#dusty and dizzy

[papermint-airplane]

So I'm playing in Twinbrook and Marc Brandt calls my Sim, Dizzy Fizzwick, and he's like "hey my cat just had a kitten, do you want to adop--" and Dizzy didn't hear anything else because her pickup truck was breaking the sound barrier.

Anyway, meet Dusty. Dusty Fizzwick.

She is a kitten. She is a genius, and yet she is also stupid. I love her.

Dizzy keeps looking at her like "I'm going to digest you". The cuteness aggression is really getting to her.

Dusty has aggression too but I think it's just the regular kind.

When not being a menace, she enjoys rolling around on the kitchen rug

watching her big brother Fred the chameleon

and attacking her toys.

God. Look at this. Just fucking look at this. It's almost as big as she is. Ridiculous.

[rockpaperscissuhs]

HBO WWII Rewatch | Week 9 - Green

[strawberista]

⚅— @justiceburst asked: —⚅

⚅— "Get me a drink and make sure nobody disturbs me for half an hour." (from akechi! i miss writing with you :)) —⚅

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

"You got it, boss. What kinda drink can I getcha today? Just a regular coffee fine or were ya lookin' for something specific?"

Hanekoma reached under the counter to take up a marker in his hand and passed around to the front door. He didn't have a lot of concern about anyone coming into Wildkat, since this place tended to be pretty quiet most days, but if he was really going to do the service he might as well go the whole nine. A sigil drawn along the doors to ensure no one outside of the cafe even noticed its existence, and then he was making his way back to the counter.

Something special about this one, he had realized. He had a good imagination on him, and he felt so very familiar. The way he sat, the way his eyes seemed just a little more inward than outward, even if he was paying attention. Hanekoma had seen this before from someone very close to him, and he wondered if they were much of anything alike. It would be interesting to see how this played out, though he didn't know if he would be able to get very far.

"Make sure nobody disturbs me for half an hour" lent itself to meaning he probably wasn't up for much conversation. He was looking for introspection, maybe, or perhaps he just wanted to breathe for a second. If he was usually very busy with people, maybe he was sick enough of them that he wouldn't be much for humoring a nosy barista. A damn shame, but if he had good enough service he might get a second appearance. And as long as that was the case, he might even get him to open up over time. Slow and steady and all that.

[reignpage]

Things That Bind Us

Summary: in which student mage!choso encounters a spell that binds one’s body to an object of their choosing and he can't resist trying it out on an unsuspecting you… with a magically conjured sex doll?! Warnings: porn with little plot, 18+, mdni, fantasy au, fem!reader, a little hogwarts-esque, non-con/dub-con but it's really more cnc, sex toy usage, tit slapping, cunnilingus, quick pússy job, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, spitting, pússy slapping, creampie, brief ass play/rimming, díck piercing, squirting, overstimulation, portrayal of a possibly unhealthy fwb scenario, reader seems abusive but I swear she's not TT, she just needs to reign Choso in, not proofread Word Count: 3.3k

It’s stupid really.

Choso wasn’t even looking for a way to get back at you for leaving him high and dry after you rode his face to three orgasms. In fact, he was searching the archives for some textbooks he could use for the five thousand word essay he has due tomorrow, though it seems like it’ll have to wait now that he’s found something much more interesting and helpful. 

Throwing the last ingredient into his portable cauldron, he watches red fumes puff in the air, signalling that he’s ready to get the other half of his plan in motion. 

Hidden in his dorm room, door locked and walls reinforced with a shield spell, he climbs into bed and douses the potion all over a temporary conjurement. If anyone found out what he had done and is going to do, he’d both be the laughing stock of the academy and the one guys would turn to for help with their own deviant desires. But no one will know…except, of course, for you. 

What is the temporary conjurement?

Why, it’s a soft, almost life-like recreation of the female body. He’s sculpted it in his mind to look just like you, at least the you he remembered as well as he could given that he was a little preoccupied with gathering the ingredients necessary for his potion. Long limbed, smooth-skinned, bearing your complexion, and completely bare, it can do nothing as the wayward student douses the thing with the gloopy concoction, massaging it in thoroughly and leaving the body shiny and slick. 

Smelling of lavender and perversion, he doesn’t miss a single inch of skin with the potion, oiling the body up to the point where it glistens temptingly. Then, just as naked as his conjuring, Choso mutters a binding spell none had uttered in centuries and will not for longer. 

Nothing happens. 

He frowns, the black mark spanning cheek to cheek over his nose twitches with the movement. Did he say it wrong? Were the frog eyes he used expired? Or maybe he forgot to boil the snail mucus for a minute longer than usually recommended? 

What a shame. He was so looking forward to getting some payback — too often is it the case that he’s the one chasing after you, flushing an embarrassing red in the face when you’ve embarrassed him by pointing out that he’s drooling or that he already came by humping the bed from just your mere scent. Oh, what Choso wouldn’t give to render you just as flustered and dizzy as you leave him. 

You two have an agreement — nothing is too weird or sick. You love it when he touches you as you sleep and his cock drips like a leaky faucet when he pretends he doesn’t want you to suck his dick at the back of the pegasus stables. An odd pair in everyone’s eyes, his friends remain surprised that you two have stayed together as partners in lewd crime for so long. There are many times you two have broken things off, promising to do better, to be better, but those breaks never last very long before he’s bending you over backwards in the toilets. 

Sighing, he curses out the stupid spell book. No wonder it was dusty and hidden away in the library; who’d use a book full of faulty spells and empty vows?

Just about to wave the thing away, something catches his eye: a slight rise and fall of the chest. 

Wait…

No way…

It worked!

Your body is actually connected to the one he has in his bed. And, judging by the rhythmic breaths you’re taking, you must be asleep. That means you’re in your room too and won’t be caught in a compromising position because of him. Choso pretends he isn’t disappointed. 

Carefully, he planks over you and inhales at your neck. His eyes shut tight. Even with the distance, even when this isn’t your real body, he can still smell you and it sends blood rushing straight to his cock. He begins mouthing at the skin, sucking marks and smiling when your breathing quickens, just a little. 

Nipples flat, his fingers tweak at them, wanting to see them pebbled under his touch. You wear shirts to bed and he wonders if you can feel the flicking through the material or under — he hopes it’s the former since you like the friction. Either way, whatever he’s doing is having an effect on you: your heart is beating faster, breath irregular, skin warmer, back arching ever so slightly, and your nipples poke his palm. 

His memory was right. The breasts he cups weigh the same and feel practically the same. How often had he cradled your body like this for him to know the sizing of your tits perfectly? 

Choso’s mouth waters. Unable to help himself, he suckles a nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling the bud around. The potion is surprisingly tasteless though it is oily. That doesn’t put him off at all, however. Though you’re asleep, you still feel him, almost like a sixth sense. That’s sweet. He can tell you’re still asleep; you’re only ever this docile when in the land of slumber. Well, he won’t complain. Instead of shaking you awake, he trails a hand down your torso, tickling your belly button before it curves downwards to your pussy. 

You’re not very wet yet. 

Undeterred, he pets your cunt to waken that part of your body before your mind does. He loves the warmth and the plumpness of your pussy lips. Truly, he could spend eternity making out with it if only you’d let him. 

Your juices are leaking now and he spreads it around, smearing your skin with your wetness. The potion eases the tight circles he rubs against your clit, still hidden under its hood. Mouth full, Choso grunts. “Come on, baby. Come out for me. That’s it.”

Jostling, he watches your body come to life. You’re waking up. He wonders how you’ll react to the feeling of your tit being sucked and your clit being rubbed. Would you scream? Would you frantically search your textbooks for an explanation to the sensations you’re feeling? Or…would you indulge in the pleasure for a little longer than you should?

How long will it take you to figure out that he’s up to no good? What punishment will you give him?

He gasps. 

Without realising it, he had been grinding down onto your body double’s thigh. His cock is dribbling pre cum onto the skin. Can you feel that too? Can you feel the throbbing of his dick against your leg? Can you count the veins? Feel the length? Does it seem familiar?

Choso shoves two fingers into your pussy, burying them right up to the knuckles and getting his silver rings coated in your juices; he loves when the smell of you lingers and he can sniff the memory in class. Sometimes, he even absentmindedly takes a ring into his mouth and plays with the remaining taste of you whilst he studies.

It’s not really your body, he reminds himself. It’s not your pussy but, in the haze of pleasure and shame in knowing he’s doing something wrong, he can’t seem to care. The difference is marginal. You’re tighter but the heat is all the same, so are the pleats he’s rubbing. That gummy spot that has your toes curling is at the same place too. 

The body can only lie limp, the dusty spell book he found was clear on that — your arms won’t be wrapping around his back, won’t be clawing red lines down his spine that get his cock rising to full mast in the hallways when his shirt grazes them, and your legs won’t lock around his hips the way you usually do when you want him to cum inside and not on your stomach or back. 

Still, there’s something crazily hot about that. You can’t fight him off either. Can’t argue with him or boss him about. He gets to decide what position he wants you to be in, to control the pace and says when this ends. Surely he’ll pay for this later but he just can’t bring himself to think about the consequences, not when you’re tightening around his fingers and the tangy scent of your pussy is reaching him. 

“I bet you’re so confused right now,” he mumbles. “You might even be scared. Don’t be. I’ve got you. Always.”

SLAP!

SLAP!

He’s smacked each of your tits just to watch it bounce; you usually hate it when he does that. By now, he’d be sporting a bump on his head as you push him over to ride him until he’s overstimulated and begging for mercy. But you can’t do anything. And that fact is going to make him cum on your thigh. 

Shaking his head, he hurriedly grips the base of his cock. He can’t cum. Not yet. And not here. He didn’t go through the trouble of climbing up the whispering willow tree for the tallest branch in front of, what felt like, the entire student body, to not feel your pussy clench around his dick. 

First things first, though…

With haste, he scrambles down the bed to dive between your legs. Like a dog, he laps up your juices. You taste sweet, forever so sweet. It’s why he doesn’t complain when you teleport into his room at random times of the day and beckon him over without even speaking to him. It’s why he doesn’t mind when you leave his cock untouched; he can cum just fine with the taste of you lingering on his face, lips, and tongue. 

Using the tip of the long appendage, he plays with your clit, coaxing it out of the hood so he can suck hard at it. More cream drools onto his tongue. His eyes roll to the back of his head. Fingers digging deep into the fat of your thighs and threatening to bruise, he holds you in place and licks and sucks and licks again. 

“Hmm, you’re such a good girl when you’re getting what you want…come on then, you pretty little devil, take what you need. Bet you’re riding the air on your bed right now -hah- I wish I could see how pitiful you look.”

His fingers return inside, feeling the quivering of your pussy around the calloused digits. You’re close. He doesn’t need to hear you scream it out. He can simply tell from the way your clit is jutting into his mouth. A disappointment blooms in his chest — he so badly wishes he could hear you whine and whimper. The only consolation he has is that you’re not squirming out of his hold; you’re prey to his monstrous thirst.

SLUUUUUURPPP!

He’s shameless in the sounds he’s pulling out of your pussy. In fact, he’s fuelled by the squelching of your greedy cunt. It’s overwhelming him. You’re overwhelminghim. All of his senses are filled with you, dragging him down into the depths of pleasurable mania. 

“Tastes so -hah- good. I love your pussy so much. She’s so nice to me, not like you. No, you’re so -fuck, give me more, baby- so mean.”

Mischievously, his other hands treads further down. A thumb skims the rim of your asshole. You hate it when he does that too. Well, you can't do anything about it. Slowly, he pushes in the thick digit, laughing to himself when he feels the tight hole tense around it. Oh, you're definitely biting down on your fist right now. You're thinking Choso Kamo is a dead man walking, or rather, a dead man wanking. If he had longer, if you aren't such a clever student who can solve a puzzle within seconds, then he'd shove his tongue in there too.

Another day perhaps.

Hips rutting against the mattress, he feels like he can follow you to the edge just like this but this —the depravity, the power, the control— will likely never happen again and so he must make the most of it. When your orgasm erupts all over his face, soaking his cheeks and sheets, he desperately licks up as much as he can before he lays a kiss on your pulsing clit. 

“Feel good? I wish I could see your face. You always look so pretty when you cum. It’s okay though. You did such a good job. Well done.”

Choso positions himself between your legs. You’ve cum twice now but he hasn’t yet. Now, it’s his turn. Pushing the thighs back and feeling resistance, he slides his cock through your soaked slit, catching your pulsing clit. “I know you don’t like it when I -hah, you’re so -heh- wet- when I push your legs like this ‘cause you think it makes your tummy look silly but -ah fuck- b-but I love it. I love spreading you nice and wide for me like this. So, bear with me, ‘kay? Don’t get mad. I’ll do your homework for another week, I promise.”

You can’t hear him, he knows that. Yet, somehow, whispering comforting words to you brings him some peace of mind. He doesn’t want you to feel scared or panic. Ever. But you deserve to feel even just a little bit of what you make him feel on a regular basis. A balance must be struck somewhere and somehow. You’ll understand…or not. Either way, he doesn’t care anymore.

Slowly, he enters you. The stretch is as it always is: slow, maddeningly tight, and perfect. You’re wrapping around his length with expert skill. Maybe now you’ve caught on. Maybe now you know exactly what’s happening. There’s no way you don’t know it’s his cock that’s filling you up. Only he can push all this cream out of you. Only he can reach your deepest parts, can stimulate your g-spot and grind against your clit as he bottoms out. 

He’s sure you can feel the piercings on his frenulum. You once said it’s your favourite part of him. Something about the coldness at first and then the hardness whilst it rubs at your walls. 

If the feel of his cock stretching you to your limits doesn’t clue you on, then his piercings will. Now, you must be absolutely out of your mind with both bliss and anger. The very best combination when it comes to you.

“Oh, Merlin, you’re so tight. Fuck, I swear you do it on purpose.” Already his hips are stuttering, body and mind engulfed with the scent, feel and scalding burn of your doughy pussy. Everything about you is perfect, even the memory of you, which has manifested into a mindless sex doll and pales in comparison, is perfect. “You always m-make me want to cum so quickly. Not fair.”

Thrusting with a furious pace, Choso curses and flicks his wrist. A vibrator manifests in his hand. It’s your turn to be overstimulated, to cum again and again, and beg for mercy. He won’t hear you. Can’t. And a good thing, too; If he could, he’d give in. He always does. He’s pathetic. You make him pathetic. 

Cruelly, he presses the toy down onto your clit. 

“Fuck! T-too t-tight. Ah shit.” The immediate clenching of your pussy almost made him cum. Needing to ground himself, he holds onto a bouncing breast, still pummelling his cock inside you. It feels good for him too. The vibrations rattle your bones, sending it straight to him. Choso usually hates it when you use a vibe on him but he doesn’t right now. How could he when it’s making his abs flex and his vision blurry? 

At least now you’re not here to mock him for the drool trailing down his chin. He gathers it up and spits it down on your clit, landing with an obscene SPLAT! before he mixes it in with your frothing juices using the toy. 

The bed is banging against the wall. Thankfully he’s mastered that sound shielding spell; being a third year without having done that would make you a runt of the pack. No one will hear the salacious squelching of your pussy, his filthy moans and whimpers, or the foul slapping of skin against fake skin. 

You tighten impossibly around him as you cum again. He fucks you through it. No one can resist the devious power of a vibrator, not even you. “Bet you’re r-regretting all the times you’ve tortured me with this, h-huh? It’s not nice being on the receiving end, is it? Is it?”

When he doesn’t receive an answer, he pouts and smacks your clit. 

“It’s rude to ignore someone.” 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! 

Each ruthless slap has your pussy pulsing hard, hugging his cock like it could offer reprieve. It only angers him more. His thrusting goes deeper and harder, wanting to punish you to the point of tears. 

Then, he laughs. “Hah, I forgot. You can’t -ngh!- reply. Sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to be so -hah hah fuck- mean to your pretty pussy. Let me a-apologise.”

There is no apology. Not really. He’s ramming into your cunt at an unrelenting pace, balls smacking against your ass. At least now he’s let go of your legs, has stopped slapping your clit, and discarded the vibrator. That’s as kind as he can manage to be at this present moment. He’s sure he’ll pay for that too. 

Nearing his end, delirious and manic, he suckles at your tits once more. He could spend eternity worshipping them too. Something about how soft and warm they are, and when he lays between them, it’s like they’re welcoming him home. Choso licks up the sweat under your breasts. It’s something he can’t do with you even though he’s been wanting to for years. Now, he can live out his deepest fantasies, can fuck you how he’s how wanted to for a long time. 

You’re probably furious despite the euphoria channelling through your veins. Mentally, you must be cursing him out, planning all the hexes you’ll attach to him. Whatever you have planned for him, he’ll gladly take it. No matter how bad, how humiliating and stupid the punishments he receives are, he takes them with a smile — the fact that you spent time thinking about him at all makes him so happy. 

Oh, he can’t wait to see you. 

“H-hurry up and find me already! I miss you -sooooo fucking t-tight- miss you so so much.”

There’s no longer any rhyme or reason to his thrusting. He’s just chasing his high, fuelled by images of you. And when he cums, he swears he sees you appear in his room with a face one can only describe as livid. 

“Shit shit shit shit!” Choso’s orgasm makes him whine. It’s too much, too strong and too good. He slumps over your body, drooling all over himself and muttering confessions of adoration into your skin. Hot cum floods around his cock, pooling out. It’ll be a mess to clean up but all he can think about is how you’ll feel it. 

With a poof, the conjurement disappears. He’s left humping his bed, riding out the remnants of his orgasm. Totally worth it. 

“Had your fun, Kamo?”

He stills. 

You’re not a figment of his imagination. You really are in his room. Dressed in just a shirt — his shirt — you stand there, hands on your hips, hair a mess, tears on your cheeks, and wetness glistening down your thighs. Much prettier and better in every way than the doll, the sight of you in his room again urges his hips on. He winces at the raw and painful pleasure bolting through his body but he can’t stop.

Weakly, he waves at you, too tired to even feel panicked. All his survivor’s instincts have fled at the sight of your wrath, apparently. 

“Don’t act cute. You’re so dead, you pervy asshole.” Jumping on the bed, you rain down punches on his back, tickling him more than anything. He can feel the soaked warmth of your pussy on his back and it’s reawakening his softening cock. “I’m gonna rip off your stupid dick piercing, mark my words. I’ll tear you a new pair of balls, Choso.”

Pouting, he looks back and meets your eye. Your cunt pulses. “Is that before or after you ride me?”

Choso doesn’t leave the room until the next day. He doesn’t answer when his friends ask him about his limp, the frightening hickeys on his neck, and the self-satisfied grin on his face, which, of course, falls when he receives detention for not having a five thousand word essay to hand in.

He has no regrats.

[strangerexee]

ᴘʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ɪᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ | ꜱᴀᴍᴍɪᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set in Mississippi, 1932 Black!Fem!Reader x Sammie Moore (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | semi-public | oral (f!receiving) | praise kink | dirty talk (but soft and sweet) | preacher boy being filthy with his mouth | reader being shy but loving it | Sammie adoring her.) ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ : ᴀɴᴏɴ… ᴡᴄ : 1.9ᴋ

The barn was alive, music rolling like a river, laughter booming, stomps on the wooden floors in time with the beat.

It was damn near midnight but nobody had slowed down yet.

You’d been dancing for what felt like hours, sweaty, breathless, twirling under the hazy glow of the lights, and somewhere in the middle of the crowd, Sammie Moore had found you.

That voice, lord, that voice, smooth like smoke, low like thunder, sweet enough to steal your good sense.

And now. You were laughing against his chest, hands clutching the front of his jacket, as he half-dragged you toward the back of the barn.

Your shoes skidded on the rough wood, the hem of your dress twisting between your knees. Sammie was laughing too, that soft, breathless chuckle that made your heart flip.

"Where you takin' me, preacher boy?" you teased, grinning.

Sammie just shook his head, smiling wide, eyes burning, and pushed open a closet door.

Light dim inside. Dusty. Perfect.

You barely made it inside before his mouth was on yours, kissing you like he hadn't just seen you thirty seconds ago, like he’d been starving.

One hand grabbing his shoulder, the other going to the back of his neck to pull him closer if possible, and you gasped against his mouth, dizzy with how fast this was happening.

Somebody, Slim, from the sound of it, hollered out a laugh from the other side of the barn.

"Ain't no hidin', Sammie!" "Boy too loud!"

You laughed into Sammie’s kiss, breathless.

He laughed too, a low rumble in his chest, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he kissed you harder. Hands gripping your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead bumping his.

"You sound real good up there," you mumbled, cheeks hot. "When you was singin’. Sound better than anybody else here."

Sammie huffed a soft, bashful sound, but the way his eyes darkened, you knew he liked hearing that.

"That right, pretty girl?" he said, voice dragging like silk across your skin. "You like my singin'?" "Mmhmm," you nodded, kissing on his jaw. "'Specially when you hit them notes."

You weren't thinking, not really, just talking and laughing and letting yourself get drunk off the heat of him.

So when he lifted you up and set you on the old table in the closet, your brain barely caught up.

Not even when he dropped to his knees. Dropped to his knees.

You blinked, the sweat cooling on your skin, heart pounding as you felt his hands push up the hem of your dress.

"Sammie —" you gasped, pushing at his shoulders. "Wait, wait, wait — I walked here — I been dancin' all night — I ain't — I ain't even clean —"

You were babbling, mortified.

But Sammie just kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and hot, then smiled up at you, mouth glistening.

"Don't care," he said simply. "You beautiful just like this." "Sweaty, messy, mine."

You slapped a hand over your face, half in embarrassment, half because you couldn't believe this was happening.

You heard him laugh low.

Then he grabbed your wrist, firm but careful, and pulled your hand away from your face.

"Lay down for me, baby," he murmured, thumb stroking your wrist. "Let me take care of you." his voice, you were gonna die. Die because of the way he was distracting you, all while pulling down your panties, all the way down, and letting them fall from your ankles.

