#flustered Mutt

[savi-our]

Here have this 🤏

Just a lil Mutt doodle as i take a rest from writing ☕☕☕ edit: I FORGOR HIS SCAAAARS?????!?!?L

[cookiecrumble67]

I think the way I want a guy to fuck me for the first time is by taking advantage of how much my guard drops as soon as attractive men start being nice to me

I've been told so many times as soon as I start talking to guys I like that it's like my brain switches off and I get a lost puppy look on my face, so how easy would it be for someone who actually likes me back to push further, and honestly as long as he's gentle and kind I'd let him lead me through absolutely anything.

I know I'd be so scared, I mean I am just talking to them but I'm nothing if not trusting in pretty boys who talk sweet to me

just ughh something about some sweet gorgeous boy who likes me as much as I like him and will take advantage of how pathetic I am about crushes lol

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[soluversworld]

Caught him in 4k! Oh wait, Both of you are...ones! - Solivan Brugmansia x Yan! G.N Reader (Smut)-(Rewriting due to mistakes)

Genre: smut, (I got a heads up. I have added female pronouns some points, I'm really sorry

Summary: —REQUEST COPIED

Reader is the same from the Sol series!

I apologize for this late, I hate this smut. I hate my writing, self doubt era came again..If you're Edgar poe allan's fan You might...enjoy a little.

I HATE THIS, THIS IS SUCH A BAD AND OLD DRAFT PLEASE, DON'T COME AFTER ME. sol is kinda top in this

( Reader is a g.n!)

words : 13k (WHY)

Content & Trigger Warnings (TWs/CWs):

Sexual Content / Heavy Suggestiveness

Sensual Touching / Physical Intimacy

Mutual Exploration / Inexperience

Strong Language / Dirty Talk (implied or actual)

Blushing / Flustered Behavior

Piercing Play (mentioned/suggested)

Power Dynamic Shifts (playful, consensual)

Mentions of Arousal (non-explicit but direct)

Emotional Vulnerability & Clinginess

Faint D/S Tension (soft dom/sub dynamics – non-explicit)

Heavy Romantic Tension / Love Confessions (implied)

Fade to Black or Cut-off Scene (depending on how you end it)

Did not proof read/Rushed.

“Take care of Sol for me, okay?”

And just like that, he walked away.

You slipped into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. The darkness wrapped around you like a second skin. You groaned, fingertips brushing the wall as you searched for the switch.

The silence buzzed in your ears.

You flicked on the lights and were greeted, as always, by the warm, flickering glow of a single bulb that probably hadn’t been changed since the dawn of time. Your apartment—your god-awful apartment—looked just as miserable as you left it.

Peeling wallpaper curled like dead skin off the corners of the ceiling. The floor creaked with every step you took, protesting your presence like the building wanted you out just as badly as your landlord did.

The place. Your apartment.

Handpicked by Mr. Z himself—how generous, right? A second-floor rat hole near the park, not far from your school. A commute on rainy days, a walk on sunny ones, like you lived some idyllic city-life dream.

It didn’t allow pets. Something about "past complaints"—as if the neighbor’s roaches weren’t already squatting rent-free in the walls. The broken window in your room? Still unfixed. And if the landlord caught wind of that, he’d chew your neck like a starving mutt.

But it wasn’t just a crappy apartment. It was yours.

Or... it was supposed to be.

The land.

The land your father entrusted to you. The land Mr. Z came to take, that smug little bastard with his crisp suits and crocodile grin, calling himself a “nice guy” while casually tossing people off metaphorical—and sometimes literal—ledges.

You had no idea why he was so willing to shoulder your rent, your food, your tuition, your entire fucking life. But deep down, you knew the truth. It was never kindness. Never charity.

It was a game.

A trade.

Your land... or your head.

You stood in the middle of your shitty apartment and tried not to shiver. Not from cold—but from how close you were to snapping. You clutched at the thought like a lifeline. That land. That land was everything. It was the one thing still tying you to your past, to your family, to your sense of self. And losing it?

You would break.

Your hands trembled. Your mind spiraled. A sharp twist of pressure built in your chest, scraping against your ribs like rusted wire. You could feel the insanity curl up your spine like vines—

—until you remembered Sol.

The pressure cracked.

You remembered how Sol tilted his head, how his voice curled around your name like a secret. You remembered his laugh. His eyes. How safe and dangerous he made you feel all at once.

And just like that—you started laughing.

You pressed both palms to your cheeks, barely able to hold your face together, tears streaking down in hot, erratic lines. Your mouth opened in a soundless gasp before it broke into messy, shaking laughter.

“FUCK...” You wheezed, half-sobbing. “Fuck, Sol...”

You dropped to your knees, the cracked tile biting into your skin. Your body rocked with hysterical laughter, voice raw.

“Heheheh—ahhh!!” You screamed. “FUCK—HAHAHA—FUCK!!”

You scrambled to your desk like a lunatic possessed, yanking out your sketchpad, markers spilling like blood across the surface. You started to draw him.

Your fingers didn’t stop moving, even as your breath hitched and stuttered, even as you cried harder and harder, smile widening until it hurt.

“Sol,” you whispered between gasps and giggles. “I saw you. I got you. I have you...”

And maybe that was the scariest part.

You weren’t scared anymore.

You were thriving.

You held your thumb, biting down on it like it could muffle the whimpers bubbling up in your throat. One hand clutching the bandages he'd left behind, still faintly smelling like him—like sweat, like warmth, like danger. You crushed them to your chest like a lifeline.

Ah... ahh... It was too much. It wasn’t enough. You wanted more. More of him. More touches. More of that soft, sinful voice that wrapped around you like silk and chains.

Your body rocked forward, a small, broken sigh slipping through clenched teeth as you leaned over your sketchpad. The lines on the paper blurred, not from poor technique—but because your eyes were swimming.

Your hand kept moving. Drawing him. Like your fingers were puppets and his memory was the puppeteer.

"A-ah..." you choked out again, lip trembling but pulled into a wide, cracked smile. Your cheeks ached. Your chest hurt. Your lungs burned. But you didn’t care.

