, “I’m going to go pack up my things. Meet me in the back alleyway in ten.”

 After getting her stuff into the back of his truck and watching her say goodbye to everyone, Paloma is sat in the passenger seat as Javier drives along the familiar road towards her house.

It’s quiet at first, the radio playing some song softly to fill the void from the absence of conversation.

“So… you got a girlfriend?”  Paloma’s question catches him off guard and he actually laughs in her face. “Or boyfriend–– I don’t judge.” She raises her hands defensively.

“Why, you tryin’ to apply for the spot?” Javier briefly takes his eyes off the road to look over at her, biting his tongue once he sees how she’s staring at him.

Her back is against the door, the soft hue of the radio's blue light casting a shadow across her face as she draws one knee up to her chest. She looks irresistible. Javier contemplates pulling over just to grab her by the neck and press his lips against hers.

She just rolls her eyes playfully, fidgeting with the ends of her skirt.

“Not really, just curious.” He can hear the sincerity coating her words and while he usually wouldn’t divulge in his personal life, let alone his romantic relationships, he decides to answer her truthfully.

“No girlfriend. M’not really the settle down type of guy.”

“Ah, so he’s got commitment issues…” Paloma trails off, messing with him.

“Somethin’ like that.” He isn't offended by her assumption, since it is the truth.

“So no girlfriend back home? Or in Colombia?” 

“Why the sudden interest, princesa?”

“Just trying to get to know you, cowboy.” There she goes with that nickname again and he just shakes his head softly.

“The honest truth...? No girlfriends anywhere. Lots of hookups in Colombia, though. The women there are very beautiful.”

She’s silent, which has him looking over at her again yet this time she isn’t staring back, instead looking ahead at the road in front of them.

“So you’re a slut.”

He laughs again, much more lively this time, “Most people would agree with you, yeah. But I had my reasons for sleepin’ around.”

“Aside from pleasure, what were the reasons?” Her brows raise, her arms crossing against her chest, pushing her breasts together beneath the mesh material and the sight is like something straight out of a Playboy magazine.

“Most of ‘em were informants. Prostitutes who had vital information about the criminals we were after.” 

“So in return for intel, they got to spend a night with you?”

“That was part of it.”

She hums and he turns the question on her before she starts asking about other aspects of his life in Colombia.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend–– or girlfriend. I don’t judge.” He repeats her own playful words back to her, making a turn then flipping on the brights as the street lights have decreased to none; leaving them traveling down the dark back roads.

“No, not at the moment. I’ve only ever had one real boyfriend.” Paloma leans her head back against the window, eyes still trained on the emptiness of the night. “And that ended terribly so I didn’t bother trying again after that.”

Curious to know this terrible ending she speaks of, Javier proceeds to stay on topic. “Must’ve been real bad if it got you to give up entirely. ”

“Yeah. His name was George. We dated in high school... can you keep a secret?” She sudden;y asks, ripping her gaze from the windshield over to him. He can see her from his peripheral.

“For you, nena , of course.”

“We were supposed to get married and run off the night before graduation. Had planned the whole thing out, even bribed an officiant to wed us in the middle of the night down by the cemetery. It didn’t take him much convincin’; told us he had a soft spot for young love.” Javier doesn’t say anything in response, instead letting his silence speak for itself and allowing Paloma to continue on with her story.

“The big night came. I was so nervous I coulda puked. Me and the officiant waited for what felt like an eternity until eventually he apologized to me and left. I cried there all night, a stupid and naive part of me hoping George would eventually show… he didn’t.” She sighs heavily and Javier wants to reach his hand out to rub comforting circles with his thumb against her thigh but he doesn’t, instead driving down the driveway that led to her home.

“Found out the next day that he had left for the army. Which was so heartbreaking since that’s why he wanted to leave Seminary. He didn’t want to enlist like his brother and father had. Guess something changed his mind… haven’t heard from him since. I never told anyone about it, and the officiant passed away shortly after so…” She trails off and Javier genuinely feels for her.

However, he can relate to an extent. Not to her but to her ex. His relationship with Lorraine back in Laredo a haunting reminder of the type of man he was slowly turning into. Instead of leaving for the army, though, he’d left her at the alter to run off to Colombia.

“That’s… tough, querida.” He's never been the best at comforting and it doesn’t seem like she minds his scarce sympathy.