You swallowed thick. Nodded.

And laid back, the old wood creaking under your weight, the barn lights flickering somewhere behind your shut eyelids, your whole body trembling with a mix of nerves and something deeper. Darker.

You felt Sammie’s hands sliding up your thighs, warm and calloused, felt the press of his palms as he gently eased your legs open, spreading you like something sacred, like he was about to pray at the altar of you.

Cool air brushed your inner thighs, kissed the heat between them, and then came the softest groan, deep from his chest.

“Damn…” he murmured, more to himself than to you. "So damn wet."

His breath fanned over your wetness and you shivered, lips parted, eyes fluttering as your fingers gripped the table edge.

Then his mouth was on you. Hot. Slow. Focused.

His tongue slid through your folds, parting them with gentle precision, until he found your clit and sealed his lips around it. Sucked. Soft. Steady.

Your entire body jolted, hips twitching off the table in shock.

“Oh my God — Sammie —”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. He groaned into your pussy like he’d just tasted divinity, like the sound of your moan had gone straight through him.

His hands slid underneath your thighs, fingers curling tight over your hips, anchoring you down, so you couldn’t move, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything but take it.

And you took it. Your thighs trembled around his head, your breath coming out in choked gasps, you tried to be quiet, tried to bite down on the sounds spilling out of you, but he made it impossible.

The way his tongue worked, lapping, circling, flicking that sensitive spot again and again, so tender but so filthy, made your body rise with every pass.

Your hand slipped to the back of his neck, cradling him there.

He moaned against you like you fed him, like he needed this, like he was starving for it.

“Preacher boy —” you gasped, the nickname tumbling out on instinct.

He grinned against your pussy, let out a low, filthy hum that made your stomach clench.

And when he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Say it again,” his voice was so deep, so wrecked with lust, you thought you might fall apart from just that alone.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think. But you obeyed, barely above a whimper.

“Preacher boy…”

He hummed again, deeper this time, and then you felt him slide two thick fingers into you without warning.

You cried out, back arching off the table, as he filled you and stretched you slow, deliberate, his tongue still working your clit, his mouth soft while his fingers curled inside you, firm and sure.

He moved like he’d done this before, like he knew how to pull sounds from a woman’s chest.

He licked you like it was Sunday service. He fucked you with his fingers like he meant to make you confess something.

“That’s it,” Sammie murmured, voice honey-slick and ruined. “C’mon now. Give it to me, baby. C’mon, let go for me.”

You came like the barn was shaking, like the wood beneath you would snap, like he’d stolen your soul from between your thighs.

And he didn’t stop. Not until you were trembling and leaking and gasping, his mouth dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of you like he needed it to breathe.

When he finally slowed, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen clit, then the inside of your thigh, you lay there stunned. Eyes glassy. Breath gone. Heart stuttering against your ribs.

He rose to his feet slow, and when you looked up at him, you felt a flush run all the way down your chest.

His mouth was shiny with you. His lips swollen and damp. His eyes? Hooded, sexy.

He leaned down, one hand cupping your cheek, and kissed you. Deep. Slick tongue sliding against yours.

You tasted yourself on his tongue. You let him feed it to you like communion. And you swore you could still feel his moan in your mouth.

"Told you," Sammie whispered against your lips. "Ain't no hidin', baby. You mine now."

You only pushed him away with a scoff, still catching your breath.

You sat up slow, the old wood of the table creaking under you, your dress all bunched up around your hips, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing.

Sammie was standing right in front of you, tall and breathing hard, eyes fixed on you like you were something holy.

You caught your breath, swallowed thick — and reached for him. Reached for the buttons on his pants, fingers fumbling a little from how bad you still felt your climax rattling through you.

Sammie’s eyes darkened instantly.

"Baby —" he started, voice low and rough. "You sure?" "Mmhmm," you nodded, staring up at him with glassy, hungry eyes.

You slid your hands over the front of his pants, felt him already thick and hard underneath, and bit your lip.

"I want ya," you whispered. “I need ya.”

That was all Sammie needed.

He bent down, grabbed your face in both hands, and kissed you deep. Hot and filthy, his mouth tasting like your own arousal.

You moaned into the kiss, grabbing onto the waistband of his pants, trying to pull him closer.

Sammie chuckled against your mouth, low and breathless, and let you work at his belt.

You popped it open, the soft snap loud in the tiny closet, and dragged the zipper down, your fingers shaking just a little.

He caught your hands for a second, squeezing them.

"Take your time, baby," he whispered. "Ain't no rush."

But you wanted him, wanted him so bad it hurt.

You kissed him again, desperate, messy, hands slipping under the waistband of his briefs, feeling the heavy, thick weight of him.

Sammie groaned into your mouth, deep and broken, his hips jerking forward when you wrapped your hand around him. You stroked him slow, feeling the heat of him, and Sammie gripped the edge of the table like he might break it.

"F-Fuck, baby," he breathed, forehead pressing against yours. "You tryin' to kill me?"

You just smiled, shy but wicked, and kissed him again, tongue sliding slow against his. You wanted more. You needed more.

So you shifted, still trembling, and pulled him closer between your legs.

Sammie sucked in a sharp breath, one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your dress higher, until he could feel how wet you still were for him.

"Damn," he muttered against your mouth. "Still so sweet for me."

You nodded, desperate, and guided him closer. But Sammie pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze hot and serious.

"Ain't fuckin' you on no damn splintery table," he growled. "You deserve better than that."

You whimpered, frustrated, but he kissed you slow, calming you.

"Next time," Sammie promised, voice low. "Next time, baby, I’m takin' you somewhere proper. Where I can hear you scream without worryin' who hear us."

You shivered. God, you wanted him so bad, but you trusted him too. You trusted him to mean it. You trusted him to come back for you.

So instead, instead, you pulled him close again, and let him grind against you, thick and hard between your thighs, while you kissed him deep and dirty.

Sammie kissed you like he was carving your name into his soul, slow and aching and desperate, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that made you both moan.

It wasn't enough. Not nearly. But it was everything all at once. And when you finally pulled back, cheeks burning, lips slick, Sammie rested his forehead against yours and smiled.

"You my girl now," he whispered. "Ain't lettin' you go, baby."

And you smiled too, still trembling, but more sure than you ever had been before.

"Good," you whispered back. "'Cause I ain't goin' nowhere."

A/N: brb - I need to go touch some grass...

[kalims]

⭒ㅤwhose (not) random kid

premise. crash landing from the future is apparently your kid, not that you know that anyway... in the form of a mixture between you, and your... supposed counterpart, clues are bound to pile up as to whose child this is.

parts. rosehearts, kingscholar, ashengrotto, al asim, schoenheit, shroud, draconia

cont. gender neutral reader, use of 'mada' which is just 'mama' and 'dada' cut in half for our resident shrimp (aka yuu) staggering 6.1k words woah

note. hello, hello! for a while I don't think I can work on azul's part </3 it's gonna be a very busy week for me for the following two weeks (i can say i am already in hell week) for finals so it might be a while before I can pick his part up hehe. in the meanwhile... here's leona ;) if I can commit to a date for azul, you can check out the posting schedule at my pinned since I will be updated it once i do!

as usual, just comment if you also want to be added in the taglist ^^ if those already on want to be removed you can also drop a comment to inform me!

leona

i should take a bite–was a brief thought that swam through your mind just as you turned a corner to another seemingly endless hallway. the floating lanterns, and candles alike light up in a short flash of dim green when you passed, extinguishing completely when you found another hallway.

in your hands was none other than a doom sandwich from the cafeteria, plucked then fought after its other nineteen siblings in the tray. if you had a word it would probably be chaos, you’d think there was a pyramid of golden bars in the cafeteria from the crowd of students outside before the bell.

there was indeed not.

“shehehe! take this, our protege!” were the humble words of a ghost occupant of the main campus, who had apparently come to view you as an underling of theirs. so if slipping the wrapped delicacy into your hands discreetly with a wink was their idea of a ‘good job’ then who were you, honestly to decline?

out of courtesy you wondered whether or not to inform your friends alongside the large crowd in the front of the room but decided against it because you were in the right mind to not dive first into that… mob and lose your beloved gift immediately.

in short, the students of this unfortunate institution were not above using dirty tactics for a single, stupid sandwich that happens to induce a recollection of memories when eaten (alright, you do see the appeal).

you hid it within the inner pockets of your blazer, lacking the nausea you had through the first few times of travelling through the mirrors as you stepped through and found yourself in the warm, humid air of savanaclaw. thankfully, as with all condiments from the cafeteria, the food would always remain warm.

alright. you did feel a bit dizzy but as were such with certain out of the world aliens like yourself. 

“we’re missing a disk, yuu-yuu!” 

you turned your head at the mention of your name, spotting a few savanaclaw students either lying still with varying pants or grabbing a drink at their own magishift field. a few disks were strewn around the dusty ground but you steeled your gaze at the source of your called name.

politely, you waved. this time, you’re not sure why cater’s nickname for you had extended from the upperclassmen of heartslabyul (well, the first years regard you normally anyway.) then to savanaclaw residents. for a dorm with such virile individuals, they’re still teenagers who like to pick on you, albeit less disdainful and more teasing after you’d helped the dorm out.

before, they were just demons to you!

you nudge your chin towards the many lying around. “there’s a lot of disks around, upperclassmen.” you pointed out, the cheetah eared second year doesn’t even spare them a glance like catching your attention were more of his concerns than a not-but lack of disks. “if you’re asking me to carry one to you, they’re really heavy. i’m sure your magic can carry it well anyway.”

buttering egos must be an acquired skill around here.

cheetah only flashes you a toothy grin, two fangs poking out from under his lips. “nah.” he replied with a shake of his head, patting down the towel slung around his shoulders to the perspiring skin of his neck. “want to be our disk? last time got everyone motivated to be the ones to throw you around.”

“no, thank you!” you bowed politely, turning around at record speed.

he snorted.

“bye, yuu-yuu.”

in hindsight no one would ever be sane enough to be a disk after watching a magical shift game considering it might as well just be a blur of color with all of the spells trailing after it. unfortunately, you were more so dragged into the role and reluctantly accepted your fate.

it was not a fun experience! you shivered, keeping your head straight to the entrance of the dorm as you resumed walking and ignored the disappointed hollers behind you. if you can’t see them, they don’t exist.

a breeze brushes through your legs.

the breeze trips you from your stride.

dazed with confusion, you remained stomach against the ground for a moment. what was that? you wondered after your brief startle, moving to push yourself up from the ground. a frown creases the space between your brows when you regained your stand and spotted the brown dust littering your otherwise, clean uniform.

you sighed when you found that it did not only cover your forearms, but also the front of your entire uniform. you might as well be rolling around on the ground to justify the mess on your clothes. 

this place really hates you.

“sorry…”

jumping ten feet from the air (you wish. you’re exaggerating for good measure.) you whipped your head around, searching from the pitched, misty voice that seemed to chime pretty close to your ear.

… must have been the wind.

the wind knocks you to the ground again when you moved forward despite your initial dumbfoundedness.

when you raise your face that once again planted to the ground, you are not greeted by the air you expected but rather than a pair of green eyes that was not familiar in the slightest when you pair their shade of hair alongside the irises.

“i’m sleepy. can we take a nap?” 

you gaped, horrified at the scare. “WHAT IN THE WO–”

‎⎯⎯ . . . ‎

grim on the other hand feels like he’s in heaven.

setting aside cans of tuna’s under your bed felt like a mastermind plan he’s been devising for weeks, there was no way you’d discover the pile below! he chuckled to himself. at last, with you away for the night (he assumes you are, since you’re goin’ over to meet that overgrown cat!). grim is at least thankful for this one time that leona kidnaps you away from him.

with his feast laid out in front of him grim spares a loud cackle that shook him with so much please that warm puffs of smoke slipped through his canine teeth, the blue fire larger with his laughs.

now i can eat! finally! after weeks! he cried in his head.

grim was just about to leap in to tear through the metal can to ravish his meal but instead startled upwards at the sound of a door slamming against the wall he worried the entire building just might come down on him for a second.

dust flew down from the ceiling and floated on the top of the cans. grim’s flames roared brighter in response to his otherwise perfect evening.

myaaahh! it’s just one foot on it. he thinks to himself, dimming at the thought of facing your fury. you sounded angry considering you literally slammed the door despite knowing it would challenge the stability of this… dumpster! his anger doubles down into satisfaction considering he took it upon himself to indulge in this feast up in the attic.

where you, after spotting the state of dust during the first few days, remarked to never step a foot in there again with a sneeze.

grim sneezed, then sniffed. it isn’t his sense of smell that matters now anyway, but his sense of taste!

though that fleeting sniff has him sniffing again, having caught a whiff of some scent that’s not familiar in the slightest. spicy, earthy with no traces of your own unique smell that divides you from the other students grim refers to as ‘nobodies’.

but slightly familiar.

he just about jumps to the ceiling with how shocked he was from the sight of the door leading down from the attic quite literally flew from its hinges to the air, falling heavily down the corner of the space with a wave of sound, and dust that momentarily blinds grim who coughed at the overwhelming amount of particles he had inhaled in the wake,

“ah!” grim yelled in surprise, ears folding back. he shuffled to the other side of the room, body reared back defensively.

he does not know what’s worse, these acts of anger involving the furniture having you as the source or… the savanaclaw dorm  head that had just climbed the steps to the attic with begrudging slowness.

leona wrinkles his nose at the smell, turning his head to the side with a displeased expression plastered on his face. at the very least, the monster is intelligent enough to read that he’s less than in a talking mood. “you,” he all but growled, ascending the steps fully.

“m..me!” grim huffed, trying to look intimidating by the puffing of his chest. “this is private property! my henchman owns this place!”

the lion waves him off. “don’t care. whatever they own is mine, whatever i own is theirs.”

another menacing step from the male has grim blanching and scurrying back. until he feels the dusty expanse of the wall brushing against the tip of his tail comfortably, he at the very least makes sure the flame doesn’t accidentally get the whole building catching on fire. if he didn’t you’d be far scarier than this leona right now.

well… except this leona is the one enticing fear in him right now, not the imagination of you.

what in the world did you do to this guy? he thought frantically. he would have thought leona was immensely content with the fact that you were visiting his dorm like he was every other time. did you fight? why was he even here? did you throw him under the bus?

right. grim might have eaten one of the chilled meat inside the savanaclaw fridge–only finding out it was leona’s right after he spat out the wet piece of paper with his name stuck onto it but…

“you know why i’m here?” leona scowled, not bothering to crouch down to the monster’s height. such an action was below him, that’s why he only peers down through his lashes at grim who confusedly shook his head.

he mocked, voice coming out stuck between a low rumble, and a growl. “your ‘henchman’ owes me now, makin’ me wait all that time and being a no show.”

as if to showcase his irritation, his tail flicked sharply. ears pulled back but twitching at every little sound like he expects to catch yuu in the action of hiding from him or something. grim begs to differ because he has no idea where you were.

it must have shown on his face but leona refused to be in the dark about your whereabouts. “so,” he squinted, flashing a canine tooth. threatening all the well, and of course less than happy. “if you tell me where that herbivore is, maybe i’ll spare you from the storm that’s coming to them.”

more like tell me now or you’re not gonna like what’s gonna happen next! grim cried in his mind.

leona tilted his head, eyes skimming from grim to the surrounding room. “or maybe i can just bring the storm here? this place’ll be nothing but a poor imitation of that scarabia with all the sand i’m gonna leave it in.”

“you can’t destroy ramshackle.” grim protested. “this is my–yuu's home!”

the male waved him off. “i’ll just rebuild it into somethin’ more suitable for them. easy.” briefly distracted after entertaining a thought, leona’s face smoothed down into blankness. “they can just stay with me.”

leona was in for the worst mood in the century when two whole hours after your designated meeting time at his dorm, like usual which you almost always upheld by being there in the first place, sometimes a little late but nonetheless present.

initially one hour was the most he was willing to wait. then leona thought to spare you another gracious hour before he eventually begrudgingly stood from his already comfortable position to the bed to look for you himself. there was no way he was going to pass up on quality sleep.

not that he would’ve tolerated waiting for five more minutes for others, much less an hour then two.

unfortunately. it was just you.

he flicks your forehead twice. “that’s for being two minutes late.”

you frowned at him. 

he shook the memory off before it can fully be the pin in the inflated balloon he currently calls his emotions. he’d flick you more than one twenty times that’s for sure, until the only thing you’d remember was him, even though leona knows his finger would lose the force by the third flick and you’re simply just feeling him poking you.

“anyway,”

“yuu ain’t here. they went to meet you, didn’t they?!”

“that’s right.” his eyes narrowed.

“then it’s not my fault they didn’t show for your attitude!”

leona grinned and stepped a foot forward with a bit more force than necessary, creating a stomp that promptly startles grim. “what did you just say?” he taunted, daring. say it again.

he sidestepped the ball of blue fire that came from grim’s teeth. “i’m telling yuu.” he said off-handedly.

grim panicked, straightening and sitting in a manner that was almost docile. “no!”

the man scoffed at the silence that settles into the air. your little partner was useless when the only thing tying him to this college was you and the audacity to not ensure your safety boggled him so much leona was almost tempted to transfer you over to savanaclaw despite your countless denial.

better to be safe than sorry. he thought. he would rather you be safe than him be sorry.

one glance at grim and of course the yapping he’d been doing the entire time, leona concludes that this little thing wasn’t any better in the where in the seven is yuu department. the only thing he’s irked about is that he went all the way here–that you somehow made him go all the way here.

he pinches the bridge of his nose, turning on his heel and sluggishly descending the steps from the attic. he must be going mad.

grim does not bother to muster up any form of courage to ask where leona was going, he already knew.

he could only think about what was gonna happen to the poor soul called you.

on his way navigating through your sad excuse of a (temporary) home, leona can feel the presence of your many spirit friends staring. to some extent he understands why, he did almost bring the entire dorm down since his arrival and he hasn’t even used a drop of his magic yet.

they can at least be grateful he shut the door on his way out.

leona momentarily thought about simply using a transportation spell to get him to the mirror chamber, from ramshackle to the main campus… it was quite a far destination to go through back to back. maybe he should think about hitting up a mage who excels in mirror transportation.

whoever made the mirror chamber. for your convenience.

wait a minute. why should he be worried about your convenience when you just about stood him up?

leona decides against the spell. it was complicated, and his thoughts was not in the right place to focus on converting his body and mind at the same time. he reckons he might as well be sending himself to somewhere farther with his state of disarray.

all the way to the mirror chamber, his face was etched into a permanent scowl. leona only ever kept your notifications unmuted, so a buzz from his phone has him reaching and opening it immediately.

one new message from chek–

he shuts the phone as his perpetual scowl deepened.

if seeing leona actually roaming the halls and not dozing off somewhere was a surprise, his face was practically a loud sign warning to stay away. that’s exactly what the passing students did, spared a glance, double checked, then steered clear from his way without another attempt at gossip.

they knew he could hear whatever they were saying. not that he cared enough right now.

the strange feeling of getting transported from the mirror chamber back to savanaclaw shortly takes all thoughts from his mind before it returns as he registers the familiar feel of his dorm, soothing but not quite home. home would more so be a person to him than a fleeting thing like a place.

like…

“dorm-leader!” 

“welcome back!”

“what were you up to, dorm leader?”

a chorus from entirely different people sound from the therianthropes likely practicing for a match that was ages away. such was the spirit of savanaclaw students that want to excel in one singular area like magishift when they put their mind to it. leona can atleast say he feels the same.

the long sigh he emitted was a quick sign he was annoyed, a sign that his dorm residents have learned to read over the years. they doubled down from their excitement at seeing him and settled a bit more pliantly.

most probable thing tied to his temper nowadays was probably you.

a lynxes’ ears twitch as he recalled seeing you earlier, talking to cheetah. so why was the dorm leader mad? “leona-senpai.” he started cautiously as the male walked past him, not sparing him a glance but definitely listening.

leona thought lynxes was just greeting him until the other continued. “you here to see yuu-yuu?” 

he stopped in his steps, the slow swing of his tail betraying the nonchalance plastered across his face. from the way he turned his head over a shoulder a little was his own universal gesture of urging someone to continue.

despite a moment of excitement at the prospect of his dorm leader paying attention to him, lynxes relishes it quickly. “yuu was just on their way to the dorm.” he continued as cheetah perked up at the mention of the name. both of them do not think too deeply on the obvious uncoiling of the tenseness from leona.

cheetah nodded along. having resigned to resting by one of the bleachers seeing as he’d been playing for over half an hour. “yeah. the little human dropped by earlier with their scrawny self smelling good.”

at leona’s critical eye, cheetah back tracked. “like food. i’m sure it was for you, leona-senpai.” he huffed, sharing an incredulous look with lynxes. geez…

the only really scary thing about yuu was the fact that you’d managed to wrap their dorm leader around your fingers like it was nothing. you seemed like you weren’t even trying anyways! you were just… there, and it’s like leona’s the one keeping you close even though he was notorious for, well. doing nothing.

“where’s the herbivore?” 

“they were on their way to the dorm.” lynxes replied.

cheetah sighed wistfully. “what a shame, really. was really looking forward to yuu-yuu playing magishift again.”

lynxes snorted. “doubt they can even hold up the weight of the disk alone.”