He made you smile. He made you smile.

And that was terrifying. And that was beautiful. And that was real.

You huffed, then giggled—this sharp little exhale that turned into a manic sound that could've been a sob or a laugh or both.

Your face dropped into the crumpled bandages as you whispered,

"Why the fuck do you do this to me..."

And all you could do was draw him again. And again. And again.

You clutched the bandages to your chest, the fabric warm against your trembling skin—soaked with the scent of him, like fire, like ash. There was no relief, no escape from the madness that churned inside your bones, for you had been marked, bound in an invisible thread by a presence both suffocating and sweet.

Your thumb, trembling and pale, bit into your own flesh, the taste of salt and blood a poor attempt to smother the ache rising from within. Each movement was a silent plea, a frantic whisper to make it stop—or to make it drown you completely. Ah… ahh… It was not enough. The hunger within you, the hunger for more—more of him, more of this maddening, intoxicating thing—grew unbearable.

Ah, the drawing! The lines on the paper blurred like forgotten dreams, impossibly distorted through the heat of your fevered mind. You could feel your hand shaking as it moved, guided not by reason, but by a wretched longing to capture something of him that you could not possess. His form, his smile, his scent—how desperately you sought him in this crude reflection.

“Ah…” A sound, a whimper that escaped your lips, twisted between a sob and a laugh, hollow and broken. The act of drawing—was it an attempt at salvation or a cruel ritual that tethered you to your torment? Your chest heaved, and the corners of your lips pulled, stretched into a grin that was not your own. A grin that he had planted deep within you, like a seed of poison that bloomed with every passing thought of him.

The ache in your cheeks, the weariness in your body, could not quench the fevered delight that surged within you. He had made you smile. He had brought you this strange, sickly joy—this thing that cracked your soul wide open and spilled it for the world to see, for the world to consume.

And yet, in the depth of your torment, there was no true horror, no bitter revulsion. Only the strange sweetness that clung to you, like a drug that tasted of ruin. Your heart raced. The laughter spilled from you like a madman's confession, sharp and jagged, the weight of it bearing down on you like a thousand unseen hands. Why? Why did he do this to you?

The question, like all the others, hung in the air, unanswered, abandoned in the void where reason had long ceased to reside.

You wanted to laugh. Ah—ah!!

The sound ripped through your throat like a gasp turned inside out, manic and breathless, dancing the razor-thin line between agony and ecstasy. Your shoulders shook. Your jaw ached. The kind of laugh that bubbles up when you're far too gone to cry. The kind that doesn't ask for permission—it erupts, uninvited, like wildfire through a paper house.

Your fingers twitched, still dragging that pencil over paper like a ritual knife carving holy symbols. His eyes. His mouth. That stupid smirk that made you want to scream and kiss and bleed all at once.

"Ah—ahAHA—!" Your head tipped back. Your knees hit the floor. You clutched your sketchbook like it was a holy relic, like it was the only thing anchoring you to a body you weren’t even sure was yours anymore.

He was there. Not really— But in the lines, the scent, the burn in your lungs as you whispered, “Sol… Sol, you bastard…” A shaky breath. A grin. “What did you do to me?”

You laughed again. You had to.

Because the truth was dripping from your lips like honey-laced venom:

You liked it. You liked this. You liked him.

And that… That was the funniest part of all.

You decided to skip dinner. Again. Your stomach growled like a feral animal, but you ignored it—because food meant risk. Food meant trust. And trust was a noose you weren’t ready to slip around your neck.

You hadn’t even touched the second batch he left you. The first might’ve been drugged. Might’ve been poisoned. Might’ve been laced with something that tasted like care and went down like control.

And Sol... your dear Sol... he’d smile through it all, wouldn’t he? He’d say something sweet with those devil-dipped lips, tilt his head in that soft, curious way, like,

“Don’t you trust me?”

And you’d say yes—even if every fiber of you screamed no. Because the worst part wasn’t the fear. It was the want.

So you didn’t eat. You wrapped yourself in your blankets like armor and pretended to sleep.

Not for rest. Not for peace. But to watch him.

You kept your breathing steady, shallow, perfect. The way your body stilled, the way your lashes fluttered—convincing enough for someone who wanted to believe you were asleep.

You listened. You watched. The way he moved. The way he stood over you, like a god admiring his creation. The way the shadows kissed the curve of his jaw, how he looked down at you with something terrifying and holy in his eyes.

And in that moment, you kissed his bandages. Pressed them to your lips like a prayer, like a confession. They were still faintly warm, carrying the echo of him—his presence, his pain, his claim.

You tucked them away. With your secret stash of photos. The ones you took when he wasn’t looking.

Then, finally, you slid under the covers. Curled up in the dark.

And went to bed.

Still pretending. Still smiling. Still his.

You closed your eyes, but sleep never came. It never could, not with the way your mind thrummed, electric, on edge—waiting. Hoping. Terrified.

And then—the sound.

Clink. The window. Your window. Slight, deliberate. Like the whisper of a knife slipping between ribs.

Your breath caught. Not out of fear—no, that wasn’t it. Not really. It was him.

He’s here.

Your fingers clenched around the pillow like a lifeline, knuckles whitening. You kept your body still, perfectly still, except for the frantic hammering of your heart. Maybe if you focused on pretending, you could convince even your own nerves.

"Hm...? Still broken, huh?" That voice—his voice—low and smug and impossibly soft. It slithered around the room like smoke. "You should be careful, pumpkin..."

You almost bit your tongue holding back the laugh. Fucker. Smug, smug, smug.

You teased him in your heart, biting the inside of your cheek to stay quiet. He thinks you’re asleep. Let him. Let him play his role. He’s more dangerous when he thinks he’s the only actor on the stage. He’s more honest. More him.

You swore you could hear the grin behind that mask of his.

Clad in black from throat to toe, with a mask of matching shade obscuring his face—except those eyes. God, those eyes. Red like a dying sun. Like the first blush of spilled blood. And they were glowing.