“It is what it is. I got over him eventually.” They roll to a stop once they’re at the large country home, he puts the truck in park and cuts the engine; letting a comfortable silence fall over them.

“Thank you––”

“Do you need––”

They both speak at the same time, interrupting the other and they share a laugh about it. “Ladies first.” He beckons her to continue, shifting his body slightly to face her.

“Thank you for bringin’ me home. I know I didn’t give you much of an option.” The soft click of her seatbelt being undone brings a sense of reluctance over him, knowing that her departure is imminent and he's already dreading the moment she’s gone..

“Anytime, hermosa.” Javi's dark eyes soften, “Do you need help getting your things inside?” Paloma nods and he’s quick to hop out of the truck, rounding it to open the door for her before she even gets the chance to reach over for the handle.

“What a gentleman.” She purrs, her hand brushing against his shoulder as she walks past him to help unload her equipment.

The desire to push her up against his truck and passionately kiss her, have his hands explore every inch of her body is tempting as all hell but he shows some self restraint.

They get everything into the living room and she walks him over to the front door.

“I appreciate your help, Mr. Peña.” Paloma leans against the doorframe with a teasing simper. They’re close enough to where he can see all the small imperfections that litter her skin. His eyes taking in how beautiful she looks up close, their bodies slowly gravitating towards each other.

“You ever gonna stop callin’ me that?” He asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hands landing on either sides of his hips.

The girl shrugs, blinking slowly. “Not ‘til you’re not bothered by it.” They exchange a lustful stare until he decides it’s time for him to leave before things escalate and he crosses a boundary he’s helplessly trying not to overstep.

“I’ll see you around, Miss Leighton.”  Very reminiscent to their last goodbye, her smirk softens into a smile.

“Goodnight, Javier.” One, two seconds pass before she’s leaning in to place a gentle kiss against his cheek, the feeling has his heart racing and she pulls back slowly before taking a few steps back and closing the door. 

Javier is left in a stunned silence, the small act of affection impacting him more than he would like to admit.

[starry622]

hello, im oliver, or v for short. i am 20 years old, bodily. im an artist, a dog, and the host of a system.

ive got bpd, hpd, dpd, and schizophrenia, all of which, of course, affect the system. my biggest psychotic symptom is that of clinical lycanthropy and cynanthropy, which you will see reflected often on this blog (especially under the tag #clinical zoanthropy). i cant effectively be reality checked, at least in this regard, so dont even try it. more info on this under the cut. :]

im very into social justice, mogai/liom, art, and general fandom stuff

i now have a somewhat stable home, but i still take donations, as i lost my job last month and currently have no way to make any money besides commissions and donations. i work hard every day applying to every job i can possibly find, following up on applications, and getting interviews, but that does not fund the cost of living in the meantime. im working to put up a commissions carrd (that will also function as a mini portfolio), though i will still be taking commissions before the carrd is finalized. i havent had a meal in a week, so i could really use the money, if anyone is willing to help.

if you need a dni, my basic boundaries are that proshippers, pro-contact harmful paraphiles, and radqueers dont interact. i do, however, have a byf, which is on my carrd (linked below)

my personal carrd is here: [link]

my commission carrd is: still unfinished

my cashapp is: $Starry622

do be warned, my tumblr webtheme (starry622.tumblr.com) is not safe for those who are sensitive to flashing or eyestrain. there is no necessary info on my webtheme, so you will not ever have to visit it for any reason.

for more zoanthropy info: my body can morph and change to become more canine-like, and it can go through certain stages. human-> boy with canine features -> full canine (with the regular animal anatomy) or werecanine (more like a hollywood werewolf) and my transformations can cause pain and discomfort, though i mostly just feel fur sprouting and my organs shifting. my mind is that of a humans, however my soul and dna are that of a canines.

i dont really know what a p-shifter is, but i guess you could call me one? i dont think shifting is something you can learn anyways and i cant control it, so i feel like most people either can or cant shift. theres always exceptions to the rule, however, not that i would be teaching anyone how, especially because that seems like a dangerous move for all involved parties. plus, i dont even know how i do it, i just do, so id be useless for that.

i dont know what the deal is and why i am both a wolf and a dog, and my identity as a whole is definitely more dog, all i know is that its me. thats why i use canine instead of specific dog or wolf when speaking generally, because "dog or wolf" is a mouthful.

i dont identify with the word human, but its easier to explain that way. i am more a person. my brain is and stays that of a sentient, sapient person living in a human society. im culturally human, you could say.