“i meant as our disk like before, doofus.” cheetah nudged him., lynxes scowled lighty at the name. both of them chorus a farewell to leona who had already started retreating after catching the answer to his question. if you were here, while he was over at your place… was that a waste of time then?

perhaps.

he can’t feel a bit annoyed. at the timing–then at the fact that he feels relieved.

leona only grunts in response, his own unique way of a thank you that eliminated the unnecessary need for words. good thing his dorm residents understands his non-verbal cues at least, more so you.

you had an uncanny ability to detect quite a lot about him since, well… the more time you spent together. you said he was grumpy when he doesn’t do anything–which is insane considering he doesn’t do anything at any given time (you just mean he’s grumpy all the time.) and when he asks, you only mimic the look of ‘his grump’.

a response to you. “i don’t look constipated.”

a response to him. “so you’re saying you look constipated?”

the man stepped into his dorm, a certain haste in his steps that does not drain his energy but makes him feel more alive with each assuming step closer to you as he directs himself into the wide area of savanaclaw to his own room.

he barely registers the murmurs of greeting that fly his way with each dorm mate that spots him roaming the halls. of all students in night raven college, it's his own that are most brave enough to still spare him a greeting even if he seemed not in the mood. of course it is, only his dorm doesn’t have cowards.

not that he’s not in the mood anyway. a few minutes ago, sure. but now? he’s begrudgingly unable to deny the anticipation that threatens to lift his lips.

unfortunately he passes by ruggie who immediately walks backwards with his pace to annoy him surely. “leona-san.” he greets with a grin, resting his hands behind his head and skillfully ignoring the incoming obstacles called people.

thanks to his reputation around, the greetings to leona are also mixed in with a ruggie-senpai, or a ruggie-san if it happened to be a first year.

leona gave ruggie the stink eye. “leave me alone.” he grunts out, impatient as he walked.

ruggie makes a show of letting his eyes drift down to his legs. wider steps. “you’re in a hurry.” he observes slyly. compared to other openly tactical students–ruggie was subtle to himself, never quite revealing any cards until the very last resort. one of the reasons leona kept him close. “didn’t know there was anything exciting in ‘vanaclaw.”

the hyena chuckled to himself, raising his brows at a passing sweaty student who was on the verge of a brawl with another.

“don’t care.” replied leona.

“been gone for a while.” ruggie threw back. “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you mope around in your room for so long, and tail it out.”

by the time leona finally spared him an irritated glance, he was speaking again. “so, did ya find em’?” ruggie didn’t need to be told what form of craft had leona rising from his comfortable coffin and going venturing out. its you, always has to be you somehow. be it in savanaclaw or elsewhere.

“no.” he rolls his eyes, finally opening the door to his room about to turn back and shut the door in ruggie’s face–but that was when he expected to see you pliantly sat on his bed and waiting because you owed him that much.

leona stops. staring at the empty space of his bed. he looked around the room, no sign of you but a whole lot signs of ruggie which wasn’t what he was looking for at all.

so he doesn’t care who’s been snooping despite the shameless animal behind him if it didn’t have anything to do with you.

“you came back, empty-handed?” ruggie quirked a brow, dropping his hands from his hair and tugging at the signature scarf of his dorm around his neck with a glance around. “gee. it's hot in here.”

leona pinched the bridge of your nose. whatever semblance of a good mood he had moments ago was thrown out the window when he found–that you were indeed not here in his room where he expected you to be. where else? you weren’t too buddy-buddy with any other dorm mates besides jack, and jack was in his room when he passed it.

you weren’t there either.

cheetah, and lynxes… he sighed in his mind.

“look for that herbivore in each corner of this dorm.” he sniffed, shaking his head.

leona pauses.

he sniffs again.

a scent of yours invades his nostrils, calming his rising temper to a halt suddenly. he stops, and looks scrutinizingly around the room with key focus. you were in here, somewhere. leona took a step closer to the bed, following the warmer tinges of your smell.

he took a right. it faded slightly so he went back.

by the time he was hunting for you, ruggie curiously took a deep inhale and wrinkled his nose. “ack… now this place smells like yuu-yuu. to think i thought them smelling like you was bad.” 

it was true, the scent was particularly stronger than it should be. had he not noticed? the closer he walked to the bed, the stronger the smell was. with each step it practically swirled around in his head to the point where he could just sleep deeply in comfort, tricked into thinking you were laying right next to him.

like you were next to him,

leona stops by the side of his bed, narrowing his eyes at the crinkle of his sheets.

he stared closely until it seemingly squirmed at his intense stare, shifted a bit to the side like there was someone on it and leona’s hand shot out above the area. surprised to feel a limb, ankle perhaps? fit loosely within the confines of his palm.

“gotcha.” he whispered in triumph, tugging at whatever he had grabbed. it felt like a body, a potion perhaps? it didn’t quite feel like you, leona would know how you feel because he felt you in his soul.

leona, and ruggie stared in startle when the air flickered like translucent mirrors that reflected the light, and warped into something entirely.

“a little kid!” ruggie shouted in alarm, scurrying to leona to take a closer look.

the kid in question was… weird. more specifically, they smelled strangely familiar which was strange in the first place. leona leaned in, to which the kid squirmed when he inhaled deeply from the steady pulse of their adrenaline from their neck.

“who are you?” he all but growled, ruggie grimaced at his tone of voice like he was judging the way leona dealt with kids. surprisingly, unlike the usual intimidated bundle they only look vastly annoyed, like leona was a bother.

safe to say the man picked up on that as well.

they turned their head stubbornly. “you’re ruining my nap time!” they exclaimed–it was official. he was a bother. green met green and leona faltered when a haze of confusing familiarity stared at him right in the eye.

he glances at the pair of ears, a ribbon wrapped just below the fluff of hair at the edge of their tail. they must have sensed it because they huffed at his face.

“jealous?” they said at his stupefied face. “mada gave it to me earlier when i found them.”

he doesn’t know who mada is but they have terrible taste.

“a lion therianthrope.” leona observed.

“obviously.” the kid replied.

the former’s face soured, the latter snickered.

“looks like a baby you, but more sassy.” ruggie quipped.

the room pauses. first of all, leona briefly remembers the scent he was following and quickly determined that while this kid was swarming with your smell, it still wasn’t the strongest in the room. second of all, why?

“oi,” he grunted, rearing back when they swiped at his face at the prolonged proximity. “keep your claws in. you better have a good reason why you’ve been keeping my herbivore from me.”

“mada is mine!” retorted the kid with a distasteful scrunch of their nose as they turned their head away from the man, closing their eyes as if it was giving them a disability to look at him any longer. who was that?

leona’s eye twitched and one glance at ruggie quieted the hyena from an ongoing cackle of glee immediately–though he didn’t seem too prone to stopping considering his alternative was looking away so leona doesn’t see his grin.

contrary to the proud stand of the child’s ears, leona’s own flattens in response and he has to remind himself that he’s above chucking random kids who happen to smell like you out the window. “i don’t know who your mada is but–”

“mada is mada.” they huffed.

“...”

leona was quite forced to drop the little ‘rascal’ or so he thought when they feigned a bite at his arm. they plopped down back onto his bed, body too little so they bounced off a little. then… they scurried from the edge, away from him all the way to the edge and grasped at air.

literally holding onto air, fingers clenched around something.

his eyes sharpened. “what else are you hidin’?” he queried at the kid who boredly stuck out a tongue but hid back when his scowl deepened. to some extent he figured it was you, a quiet dispel incantation in his mind sent a wave of magic and the air flickered again to reveal the suspect of his most eventful day.

yuu. you. whatever

you looked like you just got caught hiding beneath a bench in broad daylight, your eyes drifted to the child and hilariously enough, seemed as though you also wanted to hide behind them. “novu…” you murmured lowly, as if all three therianthropes in the room could not hear you clearly. “you said i have to keep quiet and he won’t find out!”

novu blinked repeatedly. their demeanor falling slightly with the curl of their ears, they seemed strangely docile compared to the half bothered demeanor that was in the face of leona. “papa always finds us when we hide.” they whispered back, pursing their lips. “he’s a cheater interrupting our nap!’

you nodded vehemently. “true, he is.”

ruggie coughed. “wait, wait… about leona being this kid’s… papa or a cheater?”

“...”

“both!” replied novu cheerfully.

this time you seemed to be in jetlag to process the information, staring at novu’s face before it shifted to leona. “huh,” you murmured. they kind of looked alike, from the eyes, to their seeming shared feline traits. “HUH?!”

you sat up immediately, hands shooting to the small shoulders of novu who perked up–instead of being offended by your sudden startle they seemed incredibly pleased and nuzzled into the warmth that seeped from your palms through their top.

“what do you mean papa?” you swallowed. suddenly feeling incredibly nervous, especially with the heavy aura leona is emanating behind you, you really don’t want to turn around and see what kind of expression he’s wearing on his face. 

the urge to shake the kid who had technically kidnapped you from the forbidden thing called crashing leona time then happily insisting it was novu time now. just a few intentional widening of their eyes and you begrudgingly followed them along to leona’s room which was surprisingly devoid of the man himself.

just from the small bits of his, and ruggie’s conversation when they returned you easily concluded he came looking for you.

and… well, you don’t really want him to see you at the moment when you unintentionally-intentionally blew him off.

you meant. it’s fine, right…? you do spend a lot of your time with him, so just a few hours wouldn’t be too bad.

everything is not fine! you screeched in your head. any hopes for respite from these two were promptly thrown out the window when novu’s face soured when they glanced at leona.

“papa doesn’t share you with me, so i have to take you first.” novu said proudly. at this point the hands on their shoulders weren’t enough so they climbed on your legs and slumped against your front, distinctively making a sound of contentment as they relaxed.

befuddled, frazzled, more words relating to perplexed ran through your head as you confusedly wrapped your arms around the little figure and pet the top of their head. novu seemed especially pleased when your fingers neared the fur atop their ears and even rubbed their head against yours in what seemed to be affection.

still shocked to oblivion, as in my soul just left my body you turned your wide eyes to leona who, to your surprise, did not bear a face of grump but a more unsettling blankness that cleared any semblance to emotion really. he stared intently at your head, obviously ignoring the disappointed look ruggie is digging to the side of his.

the hyena–when he caught your gaze also spared you a shake of his head as if he was non-verbally insulting you with an insinuation of something you haven’t even done, or yet to anyway.

you had briefly caught snippets of their exchange during your small interaction with novu, leona growling out an out which left ruggie no chance to deny but concerned enough with the new addition being seen to close the door on his way out.

when leona finally spoke, he furrowed his brows at novu. a flicker of annoyance at the sight of the clear coddling of the little one against you and the fact that you welcomed it. “i don’t have any kids.” he huffed like it was obvious.

novu did not open an eye but spared him a reply. “i don’t know how you and mada made me but you’re my only papa, and they’re my only mada.” despite their previous acts against leona, they were oddly proud of proclaiming themselves as his child.

leona raised a brow. he reluctantly softens, or instinctively you’re not sure.“you’re not from around here, are you?” he quipped. the bed dips under the new weight as he settled down next to you, surprisingly restrained enough not to pluck the kid out of your grasp and take their place.

he leaned back against the pillows, resting the back of his hand on his forehead.

“i’m where i’m supposed to be.” sniffed novu, a lower tilt to their voice trailing off that spoke volumes about their state of consciousness. “with you, and mada.” 

novu nuzzled against you, shifting slightly like they wanted to wriggle out. you retracted your arms to your sides and they sighed deeply when they settled in the middle of the bed, eyes still closed and breathing evening out.

“don’t leave me for so long.” they yawned.

you blinked.

leona kept staring at the ceiling.

why was he so docile?! you were still trying to wrap your mind around it all!

“goodnight.” you muttered dumbly.

you turned your head to point a sharp gaze at leona–who sighs, feeling your stare and grumbled under his breath.

“night.” he rolled his eyes.

the room lapses in silence from a while, bathed in the dawning set of the sun. you considered stealing a blanket from leona’s drawer but decided against it, considering the dorm is still quite humid even at this time of day, if you were at diasomnia you’re sure you’d have frozen to death even with a pile of them on top of you.

you snuck a glance at the elusive novu, their energy burnt out as they fell to a sound sleep, occasionally their ears twitched when your body shifted the slightest bit, reaching out as if you keep you from going.

aw. you kept still.

“is this my future?” you sulked to yourself, sighing as the weight of your shock faded into the air and left you slumping against the bed.

“is it so bad?” leona commented after your remark faded a bit.

you crossed your arms, sneaking a glance at him. “they’re cute.” you referred to novu.

not an answer to his question. leona thought in irritation, you always did have a way with a head made up entirely out of air. then again, his might be as well if he’s taken such a deep liking to you that prevents him from letting go–that in the first place was demented of him, he was not clingy.

leona does not entertain the pictures that his mind conjures to rebuke his denial of fondness in physical form.

sleeping on you, teaching you chess, keeping you close? that was just him collecting pieces to discard.

sure.

“just sleep, you’ve been looking for me all day, right?” 

leona closes his eyes. “i have.”

he’d just have to give you a reason to look forward to seeing a novu again.

‎⎯⎯ . . . ‎

by the time you woke up there was something draped around the bed.

you instinctively patted the space next to you, not feeling the strange feel of novu but the hard plane of leona’s cheek. he does not swat at your hand but spares you an annoyed scowl. you note that he’s… well, a lot closer than he should be even with the missing space of novu between your bodies.

oops. the only thing to pull leona out of a grumpy mood in the morning was a meal. you clearly did not have the current power to do so as you had… fed the doom sandwich to a pouty novu.

thankfully ruggie popped in, barely blinking at your sprawled figures on the bed but more surprised at the missing recent addition. “where’s your lovechild?”

jack’s voice rose from the hallway. “their what?!”

“get out.” leona sneered. “you’re ruinin’ my morning.”

it wasn’t already ruined?! all three of you cried in your minds.

trivia

their unique magic is “from where do you see me?” which you might already guess is being able to conceal themselves in thin air, alongside a thing, or person they have to be directly touching as they’re still young, and inexperienced to properly control their unique magic without a medium.

novu is written to be an equally cheeky 7 year old that happens to take naps very seriously, and not so energetic when deprived of sleep (i’m trying to write all of the children to be generally gender neutral lol but i do have a ‘implied [gender]’ next to their names in the draft lol! as you might guess, alice is feminine… but what about novu?

a second italicized word means that it was novu! for example: ‘must have been the wind’ is really just the wind, whereas: ‘the wind knocks you to the ground’ is the cheeky novu!

cheetah, and lynxes are not their actual names. just called them what they were, which is an actual cheetah, and lynxes therianthrope who both respectively belong in the family of big cats.

unlike alice who was on a clock during their time in the past, novu wished to sleep well and was sent back in time to find you so they can enjoy a lengthy sleep as the future you had not returned home alongside future leona due to a political exchange.

so once they finally fell asleep, they will eventually return.

yuu hid the sandwich and tailed it out of the cafeteria immediately, not wanting to stick around to know that one of the non-humans with crazy senses smells it on them and decides to target them!

ruggie usually doesn’t comment on the weather of savanaclaw but he does say “its hot in here.” because it felt warmer compared to the outside, which didn’t make sense. it was very much due to yuu, and novu in the same room.

magical shift disks are known to be heavy in weight alone, that’s why it's mainly used to direct imbued in magic. yuu did, actually get roped into a game by being a disk which was… an experience.

jack was supposed to be hear but i missed the bullets where i outlined him LOL

writingerror on archive of our own inspired partial parts of this work (as well as me writing once again honestly) which includes the interactions with students to yuu, as well as the.. yuu being a disk part which is a chapter in one of their works!

the reason why leona’s ‘morning’ is not ruined despite him already being bothered first thing is due to you!

🔖: @lostsomewhereinthegarden @staplertwst @rinis-reality @rhyzoma @iamprodigious @irzali-imagines @glitterandgoldfinds @luna-looniesblog @wokasiv @readrecieptoff @miyaswmire @dakissomewhere @yourfavouritecitizen @rei-vii @colombia-chan @ceramic-raven @leitor-sonolento @night-shadowblood-writes2 @ms-shroud @bju3c0re @usernamesarehardtomake @wonderlandcrown @los3rtown

[fushiguho]

discord streamer geto who is so mean to his sweet little girlfriend on stream. his viewers seem to love it and you think you might too :o

warnings fem! reader, mean! geto, exhibitionism, fingering, light spanking, camera/livestream

“chat, should i let the pretty girl cum?”

oh.

suguru cracks a big, sleazy grin, curiously craning his head to eye the monitor that blinks red, live. the one that's angled toward none other than you, his pretty little girlfriend, and in all of your wet, messy glory too.

with a single hand to the nape of your neck, you're forced into the nastiest little arch for him and all of his sick viewers to bear witness. long, sinful fingers creeeep along your parting jaw; a greedy thumb dancing its way into your mouth and hooking against your salivating inner cheek.

another hand reaches between your trembling thighs, rudely teasing your aching cunt—spanking and pinching your swollen clit, sloppily fucking you up on his beckoning fingers, and utterly bullying that poor, weeping pussy.

you can hardly breathe, your pretty face shoved into the soft, mangled sheets, drool drip drip dripping from the corners of your stupidly gaped mouth and ruining the silk. you’re not there, not really—desperate hips canting, stomach caving, breath hitching. brain spinning and dizzied, reduced to nothing but a muddled haze of everything suguru.

suguru.

suguru.

and he’s stripped you completely bare; hair prickling, soft skin dripping. you’d almost feel embarrassed if not for the way you’re beginning to hump that pretty little pussy on his hand like that. like no one else is watching, like nothing else fucking matters.

like a whore.

breifly, suguru glances over his shoulder, eyeing the little red dot that flashes at the top of his computer, "what if i fucked her?" he contemplates the notion as an indulgent hand pulls at the soft mound of your ass, spreading you apart. "heh, she's wet enough for it. bet you horny fucks would loveee that, huh?"

“p– pleeaaaseee—mmph!”

a hand clamps over your trembling lips, effectively shutting you the fuck up.

“i actually didn’t fucking ask you,” you can hear the genuine spite that pierces his tone, yet the way your body reacts is concerning. “didn’t ask you a damn thing.”

you’re tightening up around his mean digits in response to his abrasiveness, a testament to your ineffable lust. suguru could do anything to you—tie you up, make fun of you, show that pretty pussy off to his loser friends—anything, and you’ll get wet all the same.

"pretty girls speak when spoken to, don't they?" a smile curls his pretty lips, but you know it’s not at all friendly—sinister, maybe. he’s taking your chin into the warm palm of his hand. "nod your head."

and you do.

messages flood the left hand corner of his dusty screen, pinging melodically with desperate requests of viewers begging him to grant you your sweet, sweet release, while others scold him for being too nice. suguru hums in deliberation, weighing his options while briefly skimming the rapidly updating chat box.

“awww, they think i’m being too nice, sweets,” he’s in your face now, shifted to hunch over your warm, writhing body, burly fingers still plugged deeeep inside of your sloppy little hole. “whaddaya think?” his lips have settled just below your ear, the timbre of his voice pitching deeper, raspier.

unsure whether to nod your head or shake it, you whine, “wanna cuuummm,” is all you can muster between gasping breaths and warbling cries. “god, pleaseee let me cum.”

“ain’t she puuurrrty?” he purrs almost mockingly, merely showing you off while his darkened gaze flits toward the recording monitor once more. a brazen hand is forcing your woozy head upright from the dampened sheets, long fingers tight against your scalp. “c’monnn, tell my girl that she’s pretty.”

digital_nomad she's so fucking pretty, plz let her cum :(

sukunathem0nsta make the pretty lil brat beg for it some more

glitchpr!ncess preettyyyy! does she like girlssss? x

fushiguho make her spread it a little bit… for research

gamerhardlyknowher literally the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen omg

satoruthegreat my dick is so hard i can’t breathe

satoruthegreat pretty as fuck

satoruthegreat ya’ll looking for a third? :p

suguru coos, “yeaaaah, she is a pretty, pretty girl, isn’t sheeee?” his fingers furl upwards, pressing against the sticky walls of your cunt and you mewl. “my pretty girl, huh?” there’s an unmistakable lilt of possessiveness that warps his tone as he skims the plethora of desirous comments. “you wanna cum for everyone?”

deliriously, you’re nodding your dazed head, rocking those wobbly hips into the curl of his unforgiving fingers. thick, dizzying arousal pools in your tensing core, whorling dangerously taut like an itch that must be scratched; a breath desperate for air.

“yeah? you wan’ me to make a mess out of this sloppy little cunt on camera?" several fingers are circling your pearly, aching clit; honeyed arousal dripping from the fat pads of his unrelenting digits. “wanna show everyone how a pretty girl is supposed to cum?”

“fuhhh— fuck yes, please," it's merely a breath huffed in a single, whiny puff. "oh god, i want it, i want that... wan’ you to m-make me cum."

suguru groans nasty and loud, fighting the gnawing urge to peel down his tightening briefs and fuck you into the ruined sheets until you're reduced to a dumb, slobbering mess, but he won't, not now. nobody needs to see you like that, not unless they pay of course.

"c'mon," your skin burns from the heat of his searing lips as they latch against the perspiring divot of your left shoulder, whispering, "cum all over my fingers, pretty. you can rock your hips like a whore if you want."

he follows the unpredictable veer of your body, fucking to the very back of your slobbering cunt with warm, restless fingers. and he's just toying your pretty lil' clit, swapping between rubbing and spanking and pinching. you're gone, whimpering into the sheets you gnaw on as you buck your desperate hips, hungrily chasing your release in 4k.

as you begin to suck him in harder, tightening around the base of his fingers, your toes furl in something ravenous. you're cumming, choking on your own bated breaths as you grasp for the sheets, for his hands, the roots of your hair—anything to ground yourself while you huff his name in fragmented syllables.

"that's a gooood girl cumming so pretty on camera like that," an unceremonious hand lands against the fat of your ass in a loud, resounding thwack! "for me and all of my perverted fans, huh?"

dazed, you nod your empty head; wide, glistening eyes threatening to cross as you endure the aftershocks of your long awaited orgasm.

suguru's eyes find his monitor for a final time, a sinister grin plaguing his maddeningly beautiful face. he sifts through the remnants of trickling comments, scoffing at the vulgarity of it all, especially that satoruthegreat, whoever that is.

"you guys are all sick, perverted fucks," suguru laughs breathily, carding a hard through his raven roots. "especially you, satoru."

satoruthegreat invite me next time... i'll show you a sick fuck ;)

oh?