Glowing with love. Twisted, possessive, pure.

He moved closer, each step slow, reverent. Like he didn’t want to wake you—like he wanted to devour you whole.

And then—his touch. A single finger, tracing down your cheek.

Gentle. Precise. Claiming.

Your skin tingled. Your breath nearly hitched—but you kept it steady. You had to. Your heart? That traitor was doing backflips in your ribs.

He hovered there, beside you. Watching. Worshiping.

Sol: "Look at my sleepy sweetheart..."

The voice—his voice—slithered through the chamber like a dying hymn, each syllable weighted with a reverence so profound, so profane, it might have been uttered by a mourner at a lover’s grave. His tone was not one of cheer, nor of mirth—it was the tone of a man who beheld divinity in ruin, of a soul cradling its own damnation and whispering sweet nothings to the flame.

You lay still, a corpse feigning sleep, breath shallow, lashes shuttered over trembling pupils. The air hung heavy, cloying, perfumed with rot and roses. You could feel him before you heard him—felt the heat of him as though your body were naught but tinder awaiting the match. And oh, he was fire. A slow, crawling blaze. Not the kind to light a room—but the kind that swallowed it whole.

He stepped closer, and the night moved with him. Clad in black, cloaked in silence, his mask was the color of the abyss, hiding a face carved from longing and lunacy. But his eyes—ah, his eyes—were exposed. Red as a wound. Fever-bright. As if every heartbeat carved poems into his chest, and each stanza bore your name.

Sol: "Makes me wonder who supplies Hyugo those sleeping pills."

He scoffed, low, amused, the sound curling like a grin pressed against your ear. You wanted to scream with laughter—those shitty pills don’t work, Sol, not on me, not when I’m like this. But your mouth was sealed, your jaw locked in some twisted covenant of silence. You could only pretend, could only endure—and ache.

He reached for you. Not as a man reaches for a woman—but as a moth reaches flame. Slow, reverent, inevitable.

The mask fell away.

And then his face—that face—lowered, descending like a ghost of your most debased desires. He leaned in and breathed, breathed, burying his face into the tender hollow of your shoulder. A kiss fell there, light and damning, and the shiver that racked his body was not from cold.

It was need.

He inhaled. A deep, trembling, hungry inhale. And then he shook.

Like a man who had just tasted opium and couldn’t tell whether he was floating or buried alive. You felt it—the quake of his form, the tightening of his fingers, the stuttering hum against your skin. He drew you into his lungs like the scent of rain before the flood. His drug. His madness. His.

Your body burned—your fingers clenching in your pillow, the only tether between you and the scream coiled in your throat. You wanted to moan, to shudder, to call his name with all the madness he inspired in you—but instead, you lay there in martyrdom, in silence, in delirium.

Sol: “Fuck… you smell so good…”

The words were broken glass dipped in honey.

Sol: “Pardon me.”

His lips brushed your cheek, and your soul left your body in a quiet, choking cry that never reached air. Your pulse thundered like cathedral bells during a storm, and still you held on—fingers white-knuckled in fabric, breath held like a secret between two graves.

You were not asleep.

But God, you were dreaming.

And Sol—your blessed, ruined Sol—was the dream that would gut you from the inside out.

Ah—ah! The cry lodged itself inside your throat, thick and trembling, like a hymn unsung, trapped in the cathedral of your body. The ache curled tighter in your chest, wrapping around your ribs like thorns as he leaned closer, ever closer. His shadow loomed over you like a stormcloud starved for lightning. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t dare.

His hand—warm, calloused, trembling—slipped into yours. So slowly. So gently. A reverent act. A prayer disguised as a touch.

And oh, you wanted to squeeze back. To lace your fingers through his and hold him like he held your very breath in his palms. But you couldn’t—you mustn’t. This charade, this silent theatre of sleep, was your only sanctuary. If he knew—if he knew—the spell would shatter, and you would be lost, devoured whole by the flame you've been kissing in secret.

And then, he kissed your neck.

Soft. Tender. Possessive. The contact stole the breath from your lungs. A lightning bolt made of lips and heat. He lingered there, buried in your skin like a whisper that left bruises. And you—helpless, trembling beneath the weight of his love and your own starvation—nearly broke.

Your face. Oh God, your face. You didn’t know what expression had spilled across it, only that it must have betrayed you. Must have shown too much—too alive, too consumed, too awake. Did he see?

He paused.

Sol (in a murmur, sweet and broken): “Look at you… even in sleep, you ache for me.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to throw your arms around him, to weep into his chest and tell him, yes, yes, I do, I ache, I burn, I’m drowning in you. But your fingers only curled harder into your pillow, bones aching from restraint. He kissed your hand next—tenderly, worshipfully—as if you were porcelain and he was a priest.

Sol: “F-Fuck... you’re so sweet. It’s not fair.”

He laughed then. A low, breathless thing. Not cruel. Not amused. It was the sound of a man who had found heaven in the shape of a sleeping person—and didn’t knowthey were burning alive in their silence.

You could feel your thighs trembling. Your spine was ice and flame. And still you played your part, the sleeping beloved, untouched by the tempest that pressed its lips to your skin and called it mercy.

But in your mind? In your chest? You were already ruined.

And somewhere beneath that blanket, your fingers twitched with the ache to touch, to hold, to moan. But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Sol: “Quite ticklish, aren’t you…”

The words fell from his mouth like sin dipped in honey—gentle, taunting, worshipful. And still, he pressed forward, a man drunk on the sacred altar of your skin.

His mouth returned to that spot—that spot, right where your shoulder met your neck, the very place where your breath hitched like a dying prayer. He kissed, then licked, and kissed again—slowly, deliberately, until the tender flesh bloomed with a feverish red. A mark. A wound. A brand. His.

Sol (low, bitter): “Those filthy scums think they could touch you…”

The softness was gone. In its place—rage, veiled in grief. The sheets beneath his hands crumpled like paper under flame as his fingers curled, trembling. His breathing turned ragged, heavy with possessive anguish.