rarely, ill have short-ish bouts where i am a different animal, usually on top of being a canine, which confuses me, but i choose to go with the flow about it. if i think too too much about it, im afraid ill confuse myself more than just suddenly becoming a lagothrope/kounanthrope (family including rabbits, bunnies, hares) and accepting it until its over. i dont know what those little bouts are about, and i kinda dont wanna know!

i identify with my diagnosed clinical label simply because i experience a lot of double bookkeeping (i believe thats what its called). im aware of myself in some ways, and see how others see me alongside how i see myself. this is also exactly why reality checking doesnt work on me. i am aware of my symptoms, and i believe the delusions and semi-rare hallucinations that act as proof of my true self. my experience is constant clashing in that way, like i can see more than everyone else, but it rarely causes a problem, and so i go with it. no use fighting it. im a lazy dog, if youll forgive the pun.

[larcenywrites]

Colleagues to Lovers

college!Tony Stark x college!fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content minors DNI, p in v sex, blowjob, 

Word count: 4,519

All you had wanted was to sit in the back of the lecture room where no one else sat and go about your business, but Tony (who you remember was actually late on that first day of class) ruined that plan. He came over as if he knew you, immediately singling you out and sitting right next to you even though the rows in front of you were also empty. It almost offended you, and you dreaded every second it took for him to walk to your seat. But any irritation vanished when you finally turned to look at him after he kept very noticeably stealing glances your way. He gave you a gentle smile and introduced himself. And while you were merely a polite acquaintance at first (engaging in light conversation but still leaving him at the door kind of acquaintance), he had muttered some really stupid comment one day during the lecture that nearly had you snorting with the way it caught you off-guard. And he had latched on to that, trying to make you laugh for the next 40 minutes of class now that he finally had your attention. And suddenly, he had your constant attention.

You eventually found yourself waiting for him before or after class, walking by a building you knew he'd be out of soon, or following him around without even knowing where he was going. To be fair, he would also just happen to be hanging around your class or tag along uninvited to wherever you were going. So whatever the feeling was, it was mutual. 

He would always find an excuse to have you take something from him, especially during your more hands-on classes, so usually you were always the last to get a lab done with the way you two stumbled over each other. He would brush his fingers against your hand or wrist when he walked a little too close to you or gently grab your arm to get your attention during class. It made you get butterflies like nothing else ever had when he would quickly glance away when you'd caught him staring for too long, or when he would draw random things on your paper and you had to physically shoo him away. But your relationship wasn’t always so… cutesy. He could be overdramatic, among other things, and even you weren’t always exempt from his moodiness. Luckily, it wasn’t often.

"You weren't in lecture," he quickly accused you, not even greeting you first when you took your spot next to him at the workstation. "You didn't tell me you were gonna skip."

"Why, did you miss me?" You teased without looking at him yet, taking out the notes you would need for this week's lab instead. 

"Yeah, actually." He said it quieter, almost pouty. His tone made you turn to him instantly, seeing if he was actually upset or just being playful. But he wasn’t even looking at you. It was silly, to be honest, but you felt bad anyway. 

But it was always over something silly when he was upset with you.

“You could’ve just left,” he said pointedly, upset that you had worked with someone else that day.

“You can’t just leave your lab partner,” you scoffed.

“You had no problem doing it,” he said condescendingly.

“You were late, Tony. I had to work with someone,” you said more sternly, wanting to get off the subject.

“I bet you made a lower grade,” he jabbed, and you were unsure if it was a badly toned joke or not. But then again, nothing was as good if it wasn’t with him. You knew he was probably just jealous or needy or controlling or- something and probably just wasn’t good at processing it, but you felt a burn in your chest regardless. When you didn’t answer he looked at you, almost concerned. He sighed and looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely sounding guilty.

And some days, he was a little more straightforward. In crowded areas, he would sometimes place his hand on your lower back and stay very close, and you weren’t sure if he was just testing your reaction and trying to make you horny or if he was just keeping you close- the possibilities for that one were endless. If you were on a bench or maybe in the bleachers on the drill field or the convocation center, he’d rest his arm behind you. He could definitely be a natural flirt, but he would go from 100 back to 0 and was barely able to hold eye contact sometimes. But after months of this, you were starting to grow tired- not of him or his constant change in affection, but waiting for him to decide if he wanted to be something with you or not. He obviously did, so you weren’t sure why he didn’t do anything about it. Because if he didn’t, you’d have to bring it up, and how do you just ask someone like Tony Stark out? Maybe you were just overthinking it. 