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

[🤍] imagine being hit with an aphrodisiac and trying to hide the effects it had on you during a mission with phainon and Mydei oughhh.

Like they notice something was up but the reader is too embarrassed to admit it until they collapse onto the floor a beg for help.

Sopping wet cat energy….. literally LMAOOOO

MISSION : SOAKED.

❦ paring : phainon x cat fem!reader x mydei. (mdni)

❧ synopsis : You get hit with an aphrodisiac mid-mission and end up begging Phainon and Mydei to stuff both your holes full.

❦ tws : nsfw/smut, aphrodisiac, overstimulation, size kink, bulge kink, tail pulling, pet-names, dumbification, semi- public desperation, teasing, embarrassment, hybrids, sopping wet, creampie (vaginal & anal), threesome and mild breeding kink.

The worst part wasn’t the heat pooling between your legs.

It wasn’t the way your thighs squished together every time you took a step, or how your soaked panties clung to your pussy, sticky and slick under your uniform.

No, the worst part was that they noticed.

You could feel it—Phainon's eyes on your swaying ass, Mydei’s smug little smirk every time your breath hitched.

“Awfully quiet, kitty,” Mydei purred, casually brushing past you in the dim, dusty corridor. “You’re not sick, are you? Or are you just shy?”

“I-I’m fineee,” you stammered, voice breathy and high, your tail twitching behind you like it had a mind of its own. “M’jus’—mhm—focused!”

Phainon snorted under his breath. “Focused. Sure.”

You tried so hard to act normal.

To not sink to your knees and rub against the cool floor.

To not whimper at every vibration of your heels against the ground.

But the aphrodisiac was relentless. You didn’t even know where it came from—some weird gas trap, probably. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop squirming. Couldn’t stop thinking about their fingers. Their voices. Their cocks.

“Aww, look at your ears twitching,” Mydei cooed behind you, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re dripping, huh?”

“I’m not—!” you gasped, turning around too fast and stumbling. “I’m not—mmh! N-Not d-dripping!”

Drip.

The sound was real.

So was the way your slick trickled down your inner thighs.

So was the heat building too fast to handle.

You dropped to your knees with a soft, dizzy moan, pawing at the front of your uniform.

“Please…” you finally whimpered, tears welling in your big glossy eyes. “S’too much… c-can’t think… need help…”

Phainon crouched down, slow and cruel, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “You couldn’t even ask properly, kitty.”

“Didn’t wanna be messy…” you sniffled, face flushed, lips glossy from where you’d been sucking on them trying not to moan. “Didn’t wanna ruin the mission…”

Mydei leaned against the wall with a chuckle. “Too late for that, sweetheart. You’re a mess. A cute little sopping mess.”

Phainon’s gloved hand slid between your thighs and you yowled, body jolting as his fingers brushed your soaked panties. “She’s drenched.”

“Aww, she is,” Mydei laughed. “C’mon, little kitty. Say please.”

“Please!” you gasped, tail curling helplessly as you humped Phainon’s hand like a needy thing. “Please fix me…I need it—need you!

Your pupils were blown wide, tongue poking out, your head rolling back against Phainon’s chest as he pulled you into his lap. Mydei sauntered over, crouching beside you, licking his lips.

“Don’t worry,” he said, brushing hair from your sweaty forehead. “We’ll help you, baby.”

Phainon chuckled darkly. “But after this? You’re never going out on a mission with us unsupervised again.”

Phainon had you spread out on the cold floor, your legs trembling in the air, panties ripped to shreds and tossed somewhere behind him. Mydei sat behind you, big hands stroking your tail, watching your slick hole clench around nothing.

“Aw, look at her,” Mydei murmured, rubbing circles around your twitching rim. “All floppy. All loose. She’s not gonna remember her own name after this.”

“Mmnh—‘m (Name)…” you whimpered weakly, though your voice sounded dazed and high and sooo faraway.

“Not right now, you’re not,” Phainon muttered, lining his cock up with your soaked pussy. “Right now, you’re just a dumb lil’ kitty.”

You moaned out loud when he slid in—slow at first, stretching you open inch by inch while your insides clenched desperately around him.

“Fuck, she’s sucking me in—she needs this,” he growled, grinding deeper until his tip kissed your cervix.

“I think she’s ready for two,” Mydei said lazily, spitting into his palm before lining himself up with your other hole. “Hold her still.”

You could barely even gasp before your back hole was breached, your pussy already full and pulsing. Your eyes rolled back the second Mydei pushed in behind Phainon, both cocks pressing snugly inside your overstimulated body.

“Uhhnn—too full—!!” you sobbed, toes curling, ears flopping down against your head.

“S’okay, baby,” Mydei cooed, licking the shell of your ear. “You’re made to be full. You’re made for us.”

Phainon grabbed your tail and tugged. Hard. You squealed, tightening deliciously around both of them.

“That shut her brain off,” he smirked, pulling back just enough to thrust in hard. “Let’s see how many times we can make her squirt before she passes out.”

They fucked you in perfect rhythm, your pussy squelching with every thrust, your ass stretched wide, spit and slick dripping down to the floor beneath you. The mission was long forgotten. All that mattered now was taking it—their cocks, their cum, their filthy words filling your fuzzy, aphrodisiac-soaked brain.

Your belly bulged where they pressed inside, and you whimpered, pawing uselessly at Phainon’s chest.

“C-cumming—again—can’t—!!”

“Take it, kitty,” Phainon growled. “Be a good little thing and let us fill you up.”

You cried out when they finally came together, Mydei first, stuffing your ass full of hot cum while Phainon buried himself to the hilt, spurting deep into your fluttering cunt. Both loads overflowed—your pussy gushing a messy creampie that dripped down your thighs, your ass twitching as thick white cum leaked from your hole.

You collapsed bonelessly between them, your eyes glossy and lips parted, drooling a little.

“Mission complete,” Mydei said smugly, patting your head.

“Barely,” Phainon replied, pulling you into his arms like a ragdoll. “Let’s get her back to the ship. She’s not walking for days.”

“Mmhm…” you mumbled, tail wagging weakly, still twitching around both their loads. “Love… my boys…”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[fear-is-truth]

❝ V A C A N C Y ❞ ・── cho sang-woo

◟warnings — dom!sang-woo ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ unprotected p in v ⋆ MDNI 18+

it’s late. the lighting in shitty motel room is dim, the neon glow from the sign outside bleeding through the dusty curtains. the air reeks with the smell of sex, sweat, stale cigarettes and cheap detergent. CHO SANG-WOO has you on your stomach, one big, calloused hand splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pressed into the mattress. he’s slow tonight. not in a teasing manner—he’s never been that type of man—but to relish the way you clench around him with every measured thrust.

“shh,” he murmurs when you whimper, his hand sliding up to the nape of your neck. he squeezes gently, thumb brushing over your pulse. “keep quiet for me.”

he’s not being mean about it. if anything, his voice is soft, damn near affectionate. but there’s an edge, a quiet authority that makes your stomach flip. he leans in, his chest pressing to your back, lips brushing over the cartilage of your ear.

“the walls are thin. don’t wanna wake anyone, do we?”

you shake your head, but it’s hard to focus when he’s buried so deep inside you, rolling his hips slow and steady, dragging every inch of himself along your walls. he’s so fucking deep it’s making you dizzy. his free hand slides under your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your stomach before dipping between your legs. the touch is gentle, a contrast to the firm grip still holding you down.

“fuck,” he exhales, voice rough, strained. “you feel that?” he presses his palm against your stomach, right over where he’s stretching you open. “so full, huh? taking me so well.”his pace stutters then, something raw breaking through his control. he groans into your skin, lips trailing down your neck, sucking a mark into your shoulder.

“gonna come for me, sweetheart?” his voice is low, coaxing, but there’s a quiet demand underneath the sweetness. “be good and give it to me.”

and when you do—when you shudder beneath him, nails digging into the sheets, walls fluttering around him—he exhales sharply, thrusts turning rougher, more erratic. his hand clamps over your mouth just as he groans against your shoulder, hips grinding deep, burying himself to the hilt as he comes inside you. his breath is hot against your skin, and he stays like that for a moment, pressed against you, cock still nestled deep. then, finally, he exhales, smoothing a hand over your back, thumb rubbing slow circles against your spine.

“good girl,” he mutters, kissing the nape of your neck before pulling the blanket over the both of you.

[jaythes1mp]

The Incident

Before the incident, you were no one special. 

Growing up, your family belonged to the middle class, your mother a waitress and your father a construction worker. You were an only child, raised by your grandmother from a very young age, as your parents were young and unfit to care for you. Choosing to spend their time working and partying with their friends rather than looking after their baby.

You hadn’t gotten into any of the colleges in your area, so you resulted in making a basic wage by working dual jobs. Saving up just enough money for some scrappy apartment on the outskirts of Gotham.

One afternoon, just before you were able to clock out of another grooly ten-hour shift, six masked women had smashed through the front windows, raiding the store.

The back room was dimly lit, with only a couple dusty desk lamps shedding any kind of light. You were shoved to the ground and forced to sit amongst the other victims while the women gathered whatever they came for. One of them, presumably the leader, began to count the people they had captured, when she stopped and took notice of you. It was the luck of the draw, really. 

You were terrified, practically trembling as the barrel was shoved up against your temple, the hard shove against your front being the only warning to move. 

You don’t remember much after that. Seeing four of the infamous masked fighters coming to rescue your fellow workers and subdue the other robbers. You, however, weren’t as lucky.

Just as the blunt edge of Robin’s katana was slammed into the side of the woman’s weapon, a shot rang out, echoing throughout the walls. 

The weapon was knocked to the ground by the force, completely out of her reach, and she was wrestled to the ground by the vigilantes.

You’re not sure why you fell, but everything suddenly felt warm.

As the room around you grew dizzy, your head spinning from the impact, the world around you felt like it was slowly fading, blurring and darkening at the edges of your vision. The ground was growing sticky beneath you at a rapid rate, turning dark as the deep red liquid began to seep and pour out around you like a spreading fire.

You remember all four of the vigilantes rushing towards you, their faces twisted into panicked masks unlike anything you had ever seen, not even the one time when you had broken your arm as a child. They were more worried than your father would have been at the thought of you dead. 

Oh... I’m dying.

You wanted to chuckle at how absurd it was. You were barely twenty four, and here you were, lying on the cold, dirty floor of a back room, shot through the chest. 

Fuck, my chest hurts.

A deep, shaky breath left your lips, watching as the last few moments of your life were spent looking at the frantic and worried faces of Gotham's heros.

You weren’t sure why they were so devastated. They had all seen death before, first hand. You shouldn't have been any different. There was nothing special about you. You were just an average, worthless citizen, no friends, a shitty job, and an even shittier apartment.

Your hand moved to the hole in your chest, a pained scream ripping through your lips, your eyes squeezed shut.

Then it all went black.

Or.. at least it should have.

Instead, you woke up. 

Gasping frantically for air, you looked around, your heart racing. The looks of the worried teens around you were inconsequential.

Your hands flew to your chest, clawing at the covered skin, looking for the bullet wound that had once been there. It's gone…

A deep, shaky breath left your lips, a relieved sigh following right after.

Then, you finally looked up to meet the eyes of your tenth grade literature teacher.

After the incident, you had found yourself flung back nine years into the past. However, this time, things were different from how you remember them to be.

Now, a cocky, billionaire’s son was claiming to be your best friend, your neighbours, who you vaguely remember having been old, crabby couples, were now completely different. Your old friends were nowhere to be found, And the ever prevalent vigilantes in Gotham seemed almost obsessed with you.

This is a slightly over-detailed synopsis.

I created this idea while I was working on chapter three for Here, Kitty.

If you’d like me to make this drabble into full chapters, then please reblog, comment, or message me. If it gets no interaction then I will understand that it was a shit concept and drop it. If not, then I have a lot of ideas for how the plot will spiral, and a potential twist-ending.

IF anyone was interested in it, then it would include both the BatFamily and SuperFamily, as yanderes.

Thank you for reading through all of this, lovely readers💚 Feel free to send in any suggestions or questions!!

[chrissssssmut]

Can I request a yandere lesserafim x male reader smut please?????!!!!

ACROSS THE HALL (Yandere & Smut)

Yandere Le Sserafim OT5 x Male Reader

You never thought much about your neighbors—until they moved in.

Five girls, all beautiful in a way that didn’t feel real. Too elegant. Too perfect. Like they didn’t belong in a place like this—this dusty, aging apartment complex with its flickering hallway lights and leaking ceilings.

But they chose the unit across from yours. 9B.

At first, you just noticed the shoes lined up by their door. Then came the soft perfume that lingered in the hallway. Then the giggles. Late at night. Like whispers that crawled under your doorframe.

You didn’t meet them until the package incident.

You stepped out to grab your takeout. There was a box sitting outside your door. Not yours. Your name wasn’t even on it. Just…

“To Our New Neighbor ♥”

You hesitated. Then the door across the hall opened.

Kazuha stepped out first. Black tank top, hair pulled back, no bra. Just standing there like she knew what that did to people. Her smile was slow, teasing.

“Oh. You got our gift.”

“Gift…?”

She took a few slow steps toward you. "You’ve been peeking through the peephole, right? We figured you'd want a proper invitation."

Your mouth opened to deny it, but she reached up and pressed a finger to your lips.

“It’s okay. We like it when people watch.”

Behind her, the others filtered out like shadows from behind the door.

Yunjin with a lazy smirk, biting a cherry between her lips.

Sakura with her unreadable stare, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Chaewon standing dead center, eyes sharp, calculating.

And the youngest—Eunchae—just smiling far too wide, like she knew something you didn’t.

Yunjin leaned against the doorway. “You’ve lived here for two weeks and haven’t even said hi. Kinda rude.”

Sakura cocked her head. “We thought maybe you were shy. Or just avoiding us.”

"Or just guilty," Eunchae added, voice sing-song sweet. “You know… for all the things you do when you think no one’s watching.”

Your throat dried.

Chaewon crossed her arms. “Come in.”

“…Why?”

“Because if we have to ask again,” she said coldly, “we’ll drag you.”

The scent inside their apartment was dizzying. Something sweet, like incense, and something faintly metallic underneath.

The lights were low, the furniture too neat, and the windows all blacked out with thick curtains.

“Drink?” Yunjin asked, already handing you a glass.

You didn’t answer. She tilted it to your lips anyway.

“Don’t be rude.”

You drank.

“What is this…?” you muttered, heat already crawling up your spine.

“Just wine,” Sakura whispered behind you, brushing a hand along your back. “We like our guests a little relaxed.”

Chaewon stood in front of you, not blinking.

“Why’d you move here?”

“…Rent’s cheap.”

“You work from home,” Kazuha said softly, sitting beside you on the couch.

“You don’t go out much,” Eunchae added, sitting on your lap.

“You don’t have friends,” Sakura murmured, pulling off your hoodie like it was hers.

“You’re perfect,” Yunjin said with a grin.

The more you tried to pull away, the closer they got.

Kazuha never wore a bra when she visited you. She always leaned down too far to grab something, letting you glimpse her nipples through her shirt like it was an accident.

Yunjin texted you, despite never asking for your number. She sent voice notes at 2am.

"Thinking about you again. Want me to come over?"

Eunchae showed up at your door dripping wet in a towel.

“I locked myself out,” she said, pouting. “Can I wait inside yours?”

She left her panties on your couch when she left. Intentionally.

Sakura never spoke much. Just stared. Like she was carving every part of you into her memory.

And Chaewon? She was different. She never flirted. She didn’t smile. She just… watched. Controlled.

"You know," she said one night, standing behind you in the laundry room. "You're the only male tenant on this floor."

“…Yeah?”

She leaned in, voice against your ear.

“We picked this place because of that.”

It snapped the night they all came in without knocking.

The door slammed open. You were in bed, shirtless. Half-asleep.

“What the hell—?”

“Don’t yell,” Chaewon said. “We were worried.”

“You didn’t answer our texts,” Sakura said.

“Or your calls,” Yunjin added, already climbing onto the bed.

“I was sleeping,” you growled, sitting up.

“You don’t get to ignore us,” Eunchae said cheerfully, pulling the blanket off you. "Not after everything."

Kazuha sat beside you, lips brushing your jaw.

“We waited long enough.”

Their hands came fast. Yunjin on your chest, nails dragging. Sakura between your thighs, gripping you with terrifying confidence.

Kazuha kissed you hard, tongue slipping into your mouth as you gasped.

“Stop—what the f—”

Eunchae stuffed your mouth with her panties. “Shh.”

Chaewon straddled your face first. No pretense.

“You’re going to worship us.”

She pressed her soaked cunt to your lips, grinding slow, heavy. Her voice was breathy but cold.

“Lick like your life depends on it.”

Yunjin pumped your cock while whispering filth into your ear.

“Look at you—already so hard. Bet you’ve thought about us fucking you like this.”

Sakura licked your chest, teeth grazing your nipple, then biting—drawing a line of blood she licked up slowly.

“Messy boy.”

Eunchae straddled your stomach, grinning like a devil.

“I want to see how long you last.”

Kazuha took you inside her in one slow, deep stroke. No prep. Just raw, wet, perfect friction. She moaned, her body trembling.

“Oh god—he’s thick.”

She rode you slow, rotating her hips, clenching tight.

“You belong to us now,” she whispered.

“Let him finish,” Sakura said.

“No,” Chaewon snapped, still grinding on your tongue. “He finishes when I say.”

You bucked under them, helpless. Everything was wet. Lips, tongues, nails, sweat, perfume. You were drowning in their bodies, their voices, their obsession.

You came hard—Kazuha screaming, Eunchae watching like it was art.

And then…

Chaewon slapped you.

“You came without permission.”

You blinked, panting, heart racing.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

You woke up hours later—naked, tied to your bed.

The room reeked of sex. The sheets were soaked.

On your chest, written in red lipstick:

“You’re ours now. Don’t even think of running.”

Underneath it: a lipstick print from each of them.

The door was locked from the outside.

And you could still hear them giggling in the next room.

It had been four days since they locked you inside your apartment.

You hadn't seen the hallway.

You hadn’t touched your phone.

They took everything—your laptop, your keys, even your damn clothes.

You tried to fight the first day. Tried kicking the door, screaming. But the walls were too thick. No neighbors on this side. No one to hear.

They rotated shifts.

Kazuha in the morning. Sakura and Eunchae during the afternoon. Yunjin until night. And then Chaewon slept in your bed—next to you—chaining your ankle to hers.

You stopped struggling.

But your mind didn’t.

Kazuha — The “Lover”

Day 5. Morning.

You woke to the sound of soft humming. Your head was in someone’s lap. Kazuha’s.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She stroked your hair, smiling like it was all normal. You tried to sit up. She pulled you back down.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “You need to rest. I made you breakfast.”

You stared at her. “Why… are you doing this?”

Kazuha blinked slowly, her smile dimming. “Because I love you. We all do.”

“I didn’t ask for this—!”

She grabbed your jaw hard.

“But you wanted it.”

She pulled her shirt off—no bra—and leaned over you. Her breasts grazed your face.

“You watched us. Fantasized. Touched yourself over and over again, thinking we didn’t know.”

She straddled your chest, grinding slowly.

“You let me ride you like a toy, didn’t you? You came so deep.”

She leaned closer, lips brushing your ear.

“So let me ride you again.”

Sakura & Eunchae — The “Twins”

Midday.

Sakura fed you by hand. Tiny spoonfuls of rice porridge. She didn’t blink.

“Open,” she said.

You did. What choice did you have?

Eunchae giggled from behind, brushing your hair like you were her doll.

“We cleaned you while you were asleep,” she said. “You looked so cute.”

You tensed.

Sakura tilted your chin. “You don’t want to be punished again, do you?”

You stayed still.

“I’ll kiss it better,” Eunchae whispered, hand sliding into your shorts. You bucked.

“No,” Sakura warned. “He finishes when I say.”

She stood up, unbuttoning her blouse. No bra. Her breasts perfect, pale, soft.

Eunchae pulled your shorts off, straddling one of your thighs.

“You’re hard again,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

Sakura sat on your face.

“Lick me like you did Chaewon. Better, or I’ll blindfold you for a week.”

Yunjin — The “Wife”

Nightfall.

Yunjin tucked you into bed.

You thought maybe she was the most normal. Until she climbed under the blanket naked and pressed her entire body against yours.

“You smell like them,” she whispered bitterly.

She started kissing down your chest, slower than anyone before her. Her voice trembled.

“Did they make you cum? Did you moan for them?”

You didn’t answer. She grabbed your cock suddenly, squeezing tight.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you choked.

She exhaled through her nose, furious.

“You’re mine at night. They had their turn.”

She pulled your wrists above your head and tied them with her panties. Climbed on top. Sank down on your cock with no prep, no warning.

You bit your lip to stop the noise. She slapped you.

“Don’t hold it in. I wanna hear you.”

Her hips were relentless, riding you like she was trying to erase their scent from your skin.

“You like this? Being owned? Being passed around like a fucktoy between girlfriends?”

She kissed you.

“You’re going to marry us.”

Chaewon — The “Mastermind”

Past midnight.

Chaewon sat beside you, wiping your chest with a warm towel. You were sore. Used. Broken.

She didn’t speak for a while.

Then:

“You didn’t run.”

“…I can’t.”

“No. You didn’t even try tonight.”

She set the towel down. Climbed into bed. Slid under the blanket. Naked.

She didn’t touch you.

She just wrapped your fingers in hers and whispered:

“That’s love.”

You tried to turn away.

She pulled you closer.

“You’ll never leave us,” she whispered.

Her lips brushed your ear.

“If you do… I’ll kill the others. And then myself. And you’ll be alone with their bodies.”

You froze.

Chaewon kissed your forehead and smiled gently.

“Good boy.”

You woke up collared.

A soft black leather one, with a silver ring in front.

No chain. Just the implication.