Sol: “You’re mine. No one else. No one else.”

Each word was a vow.

—each syllable trembled like a blade held to the throat of fate itself.

Sol (a whisper, venom-soft): “You belong to me…”

His voice was not loud. Oh, no. It was a hush—a murmur that crawled beneath your skin and wrapped itself around your spine like a silken garrote. The kind of whisper that could undo kingdoms. The kind that could kill.

His fury did not burn; it smoldered. A low, steady ember in the pit of his chest, threatening to rise, to consume. But not you. Never you. You were the altar at which he knelt—bloodied knees and all.

Sol: “If I ever see those bastards again…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

His hand—gentle now—rose like the tremble of a dreamer in the throes of fever. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your cheek, movements reverent, as if you might shatter under anything less than worship. Then he pressed his lips to your forehead, a kiss so delicate it felt like a prayer.

And then—oh gods, and then—his mouth grazed the corner of your lips. Just there. A ghost of a kiss. A promise. A brand.

A shiver tore through him like a tremor through the bones of the earth. His breath hitched, caught between hunger and reverence.

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear the sky in half and pull him inside your chest and never let him go.

Your fingers curled deeper into the pillow, the only tether you had left to the lie of sleep.

You wanted to hold him—oh, how you wanted to hold him.

But still you lay there, silent and still, skin alight, nerves screaming, as his breath ghosted over your neck again.

Sol (softer now): “You’re everything…”

He buried his face there again, at the cradle of your throat, where your pulse fluttered like a secret bird beneath your skin.

He kissed it once more. Slow. Possessive.

And you nearly broke.

Your thighs clenched beneath the sheets, your chest ached, and your throat pulsed with the weight of a scream you dared not let out.

Ah—ahhh…

Your heart beat like the wings of a trapped moth—wild, doomed, and so, so in love.

After sometime, he began to put on his mask.

WHAT

NO?

WHY!?

Your body moved before your mind could catch up.

One hand darted out, fingers closing around his wrist. The other pressed against his chest—his heartbeat kicked hard under your palm, like he’d been caught mid-sin.

He froze.

Not like a man caught in the act. Like a ghost realizing it had been seen.

And then—your lips brushed his neck.

Not gentle. Not asking. A brand. A spark struck to dry leaves.

His breath hitched. Sharp. Audible. His whole body trembled above yours like the strings of a violin pulled tight—too tight.

You felt the heat rise off him in waves.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

He whispered your name like it hurt.

Like a confession, a prayer, a curse.

His eyes—those impossible eyes, red and gold and glassy with disbelief—met yours. Wide. Unmasked. Wounded. Worshipful.

You saw it hit him all at once: you were awake. You had heard him. You had kissed him.

And you weren’t running.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, dragging him down, mouth ghosting his jawline now, hot breath against flushed skin. You wanted to drown in the scent of him, the weight of him, the ache in his touch.

He was shaking.

You’d never seen Sol shake.

He opened his mouth—maybe to speak, maybe to apologize—but all that came out was a choked sound. His hands hovered uselessly at your sides, like he didn’t know whether to hold you or fall apart.

Your forehead pressed to his. Skin to skin. No more lies.

And he whispered, barely a sound:

“…don’t leave me.”

You pulled him closer.

Not a word was spoken after that. There didn’t need to be.

That final thread snapped somewhere behind his eyes, the horror and the hunger crashing together in a kaleidoscope of realization. You didn’t forgive him.

You matched him.

“You’re not scared,” he whispered, almost reverently. “You’re not running.”

You laughed softly, cupping his face again like he was something sacred—fragile porcelain wrapped around dynamite. “Scared? Oh, Sol, I ran toward you.”

And he broke.

Right there. That beautiful, quiet little fracture. The air between you both was trembling now—charged like lightning trapped in a jar. You saw his pupils dilate fully, swallowing the gold in his irises like ink in water. His throat bobbed with a shallow swallow, and then—

“You...” he said again, like if he repeated it, maybe you’d finally flinch.

But you just smiled wider. Like a saint. Or a devil.

“I'm not dumb, Darlin!" you whispered, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. “You didn’t notice, did you? That I was baiting you just as much?”

His breath hitched. “You wanted me to—?”

“I wanted to see how far you’d go,” you cut him off, your voice featherlight, yet sharpened to a blade’s edge. “And darling, you exceeded expectations.”

He stared at you, that smug little mask he always wore peeling away at the corners. For the first time, maybe ever, Sol looked like he didn’t know what came next.

But you did.

“You asked me why I don’t hate you,” you said slowly, your lips ghosting just over his again, barely a breath apart. “The truth is…”

You leaned in, pressing your body just close enough that he could feel your heartbeat crashing against his chest like a war drum.

“Actually fuck that! I just love you! So tell me, Sol,” you purred, your voice dipped in sugar and venom, “What the hell are we gonna do with each other?”

He finally moved—only a twitch—but it was everything. His fingers clenched in your shirt, his mouth opened like he was about to confess or damn himself, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You licked the corner of his mouth, slow and deliberate. Just enough to make him freeze.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you. , brushing hair back for like a lover, like a goddamn maniac. “You thought you were the monster in this story.”

He choked on a breath.

“But I think I just proved,” you whispered, nose brushing his cheek, “that we’re both wearing the same mask, darling.”

Then, you pulled back just slightly—just enough to meet his eyes. Both of you locked there, staring into something so horrifically perfect, it almost felt holy.

“So…” you said, your voice breathless, trembling with affection and madness, “why don’t we seal it?”

He blinked. “With what…?”

You grinned like the end of the world. “A promise. A kiss. Blood whatever! I don’t really care. Just make it hurt a little, Sol—so I know it’s real.”

You couldn’t help it—you were losing your mind for him. The way Sol looked at you with those eyes—soft, adoring, like he didn’t see the frenzy boiling under your skin. Like he didn’t realize you would ruin everything just to keep him close. Just to have him like this.

And yet.