Suddenly a paper was shoved in front of you, and it took you a minute to shake away your thoughts and realize it was a transcript of this semester's grades. You were currently on Tony's bed (which you tried to act natural about), sitting back against the headboard. You’d studied with him in plenty of places but never anything so intimate. It was quite a leap from giggling in the library or awkwardly standing close to him and guiding him through a missed lab experiment that he definitely knew how to do but probably just wanted to see you get flustered. He wasn’t stupid- he had always known what he was doing. 

"How do you have a D in art appreciation?" You asked to make sure you were looking at the right numbers. Now you realize why he asked for your textbook on the subject. You’d already taken the class, so your book was littered with sticky notes and marked pages. You opened it to a chapter you knew covered a larger portion of the test and offered it to him. You had no real reason to be here, for you weren't the one studying, nor did you remember anything from the class, but he insisted. So now, here you were.

"Maybe it's not the kind of art I appreciate," he turned to you with a dorky grin, making sure to practically hold your hands as he took the book from you. You scoffed and had to look away, shaking your head at his stupid one-liner. 

"Well, you won't be appreciating anything if you make less than a 70 on that final,” you said a bit more stern, knowing that if you let him get caught up in banter, no studying would get done. Art appreciation was literally the easiest core class, and as you looked at the other grades he had made in that class you weren’t sure he even showed up to it. Actually, you can’t remember the last time he mentioned it besides the beginning of the semester. 

"I'm sure you could help me remember a few things." You didn't know if the offer was suggestive, but now you were too stressed on whether or not he would pass to care. Honestly, if he just applied himself a little more, he definitely didn’t need your help remembering anything. You felt him shift around as you busied yourself looking over the study guide. You started to say something, but your mind blanked when you noticed how close he was now, nearly touching his shoulder when you turned to him. Your eyes found his, and he only held your gaze for a few moments before turning back to the book. You almost felt a little rejected until you took note of his tight jaw and a slight blush, and couldn't help but smile at the effect you had on him. Maybe you were here for a reason after all. 

You decided to push the boundary a little more than usual and carefully pressed into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. And admittedly, you'd wanted to do this for a while anyway. You purposefully ignored him when he turned to look at you, not wanting him to see how red you probably were. But his focus on you only made you more flustered. "This was on the test last semester," you said probably a bit shakily and pointed to some random piece of text that luckily you did remember being on the test- hoping it would be a distraction. Tony's had plenty of people he barely even knew cuddle into his side and initiate sex, but you probably weren’t even planning to go that far- at least not just for that. You never had.

"He probably just reuses the same questions, to be honest, so," you trailed off, hoping he would speak, take notes, do something- anything. You finally looked up at him, wanting nothing more than for him to kiss you, but you worried he would turn away like last time: 

“It’d be a lot easier if you were in my class.” You said it a bit longingly, sliding along the wall to get closer to him. You had a big presentation in a few minutes, and you would be lying if you said you weren't anxious.

“Sounds like I’d be more of a distraction,” he quipped, smiling as he watched you slide in next to him. 

"I’d rather look at you than any of those other people," you sighed, finding it hard to hold his gaze. He breathed a laugh looking away for a moment. “You’ll do great. You always do.” He said it quietly and looked down at you. Brown eyes flicked around your face, lingering on your lips for a bit too long as he leaned a bit closer. Your breath hitched, and you timidly started to move in. Until he backed away.

“Um, you should get to class. I don’t want to keep making you late.” He looked every else but at you and moved away. You weakly nodded and kept your head down in disappointment, backing away from him. 

“I’ll wait up for you- if you want,” he called to you before you got too far down the hall. You turned to him, still feeling your heart flutter at his words. 

“Always.” 

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah, Tony?" 

He was silent at first. "I-“ he started, heavily sighing and looking away when he still couldn’t get himself to say what was on his mind, frustrated with himself. You nearly wanted to make a joke about how flustered he was, But he was obviously having a tough time dealing with his emotions, and you didn't want to make him feel ashamed of it. Even a comment about how cute he was like this might come across as condescending. So you remained quiet, softly gripping his arm as a sign of reassurance. 

“You just- make me feel like I’ve never felt before.” You couldn't stop the wide grin on your face and looked down. “That sounds really stupid,” Tony said, defeated, and turned his head as far from you as possible. 