Yunjin took a photo of you half-asleep and naked, then showed it to the others.

They giggled, crowded around the phone.

Eunchae kissed your cheek.

“We’re gonna make an album.”

Sakura tied a ribbon around the collar.

Kazuha held your face in her hands.

“You’re never going outside again. Okay?”

You didn't answer.

Because somewhere deep down… you didn’t even want to anymore.

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Should have cleaned the pipes

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary While on a case, you nearly get hurt. Despite the fact that nothing happens, Dean is pissed - apparently he's the only one allowed to be a stupid hero. So you teach him a lesson about his actions having consequences. CWs Dean being kind of a dick and therefore getting blue balled. Dean eating ass and needy, desperate fucking. Good times all around. 18+. 8.7k words

Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

As you come to, you groan, quickly followed by the sound of metal clanking. You distantly feel that your shoulders are hurting, the muscles in them burning and then you move your leg, hiss in pain.

“–your weight off your arms,” you hear a voice and you blink your eyes open, groan again. Your feet move under you, scratching over the ground, and finally you find purchase and some of the burning pain disappears from your shoulders.

It’s dark in the room you’re in. It looks like some sort of decrepit basement, including the dirt floor and - you see with a swallow of your dry throat - all types of horrifying tools straight out of Texas Chainsaw Massacre attached to the wall. 

“You hear me?” the voice behind you asks, and now that you’re a little back to yourself, you immediately recognize it.

You shuffle your feet, making yourself slowly turn around and let out a deep sigh when you see him.

Dean’s equally hanging in chains from the ceiling. His body’s longer than yours, so he’s not dangling and swinging as much as you. You close your eyes at the slight dizziness the movement has caused in you, then open them again.

“What’s a handsome fella like you doing in a place like this?” you say in a flat tone, but it doesn’t have the desired effect of making him laugh.

“Not funny,” he says through clenched teeth, then his eyes reluctantly leave your face, wander up to the chains holding you, then back to your face. “He hurt you?”

You shake your head carefully, wary of adding nausea to the dizziness.

“No, he was a real gentleman,” you reply. Dean breathes out of his nose, then in again, and you know what’s coming.

“I told you to stay with Sam,” he says, nostrils flaring.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” you reply immediately, a little snappier than you mean to, but it’s just what that tone he has does to you. He’s allowed to rush into the fray and quip when he’s shackled up. Why aren’t you?

“And see where that got you!” he says, voice loud and determined, and you suppress an eyeroll, knowing it’s only gonna piss him off further. 

“Well,” you reply, unable to help the slight tinge of smartassery your voice carries, “there was a good chance you were being tortured to death down here, and I wasn’t gonna let that happen. So deal with it.” Dean makes a sarcastic face.

“And now we both get to be tortured to death,” he snaps back. “Good times!”

Okay, you didn’t want to fight, seeing as there’s that whole imminent death thing going on, but he’s too good at getting under your skin.

“Oh, you know what, Dean?” you reply, tone mean. “You can kiss my ass!”

There’s a loud bang and both of you look towards where the sound came from.

It’s him. The vengeful spirit, dirty, greasy, ugly looking motherfucker who ritually sacrificed all his farm animals before moving on to his family. He’s mean enough to be able to take corporal form, which you had the pleasure of finding out when he pushed you down the stairs at the top of the basement, knocking you out.

“Uh, sorry, we’re kinda busy,” you say to him, raising your eyebrows. “Could you come back in 15?”

“Stop it,” Dean hisses through his teeth but you ignore him.

The spirit turns towards you. At least you’re pretty sure he does - he’s in a dirty, dusty beekeeping suit, because apparently his bees were the only thing he liked in life.

Just then, he takes a slow, halting step towards you, then another. You can’t see his face because of the mask, but the way your skin ripples lets you know he’s staring at you.

“Hey,” you hear Dean say, but you can’t take your eyes off the creature as he takes another step towards you, raises his arm.

“Hey, you freak asshole!” Dean calls out, his voice now carrying an edge of desperation. “Leave her alone!”

It’s not like the guy’s gonna listen, but you appreciate the attempt. Except of course that Dean would rip your head off if you tried to do the same thing. He’s the only one allowed to sacrifice himself, to put himself in danger for the ones he loves. No one else gets to do it.

You start tugging at the chains, but it’s useless. They’re made of thick, old iron, so they would work to repel the spirit, but they’re up so high and, as you notice as you continue pulling on them, attached way too well. You pull again for good measure, but his hand is coming closer, is nearly touching your face…

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Dean shouts, voice cracking on the curse. “I will fucking rip you apart!”

For a second you think it’s actually Dean’s threats that stop him. His hand freezes in midair, and then he begins shaking, and a second later, flames start licking along his body. It takes only moments until he’s fully consumed and although it’s not real fire, at least not here in the room with you, you’re almost certain you can feel the heat of it on your face.

You let out a shaking breath when he’s been fully consumed, and before you have time to say fuck you and your bees, the door at the top of the basement stairs opens with a creak. You tense, but then you hear quick footsteps, and a second later, a worried-looking Sam appears.

You let your head drop back, let out a long sigh and you’re pretty sure Dean does something similar. Sam rushes over to his brother first, hand going to the inside of his jacket and coming back out with his lockpick.

“Man, am I happy to see you,” Dean says, looking up to where his brother is undoing the shackles. They open and Dean lowers his arms with a loud groan. He takes the lockpick from Sam’s hands without a moment’s hesitation and walks over to you while Sam looks around the room.

“Jesus, this must have been where he took his victims,” Sam says, studying the dark spots all over the walls and floor, the ones you assume are blood. Dean stands closely in front of you, not looking at your face, but beginning to work on your shackles.

“Yeah, but not today,” you say with a slightly self-satisfied tone. “Cause you kicked its ass. Hey, where’d you find the bones?”

You see Sam open his mouth to tell you, but Dean speaks first. He’s pissed, you notice in the next second.

“That was luck,” he says, still looking up at where his fingers are working. “Pure and dumb luck and you were reckless for no reason at all.” You pull your eyebrows together.

“Give Sam a little credit,” you reply. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if it was him or me in your position.”

“That’s… that’s different,” Dean shoots back, making a face when the shackles won’t budge to his will.

“Riiight,” you reply, drawing out the word with sarcasm, “rules for thee, but not for me?”

“Goddamn it!” Dean grunts, letting his hands drop, the shackles still closed while he looks at your face, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “I should just leave you tied up here for running your mouth at a friggin’ spirit.”

You see it then - the slight tremor in his voice, in his hands. It’s not much that scares Dean Winchester and that spirit didn’t even come close, but he’s freaked out. Which is why you soften your tone when you speak again.

“I told you,” you say, just as Dean raises his hands again to use the lockpick. “No kinky talk in front of your brother.”

But Dean doesn’t react. He’s not meeting you halfway and when the shackles finally click open and you let your hands drop with a groan, he’s not meeting your gaze either. You look at Sam, who is pointedly looking away from you two, as if he can somehow teleport himself somewhere else.

“Let’s go,” Dean says, turns, and then he’s walking out of the basement. Sam throws you a sympathetic glance, and then the two of you follow him outside, but you absolutely know that this isn’t over.

The drive back is awkward. Dean’s bad mood makes the air in the car thick. He’s able to do that - almost make the air vibrate around him. Usually you call him out on it, but you have no interest to give him, first of all, the satisfaction to do it immediately, and secondly, to drag Sam into this. 

But you don’t have to wait for long. Dean and you say goodnight to Sam in the parking lot and he goes to his room and the two of you to yours. 

The door falls shut behind you, and you are stretching to get your jacket off, your eyes falling on Dean who is stalking into the room, face tensed, looking around, like he expects another spirit to show up.

“Dean,” you say, anticipating whatever he’s gonna say, “can we just drop it? I’m tired and I need a shower. I don’t wanna fight.”

Dean turns around to you, and he’s got that challenging expression he gets. The one that tells you he is very much not gonna drop it.

“You were safe,” he says, finger pointing at the ground to underline his point, “and you purposefully put yourself in danger. That’s not just bad for you, that’s bad for everyone involved.”

“I wasn’t in danger,” you reply, although you know it’s technically not true, seeing as you would probably be short an esophagus if Sam had found the remains only a few minutes later. Dean scoffs, shakes his head, and you raise your hands.

“Look, you were gone all of a sudden,” you point out, “because you decided you were gonna take the other side of the house on your own. What did you expect me to do?”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it, because there really isn’t anything to say. But rather than be reasonable and agree with you, he doubles down.

“You don’t get to play hero in this business,” he replies, eyes glaring at you. You pull your head back, drop your arms.

“Seriously?” you say. It’s a ridiculous thing to say - you haven’t been hunting for as long as Sam and Dean have, but you’re no spring chicken. And it’s a lot coming from the man who has more than once died for others.

“Yeah, seriously,” Dean repeats, not sensing that he’s hit a nerve. “And it’s a dumb idea to try.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you stare him down, lips pressed together. It’s what usually works - Dean gets himself worked up, but if you give him a moment to realize how brash he’s being, he gets embarrassed, pulls back. You can see the beginning of it now, the slight softening of his features when he understands that in his worry, he’s gone too far. But you’re not ready to hear his apology. You’re not there yet.

“I’m taking a shower,” you mumble, turn on the spot and walk towards the bathroom without looking back at Dean. You only slam the door a little.

This is not what you wanted for this evening, you think, as water washes over you. You wanted to finish the case, maybe get some food and beer, flirt with Dean across the table the same way he had been doing with you all day before the unfortunate spirit incident. He’d been on something, the way he sometimes gets, well, often, actually, and you’re sure not complaining. 

His hand always finds you, on days like this. You were leaning over the blueprint of the farmhouse when he looked over your shoulder, snuck his hand up your back, under your shirt, his mouth close to your ear while he pretended he wasn’t doing anything. You turned to him, gave him a knowing smile, and he returned your gaze, so long that you had to shift your legs, stop yourself from pressing them together to alleviate some of the pressure building in you. Dean notices and grinned, that grin that let you know he was gonna tire you out tonight.

And now, instead, you’re under the shower alone, while he’s stewing in his frustration in the next room. It’s not where you want him at all - you’d much prefer it if he was here with you, under the warm spray of water, getting you open and ready and worked up for him. Then you’d climb into bed, skin still wet in places, and then…

You sigh. You shouldn’t torture yourself like this. Unless you can make up tonight. Which would be a good thing, just in general, but also because of the whole fucking thing.

You walk out of the bathroom with renewed vigor and the urge to talk about this like adults, healthy adults, not traumatized, terrified adults. But Dean’s already lying in bed, back turned to you.

“Dean?” you say, voice gentle to show him that you come in peace. But he doesn’t react, not even when you say his name again. So he must be asleep, even though he has the lightest sleep of anyone you know, but he has to be, because the alternative - the alternative is that he’s ignoring you.

You take a deep breath, let it out slowly, try to get your frustration under control, because you’re not gonna be having a discussion with the man’s back. So instead, you step forward, get into the other side of the bed, back turned to Dean. You wait for another second, wondering if he’s gonna turn around, but when he doesn’t, you reach your hand out, turn off the bedside lamp. 

You stare into the darkness, listen to his breathing, but soon sleep comes for you.

You wake up to the sound of water running in the bathroom. Soft daylight is falling in and the electric alarm clock on the bedside table says 9:17. You press yourself back into your pillow, wiggle your body, and close your eyes again.

You’re not fully back to sleep when you feel the mattress dip next to you. The next thing is the blanket lifting, and then something soft brushes over the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your spine. 

When you turn your head a little, you see Dean’s freckled cheek, jaw moving as he’s landing gentle kisses up your hairline to your jaw. He reaches that spot under your ear and it makes you shiver and your lips part, and you feel him grin at that.

“Let’s make up, mmh?” he mumbles and then his hand begins snaking up your thigh. His soft but deep breathing is loud in your ear and you feel your nipples harden in response. Dean’s hand reaches your hip, and then it moves inwards as he gently squeezes the inside of your thigh.

“Come on, darlin’,” he whispers and you feel an unmistakable hardness press into your lower back. You push back against him almost involuntarily, searching him out and Dean uses the purchase on your thigh to pull you against him, grind against you. You roll your hips and he groans.

“That’s it,” he sighs, squeezing your flesh again. “Isn’t this much nicer than being all feisty?”

Your eyes fly open and you stop your movement. Dean doesn’t notice immediately, keeps pressing against you, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, and it would absolutely undo you if it wasn’t for the renewed fire of annoyance blazing inside of you.

So your hand shoots down, briefly fighting the blanket before finding Dean’s hand. You hear him make just the beginning of a chuckling sound, maybe thinking you’re gonna push his hand right between your legs, but then you grab it and pull it away from you. Once you’re done, your hand goes back up, under your cheek as you stare at the wall opposite you.

Dean has stopped moving behind you, so it seems to have at least gotten into his thick head that he just messed up.

“Babe?” he says, and there’s a carefulness in his voice that makes you almost grin.

“I’m not gonna forget what a scene you made yesterday,” you say, still not looking at him, “just cause you woke up with a boner.”

“I didn’t wake up with a boner,” Dean replies, voice slightly petulant, like that’s what this argument is really about. “I mean, I did, but this boner specifically is a you-boner.”

You scoff, shake your head against the pillow. Like you’re gonna melt and forgive everything just because Dean popped a tent because of you. Not that there’s anything wrong with that… just specifically in this moment, it’s not gonna melt you.

“You have a very high opinion of your own dick if you think that’s enough to distract from all the shit you said yesterday,” you reply, voice clear.

And just like that, Dean moves in behind you again, hand landing on your waist as he scoots closer again. Maybe he thinks you’re just playing a little hard to get, which… yeah, you’ve definitely done that before.

“I think I remember you having a pretty high opinion of my dick, too,” he says, voice low and raunchy, as the tips of his fingers come close to your breast. “Seem to remember an occasion or two where you were practically begging for it, salivating.”

This motherfucker.

He’s not wrong. Of course, he’s not wrong. Dean has a magnificent dick, and he knows how to use it. But the way he’s saying it, like just because you want him most of the time you can’t not want him when he’s being a prick is so… well, he’s projecting, that’s for sure. Never mind the warmth that has already built in your core. Never mind that right now you’re really happy that your horniness doesn’t show up the way Dean’s does. 

With a groan, you push yourself away from him and swing your legs over the side of the bed, sit up. You hear Dean move behind you, but you keep looking away from him. Not least of all because you tend to be a lot more forgiving when you see his face. But not today. For once, he’s not getting away with this macho, protector bullshit.

“Don’t be like this,” Dean complains, just as you’re brushing some hair out of your face, and your plan not to look at him goes right out the window, because you whip your upper body around, shoot him a glare that makes him actually recoil a little. You ignore how good he looks, his hair still slightly wet and dark from the shower, just a sheen of stubble on his face, wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers, all things that would be very easy to pull off quickly to get to all the good stuff underneath.

“You can’t treat me like an idiot in the evening,” you snap at him, “and then dry-hump me in the morning. Not how it works, Dean.”

To his credit, Dean has the decency to look ashamed. You know what he’s doing isn’t just about him getting his dick wet - well, it’s not only about that. This is his way of apologizing, of getting close to you again. Dean’s shit at apologizing, worse than any adult you’ve ever met, but you understand where it comes from. Admitting fault and saying you’re sorry isn’t something he ever saw or learned growing up. So rather than just say the words, he is a man of gestures: flowers, a day trip to somewhere he couldn’t give two shits about but you love, long sessions of make up sex where he does everything you like, eats you out until his jaw cramps and you have the capacity to be angry literally fucked out of you.

And it’s fine, most of the time. You knew what you were signing up for when you decided to start dating Captain Handsome-Dysfunctional-Man. You meet him where he’s at, and he does the same with you. Your moods, your anxieties - it’s not like you’re perfect. But this time, it’s just rubbing you the wrong way. 

Because even now, Dean doesn’t say anything. He could just say he’s sorry, say he gets it, admit that it’s a double standard because he would have done the exact same thing. But instead, he opts to stare at the mattress, brow slightly furrowed, looking so damn good that it’s almost painful. 

You stand, smoothing down your shirt and Dean’s eyes shoot up, studying you. He’s leaned on one elbow, accentuating his strong arms. But you’re not letting that affect you today. Nuh uh, no way.

“So what am I supposed to do?” he asks, and there’s something distantly funny about the fact that he might be talking about his behavior in your relationship, or his hard dick. You shrug.

“Guess you should have cleaned the pipes while you were in the shower,” you say, and with that, you turn and walk towards the bathroom.

You pull the door closed behind you, stand over the sink and turn on the water, wait for it to get warm. You don’t want to be mad, and you don’t want to argue, not really, but not backing down now feels like a matter of principle. You want something very specific from Dean, and now your fight has become about that specific thing, rather than the larger issue. It’s annoying. It’s frustrating. It’s not how you want things to be.

The warm splash of water feels good on your face, and then you’re blindly reaching for a towel to dab away the wetness. When you’re done, you look at yourself in the mirror.

What you should do, and what any healthy, well-adjusted adult would be doing, is walk out there, and tell Dean exactly what you want: an apology, for him to acknowledge what he did wrong and in some way promise that he will try to not do it again. Unlearn that behavior, you once read somewhere. Sure, that. And then Dean would say it and then maybe you could still fuck. Ten minutes, only missionary, maybe a sheet in between. That’s what well-adjusted people do, right?

But you’re not that person. Because even if Dean did say those things then, it would just feel like he’s parroting what you just told him you wanted. You want him to understand what you want him to say without you having to fucking masticate it for him first. So, basically, you want him to read your mind. 

Is that really too much to ask?

You sigh, your eyes wandering, and then you freeze when you see it. The thought forms in you so quickly it’d probably be worrying to one of those mythical well-adjusted adults. The grin that forms on your face is likely equally worrying. Whatever. 

When you and Dean checked in two days ago, you did some quick laundry in the bathtub, just some small stuff that wasn’t worth running to the laundromat for. Two t-shirts, a pair of socks and some underwear. 

Among your garments is a lacy, lavender thong that Dean loves. Could be because it looks so damn good on you, could be because, once, on a long drive, Sam asleep and gently snoring in the backseat, Dean begged you silently to blow him or jerk him off and you refused, preferred teasing him, so instead you took off said thong, pulled it off your naked legs under the dress you were wearing, then scooted close to him and shoved it in his face. Dean huffed that thing like it was glue and when you finally made it to the motel a couple hours later, he went to town on you in a way that had you walking sideways the next day - but not before wrapping the thin lace around his hard as steel cock and letting you blow him for a bit, all while fingering your asshole.

Yeah, talking is one option. Telling him what you want, what you need, to move on from this. But what your mischievous brain is coming up with in that second is way more fun.

When you walk back into the bedroom a few minutes later, Dean is pointedly reading what you think is the room service menu. The man must be starving at this point - no real dinner and he usually gets as grumpy as a child if he hasn’t had any grease or sugar by eleven in the morning. But you’re pretty sure he’s just doing it to look busy. 

Luckily for you, he must still see that something is different in his periphery. Or he’s secretly watching you as you move around the room. Because when you look back at him, his eyes are glued to your ass cheeks. The ones that are very visible with only the little lacy scrap of nothing you’re wearing. 

You see his eyes wander up, over the slightly cropped, vintage t-shirt you put on, the one that is, as evident by your hardened nipples which you pinched just before walking out, not accompanied by a bra, before finally slowing at your neck, bare because of your lazily pinned up hair - blowjob hair, as you and Dean affectionately call it - and then stopping on your face. You wear a mask of slight challenge, with a pinch of cluelessness. What could possibly be the cause of Dean studying you like you’re a piece of red meat, gasp, pearl clutch? 

“What?” you ask, voice not too mean, but just soft enough to not break him out of his staring, especially not because just then his tongue darts out of his mouth, licking a long stripe over his bottom lip before the tongue disappears and he sucks the lip into his mouth, top row of teeth biting down on it. He blinks.

“N-nothing,” he says, and his eyes quickly go back to the riveting reading material that is the menu. You gotta love this side of Dean, and joy at his reaction is thick in your chest. You only just walked out. And he’s already stuttering. 

You give a small, content sigh, then turn back to your duffle, which is what you stopped in front of. You open the zipper, peek in, move a shirt or two around just for show.

“Where is it?” you mutter to yourself. It’s a stage whisper, almost. Loud enough for Dean to hear, but low enough that you can pretend you’re talking to yourself. You lean over a little, dig your hands deeper into the duffle. Cock your hip to get one arm really in there.

You hear the slight shuffle from the bed but you don’t turn around to look at what's happening. It sounds like Dean shifting, maybe to alleviate some discomfort, but you’re absolutely not gonna acknowledge that.

“Did you see my jeans? The dark blue ones?” you ask, not turning around, digging deeper into the bag, your ass sticking out like a personal invitation.

“Uh–” is all you can hear Dean say, and it’s a good thing you’re facing away from him, because you don’t think you’d be able to hide the grin spreading over your face.

You let out a slow, high sigh and then turn your upper body, ass still on display and finally look at him. For good measure, you catch the edge of your bottom lip between your teeth and let it slip out slowly, like you were just thinking.

Dean’s a sight to behold. His mouth is open, his chest is rising and falling. The menu has found its way to his crotch, stretched over there, one tensed fist on each side holding it down. It doesn’t hide what’s underneath, his bulge proudly saluting you even through his boxers and the menu.

“What was that?” you say, but Dean’s eyes have wandered back to your ass, and he’s staring at it like someone would stare at a magician’s pocket watch. 

“Over, uhm,” he stutters, and you keep holding his gaze, and he blinks his way up back to your face. “Over the, the, uhm, fucking over the back of the chair.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, then turn and look. Right next to where you're standing, your dark blue jeans are slung over the back of a chair.

“Thanks,” you say, then drag your hands out of the duffel and walk over to the couch, very much not having put on the jeans.