You leaned in slow, your lips brushing the corners of his mouth again and again—taunting, torturing, giving him nothing but scraps. Little kisses like broken promises. You were so cruel.

He shivered each time, chasing after your mouth like he needed it to breathe. His hands wandered desperately over your back, trying to pull you closer, closer, like he didn’t understand that you’d already crawled inside him—mentally, emotionally, obsessively.

“Hah,” you giggled, that sharp little laugh you gave only when your heart was spiraling. Your voice dipped into something unstable. Sweet. Possessive. “Do you even understand how much it hurt when you kissed everywhere but my lips?” Your breath hitched. Your eyes glistened, wide and glassy. “The corners,” you whispered, like the word itself made you tremble. “You kissed the corners, Sol. Did you know what that did to me?”

You thought he’d be scared. You thought he’d flinch. But instead—

He looked beautiful.

So beautiful you wanted to crush him. Preserve him. Pin him open like a butterfly and say “mine.”

And then, finally—finally, your lips crashed against his. No teasing. No space. Just the kind of kiss that says you belong to me and I’ll break you before I ever let go. You held it, mouths locked together like you could pour your love down his throat.

Only when oxygen clawed at your lungs did you break away, panting.

Sol gasped—so pretty when he gasps—then surged back in. His tongue traced your lower lip, trembling, gentle, desperate. It shocked a breathy sound from your throat, high and too sweet. But your body didn’t hesitate—of course it didn’t.

He tugged you down by the back of your head, pulling you deeper, swallowing every sound you made. You were still on top of him, legs bracketing his hips, his mouth warm and wet and starved for you—just like you were for him.

Tongues tangled. Spit shared. You kissed him like you wanted to carve the memory into your bones. Like your heart would stop if you didn’t.

You shifted your weight to one arm, just enough to free your hand—because you needed to touch him. Not wanted. Needed. Craved it like air. Your fingers ghosted down the front of his shirt, the rough weave scratching delicately against your skin like it was daring you to go further.

But the way he wore it—tucked in all proper, all teasingly inaccessible—almost made you laugh. Was he trying to make you work for it? You didn’t mind. You liked peeling him apart.

Pinching the hem, you tugged the fabric free from his waistband, deliberately slow. Watching him. Waiting to see if he’d stop you. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

Your hand slid beneath the shirt, palm pressing flat against the heat of his stomach. His skin twitched under your touch. His breath stuttered—oh, he was trying to hold it in. Cute. That only made you push higher.

Sol let out a shuddering gasp and leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath—hot and uneven—brushed against your lips, your cheeks. You drank it in like it was sacred.

Your hand moved higher, fingertips skimming up until they found the firm curve of his pecs. You let your palm settle there, then squeezed—not gently. You wanted to feel him tremble. You wanted him to know it was you who made him weak.

And he did. His fist found your nightwear, fingers curling tight in the fabric, pulling at it like he couldn’t stand the tension building in his chest. His lips parted—but whatever he said was lost in a breathy, strangled sound. Mumbled. Meaningless.

Didn’t matter.

You translated for him. The whimper in his throat. The way his body leaned into your touch, even as it shuddered. You knew exactly what it meant.

He liked it. He liked you.

Your fingers roamed again, tracing every muscle, every dip and ridge like you were memorizing it for the last time. Sometimes you squeezed, just hard enough to watch him flinch—just hard enough to remind him he was yours. Entirely, irrevocably yours.

And he was so good for you. So beautiful, shaking under your touch like that.

God, you loved him.

You’d carve his name into your soul if it meant never losing this feeling.

Sol pulled you in like he couldn’t bear a single molecule of distance. His arms locked tight across your back and waist, holding you as if he was afraid you might vanish, might dissolve in the heat of the moment if he didn’t anchor you.

When his lips met yours, it was anything but gentle. The pressure—his mouth, his arms, his presence—closed around you like a vise. His legs shifted against yours, slotting into place along your sides, and for one brief moment, you thought: He’s letting me drown in him.

And then—without warning—he moved.

Your stomach flipped as Sol rolled you both over in one fluid motion, suddenly slamming you against the mattress with a low thud. You gasped, the breath ripped from your lungs not just by the motion but by the sheer force of him—the way he hovered over you now, the air thick with heat and tension, and something desperate clawing at both your chests.

The kiss had broken—but barely. A thread still tied you together, breath mingling, lips centimeters apart. His eyes remained closed like he was savoring the memory of the kiss… or afraid that if he looked, he’d see regret on your face.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Not when he was above you like this. Not when your body screamed finally, finally, finally.

When he finally let his eyelids flutter open, heavy-lidded and glassy with emotion, he blinked down at you.

And something shifted.

Because that’s when he realized. Realized what he’d done. The position. The weight. The pinning. The overwhelming closeness. And how you weren’t pulling away.

How you were staring up at him like he’d just handed you the entire world.

How your fingers gripped his biceps like they belonged there.

How you wanted more.

“Ehh, Sol,” you muttered, breath still hot and heavy against his lips, “you can actually top.”

He froze. Blinked. You felt the tension ripple through his whole body like a wave crashing—and then retracting.

His face went red.

The kind of blush that climbed from his neck all the way up to his ears, like his body was trying to reboot but the wires got crossed somewhere in his brain. His grip faltered just a bit. His mouth opened—no words.

Oh no.

You ruined it. You ruined the moment.

…Except—you didn’t think so. You thought he was adorable.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, suddenly hit by an overwhelming urge. “You’re so cute I’m gonna die.”

Before he could react, you reached up and squished his cheeks together with both hands, making him pout involuntarily.

“Jesus Christ, look at you! You’re blushing! Over me!”

“Y-Y/N—!”

You giggled. Cackled, actually. Then you leaned up and kissed the tip of his nose like you were branding it, your lips lingering obnoxiously long just to watch his brain implode in real time.

He went stiff. Completely red. Entire systems down. Emotion.exe stopped responding.

Sol.exe has stopped working.

“…You’re not normal,” he mumbled, stunned. But his hands were still on you. And his eyes were soft. And his heart was sprinting.