“No, it’s actually really sweet,” you cooed, hoping he'd turn back. When he didn't you panicked, gently grabbing his hand from the book to coax him back to you. "Tony, what's wrong?" He looked at you, around the room a few times, and back at you, debating on his next words. Finally, he sighed. "I love you," he said simply, watching for your reaction. It wasn’t exactly romantic. If anything, a little forced and rushed, but he was never good at the whole emotions thing. So you let it go, resting back into him and relieved that the not-so-secret secret was finally out. 

“I love you too,” you whispered, smiling up at him. You could see the relief in his eyes.

He finally closed the distance, and you sighed in relief when his lips met yours, feeling like you had waited for this for way too long. He kissed you as if you were fragile, moving so gently that it was almost maddening. But he lingered a little longer each time, using a little more force. You slid the book somewhere on the bed and sat up so that you could better match his rhythm. You carefully placed a hand on his neck, not wanting to overstep any boundaries even though he was the one that invited you into his bed. You pressed into him with a little more force, and he gently rested back against the headboard. You nervously straddled his waist, knowing it was okay when his tongue gently traced your bottom lip. 

You jumped when his hands found their way under your shirt, unexpectedly rubbing up your waist. He started to withdraw, but you quickly caught his hands, guiding them to the hook at the front of your bra. “We don’t have to,” he said, nearly a whisper as he brushed his fingers along your rib cage. You shook your head, hands leaving to cup his face. “I’ve waited for you to love me for so long.” 

He sighed, looking apologetically at you before nodding. When you felt him starting to undo the hook, you pulled your shirt over your head, eyes never leaving his as you threw the clothes somewhere in the room. He looked you up and down, letting his hands wander your form before following your lead and removing his own shirt. You admired him, taking your turn to run a hand over his chest and trace the v-shape to where it hid below his jeans. You knew you were too far down this rabbit hole when even the way his ab muscles tightened under your touch was enough to make you breathe heavy. And as much as you enjoyed teasing and foreplay, it felt like you’d already done enough of that. 

“Honestly, Tony, I just really want you inside me,” you painfully admitted, running your hands along the waistline of his pants. He smirked at that and glanced you over, palming at your thighs. “Then I’m all yours.” You smiled, a bit embarrassed, and slid off of him, removing the rest of your clothes and letting him do the same. 

It was a bad time to feel your nervousness returning. You wouldn’t admit how often you imagined this moment finally happening, but when finally presented with his thick cock you weren’t even sure you could fit it in your mouth. You timidly mounted him again, feeling how heavy he was against you and looked up at him. You couldn’t tell if the look in his eye was a concern or a challenge, but either way, it made you want to prove him wrong. 

You pushed down your nerves and licked the palm of your hand and fingers a few times, those brown eyes never leaving you as you stroked him from base to head against your stomach, leaning forward to kiss his chest and collarbones when he groaned. You leaned back to watch, nearly moaning at the glistening beads of precum, and swiped over his slit, spreading it over his tip and licking the salty taste from your thumb. 

“You know you’re not as innocent as I thought,” he panted. You looked up at him, almost offended and worried that he had wanted you to be shy in bed too. He smiled at your expression and continued. “But you’re so much hotter than I imagined.” At that, you actually felt your bolder facade breaking again, looking down and blushing at the comment. 

“Well, Tony, you don’t exactly make people want to be saints,” you joked. He smirked at that, looking away for a few moments and coming back to you. You lifted yourself and stroked him against your entrance a few times, already feeling the pressure in your core building just from the anticipation. You finally lowered, bumping your forehead against his and softly moaning at the stretch as you made your way down. Two fingers found your clit, slowly circling, and you weren’t sure if it was hindering or helping you to take the rest of him, but god did it feel good. You whimpered and rolled your hips, starting to shallowly ride him. You placed your hands on his stomach and leaned into him, taking him deeper each time and lighting up all your sweet spots. You went slower as you felt his tip reach your end, keeping your bounces low on purpose so you could feel him press deep into you each time. The fingers on your nub began rubbing in tight, quick circles, and you squeezed his hips with your legs as your walls constricted tightly around him. You let yourself sit still, letting him pleasure you for a moment while you whimpered into his chest.