You grab the remote, then plop down on the couch, on your back, swing your legs over the backrest, putting them on full display for Dean.

“Hey, why don't you order us some breakfast?” you say as you turn on the TV, wiggle into place. “I'm starving.”

Dean goes all out, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s Dean or because he’s trying to overcompensate for satisfying some other hunger. He’s already sitting at the table, concentrated on chewing a forkful of eggs when you turn the TV off and slowly walk over to him.

“Yum,” you say as you sit down, eyeing the spread before you. It looks like he didn’t leave out a single food group. 

You reach for a decorative strawberry that’s resting on top of a picture perfect stack of pancakes, take it between your teeth and bite off a small piece. It’s fresh and surprisingly juicy. Preservatives, you think, then wrap your lips around the rest of it, suck on it a little before fluttering your eyelids up at Dean again.

He’s looking at you, still chewing, fork in one hand, knife in the other, like some kind of hungry man caricature. Just then, a drop of the syrup that the strawberries and pancakes are smothered in drops off your lip, runs halfway down your chin before you catch it with your finger and then lick it off the digit. Not planned, just fate being your girl.

Dean tosses the cutlery onto the table with a clang, looks to the side, finishes chewing, and then swallows.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, turning back to you, narrowing his eyes at you. You cock your head to the side a little.

“What am I doing?” you ask, voice all innocence. Dean scoffs.

“Walking around half naked, getting me all horned up,” he replies, raising his hand to point at you, “suckin’ off that strawberry. You’re punishing me for being an ass last night.” You raise your eyebrows.

“ Were you an ass last night?” you ask and Dean lets out a low sigh.

“I get it, okay?” he says, voice frustrated. “You’re the boss and I need to watch what I’m saying. Now can you… I don’t know, put something on or maybe, you know?” He sort of nods down at his crotch.

“It’s starting to hurt,” he adds with a pained expression. “Don’t be cruel.”

You’ve been listening, studying Dean intently, running your finger along your lip.

“So let me just make sure I get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re not apologizing, but you do think I should blow you cause you’re getting a little too excited?” 

Dean shifts around, his expression slightly changing.

“Well,” he says, blinking a lot, “I wasn’t saying, you know, that, I was just making suggestions. Anything you wanna do.” And then he corrects his expression, almost makes it back to that perfect charmingness, but he’s just a little too off kilter to fully manage.

“We could do that thing you wanted to try,” he says, voice an attractive drawl and he raises his eyebrows in a clear attempt to flirt. “The thing with the thing?”

But you just keep looking at Dean.

“I’m not cruel, Dean,” you finally say, voice clear. “If I were cruel, I’d do something like this.”

With that, you lean back in your chair, bring one foot up and set it on the seat. You take a slow breath, your chest rising and falling, Dean’s eyes shooting to your breasts. 

Then you move one hand, bring it to between your thighs, where the lacy thong is just barely covering you. You run your fingers along that part of yourself, fingertips gently glazing the fabric and your skin underneath. 

You’re sitting about 90 degrees around the table from Dean, and his eyes widen when he sees what you’re doing. Some words form on his lips, but he doesn’t say anything. You run your other hand up your thigh, beginning to get yourself in the mood.

“Babe,” Dean half whispers, half breathes, his eyes pinned to your fingers moving between your legs, but he doesn’t continue. You elect to ignore him.

The hand running up your thigh goes to your torso, further up, squeezing your breast through your shirt as you let your head drop back, focus on the feeling your other hand is igniting in you. You hum a little, begin slightly rolling your hips.

You close your eyes. It’s Dean you imagine, of course, Dean’s hands you wish were touching you, finding your nipple, gently circling your clit.

Dean moves, you hear, his chair being pushed back, and your eyes fly open. He’s standing, and you look up at him through your lashes. As he slowly takes a few steps to cross the distance to you, you let your eyes roam over him, from his chest rising and falling to the bulge in his boxers. He’s slightly shaking his head at the sight of you, and then he gets to his knees in front of you.

His eyes are on your lace covered pussy and he leans in. For a second, you almost let him. But the lesson hasn’t been learned yet. So you move the foot you raised on the seat of the chair and push it against his shoulder as he comes close, stopping him from moving in.

“Sweetheart, come on,” he says, voice sounding desperate. “ Anything. ” But you shake your head.

“No,” you say, continuing your touching. “This pussy is only for boyfriends who don’t act like this is the 50’s, and who don’t make me feel bad for wanting to look after them.” Dean clenches his jaw.

“Don’t do this to me,” he replies, voice barely under control.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” you reply, pausing for a small, only half-theatrical moan. “Sucks when someone tells you what to do. Or what you can’t do.”

Dean’s hands go out and he grabs two of the legs of the chair you’re on, drags it and you forwards a few inches. You gasp, your hand movements stopping, Dean’s face suddenly much closer to you, between your legs but still looking up at you.

“I don’t give a shit, okay?” he says, but strangely, he doesn’t sound angry. He’s imploring you. His face is tense but his eyes are soft. You look at him intently.

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean continues, when he sees you’re listening to him. “I get it’s fucked up. I get it’s unfair. I still don’t give a shit.” 

“Dean–” you say, voice placating, but Dean is faster.

“I can’t lose you,” he says, and there’s a sudden rush of emotion in his voice, a slight mistiness in his eyes at his own words. “And I don’t care if I’m not reasonable, and I don’t care if that means I’m sometimes not nice. Nice doesn’t protect you. Nice gets you killed.”

He swallows heavily, not dropping his gaze and you feel a painful twinge in your heart.

“And that’s not an option,” he finishes. You feel your brows pulling together.

“Baby,” you say, feeling your resolve soften, “nothing bad’s gonna happen just cause I go after some asshole ghost.” But Dean’s already shaking his head. 

“You don’t understand,” he continues, voice urgent, and you can hardly believe that’s true, but you let him continue.

“If I let my guard down, bad things will happen,” he says, now slightly raising his chin, maybe in an attempt to starve off his own emotions. “You think a guy like me finds a girl like you and bad shit isn’t just waiting around the next corner? You think I don’t get tha–”

“Stop it,” you say, voice soft but clear. You reach the hand that was between your legs out, cup Dean’s cheek in the hope you can ground him in the moment. 

Dean’s eyes fall shut immediately. Now that you’ve allowed him to breach the distance, he leans in, presses his face against your still raised leg while a shuddering exhale leaves him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter. “I’m sorry.”

“Come here,” you mumble, pull him in a little. Dean follows your movement like you have the strength of a truck. He moves closer, lets his lips graze along the inside of your leg, then leans further in and presses his head against the space under your breasts, deep, heavy breaths leaving him.

“It’s okay,” you say, running both hands through his hair now, soothing him. “It’s okay.”

Dean starts kissing you the next moment. He blindly starts pressing his lips against you there, your skin still separated from him by your t-shirt, but then he wanders lower. His lips find their way closer to your core, with him landing kisses everywhere he can reach.

He can’t reach your pussy with the way you and him are positioned, not comfortably at least, but he gets his face as close as possible, kisses the lace and skin all over, groaning when he must pick up the smell of your arousal.

“Fucking love you so much,” he mutters, his hands going to your legs, fingers pressing into the skin of your thighs.

“Dean, look at me,” you say, still stroking his head, and he looks up at you, lids low, face soft. You look at him for a moment, love so violent it’s gonna crash and burn you flaring up in your heart. “Let’s go to bed.”

You stand, drag Dean up by the arm. He follows you, half stumbles, and even though the bed is right there, he’s unable to keep his hands off you even in that short interval. He grabs your hips, pulls you back against him, kisses your shoulder, hands pawing at you.

You reach the bed and Dean urges you onto it. You crawl on top of it and Dean follows, but then he grabs your hips again, makes you stop. You look over your shoulder just in time to see him settle low on his knees and the next moment, his mouth goes to your ass cheek.

He kisses the skin there, open-mouthed, needily and you stop moving, let your eyes fall shut, let Dean do his thing like only he can do his thing. He tongues and laps and then bites at your ass, making a pornographic gasp come out of you and your entire body respond to him. Dean shifts, and then one hand pulls down your thong, pulls it down to where it rests suspended between your knees, before one of his arms slings around you. His thick fingers find your pussy and he starts rubbing your clit.

For a moment, there’s no air in your lungs, nothing there to carry any of the sounds you want to make out of you. Dean’s touch is precise and just a tad too much for a second, but your lower body bucks once and then you settle into it. 

He has three fingers rubbing away at you, finding the nerves that seem to be directly connected to the ones in your brain, while he kisses the skin of your ass again. A long moan leaves you a second later, air finally flooding back into you.

“Oh, fuck, Dean,” you moan, rocking back against him, Dean going along with your movement like a rodeo cowboy trying not to be thrown off, except you’re not trying to throw him off, you’re just trying to feel more of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dean pants, “tell me how it feels.” 

You’re trying to come up with the appropriate adjectives through the headrush the intense, perfect stimulation is giving you when Dean kisses you again, and then again, and you realize, with a thrill of deep, erotic anticipation, that he is working his way closer to your asshole.

“Yes, keep going, baby,” you sigh and Dean swirls his tongue closer to his goal. “That’s perfect.”

Another gasp leaves you as Dean’s tongue finds your tightest hole, followed by a deep, uncontrolled groan as he starts stimulating you from both ends.

Within seconds, you’re moaning so loudly you’re pretty sure it could wake the dead. You reach one hand behind you to find the back of Dean’s head, push it closer against you. His tongue prods at you, setting deep, intense pleasure free.

“That’s so good, baby,” you pant and Dean starts pressing his tongue deeper, starts circling his fingers quicker, the two fists of pleasure building from these points becoming bigger and bigger until it feels like they’re meeting in the middle.

You’re pretty sure your eyes roll up when your orgasm hits you, and you’re also pretty sure, or would be, if your brain was still capable of any higher functions, that someone walking past the room would probably think you’re in the process of being murdered. Your entire body shakes, but you are so perfectly caught between Dean’s arm wrapped around you and his face. It’s intense and it feels like it’s lighting up every part of your body and like it goes on for much longer than should be physically possible.

When your body finally slumps down in exhaustion, Dean gently drops you and you just barely manage to roll onto your back. Your chest is heaving and it feels like you’re vibrating. Your eyes are closed, and you’re pretty sure you have the biggest fucked-out grin in the world on your face.

Dean moves and you blink your eyes open. He’s running his mouth over the shoulder of his t-shirt, and then looks down at you.

“Darlin’--” he starts, but you shake your head.

“Shut up,” you say, still a little breathless. “Take off your clothes and fuck me.”

To be fair, the taking off his clothes part, to you, is completely optional. Dean could go and put on a bunny suit right now and you wouldn’t care as long as you can feel his cock inside you as soon as possible. But clever guy that he is, he gets the gist.

Dean’s hands fly to the back of his head and half a second later, he’s pulling his t-shirt off. He’s already climbing over you while he’s pushing down his boxers.

“Don’t know how long I’m gonna last with how worked up you got me,” he says, using one hand to pull the thong the rest of the way off you, but you shake your head, move your hands to pull your own shirt off yourself. Then you angle one of your legs up high against your body.

“Don’t care,” you say, hands reaching out to him. “I just need to feel you.”

Dean’s body is covering yours a blink of an eye later. He kisses you deeply immediately, and his closeness makes you buzz. He’s so warm and soft everywhere he’s touching you. That surprised you, when you first got to touch him - how soft Dean is. His skin, his hair, the way he looks into your eyes when he’s balls deep inside of you. Who’d have thought. 

Dean needs to break the kiss a second later to look down between your bodies. You angle your leg up, higher, so that it’s held up by his shoulder, while the other you sling around him. His arm moves while he finds himself, and you land a kiss on his cheek.

“Fucking put it in me, baby,” you breathe in his ear and Dean groans before he shifts once more, and then you can feel his hard thickness press against your entrance. 

He starts pressing into you with a deep groan and you can feel him twitch in response to your wet heat. He gives you the first couple of inches, then pulls out a little, pushes further in.

“That’s fucking it,” he groans, eyes squeezed shut. He leans down again, presses his forehead to yours and you hold him close. “Needed that.”

Dean ruts himself into you until he’s fully seated, then sighs deeply. When he’s as deep in you as he can be, he opens his eyes, looks into yours. You bite your lip, look up at him, and Dean starts moving, slowly, diligently.

He pulls out only a little, pushes in again, rolling his hips but his movement almost stutters from how much he’s holding himself back. You get that - scratching an itch is only really satisfying if you can fully go at it, rake your fingernails over the offending spot. If someone softly blows on it that only makes it worse. So you let your hand wander to the back of his neck, make him focus on you. 

“Fuck me, baby, really fuck me,” you breathe. “Like you wanted to in that basement yesterday. When you wanted to put me in my place for being such a meddling bitch. Show me how you take care of me.”

Dean blinks, slows. Looks into your eyes, like he wants to make sure you’re being totally serious. He must see that you are.

He pushes himself up. One hand goes to the back of your thigh, pressing you open, the slight burn of the position titillating, making you feel like you can’t escape him, not that you’d want to. His other hand goes to your waist, palm flat against you so his weight pushes you down into the mattress. He pulls out slowly, lets you feel every inch of perfect drag and then slams right back home.

“That’s what you want?” he pants, but you barely hear him over the loud moan that leaves you at that first captivating thrust. “Want me to fucking show you who’s boss?”

Dean pistons his hips, pumping into you hard and deep, and your hands go flying out, looking for purchase as half horny chuckle, half whine leaves you. One grabs the bedding below you, the other finds his lower arm, fingernails digging in.

“Yes!” you gasp, the stimulation nearly making you go dumb. “Yes, yes, Dean, like that!”

By leaning mostly on you, Dean can drive into you fast and hard. Your head drops back as you flip between moaning and whimpering, unable to say anything else. You’re held perfectly in place by his weight, can only lie there and take what he’s giving.

“Fucking mouthing off to me,” Dean pants, upper lip pulled up in a snarl as his eyes go from where his cock is opening you up to your bouncing tits to your face, screwed up in brutal pleasure. “Being smart. I’ll show you.”

Dean’s balls are slapping against your ass, loud in your ears and your mouth is ripped open as he ignites you. He groans on each exhale, a purely animalistic sound, as his length and girth drive you higher with a precision that is deadly.

He moves the hand that is holding up your leg, which is now only held up by his torso, and brings it to your pussy, presses his thumb against your clit, rubs the pad of his finger over your nub of nerves until you're twitching and moaning.

“Come on, I know you wanna come again,” he pants, not letting up. “Want to come on my cock, don't you? That's what you wanted the whole time?”

You squeal and pull your legs in as you come again, nearly keening as your body is rocked back and forth my Dean's rough fucking. Your eyes squeeze shut, warmth and overwhelming pressure and pleasure exploding outward from where Dean is taking such thorough care of you. You nearly go cross-eyed.

Dean moans loudly at you gripping him, and then, his dead giveaway that he's about to come, he leans in again, kisses you, his soft lips desperately latching onto yours.

“Love you, fucking love you,” he almost whispers, and then his thrusts become uncoordinated and a long whimpering sounds leaves him as he presses his face against your neck and spills inside of you.

Dean grinds into you a few more times, still moaning, and you bring your hands up to run them over his back, fingertips pressed into his skin, up to his neck which makes him shudder. Then, you just hold him, listen to the small noises he still makes. He gets so vocal. It's one of your favorite things about him.

He moves much too early, shifts, and you make a complaining noise.

“Just gotta pull out, darlin’,” he drawls, the way he always drawls when he just came hard. You consider that a sign of a job well done. You made me nut so hard I lost all my g’s, he once said to you early in your relationship. You dropped your head back and laughed.

Dean pushes himself up, just enough that he can slip out of you, then immediately lies back down on you again. You grunt at his weight, but it's all worth it for how close he presses himself to you, arms wrapped around you, soft lips pressed against the spot behind your ear, warm breath fanning down your neck.

“You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?” he mutters, and you grin to yourself, run your hand over the back of his head.

Dean's come has mostly dripped out of you and adding your own juices to that, you start getting shifty.

“Let me clean up,” you say and Dean reluctantly untangles himself from you.

To your surprise, he follows you to the bathroom. As you sit to pee, he grabs a towel, cleans himself, then tosses it over the side of the tub. You don't even bother raising your eyebrows at him - you're all love hormones right now.

Dean grabs his boxers and you take his t-shirt, and then the two of you congregate in bed again, but not before Dean grabs a selection of some of the breakfast food you still have out on the table. Most of it is cold, but the two of you pick at it out of sheer hunger, talking about what tastes best, what you like, feeding each other little morsels and sucking any leftovers off the other one's fingers. It's light and easy. But there's one more thing you have to say.

“You know,” you say after a while, looking at Dean, “I don’t crash headfirst into hepatitis infected basements cause I think it’s fun.” 

Dean gives a careful chuckle, but lets you talk. 

“I do it,” you continue, “because I feel the exact same way you do. So don’t you dare pretend for even a second that I don’t understand what you go through.”

Dean is still chewing on something, but he studies you while he does. He reaches for a napkin, runs it over his mouth.

“I know,” he finally says. “I get that, I do. And I know I can't expect you to act differently than I do.” You nod, wait for him to continue, thinking there's a but coming.

But there's not. He simply reaches his hand out, takes yours. Then he looks up, into your eyes, holds your gaze.

“I love you,” he says, like he hasn't said it a thousand times, like he really wants you to hear him. 

“I love you too, baby,” you say and he nods, still looking at you. Then he leans in, kisses you on the lips and a second later, his arm is around you and he's dragging you down onto the bed.

You giggle, then shuffle around until you're comfortable, both of Dean's arms wrapped around you, his lips pressed to the top of your head. With a sigh, you close your eyes.

Maybe this is the price. Maybe the payment for loving someone is to be worried shitless for them. 

And maybe that's a lesson even Dean Winchester has to learn someday.

[maomao-words]

I'm back with more fluffy(?) WB headconnons. Actually, these might also be angsty again lol.

I added Endo in celebration of his full arrival in the anime world! You can skip him if you wish to get to know him first, but his part does not contain any manga-related spoilers.

TWs: Sweet with a (decent) dash of angst. Mentions of dizziness and illness.

I hope you enjoy!!

Wind Breaker: How the boys react to you passing out in front of them (Sakura, Kiryu, Togame, Kaji, and Endo).

Sakura Haruka:

Panic.

Sakura's quick reflexes allowed him to snatch your body up before it even came close to touching the floor, but the sudden influx of chaotic emotions brought him to his knees soon after.

He clumsily cradled your form in his arms, mouth opening and closing as thoughts raced within his mind, but only incomprehensible whimpers left his lips. Sakura's eyes locked into your own, half-open and glossy, before he immediately swept his gaze over your entire body, looking for any open wounds or injuries that could explain your sudden deterioration.

Finding none, Sakura's confusion grew stronger, but his hold did not waver an inch. He squeezed you closer to him as more passersby gathered around you, unconsciously hiding you away from their view. With a cold gaze and an even colder tone, Sakura snarled at the closest man to back off and leave room for you to breathe, barely sparing him a second glance as the man staggered back in offense.

Sensing his own panic growing, Sakura clenched his teeth and steeled his jaw, before hauling you with him in one swift movement, aiming to bring you to the nearest doctor. He had no time to lose on trivialities.

An hour later, once you were safely tucked in a hospital bed after a quick examination that confirmed a case of dehydration and exhaustion, Sakura did not dare to leave your side. With his pinky intertwined with your own, he remained there until dawn greeted the world with a new day. He only stirred back to life when your eyelids fluttered, and your lips softly uttered his name.

Kiryu Mitsuki:

Fear.

Kiryu's hand, which was already wrapped with yours from the very beginning of your date, instinctively pulled you up the second you began to sway unsteadily on your feet. Within a heartbeat, he was right beside you, his body cushioning your fall and cradling you to his chest.

Questions quickly formed and intercrossed within Kiryu's mind as he softly tapped your cheek. His voice dripped with confusion and fear as he attempted to rouse you again with a trembling hand.

Your boyfriend watched your eyelids flutter and close a few times, still showing any signs of returning to full awareness, and his heart trembled within his ribcage. The music in the arcade was as loud as ever, hindering Kiryu's attempts to form any and all coherent thoughts, and he found himself regretting ever convincing you to come with him to this place, far away from home.

Clenching his jaw to steel his nerves, Kiryu discarded the colorful drink you were both sharing from his hand, before wrapping one arm behind your knees and another around your shoulders, carrying you in one gentle movement.

The trip to the nearest doctor took some time, but you were soon fast asleep back in the hotel room Kiryu had reserved for your overnight trip, with a heavy bag of medicine as an additional belonging. Kiryu's hand was gentle as he wiped the sweat from your forehead, bending down to peck your cheeks. He wasn't going anywhere, not until you opened your eyes again.

Togame Jo:

Confusion.

Togame's body moved before his mind even registered that you were falling. His steady arms were around you in a heartbeat, holding you close to him, and preventing your newly-purchased kimono from touching the festival's dusty grounds.

But despite his quick reflexes, Togame's mind was only filled with raw confusion. You were holding onto his arm as always, lips curled in a heartfelt smile, as you blabbered about your latest anime obsession to him, when you suddenly paused in the middle of the path and swayed on your feet.

Togame's eyes took a quick sweep across your body, looking for any clues as to why you passed out, before bringing his gaze toward the loud crowd forming around you both. Barely breaking a sweat, Togame's arms enveloped your form and supported it in a bridal carry. He needed to get you away from there.

Once he was certain you were outside of the crowd's suffocating voices and whispers, Togame didn't spare another thought for the rest of the festival. His feet quickly led him to the nearest emergency care facility, rapidly crossing the distance while attempting to not jolt you around too much within his hold.

Even after the doctor assuaged all of his concerns and allowed for your discharge, Togame's hold on you never faltered. He insisted on carrying you all the way back to your house, with a carefree smile in tow, now that he was not losing his mind out of fear of losing you.