“And yet you’re still on top of me,” you whispered, eyes gleaming, voice soft but dangerous. “Who’s the real weirdo here, Sol?”

He didn’t answer.

Sol’s breath hitched like he’d just been shot—by you, no less, loaded gun of a smile and that kiss to his forehead still echoing in his bones. He clutched at your sides like you were vanishing fog, blinking too fast, lips trembling around syllables that never made it out alive.

“You.. I… you r-really mean—” kiss Another one. Right to his temple this time. Gentle. Grounding. And ruining him.

His face flushed all the way to his ears, blotchy and blooming like a fever dream. Pupils blown wide, chest rising like he was preparing to confess to something unforgivable—or to worship.

And then your eyes dipped down. Your grin twisted. That deranged little sparkle lit behind your lashes.

“Oh... Sol,” you purred like you’d caught a secret. “You’re really…”

He looked mortified. Not from shame—no, shame couldn’t shake a boy like this—it was desperation. He was trying not to die. Trying not to implode right here in front of you.

Your laugh—God, that laugh—shattered the moment like a mirror.

“You’re hard already?” You cooed. “That forehead kiss really did you in, huh?” His hands were trembling now, clutching fabric like he could anchor himself through sheer will.

“I– I didn’t mean— it’s not— you kissed me and I just—!”

“Shhh,” you cut him off, thumb stroking over his cheek. “Even though I wanna take the lead…” Your voice dipped lower, silk wrapping around a blade. “I wanna see what you can do.”

You felt him twitch.

“I’ll have my turn later,” you whispered, almost reverent, almost cruel. “But tonight? Tonight we’re gonna help ourselves to everything. Slowly.” You leaned in close, nose brushing his too..

He exhaled like he’d been gut-punched by God.

His voice was barely there, breathy and wrecked already, like the mere idea of asking might ruin him:

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

God, as if he had to ask.

You leaned in, voice low and honey-slick, almost cruel with how soft it was: “You don’t have to ask.”

And then your hand—slow, deliberate—dragged up the inside of his thigh. You felt the jolt run through him, like a shiver made flesh, hips twitching the tiniest bit under your touch. His breath caught like he’d been holding it all night just for this moment.

He kissed you.

But not shy. Not sweet.

Starved.

It started slow, lips brushing like he was scared you might vanish mid-breath, but then he melted—tongue tracing yours, cautious at first, then bolder, desperate. His hands found your waist, fingers splayed wide, clutching like he needed you to stay real beneath him. You tasted the heat off him, tasted the tension and want and the way he kept breathing your name in pieces between kisses.

Your fingers gripped tighter on his thigh, and he gasped into your mouth, swallowing it back with another kiss, deeper this time, wetter, messier. His tongue moved with a purpose now—slow licks, teasing flicks, a rhythm he built between stolen gasps and muffled whimpers.

He kissed like he’d been dreaming of it for months. Like you were the only god he’d ever pray to again. Like every second without your mouth was a curse undone only by this.

And when you finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, your lips swollen and his pupils devouring you whole—

You whispered against his mouth, “Sol… you kiss like you’re gonna die without it.”

He just moaned softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder, and shook.

Your hand threaded through that wild mane—black with streaks of radioactive green, warm from the heat pooling between you. His hair was soft despite the chaos, falling like ink between your fingers, that middle bang brushing your nose as you tilted his head just right.

You murmured, "Let me see you," and he did—eyes fluttering open, and fuck, they glowed. That twisted sunburst of color: burnt orange at the core, ringed in blood-red. Like staring into the last seconds before a supernova.

Then, oh… oh, you got greedy.

You kissed the spider bites on his lip first—just a soft nip, enough to make him shiver, then soothe it with your tongue. He whimpered, voice cracking like a prayer slipping into sin. Next? That long upside-down cross earring. You took the chain between your teeth and tugged it. A small sound escaped him—half gasp, half please—as your fingers trailed down his neck to his choker.

You nipped that buckle too. Clink. Your teeth caught the edge, and he twitched beneath you, body tense, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a moan.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice barely hanging on. “You’re—ah—cruel—”

“Oh!!!" you purred, kissing up the line of his jaw, “we’re not even halfway.”

And then came the piercings.

You kissed each of them. Every little stud, hoop, and ring you could get your mouth on. You nipped, licked, and grazed teeth along every piece like they were your own personal playground. You even whispered to each one like they were separate lovers.

Left ear first—lobe stud, then the helix. Your tongue flicked over the metal, and he arched. Right ear next—double helix, slow kisses between them, then one quick bite that made his hips jerk. Then? The necklace—that key. You bit down on it and dragged your mouth up the chain like you were unlocking every inch of him.

And gods, when you finally tugged up his shirt and saw those nipple piercings—

You moaned like you’d found treasure.

“Awh, Sol… these? These are mine now.”

You nipped one with your teeth, and he cried out, thighs clenching, head thrown back so fast it nearly knocked you off-balance.

He was shaking. Writhing. You hadn’t even touched the hard part of him again yet.

And that was the plan.

"You're gonna beg, sweetheart," you whispered, lips brushing the metal again. "One piercing at a time."

You kissed them—slow and savoring. Each nipple ring cool against your lips at first, but that changed fast, your breath warming the metal, your tongue flicking against it just to hear him gasp. The piercings twitched with every flick, every soft suck.

His hands fisted the sheets, hips lifting without permission, a helpless grind into nothing. "Fuck—" he hissed, voice strangled, barely hanging on.

Your tongue circled one of the hoops, slow as sin, before you sucked—deep and filthy, like your mouth had every right to claim it. He whimpered, and the sound was wrecked. Like he was unraveling beneath you.

“Sensitive?” you teased, dragging your teeth along the ring before biting down just enough to make his back arch. “Thought you could handle a little attention.”

You switched sides, letting your mouth trail across his chest, kissing the space between—slow, possessive, like you were mapping him out. When you reached the other piercing, you didn’t wait. You closed your mouth around it and sucked hard, lips tugging until he moaned so pretty for you, like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

One hand stayed on his chest, keeping him steady. The other slid down—slow, slow—to rest just above his waistband. Not touching yet. Not giving—just threatening. Teasing.