“You know, when you finally looked at me in that history class,” Tony panted heavily, and you weakly opened your eyes to look up at him questioningly. “I wanted you to only look at me for the rest of my life.” Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes held nothing but adoration for you, and he gave you that same gentle smile that had you hooked so long ago. You finally breathed out in a heavy sigh, needily pushing your lips against his in a very not well-aimed kiss. 

“And every time you always played so coy with me and made me blush like an idiot,” he muttered into your lips. “I just wanted to fuck you over the desk.” Okay, that one wasn’t as romantic, but it got the point across as he applied more pressure. You breathed a mix between a moan and a laugh and planted your hands on his shoulders, finally starting a quick and steady pace as you moved up and down. Both his hands were now on your hips, guiding you when you faltered. 

You absentmindedly dug your nails into his skin, taking notice of how his grip on you tightened and his shaky inhale. You latched on to the reaction, wondering what you could pull from him. “How do you like it?” You panted and lightly scratched into his skin again, knowing you’d probably already figured one thing out. His sly smile said as much. 

“I like things a little rough,” he admitted breathlessly. You could tell by his dark eyes that there was probably more to it, but that was a puzzle for a later time. 

You dug into his shoulders, slowly trailing down his chest a bit harder than you meant to, judging by how red the marks were. He didn’t seem to mind as he threw his head back against the headboard and blissfully groaned. You went in for an open-mouthed kiss, teasing the tip of your tongue with his and slowly moving back to make him chase you, coaxing him to sit up so you could have a little more access to his back. He moaned carnally into your mouth when you clawed up the backs of his shoulders, roughly bucking into you— that was the response you were looking for, and the sudden harshness of him bottoming out like that had you keening. That was what you wanted. 

You left wet kisses along his jaw, lightly biting at the spot below his ear. “I'm not fragile, you know," you whispered into his ear, knowing he was holding back. "I can take it." That was all he needed to take control. He gently flipped your positions, forcing you onto your back. You sighed a moan and looked up at him. 

“How do you like it?” He smiled as he asked you, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. 

“I like it a little rough,” you giggled breathlessly, sharing his preference from earlier. He panted a short laugh against your lips before giving you a soft peck. It only lasted a couple of seconds before he trailed away, kissing down your jaw. You sighed and rolled your head to the side, feeling him press into the space where your neck met your shoulder and hands encouraged your legs to wrap around his waist. Luckily he wasted no more time, giving you a few slow, harsh thrusts before building up his speed. “Just like that, Tony,” you whined, throwing an arm around his shoulders and gripping at his dark curls. He loudly moaned into you again when you pulled at his hair and dragged your nails along his shoulders, and you wanted to hear him like that for the rest of your life. His tongue flattened against your pulse before he started nipping and sucking your skin between his teeth. He bit down a bit harder than you were expecting on your throat, and when you cried out a string of high-pitched moans, it only encouraged him to press you further into the mattress. His wandering grip on your hips and waist would probably leave bruises as he kept you as close as he could. He nudged himself into the other side of your neck, eagerly littering your skin with bites. You obediently lolled your head to the other side, readily willing to give him access to whatever he wanted when he was fucking you into the mattress like this- when all you wanted was to take every inch of him as deep as he wanted you to. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer with the way he was able to brush against every spot and hit so deep within you. You scratched down his spine, feeling him falter for a moment and moaning at his own muffled cry. And you hoped he was serious about that ‘rough’ thing because you made sure to exploit it further to keep getting that reaction. 

“Tony,” you softly moaned his name, making him want to hug you tighter to him. “Tony,” you cried a bit louder and threw your head into the mattress. 

“What is it, baby, I’m right here.” His nose knocked with yours as he pressed his face to yours. You could only cry out, your pleasure being so close to the edge that you were only focused on chasing the rush. 

“Are you close?" He breathed against the corner of your mouth, nodding when you did. "Come for me, (Y/N), you can do it." He moved down to your ear. "I've wanted you to come on my cock for so long," he whispered, almost pleading. You whined at his words, them being enough to send you over the edge and have you feebly arching into him. He lifted himself off you a bit to let you squirm around and arch off the bed. He slowed, letting you relax into your orgasm even though the way your walls convulsed around him just made him want to dive into you more. 

"Wait- fuck,” Tony panted and stopped, still buried deep inside of you and restrictively jolting his hips. “Where do you want me to cum,” he panicked and looked at you desperately, frantically rubbing your waist to get your attention. You were still reeling from your own release, trying not to clench around him once you started to register his words. But you still must have taken too long to answer because he pulled out, slowly stroking himself and waiting for your instruction. You licked your lips at the sight of him, on his knees and cock glistening with your slick and begging for release. You quickly found new energy and brought your legs back to you, shifting so that you were kneeling in front of him. 