Kaji Ren:

Anger.

Kaji's immediate reaction to you collapsing a few feet away from him was a panicked run to your side. He arrived just in time to cushion your fall, his hand coming to support your head, preventing it from hitting the ground and potentially causing more damage.

Kaji could feel anger rising within his chest; a cold, bitter, and sharp surge of anger, which almost led his movements to still. Kaji's anger was not targeted at you (no, never), but rather at the sickness that didn't seem to want to leave you alone. It's been weeks of continuous spells of dizziness and constant chills and aches all over your body.

All throughout, Kaji felt helpless. He could only silently hold your hand during the countless doctor visits, or softly peck your lips each time you returned home with the same painful symptoms. Kaji could feel your frustration mounting with each doctor who refused to listen to your opinion or failed to give you the referral you requested.

He would only intervene at times, knowing you were capable and knowledgeable enough to obtain the health care you deserved, but he always felt resentful at the way you were treated by most doctors and hospitals.

With your hand tightly clutched around his own, Kaji's low voice echoed near your ears in familiarly comforting words. He slowly helped you up to your feet, fingers typing away at his phone to locate the nearest emergency care facility, as you caught your breath. Kaji tenderly squeezed your hand before he began to guide you away. It seems you got yourself a knight in shining armor who is always ready to dedicate his life to you.

Yamato Endo:

Concern disguised as amusement.

A teasing remark was already on the tip of his tongue the second you swayed unsteadily on your feet, but the muscles in his arms visibly tensed, prepared to catch you at any moment. Once he was certain you were no longer able to remain standing, he crowded closer to you, caging your body against the wall and his chest, and blocking the rest of the crowd from your view.

His voice, smooth and low, filled your ears and prevented your consciousness from completely fading away. Endo's hand was now clutching your waist, fingers spread across your feverish skin, holding you in place and grounding your fading senses.

Your eyes came up to lock with Endo's own, finding his laidback smirk still in place, attention placed elsewhere as he finished speaking into his phone. But before you could even muster enough strength to ask who he was calling, Endo's arms are already hauling you into his shoulder and dragging you in a steady embrace toward the main road.

The trip didn't take more than a few minutes, with Endo taking the quickest road to the nearest hospital without even needing to glance twice at his phone. Your fever was only getting worse, haziness drowning all of your coherent thoughts, and preventing you from doing anything except clinging to your boyfriend's neck.

The air was colder when you finally regained your bearings. Endo's husky voice was once again echoing in your ears as he hummed a familiar song. His fingers gently threaded through your hair, and you sighed in contentment. You were safe. Endo wasn't leaving your side anytime soon.

[toxicanonymity]

Wreck

PAIRING: Michael Myers x fem/afab Reader

ONE SHOT: 4300 words | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: MM is unconscious and shackled in a broken down bus. Reader takes shelter there and takes advantage.

WARNINGS: 18+ noncon dry humping, oral, & PIV; size kink, size diff, mask kink, manhandling, creampie, forced cum inflation - erotic body horror, (self) cum play. smut goes hard. 😳

NOTES: Reader wears a chekov's dress, no pronouns used. MM never speaks, and his face and hair are undescribed, so you can HC a DILF of your choice under the mask. Even him.

For @megangovier, @aurorawritestoescape , @sofmoth , and the cumflation nation. Thank you for your support and Happy Shaperil, everyone (the halfway point between Octobers). 💙

Hitchhiking didn’t even seem like a good idea at the time. You weren’t kidding yourself. Not only did you accept the risk, but there was something about the risk that made you feel alive.

This time was different, though. You became more uneasy as the ride continued. The man kept looking over and eyeing your legs as you tugged your dress down. This wouldn’t have bothered you much if he were someone else. In fact, if he’d pulled over to fuck you, it wouldn’t be your first rodeo, but there was something sinister about this man, and not in a hot way. As he lost control of his truck, there was a split second where you thought, thank God–until the truck began to roll.

You escaped the wreck dizzy but unscathed. The adrenaline surging through your blood made you so horny you would’ve considered fucking the man after all, if he weren’t staring blankly into space as the life drained from his face.

After climbing out of the truck, you took a few deep breaths and surveyed the surroundings. Bodies were strewn across the road and an orange prisoner transport bus was hissing smoke from the distorted hood of its engine. This was bad. You needed to get as far away as you could.

The problem was, you were in the middle of nowhere, in an unforgiving desert, and you were almost out of water. None to be found in the wreckage of your ride, and you hesitated to approach the prisoner transport bus.

From the comfort of your bed, under the buzz of a toy, this could easily have been another fantasy of yours, but it seemed your survival instincts were kicking in after all.

So you took what water you had and set off on foot in the direction you were headed all along. With any luck, the transport vehicle wasn’t coming from too far away. Keeping a safe distance from the transport bus, you listened for any signs of life as you walked by it, and you heard none, until you were thirty paces away, and something thumped. You thought. Or was it your imagination? Pausing to listen, you didn’t hear another sound, and weren’t sure what you would have done if you did hear something else.

All you could do was walk, but with every step, you became less sure of your plan. You weren’t entirely sure what road you were even on, only that it was long and straight. State route something or other. No shade. Only cacti and tumbleweed. The road ahead faded into a slippery mirage. What do they say to do when you get lost? Stay in one place, right? Authorities would be looking for the transport bus. When they found it, they’d find you. Yeah. With that revelation, you turned around and headed back toward the bus.

As you walked by the bus this time, you came a little closer, and you had to do a double-take at one of the windows. An enormous man with a stark white face and dark eyes staring at the ceiling of the bus—no, not dark eyes. A mask. Your breath hitched. That’s when you read the lettering on the side of the bus for the first time:

SMITH’S GROVE SANITARIUM

Your chest went hot with recognition. You didn't feel alone anymore. The desert didn't feel quite as big.

The sun had been fading as you walked, but sunset seemed to accelerate after this revelation.

A crack of thunder told you why.

Fat drops of petrichor began to blacken the dusty road in perfect little circles. As the rain picked up, you cupped your hands together, turned your mouth to the sky for a drink.

You had a few choices, none of them good. Sit on the side of the road in the rain. Return to the wreckage and take shelter with your driver’s body. Flatten yourself under the transport bus like a cat. Or get on board.

-

You approached the open doors of the bus with your heart pounding. Was anyone alive in there? They would've left, wouldn't they? Why would Michael be wearing his mask?

With your first steps onto the stairs, the echo of your shoe made you jump. You took them off after climbing into the vehicle. The driver’s head was slumped over the steering wheel, eyes open. Some of the blood appeared to be dry. If there had been others in the bus, they must have fled before your accident.

The only bodies remaining were two, near the back: That hulking figure and a man in a white coat. Strewn about were an open box marked “evidence,” a ballpoint pen in the shape of a spine, scattered papers, and a box labeled MYERS 10-19-1957

You pieced together the scene: perhaps the doctor himself had provided the mask. People said he wasn’t right in the head. That he revered Michael as a force of nature who belonged in the wild. The scene before you began to resemble the ruins of ill fated plans to return Michael to his rightful state. The psychiatrist had even brought a knife for the killer–a knife that ended up in his own neck, somehow.

As you neared the bodies, you thought you heard what sounded like a quiet ventilator at a slow rhythm.

When you listened closer, you could hardly hear it over the rain and the best of your own heart. But something told you Michael was alive. He was alive, you could feel it. Dark energy radiated from his seat, making you weak, holding you captive. Your legs wouldn't move even if you wanted to run.

Was he hurt?

The sound of the rain hitting the roof of the bus was soothing. More soothing than it should have been.

When you got close enough to look at Michael from a different angle, you really began to feel how large he was. He was sturdy. His trunk was strong and thick. His arms were huge. You couldn't see his neck, but there was a sliver of skin exposed between the front of his jumpsuit and the rubber of the mask, and there was a thick vein there. The jumpsuit stretched over the expanse of his chest, and the rise and fall of it told you he was alive.

As your eyes panned down, your breath hitched at a raised lump on his lower torso.

A phallic lump, in just the right place… Jesus Christ, could it be that big?

Was he hard?

Was he awake?

You were transfixed by this bulge and the promise of its girth. Your body readied itself without your permission, churning slick into your core, opening up, making room for a monstrous intrusion. Your face heated up at the thought. You salivated. Your heart raced.

You looked away and closed your eyes, and felt it even stronger.

You sat down in the seat diagonal from his, but couldn't take your eyes off him. It was self preservation - he could come to life and attack at any moment. Willing yourself to think about anything else, you tried to imagine where you'd be without the crash.

-

Who knows how long you were sitting there, but the rain was heavier, and your loins were hotter. Your thighs stuck to the weathered brown seat as you began to rise. You were tingling, dripping, Throbbing, throbbing for this killer.

Unable to resist any longer, you approached. You watched his chest rise and fall at a steady rhythm. Listened for his breathing, no longer audible under the hard rain.

You inched ever closer, until you were facing him and placed your hand near his shoulder on the corner of the seat, a small slice of brown not covered by his body.

And then, you experimentally grazed the arm of his jumpsuit.

He didn't move.

You ran your fingers over his enormous biceps, and his muscles dwarfed your hand.

He didn't move.

You gave his arm a squeeze.

He didn't move.

He was slumped down in the seat a little bit and his hands were cuffed behind his back.

His feet were shackled.

You began to calculate how badly he could hurt you if he were to react to your closeness.

What kind of weapons could he use?

What would his instinct be?

Part of you was excited to find out.

You progressed from touching his arm to touching his chest. And then…. your hand traveled down his torso, growing ever closer to the telltale shape sprouting from his crotch.

The body under your hand became warmer as your palm slid down his core and swerved to the side of the massive log in its path.

You just barely grazed the side of it, and a shock of arousal seized your body, paralyzing you for just a moment.

You had to remember to breathe.

You were drooling, throbbing for him. Your hand shakily dragged down along the edge of the outline of his cock, the edge of your finger rubbing just hard enough against it to feel the heat of the shape, and the give of the organ.

He wasn't even at full mast. He was semi-hard. You looked up at the mask again. Checked his chest for any changes in breathing. He showed no signs of waking up. So you did it. You placed your hand there, gently, and cradled the shape of his dick.

You’d never been more aroused. It was enormous under your hand. It made you feel small. You were so turned on and also nervous. Could you even take him if you wanted to? Who were you kidding: you wanted to. But it was a scary thought. Who could possibly take a dick like this? Your hand rubbed him lightly, all the way down his shaft, between his spread legs, to feel his enormous balls, which gave you another zap of need.

And when your palms slid back up his dick, you pressed down a little harder. His girth swelled against your hand, twitched, and got firmer.

You slowly moved your hand, slid your palm up and down his shaft, feeling him stiffen into a bold, erect shape until his absurd girth strained the fabric of his jumpsuit.

He still hadn't woken up.

You placed one knee onto the seat, against his thigh. The seat was made for two, but his enormity meant there was barely any room for this. You straddled him with your thighs spread wide. God, the size of this man.

He could wake up at any moment and throw you across the bus or worse. He could probably do it even cuffed, you thought. But at this point, there was no turning back.

You wanted it too bad. As though physically possessed by the desire, nothing would stop you.

You had to feel him with your loins.

With your dress spread between your thighs, you lowered your crotch, and the front of your panties rubbed against his dick outline, making you shiver and erupt in goosebumps before you even came to rest on his warm, hard bulge.

Fuck, you were so wet.

You rubbed yourself up and down his stiff manhood and it made your clit throb and twitch, aching for relief. You grinded against him, bracing one hand on his shoulder, and groping your own breast with the other. Your breaths became heavy as pressure built in your belly. He twitched against your sensitive bundle of nerves and the tension burst, and pulsed, and released, echoing between your legs.You came as quietly as you could, your walks squeezing needily around nothing.

The last twitch of your hole was violent. It told you how bad you had to be filled.

You had to unzip him.

Above a white tank top and under a thin gold chain, his skin was littered with white scars and divots, scant chest hair–pepper with a little salt. Prison tattoos were barely visible through the thin, ribbed fabric. His middle was thick and strong, solid muscle padded by years of confinement.

As the zipper nearly reached his cock, you used both hands to pull on the fabric, trying to get it as far away from the skin as you could, trying to create space where there was none. You didn't want to hurt him. Didn't want to wake him up.

When you unzipped the rest of his suit, his cock bobbed even heavier than it looked.

You could hardly fathom the girth of what stood before you. There was no way you could wrap your hand around it. There was no way you could take it, could you?

There was no way you weren't going to try.

The fat, pink tip of his cock glistened with pre-cum. You gathered the ample saliva in your mouth, and brought your lips close to his cock. You were hit with a wave of his musk that nearly knocked you out, making your nipples hard and your jaw slack.

Next thing you knew, you were squatting between his feet. The ridged rubber flooring dug into the balls of your feet, with your legs folded neatly, making yourself compact between the seats. Your head bobbed forward and your lips engulfed his tip. You let it rest heavily on your tongue, appreciating the warm heft in your mouth. With a gentle suck, you took another inch into your mouth, feeling the crown of the head. Tonguing it. Then you tongued the slit, and the salty precum reminded you of your mission.

You held it in your mouth as saliva gathered in your mouth, then swirled your tongue around the cock head. You let it out of your mouth, connected by a string of spit, and drooled more spit onto it before swallowing and getting into position. You spread your saliva on his tip. Your panties were not a factor - the loose g-string was easily pulled to the side.

Back into straddling him, you held his shaft and almost had to squat with your bare feet on the seat instead of being on your knees to allow enough room for his cock between you. You rubbed his tip against your dripping entrance, up your slippery slit, and nudged your clit with it, then brought it back to your eagerly awaiting hole and lowered yourself. His cock slowly spread you open. The stretch burned and radiated outward - the wide tip seemed to occupy all of you already. But you let gravity take you down further, and really, you hadn't even taken the whole tip - was just the initial curve. Slowly sinking onto him, the stretch intensified as you accommodated the girth of his tip and bit your lip. It was an exhilarating feat.

There was going back.

It burned, but it burned so good. You might never feel this stretch again. You sank a little further onto him and failed to stifle a closed-mouth moan, “mmm.”

The burn became a buzzing tingle.

The exhilaration became a hunger for more, and you slid down his shaft like a miracle.

Jesus Christ, you'd never felt so full of anything. Your whole body was spread around him, all of your guts forced out of the way.

You went further still down his cock, taking more than you imagined anyone could fit. By the time you bottomed out, the burn subsided into a feeling that you were gripping him. Spread thin and tight around him, he wore you on his cock. Your walls hugged his shaft, and it throbbed. It throbbed inside you.

You sat there, reveling in the fullness with your watering eyes scanning his torso and beautiful skin. You ran your thumb lightly over two bullet wounds just above his pec and felt him swell inside you.

Oh fuck, He swelled, he grew. Making you fuller than full. He throbbed and twitched, and nudged something in your depths that made you whispered out loud, “Oh, Fuck.”

Oh, God, the fullness was something to behold in its own right. You could have sat like that all day. but he had nudged something else inside you, something you needed to pursue.

And when you tilted your hips, his shaft nudged it again. Something that twitched, something that spasmed, something that had you ready to trip over another edge and freefall into bilss.

You slowly rolled your hips, not letting much if any length out of your cunt. Your insides clung to him right and merely shifted inside yourself, as though you were a fleshlight. That movement inside yourself made enough tension, friction, and pressure to make you chase more release. You moved your hips, barely going up and down on his cock, taking the pleasure you needed. You took and you took from him. Slowly, you had your way, until the pressure was building to uncontainable heights. Your breaths were shallow, and you could hardly take it. You took a deep breath and tilted your head toward the ceiling.

You closed your eyes and relaxed as best you could, with your entire body tense at the edge of your climax.

His dick twitched again, and you saw stars.

Your cunt tightened around his cock as pleasure spasmed through your core, bursting from your

solar plexus. “Oh god,” you breathed, you held both your breasts as you bottomed out again and came on his cock in a series of spasms that seemed to last a full minute. Your body was hugging his massive manhood, possessing it, possessing him. Your bodies were joined so tight, like you were one. Your energy faded as the orgasm rode on.

Your body leaned toward his, your tits pointy through your damp dress, poking against his chest. Your nose brushed his mask, inhaling latex, and then…. your lips found the perfectly sculpted, white rubber of his. You pressed a kiss onto the mask’s distinctive top lip and a different shock spread through your chest. You opened your eyes as you pulled back, and your fingers went to lightly brush your your own lips. Still spread around his cock, you trembed with an aftershock. And just as your climax was ending, a low rumble came from his chest.

His pecs flexed, his body tensed, and your heart jumped. You tried to slide off his cock, but his hips shifted and his cock grew again, making you whimper. Just as your body had grown to accept his size, there was more of him to hold. He throbbed and twitched and grunted. Metal jingled behind his back and at the floor board as you panicked. He growled and moaned, foreboding a seismic eruption in your womb. His hips lifted out of the seat, pushing you up, and if you weren't anchored by his girth you might have flown off and hit the ceiling

Like nothing you’d ever felt, his cock throbbed massively as it shot monster ropes of cum into you, spurting rapid fire, every twitch of the organ felt by your walls, by your cervix. Something snapped and let go in your depths, slick gushed around his cock, providing just the lube you needed to slide yourself up. But before you were off his shaft, the cuffs snapped, and his massive hands flew to your shoulders, broken chains dangling as he held you down on his cock.

He grunted as he filled you up with his seed. Time seemed to stop, but the flow of cum didn’t. It felt he was cumming for so long, but with it possibly being the last moment of your waking life, you were no longer in a hurry for it to end.

A new fullness bloomed in your depths, different than the fullness of his cock. Higher, more spread out. Pressure mounted in your lower belly. More and more pressure with each burst, each massive rope. And then his happy trail, pressed against your lower belly. It tickled your, and you looked down to a sight that made your clit twitch and put butterflies in your chest. His happy trail wasn’t pressing into you. Your belly was pressing into him. Your dress curved outward in a new shape. Not massive, but noticeable. You lifted your dress out of the way to see your belly bloated and round, filling out against his body as he stuffed you with his cum. The pressure was overwhelming. It didn’t feel bad, but the effect on your body scared you.

“No more,” you begged, then realized the bursts ad weakened and he’d already slowed to a trickle. “What’s happening?” You asked, voice shaky.

No reply, but his hands tightened into a bruising grip on your arms when you tried to move. His breath was deep and ragged.

He slowly tilted his head, then looked down at your exposed bloated belly. He moved his hands to your hips and the cool metal of the broken cuffs grazed your hot flesh. You looked down at yourself again, mesmerized. Maybe the shape was exaggerated in this position and might even put once you stood up. It couldn’t have been that much cum. You were embarrassed, worried, shocked, but also turned on. Very turned on.

Your nipples were so hard they were sore. Your breasts heaved under your dress, and the sight of them gave you another wave of humiliation and arousal. You couldn’t be completely certain, but your breasts seemed to look fuller. It could be in your head, you thought. You had gained a few pounds, you told yourself. This just happened to be the first time you noticed. But a different part of you knew some people thought Michael wasn’t human, that he was something from beyond. He was simply the shape of pure evil. His strength was superhuman, and you wondered if his semen might be, too. It terrified you and made you throb.

Your cunt now comfortably hugged his cock, which was no less stiff tha n it had been before he came. You couldn’t be sure if his swelling had gone down or if your body had again adjusted, more elastic than you ever thought possible. Or at least, you hoped it was elasticity. The idea that he could have stretched you beyond repair would be devastating. You might never be full again.

Michael’s hips began to rock under you, and he lifted you effortlessly, slid you up his shaft. He bounced you and wielded you up and down his dick, steadily ramping up the pace until the wind was nearly knocked out of you. It was clear he was using you as a cocksleeve. Fucking up into it as he jacked himself off with your body. It was just a warm, wet tunnel for his cock. Your thighs quivered and your breasts and belly bounced. He held you like a toy, head tilted down, yearning to see your swollen body swallow his unfathomable size, if his view weren’t obstructed by the aftermath of his load. Your insides pulsed with pleasure, you began to gush again, and a third orgasm caught you off guard. He growled as it choked his cock and then he slammed you down hard and erupted once again.

“No,” you pleaded, and held your tummy with both hands. “I can’t, it won’t fit.” He didn’t stop, and why should he? You did this. You put yourself on his cock, you took from him and he was continuing to give. There was barely any time between each rope. The steady pulse of his cock made you swell a little more, overfilling you. Your skin tightened to contain your swelling womb. It was a pleasant stretch and one you had earned. You held your belly and watched it slowly grow as the modest orb bounced with each lift of his hips.

When he was finished, He just sat there, then he lifted you off his cock and put you aside, making you stand next to the seat. He turned to face you, with his legs in the aisle, and his cum-coated cock still out. He lifted your dress and bent forward to look between your legs.

As your body drew itself back together, warm cum ran down your thighs. He huffed. You held your belly, expecting it to shrink. If it did, it was gradual.

Michael reached between his feet and used his hands to break the shackle. He tucked himself away, turned up his collar, and took your face in his hands. His thumb brushed your cheek, then he turned to leave. His boots thumped heavily down the aisle as he slowly exited the bus. He walked off into the rain and didn’t look back.

The drip of cum slowed with your womb still full. You sat on a seat and spread your legs wide, and used your fingers to pull more cum out of you. You were so stretched out that you could use four fingers with no trouble at all. You could have fit your whole hand in, and tried, but the effort of bending to get a good angle left you out of breath.

After scraping as much cum as you could out, you tried putting pressure on your belly. First with your hands, then by bending forward so it was against your thighs. The swelling went down a little, but you were still distended and beginning to cramp.

You tried with fingers again and found you had already tightened up at least a little again, to your relief. You stood up to stretch and caught your reflection in the window. You didn’t look quite as big as you imagined. Not full term, at least, but you probably looked five or six months pregnant. You walked to the front of the bus to look at yourself in the rearview mirror. Turning to the side, you held the fabric to the shape of your belly. It wasn't that bad. You could live with this, until the swelling went down. At least you didn't have to walk around gaping.