"You’re falling apart and I’ve barely even started," you whispered, breath ghosting hot across his chest. "Gonna let me ruin you, Sol?"

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mouth was open, pupils blown wide, chest heaving under your lips.

So you kissed the ring again—gentler this time, a silent good boy—and smiled against his skin.

"Don’t worry," you murmured, "I’ll take my time."

Your palm hovered just above the heat between you, barely grazing, and still—you felt it. Throbbing. Desperate. So hard it almost ached to look at. Sol’s breath hitched the second your fingers brushed over him, even through the layers. His hips twitched up, chasing the contact like he couldn't help himself anymore.

“I wanna help you,” you breathed, voice thick, trembling. “I wanna make you feel good, Sol…”

His name tasted like devotion and danger on your tongue. Your eyes, glossy and glassy, locked with his—and God, the way he looked back at you, pupils drowned in red and gold, lips parted, flushed and shining from where you'd kissed him raw… He looked like he’d break if you stopped. Like you were the only thing keeping him together.

"Please," he whispered, broken and breathless. “I… I need you…”

You pressed your forehead to his, panting together, your breaths hitching and stuttering in tandem. Two heartbeats pounding in sync, two souls tangled in fever. Your free hand came up to cradle his jaw as your lips ghosted over his—kissing without kissing.

Then you said it. Sweet and deranged, like a promise only you could deliver:

“This night’s for us. We’re gonna do everything, Sol… every slow, messy, perfect thing…”

And your hand slid lower, down, down—ready to show him exactly how much love you had to give.

Your breath hitched—not from the crushing hug (though god, Sol really didn’t know his strength), but from the heat radiating off him. That sound… the unmistakable, slow click of a belt being unbuckled. You froze, blinking up at him as he pulled you even closer, burying his face into your neck, like he was trying to hide the sheer intensity blazing across his flushed skin.

“Y-you don’t have to know everything…” he whispered, voice low, strained, shaky with nerves and want. “I’ll… I’ll teach you. If you’ll let me.”

Then you peeked under the covers—and there it was.

Throbbing.

Your cheeks flushed so fast it felt like a fever. You couldn’t look away. His cock twitched, hard and leaking, resting against the slope of his thigh, flushed so dark it almost looked angry. You swallowed hard, lips parting on a shaky breath as your eyes darted back to his face.

Sol wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t teasing. He looked completely wrecked just from being seen.

“You’re so beautiful like this…” you said before you could even think to be embarrassed.

His arms tightened around you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

Your hand wrapped around him again—this time softer, a trembling curiosity guiding your touch. Sol gasped, his whole body jolting like you'd struck a nerve, forehead pressing hard against yours as he choked back another moan. His lips hovered just above yours, parted, hungry, desperate.

“D-don’t hold so tight,” he whispered, the breath of it fanning across your cheek, voice raw and pleading. “J-just… yeah. Like that…”

You adjusted instinctively, sliding your palm down the length of him with slow, reverent strokes. The way he reacted—hips twitching, lips falling open with another helpless sound—made your stomach clench with molten need. God, he was beautiful like this. Ruined just by your hands. Yours.

He groaned your name like it was the only word left in his vocabulary, each syllable dripping with devotion. His head tipped back, throat exposed, sweat-slicked skin gleaming in the low light. You couldn’t stop yourself—your lips found the curve of his jaw, then his throat, tasting the salt of his skin as he shuddered under your touch.

Your pace quickened. He was getting louder. So were you.

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t careful. It was consuming. Teeth, tongue, heat. A clash of need and reverence, of wanting to devour and worship at once. You moaned into his mouth..

He cried out your name like it was a prayer and a curse in one—shattered against your hand, clinging to your body like a lifeline, hips stuttering as he finally, finally let go.

Warmth spilled across your clothes, thick and hot, soaking the front of your nightwear..

Both of you froze.

Sol’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, then dropped to the ruined fabric between you. His entire face flushed crimson.

“...Oh f-fuck,” he whispered hoarsely, voice still broken from the high. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

You stared at the mess, then back up at him. Your smile was slow and wicked.

“Well, someone owes me laundry,” you murmured, leaning in to steal a kiss from his swollen lips. He melted into it immediately, pliant and eager, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Then you pulled back just enough to whisper, breath hot against his mouth:

“How are you gonna make it up to me, Sol?”

His eyes widened—then darkened. Hands trembling, he cupped your cheeks, like you were something holy. Something he’d ruin again and again just to worship better the next time.

"I'll....!"

His breath hitched as you tilted your head, offering your neck like an invitation, like a challenge. And Sol? He was never one to back down from a dare—especially not when it tasted like your skin and sounded like your voice moaning his name like sin.

“You sure?” he whispered, voice hoarse and reverent. His fingers ghosted down your sides, just shy of where you really wanted them. “You know what happens when you tell me I can start…”

You didn’t answer with words—just arched your hips, smug and wicked, watching his pupils blow wide. That was answer enough.

Sol’s hands moved with a hunger he could barely hide anymore, sliding under your wear to trace the slope of your waist, then curling possessively around your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“You tease me like that,” he muttered against your collarbone, lips brushing the heat of your pulse, “and expect me to behave?”

He bit down gently, enough to make you gasp—then soothed the sting with his tongue. Marking you, loving you. He trailed kisses down the side of your neck, slow and messy, until he reached the hollow between your shoulder and throat. He sucked a deep bruise there, then pulled back just to admire his work.

“Mine,” he whispered. “Mine.”

His hands slipped lower—one grounding you by your hip, the other sliding down between your thighs, teasing the waistband like he wanted permission even now. But you’d already handed him the reins. And the rope. And maybe the whole damn chariot.

You gasped when his fingers dipped in—just one at first, slow and gentle, testing. You clenched around him immediately, and his breath caught.

“Oh my god,” he moaned softly, forehead pressing to your shoulder. “You’re already—fuck, you feel so good.”