“Oh, fuck,” he panted above you and jerked off against your lips. You sucked the tip past your lips, massaging your tongue against the underside and moaned at finally getting to taste him, even mixed with your own bittersweet release. He whined above you, and you knew he wouldn’t last much longer. You took it as your queue to finally take the head, your greedy sucks audible as you rotated between licking him against the roof of your mouth and shallowly bobbing your head, bumping into his hand a few times. You dug your nails into his thighs for support, taking a bit more of his length and trying to pick up the pace, pressing your tongue into whatever you could reach. His own movements slowed as you felt the first spurt of warmth hit the back of your tongue. You rose a bit, only keeping most of the head and massaging your tongue against him each time you swallowed, earning a lengthy string of curses and moans of your name. His hands gripped at your hair as he finished, and you felt a little more cum dribble against your tongue as you licked over his slit, lightly sucking around the tip a few more times in response. He finally jerked away from you in sensitivity, keeping you in his grip so that you couldn’t chase after him and basically forcing you to rest on top of his thigh. You grinned and bit your lip, letting yourself relax against him. He ran his fingers through your hair as he caught his breath, caressing your cheek or shoulder every so often. You rubbed your thighs together, still sensitive yourself, and brought your hands to grip his thigh below you.

“Are you okay?” He eventually broke the silence, brushing his fingers along your neck and observing the reddened spots he left. You nodded, placing a few kisses against him. 

“Are you staying there all day, or can I lay down for a minute?” He chucked, still out of breath and still on his knees. You huffed and moved off of him, waiting for him to get settled so that you could lay on him once again. He moved back towards the top of the bed, looking at you expectantly when he nestled into the pillows. You awkwardly scooted over to him, carding your fingers through his hair before lowering your hand to the side of his face. 

He looked up at you with puppy eyes before leaning into your touch, glancing down as he did so and closing his eyes. “Are you okay?” You asked quietly. He nodded, still not looking at you but kissing at your palm. The lines you had left were still a faded pink along his chest and shoulders, and you hoped it wasn’t the last time you got to leave your mark on him. 

“Would you want to be together- like, with me?”

He was stumbling over his words again, even after you had just told him you loved him and let him cum in your mouth. You smiled and looked down, biting your lip to stifle your laugh, not wanting him to think you were laughing at the proposal. “Yes, Tony,” you said a little exasperated and cuddled into his chest. “I’d love to be yours.” He sighed in relief against your hair, as if he had expected you to reject him even after all that. "Good. You're the only one that'll put up with me." You sighed a laugh, kissing his chest.

It seemed you’d still have to work to get him used to affection and matters of the heart, but now you had the green light to finally go further than subtly begging him to hold your hand, so surely it wouldn’t be so hard. And you knew this shy façade probably wouldn’t stay around for long. You’d seen his needy and overconfident personality more than plenty of times to know what you were getting into, and it probably wouldn’t take long for him to gain his confidence around you again (which was fine, but you had to admit that it gave you a pretty proud feeling knowing that you were the one that made him so soft). But that would be another puzzle for another day, and all you wanted to do right now was to fall asleep with the man that you finally get to call yours. Thank god none of your finals would take place over the next couple of days because there wasn’t going to be much studying done until further notice.

[frenchfrywrites]

WOLFISH

MINORS DNI

Warnings: top dom gn amab reader, sub bottom Mozus Trein, breeding kink, humping, mentions of eating ass, age difference

I know what you're thinking, ff another fic abt trein so soon? I have no excuse, this man has me in a chokehold.

There is one undeniable truth about you that sometimes interferes in your sex life with your older lover Mozus Trein. Simply put: you have a higher sex drive

The fact that you get horny more often and have longer stamina than him is not a problem per se, but it does lead to some situations that are hard to navigate. Luckily, as your time with him continues, you've come up with many ways to circumvent it. 

Take this morning for example. You'd woken up with morning wood, and as soon as he felt you rubbing against his ass Trein had sleepily growled “you don’t have time to penetrate me when I've got to get ready for work in an hour." So you'd improvised.

Now here you are, slipping your lubed cock between his ass, against his hole. You’ve got one hand tucked under his shirt groping his chest, while the other has a firm grip on his hip.