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Don't be too sad that he walks away, I HC that he could come back or find reader again 💙

If you enjoyed this, I have a ghostface fic with a similar situation and parts 1, 2, and 3 are my top 3 most popular fics ever. Every Inch

Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a comment if you enjoyed it. Letting me know what you liked helps my future fics. 💙

[weeping-treee]

A Desperate Man- Part 4

Simon is so desperate for you, and he can't bring himself to care.

All parts here

Did he really just do that?

Ghost draws a blank as he steps foot into his quarters and shuts the door behind him.

"Fuckin' hell.." He runs a gloved hand over his masked face.

There's no turning back now. He reaps what he sows.

Not that it's a bad thing. It just... puts him out there. Forces him to be... vulnerable. Forces him to be something other than the Ghost who silently roams base.

Oh Christ—he can't avoid you until then either. Not with those stitches coming out in three days. Which happens to be Friday. Just great.

He's going to have to face it. Face you. The woman he asked on a date.

A date.

When's the last time he went on one? High school, maybe.

He's in his early thirties now. Maybe he's out of his depth on this one.

Ghost sits on the edge of his bed with a small huff. The springs creak beneath his weight, the silence pressing in around him. He stares at the floor. His boots are still dusty from patrol. He should take them off. Shower. Do something.

But he doesn't budge. Just leans forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"Friday. You free or not?"

Did he even say it right? Did he sound like an asshole? Was he too blunt? Did he even sound interested?

Shit.

He rubs his face, the fabric of his mask tugging slightly under his gloves. He doesn't even remember what your reaction was. What you looked like when he said it. It was a nauseating blur. Everything after was a blur—your stuttering and wide, surprised eyes. You said yes, but now that he's alone, he's doubting if you actually meant it.

People say yes all the time when they don't really mean it.

But what if you did mean it?

That might be even worse.

One act of bravery, might've just made him look like an idiot.

The next three days, he avoids you the best he can. He even tells Soap to go alone to the medbay—a first, since he always tags along with the Scot. Even if the thought of Johnny flirting with you raises a possessive feeling in him. He's just not ready to face the consequences of his actions just yet.

But Friday comes, and he needs to face it. To face you.

He forces himself off the training grounds. He can't avoid you, especially when he asked you on a date... tonight.

He stands outside the medbay for a moment. His heart is in his throat. God—a small thing like you, someone he could probably snap like a twig—has turned him into a nervous wreck.

He steps into the medbay, finding you at a desk, likely filling charts out. You look up.

He's expecting a slight eye roll, or a grimace at seeing him. But he doesn't get that. No. He gets that same dizzying smile that gets him every single time.

Like he's something more than a weapon. Like maybe you see him—really see him.

"I was wondering when I'd see you today." You say, standing up and rounding the desk.

He doesn't speak. He's not sure he can. His eyes are just locked onto you. Soft, yet piercing.

"Let's get those stitches out, yeah?" You nod your head over to the same exam room from the other night.

The rubber exam table squeaks under his weight. Making him even more self-conscious—as if he isn't 90 percent muscle.

"Any more pain since I last saw you?" You ask, keeping it professional in hopes of alleviating some tension, stretching the latex gloves over your hands.

He shakes his head.

"Nothing I can't handle."

You smile and nod.

"That's good then, means it's healed up nicely."

He knows the drill. The hoodie comes off. At least training forced him into a tank-top, so he has something to cover himself. Even if it's sweaty and covered in dirt.

He wonders if your gaze will linger again. If you'll still see more than just pieces needing to be glued back together.

You examine the wound, ensuring its healed nicely before starting to take the stitches out.

"Are you alright?" You ask softly, feeling the tension that suffocates the air around him.

He nods, since he doesn't exactly know how to answer it. He's a nervous wreck. Does he bring up the date? Does he tell you how nervous he is? How nervous you make him?

"Look, about tonight. If you're having second thoughts, that's okay—" You start, until he cuts you off.

"No. I'm not having second thoughts. I want to go. I just-" he stops himself before continuing. A small sigh escaping from his lips as the tension in his shoulders melts.

"I don't know how to do this. Whatever this is." He finishes, staring at the hoodie in his lap.

Your gaze softens. You can see how hard he's trying. How badly he wants this, even if he doesn't know how to show it.

"Alright. Then we keep it casual. No expectations. Just two friends getting a drink to see if it leads anywhere." You finish taking the stitches out. Your hand lingering on the wound as your thumb gently runs over it.

"And if it doesn't then no hard feelings, now awkward looks or conversation. How does that sound?" You ask softly, that same smile on your lips that grounds him almost immediately.

He nods, feeling like a weight has been lifted from his chest.

"That sounds good. Real good."

"Great. Tonight. At eight then." You confirm.

"Tonight. At eight." He repeats, looking at you.

You meet his gaze, snapping your gloves off and disposing of them before sighing softly.

"Alright, you're all good to go. Shoulders healed up nicely. Shouldn't cause you any more trouble when you're shooting stuff."

He huffs out a chuckle.

"That's a relief. Was starting to annoy me."

You chuckle and shake your head, meeting his gaze once more.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. You don't need to. But you both know that there's something between you two. What it is exactly? Who knows.

"Would you like me to walk you to the door again?" You tease.

"You know what? I would like that." He confirms. Those damn brown eyes crinkle at the corners. He's actually proud of himself—for making it this far.

[blushhbambi]

† REPULSION ་࿐

── ˙ ̟ ೕ !! ꣑୧ rafe cameron x preachersdaughter!reader mdniᝰ.ᐟ dark!rafe, inexperienced!reader, religious themes / guilt, implied childhood friends, fingering, tit sucking, dub con, references to cannibalism, a little blood at the end... . ༉‧₊˚. word count;³`⁵k a/n ૮꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ა ahh I love this gif sm, listened to ethel the whole time writing ! wanted to give rafe an isaiah vibe kindaaa... can u guys tell ? planning a part two !!

"you poor thing. sweet mourning lamb."— ptolemea, ethel cain

rafe cameron was not religious.

but god you made him feel like he had to repent. you, the perfect preachers' daughter, homeschooled and sweet, foreign to the kook-pogue bullshit going on in the outer banks. he'd only caught glances of you lately, so different from the endless, humid summer nights of previous years, you'd grown, you'd changed. he wondered if you even remembered it, both of you being so careless and so much younger.

in church you'd always sit right up front, in your sunday best under your father's watchful eye, draped in white lace or thin cotton. your hair would frame your face so perfectly and the way you tapped your little heels into the dark wood beneath the pews, even the cross that hung around your neck delicately, snug between the swell of your chest made rafe dizzy with desire.

you were like a dream in the dusty, old church, a break in the underlying smell of rot and mildew that traced the corners of the small wooden hall. you still held that naive look in your eye from your youth.

still so clean, so pure— sinless.

all of it made rafes stomach turn, he felt sick, perverted, disgusting and hungry.

so hungry.

all while he stood tense and brooding beside his father, in the back of the service with his head full of filth, imagining you spread before him whining out his name like a prayer. he wanted to feel your skin under his teeth while he broke through your soft, supple flesh and hear that satisfying cry of pain fall out from your lips.

wanting to taint you, adulterate you to his own putrescence. he could have any girl on the island, but he wanted you.

that sickness in him seemed to spread, twisting into almost obsession over the years, as he found himself lurking after mass more and more often. throwing you lazy smirks and attempted conversations before you were inevitably tugged away by your father. god knows what provoked him, maybe the blasphemous desperation in his head, as he strode forward.

he held that usual smug quirk in his lip as he approached you, small, quiet you, with his typical unwavering confidence in the dim, close to empty hall. you were sorting out donations, busying yourself, trying to be helpful before you perk up at that all too familiar coo of your name.

“hey.”

you blink up suddenly, all smiling and friendly, “rafe—”.

he stares at the curve of your lips, his head feeling light as you sound his name, letting it leave your lips so gracefully, before glancing back up to your eyes as you tilt your head.

“it's been a while, I haven't seen you for the recent services.”, your voice was delicate and cherubic, just like the rest of you, so quiet the church mice would fill with envy. you turned properly, staring up at him. giving him the whole of your attention as you always did.

“I've had better things to do,” he nods, drawing out his words heavily, almost boasting, watching you practically beam up at him under his gaze. you always found him funny even when he was mean or borderline offensive, he liked that. suddenly his brow furrows as he leans closer. a tick in his lazy smile and he's all serious, staring you down. he lets his hand reach out to your small frame, tracing the skin of your shoulder with two long fingers, leaving trails of a burning sensation. you hold back a shiver as you shift on your feet.

“and I think you do too.”

a laugh bubbles from between your soft lips, shaking your head, half nervous half curious, but you know what he's doing. he always did this. cooing and coaxing you away from what was important. you're about to object when he interrupts.

“nah, nah— none of that shit, angel”, he huffs quickly, shaking his head right back at you, almost humoured by your attempt to brush him off, his dark hair tossing across his forehead.

“c’mon—”

the next thing you know you're being tugged away right under your father's nose just like you remember in your half formed, honey-sweet memories of childhood, stained by bible studies and sunlight.

suddenly you're sitting quietly and brimming with nerves in the passenger seat of his expensive truck parked out in the empty fields behind the church. he's sipping at a beer lazily watching you. the top buttons of his shirt undone revealing a slither of his tanned, summer skin. you know this was wrong, so wrong, but you couldn't help but want a taste of the sickeningly sweet temptation that was rafe cameron. was that so wrong ?

“your daddy's been keeping you away from me, huh?”, he smiles toothy and playful, hiding a simmering frustration and suddenly you don't know what to say. it was true, rafe grew up rough and mean and eventually, those hazy childhood afternoons were stripped away from you.

he gulps down the rest of his drink and you find your eyes dragging down to the bob of his throat and following the outline of his adams apple. you swallow back your need and adjust the length of your skirt, subtly pressing your thighs together.

“s'not like that's my fault,”, you mutter softly, all shy and awkward tugging at a loose string of your dress. he couldn't help but let his eyes drift to the skin of your thighs then again over the chain that dipped under the curve of your chest. a subtle reminder of what you were, as the little crucifix glinted in the dimming sunlight.

“never said it was.”

“but you said it like it was—”

“y'know you really piss me off sometimes.”, he raised his voice above yours in the small of his truck abruptly, making your head whip up, blinking up at his dark eyes boring through your skin. a beat passes as you stare at each other before he rolls his jaw and tosses his beer bottle out into the brambles that hid you two from roaming eyes.

“d’you even know what you do to me?”

you shake your head softly before trying to get words to bubble up through your suddenly dry throat, his tone firm and serious. your mouth opens to speak but you only manage a little murmur.

"rafe— i— i dunno what your talking ‘bout…”

your lip catches between your teeth as you force your eyes down, keeping them to yourself.

a soft sigh leaves your lips as you tense, clasping your hands together tightly in your lap, you knew this wouldn't go over well. he's still staring you down, you can feel it. how burdensome his gaze was as he watched you swallow down your discomfort.

rafe lets his tongue wet his lips before he lets out your name.

“look at me.”, his command sits heavy in the air and almost on instinct you do as told, batting your lashes all pretty up at the taller man.

he hums in approval.

“now c'mere.”, he pats his thigh lightly, not breaking eye contact with you. your stomach flips.

“I cant—”

“yes you fucking can.”, he huffs out steady and assertive. his unfaltering resolute sent a throb between your legs. you couldn't help but shift, moving over the centre console with trembling limbs. crawling over him, clumsily falling into his lap. he stayed quiet a moment fixing your position with big, sturdy hands, pulling your thighs around him and getting you close.

warm palms rubbed over the soft skin of your thighs as he held you in place. his face leant forward, your foreheads pressed together. you could feel his steady breath and the loose wisps of his hair brushing against the sides of your face. you're still tense as ever but he doesn't seem to realise, too busy taking you in. making sure you're real.

you look like a vision and he's almost second guessing himself, his hands squeeze at your flesh and flick at the hem of your dress. he feels his tongue grow heavy with want, needing to satiate it with your taste.

“missed you,” he murmurs lowly, “missed this— us—”

you furrow your brows unsure of what to say, you weren't familiar with this rafe. he was changed and capricious with a wild and rabid glint to his eye. it made you nervous not knowing his next move but you nodded quietly anyway.

he lets his fingers dip under your skirt, smirking when your breath hitches and you fist at the bottom of his shirt.

“nervous?”

“rafe— I just think—”, you huff a little overwhelmed and excited but the pit in your stomach was telling you this was all wrong.

“I don't think I can do this…”, your eyes glance down at your necklace, the cool metal of the cross pressed against your chest. you suddenly feel icky, on the edge of sacrilege.

“well I think you can.”, he's unusually calm, almost smug as he brushes his lips with yours, it's unnerving and makes you want to sink away into nothing.

you're both close now, the air's heavy and tense, he palms around you, massaging at your waist.

“rafe—”, you breathe out against his lips.

“I'll be slow, soft— I swear”, he nods, desperate and lustful, eyes half lidded as he takes you in, all flush and sun kissed.

“but that's not the point—”

he kisses you anyway, it's sudden and startling, making you gasp. at first, it's soft. it's nice, sweet enough for you to like it. just his lips against yours while you squeezed your eyes shut tight.

until one firm hand trailed up your back to clasp at the nape of your neck. you let out a little noise against him, before pushing back abruptly to allow yourself a lung full of breath but he's pulling you back in all too fast, letting his teeth nip sharply at your bottom lip. a little pained whine escapes your throat and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

you gasp his name around the hot muscle feeling your thighs tightening around him as he tilts his head, it's messy and gross, teeth clashing together as he licks into your mouth desperately. rafe wants more of you. all of you in your entirety, to consume, to devour.

his hands palm over your little dress, clasping at the soft fabric that covered your skin groping over your waist, tummy and eventually the fat of your tits.

“please—”, you whine softly, not even knowing what you were asking for but whatever it was you wanted it bad. he's too busy moving his mouth lower to hear your plead, biting down hard at the supple skin of your neck making you cry out and back up into the steering wheel with a jump.

he blinks up at you with blown out pupils, panting out like a starved man.

“let me have you.”, he nods, clasping onto you.

you try shaking your head, but he's already pulled down the top of your dress to begin tugging at the lace of your bra making you arch. you couldn't say no. not now, not with all the need blooming between your legs and soaking through the thin, white cotton of your panties.

you watch him, half in awe half in horror, groping at you.

that seed of disgust in the pit of your stomach growing, branching out and taking over all feeling, twisting into want.

rafe groaned, you could feel his hard cock beneath the fabric of his pants pressed up against the wet of your clothed cunt. he leant his head down to your chest muttering in a haze.

“so pretty— so fucking soft—”

he covered your tits in rough bruising kisses, cupping them in both hands and letting his tongue drag over your perked nipples. you shudder into him, holding him tight.

“bet you fuckin’ love this—”

his mouth focused on the sensitive nubs feeling them harden under the weight of his tongue as he began to suck hard, letting his rough hands knead at the rest of you.

“you've never done anything like this huh?”, rafe draws out lazily leaving a trail of spit over you, kissing softer now, over his marks and then over the cross that lay against you flush skin.

you swallow in shame “n—no…”, you whisper out.

he watches you carefully, like prey, like you could jump away at any moment but he knows you won't, because your pliant like that, docile and meek. that's what he adored about you.

a humoured laugh is let out against your chest as he still kneads your tits, his chin balanced perfectly in the dip between them.

“shit I could cum just like this—”, he smiles proudly as you flush.

one of his hands move to cup your cheek, stroking softly as if to calm you.

“you can feel how hard you got me right?”

you nod shyly at his whisper.

“that's right—”

he takes your hand pulling it down to his thick, hard length, making you palm over it sending a jolt through your soaked pussy.

“mhm— all that— just for you angel…”, he whispers lowly nipping at the skin of your chest again.

“you want it?”

“please—”, is all you can get out.

he laughs a little louder.

“that's all you do huh?”, rafe lets go of your hand squeeze at your thigh, pushing up the fabric of your skirt revealing your soaked through, now sheer panties, plastered to your throbbing cunt.

he lets out a groan at the sight, a calloused hand hovering over your sensitive folds.

“just beggin’, always begging— not everything's a prayer angel.”

you twitch with a gasp, humping up into his hand as he lets one finger trace over the slick fabric.

“don't need to beg me for anything,”

your little panties are pushed aside, letting him run a long finger through your folds, collecting the wetness from your heat as your face twists quietly in pleasure. you're holding onto his arms tight, like he's your only life line, only connection to reality as your head spins.

“not when I'm gonna give it to you anyway, whether you like it or not sweetness your mine now—”

he hums with a little smile bringing his finger to you face, staring at the glistening tip. at this point he's talking to himself, your mouths too heavy to reply, too heavy to curse him or push him back.

you glance at it shyly, almost ashamed.

“that's all you angel.”

his smile tugs wider at your obvious discomfort, the grimace on your face almost making him giddy. he smears the slick across your lips before pressing into your mouth.

“rafe, no—”

“uh uh, none of that—”

you taste yourself, your sweet slick, hesitantly letting your tongue lap over it, swapping it for your spit.

he nods, drawing out a hum of awe. it was like you knew exactly what to do, how to please him. he presses another finger between your lips as his cock twitches in need confined against his pants, but he knows to be patient. he watches you babble and drool over the two fingers, spit bubbling around them.

the truck is hot and brimming with perverse desire, the steering wheel digging into your lower back now as he shifts you to get a better view of your pussy. he stares at it a moment before once again tugging the drenched cotton to the side and pressing his spit covered fingers to your clit. he swears he can feel the bundle of nerves twitch under the pressure. you let out a sinful moan and he's tracing your soft, glistening folds forcing out a louder one.

“so fucking pretty—”

your nails dig into whatever you can grab of him as his free hand moves to kneed at your tit, pinching and pulling it's little overwhelmed bud that stood up firm and flushed.

long fingers dip between your folds, making your brain turn to mush. he's taking his time exploring you, spreading you apart and taking in your needy hole, clenching around nothing and the twitch of your pretty clit, he traces everything as if he were studying you like scripture.

suddenly he plunged his fingers into your cunt, and you moan out his name louder, louder then any prayer that's left your lips.

one slow, aching thrust, then another and another until he's found his rhythm, pumping through you and working you down. his name leaves your throat in desperate, chanting cries and tears prick the edges of your eyes. he lets his thumb press against your clit hard, feeling you squeeze around his fingers.

he's so rapt he's forgotten about his own heavy, leaking cock straining against your thigh. he doesn't slow down, even as your eyes begin to flutter back with each gasping, lewd breath of yours or whine of his name. you grow closer and closer to release the knot in your stomach only getting tighter as you felt yourself falling further from reality.

his fingers stretch out your tight cunt, curling sweetly into that soft spot that makes your breath hitch. you feel light and endless and so, so close.

you're getting desperate. eyes screwing shut. you crave release carnally, it's a sweltering hot need in the pit of your stomach. another curl of his long, teasing fingers, leaves your cunt gaping and letting out lewd squelches, you feel yourself twitch, thighs spasming lightly.

you're right there and suddenly it's all gone, he's paused, you whine blinking up at him, panting with need as your little hands squeezed at his sides.

“rafe—”, you cry out tearily as he pulls out his fingers now drenched in your sweet slick, already sucking up the taste of it while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

he holds back a mocking smile, he loved seeing you like this, tainted by his efforts.

“rafe please— I need it, need it so bad—”, it's like your falling over yourself, your discipline crumbling as you fall deeper into temptation.

“I know angel,”, he mutters, pulling his now clean fingers from his mouth, still calm as ever, enjoying the show your putting on for him. his hand reached down to his pants, undoing them just enough to pull out his aching cock, it stood flush against his stomach, the tip pink and angry, beading with pearly white pre cum.

your panting and desirous, staring at the scene before you as he pulls closer to your heat.

“rafe, we cant—”

“you really don't fuckin’ trust me huh?”, he smirks lazily giving himself a few tight pumps.

“we're not doing shit sweetness—”

you believe him for half a second before he's rubbing the slit of his fat cock head against your clit, you cry out arching into him.

“holy shit—”, he groans. “youre so fuckin' wet angel— already soaking my dick—”

rafe runs the heavy tip through your folds, careful as not to drag into your cunt.

“pussy’s fucking crying for me— shit.”

“rafe— just don't—”

“I won't put it in, m’not stupid—”, he pants out already knowing what you were thinking as he rubs your clit faster with his cock head, he's squeezing the base tight and he swears he sees stars.

you feel yourself getting close again, your release building up to its peak, making you feel light headed, divine even. this is the closest to heaven you'll ever get on earth.

you cum fast. your mind goes white hot and blank for a second as you cry out, feeling your toes curl. he holds you close needing to feel you, to smell you, to taste you. your little shaking arms wrap around his shoulders as he draws out the rest of your orgasm staring down at your creaming cunt. you arch sharply and he watches your tits bounce slightly with every shock of your peak, convulsing around him as he milks out every last drop of your ecstasy, like it's a godsend.

it's transcendent.

and it doesn't take rafe long to follow, when he cums he bites— hard. enough to leave little pricks of red on your skin and that sweet, metallic taste on his tongue. the taste of you was heavenly and all consuming, now that he had it he only wanted more.

he cums over your quivering pussy, his filth dirtying you, tainting you in his sacrilege. a small huff of satisfaction leaves him as he watched the thick cum drip down your folds in hot spurts.

you're both spent, leaning against eachother. you don't even feel the sting of broken flesh with your head so dizzy in the after math of your orgasm. rafe stays in place, lapping over the bite soothingly with his tongue. your blood tastes thick and syrupy sweet in his mouth, making him let out a quiet moan.

rafe cameron was not religious.

but the taste of you made him feel like god.

© written by bambiblushh— do not steal or claim as ur own ᝰ.ᐟ