Mozus whimpers each time your fat head glides against his hole, and though he isn’t hard- you let your hand on his hip drop down to check every few minutes- he’s clearly enjoying himself. 

He squeaks when you graze your teeth where his shoulder and neck meet. You don’t bite him, instead you lick and softly suck every so often.

The pace of your thrusts against him is slow and easy. For now you’re content with letting yourself feel every sensation, rather than chase an orgasm. It’s a beautiful morning, and sunlight seeps in through the window to illuminate Trein in a warm glow; while being highly aware of the time he has left before he needs to go, you want to savor every second of it before he leaves you. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” you groan against his skin. Trein huffs a bit, grinding his hips back against you. “Pretty, pretty,” you mumble, a bit delirious from the way just grinding on him gets you so worked up. “Mmm can you feel how hard I am for you baby? I wanna fuck you so bad, ‘cause you’re always so tight- hah, and wet, and hot for me.” He moans your name,

“You’re- wolfish,” he chokes out, arching his back all the same. You groan, deep in your throat,

“Is that right?” you nip him gently, playing into the word. Trein squeaks,

“Oh, yes, a mutt,” he’s likely trying to sound disgusted but it comes out wanton and breathless. His dirty talk makes you lose control, and your hips stutter against him then pick up the pace. Trein whimpers as you tighten your hold on his hip, pre leaking from your tip. “So lecherous,” you’d normally laugh at how he manages to be verbose while you’re lewdly rutting your length against his ass, but you’re too far gone.

“I wanna cum soon,” you confess, squeezing his chest, “I wish I could ah, fuck you, wish I could stuff you full,” you both groan simultaneously when your head catches against his hole. You move a bit so you can continue to hump him, and quickly resume your babbling, “I wish I could feel you ‘round my cock, hah, feel how tight you are for me, Trein,” you gasp when he grinds back against you suddenly. “Trein baby, Mozus, fuck, wish I could pump you full of my cum, wish I could breed you, ah wanna breed you-”

"You can-” he cuts you off, and your dick throbs, "just the tip," he allows, looking back at you, his cheeks flushed. You groan, pulling him in for a filthy kiss. 

It's all tongue and spit, and earlier in your relationship it would've made him bashful. Now he melts into you and your depravity, letting himself become looser, more comfortable in your hold.

You know you're going to cum as soon as you get even a fraction of your dick inside of him. Pulling your hips back, as hard as it is to do so, you use some of the excessive amounts of lube you’d drizzled on him to press a finger inside him and find that he’s still loose from last night.

(God last night, thinking back to it makes more pre ooze from your tip. He’d rode you, let you fuck load after load into him, let you make his hole sloppy in every aspect of the word, until his thighs ached, then he sucked your dick in the shower, and let you eat your cum out of his ass. When you’d gotten back into bed, he let you finger him even though he was drawing blanks, and just before drifting off he gave you a very lazy handjob.)

You quickly press in a second finger and stretch his hole so you can fit your thick cockhead inside. 

“Gonna breed you,” you mumble, removing your fingers, “I’m going to get my cum in you and- fuck, finger it deep inside so you can get pregnant with my kids,” you promise, watching Trein shudder from your words. 

You press your cock slowly inside, just the tip per your lover's instruction, and it only takes one shallow jerk of your hips for you to cum. You shakily, oh so carefully, fuck his hole with as much of your dick as you’re allowed, stroking feverishly at the part of your length which remains outside of him. You cry out his name, feeling Trein clench and flutter around your sensitive head. 

You whine as you finish, knowing that you’ll have to pull out any second now. Trein seems reluctant to let you go too, letting you stay inside him even when you've filled him with all your cum and become soft. 

Eventually though, he reaches back to pat your thigh affectionately. 

“I’ve got to get up now,” he sighs as you pull yourself out of him, “Lucius is likely cross due to me neglecting him- oh,” you laugh, pushing your cum inside of him like you promised. He smacks away your hand and you laugh again, though it dies off when he pulls himself out of bed and begins to walk (though your treatment last night and this morning makes him a bit wobbly) to the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’d better get out of here before I drag you back and fuck you proper,” you hum, watching your cum leak out of him hungrily. 

Trein stops at the doorway between the bathroom and his room to send you a glare, “truly, you’re too much.” 

Your response to that is to blow him a kiss then laugh when he scoffs and shuts the door behind him.