He didn’t even give you time to catch your breath before the second joined in. His rhythm was deliberate—patient, almost reverent—but the way he curled them? Filthy. Perfect. Designed to make you sing for him.

And sing you did.

Every whimper you gave, every gasp and curse and half-begged Sol, had his cock twitching against your thigh again. But he didn’t rush. Not yet. He was watching you—fixated, obsessed, cataloging every flutter of your lashes, every hitch of your breath, like you were a song he was learning by heart.

“God, you’re so beautiful when you get like this,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “All smug and cocky one second, then falling apart for me the next…”

He kissed your cheek, then your temple, then buried his face against your neck, fingers picking up speed as your hips rocked into his hand.

“I wanna ruin you slow,” he murmured. “I want to. Make you cry out so sweet no one’ll ever look at you again without knowing you’re mine.”

You moaned his name—raw, needy—and that was it. His pace faltered, then grew firmer. Deeper. Devoted.

You could feel the heat coiling tighter in your belly, dragging you under with every curl of his fingers, every dark promise against your skin.

His fingers hovered over your chest, tracing the lines of your body with a slow, deliberate touch. It was almost torturous, the way he teased—lingering, never quite touching where you needed it, like he was savoring the way your body reacted to each brush of his fingertips.

"You feel so good," Sol murmured, eyes dark with desire as they dropped to your chest, his breath hot against your skin. His lips followed the trail his fingers had just left, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck and then across your collarbone, moving lower with each slow exhale.

The pressure on your chest was light at first—barely there, like he was testing the waters—but you knew better than to mistake it for innocence. His touch was possessive, controlled, a slow burn that had you gasping, heart racing.

He grazed over the soft fabric of your shirt, fingertips just brushing your skin, making you crave more. "You like this, don’t you?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, like he was enjoying the power he had over you, the way you melted under his touch.

Without waiting for an answer, Sol's hand slid beneath your shirt, cupping your chest with a possessive pressure. The heat from his palm spread through your body like wildfire. He didn’t hold back, kneading and massaging gently, just enough to make you shiver, to make you ache for more.

He loved the way you responded—so responsive, so eager to give him what he wanted. His thumb brushed over your nipple, once, twice—deliberate, circling, drawing out a whimper from your lips. He smiled at that sound, pressing his chest to yours, the weight of his body only adding to the intensity.

"I won't let an- Not him....Especially him....," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His other hand slid to your thigh, squeezing, giving a subtle push to coax you closer to him.

"Y/n.."

You gasped, your chest rising sharply with each breath as his touch became more insistent, more demanding. Each stroke sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel your body responding, tightening, yearning for more of his hands, his touch.

Sol’s mouth found yours again, messy and desperate, and he groaned into your lips as his hands kept working you over, feeling every inch of you like he couldn't get enough. His fingers were all over you now, pulling at your shirt, tugging it off with impatient desperation.

Sol’s hands roamed over your body, the facade you’d been holding onto—your smug control—started to slip, thread by thread. His touch was unrelenting, driving you closer to the edge, pulling out the needy parts of you that you usually kept buried beneath layers of deflection.

Your breath hitched as his fingers slid down to the sensitive spot on your inner thigh, the heat radiating from his touch setting your skin ablaze. You tried to hold it together, tried to keep your usual cool, but it was becoming harder and harder with each passing second. His teasing was pushing you past the point of control.

“Sol...” Your voice came out breathless, softer than you meant it to be, a desperate plea slipping from your lips before you could catch it.

He paused, just for a moment, his fingers hovering on your skin as he looked up at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t that cocky smirk you were used to—it was softer, almost knowing. Like he could finally see through you, see that all that smugness you’d been holding onto was just a shell.

“Are you finally gonna let go?” he whispered, his voice laced with something far more tender than you expected, despite the hunger in his eyes. “You need me, don’t you?”

You tried to bite back a moan, tried to hold onto the last shreds of your defiance, but it was impossible. The need was there—aching, overwhelming, raw—and you couldn’t hide it anymore. You gave him a look that was no longer playful or mocking. It was pleading, exposed, a silent surrender.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. “I need you.”

Sol’s breath caught, the realization dawning on him as he saw the shift in you—how you were no longer in control, no longer the one who was teasing and taking what you wanted. Now, you were the one needing, the one falling apart in his hands. His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the raw intensity of his desire match yours.

“I need you, too,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with something deeper than lust—something possessive, something real. His hand moved again, more urgently now, as if he couldn’t wait any longer.

The shift in the air was palpable now, the balance of power changing in the space between you. He was no longer just teasing you—he was giving you what you craved, just as you had given him everything he wanted. Your walls were gone, shattered by the intensity of his touch, and now all that was left was the raw need you both shared.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear with a sinful sort of gentleness. “I said I was gonna go in,” Sol murmured, voice thick with promise—and before you could even gasp out a “Wait—”

—his fingers pushed in.

The sudden stretch made you jolt, hips instinctively jerking forward into his hand. The gasp that left your throat was half surprise, half moan, and your fingers clenched tight around the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t stop—no, he curled them slow, deliberate, like he was already memorizing the shape of you, the way you reacted, every twitch and breath and tremble. You bit your lip, but that smug composure you wore so well? Gone. Utterly demolished.

Sol noticed. Oh, he noticed. And he looked so smug about it.

"Thought you were the one teasing me," he whispered, kissing your jaw, his fingers moving with aching patience. "But you're already falling apart on me, Pumpkin."

You tried to glare. You really did. But all that came out was a whimper as he added a second finger, your body tightening around him, breath coming in short, shaky bursts.

“You're...!” he murmured, dragging his lips down your neck, tongue teasing the skin before he bit down just hard enough to leave a mark. “I'm making you feel like this. No one will ever...!”

Your head tipped back against the pillow, overwhelmed—by the heat, the stretch, him. Your legs fell open just a little more without thinking, hips starting to rock in slow, desperate rhythm against his hand.

"You're clenching so tight, Pumpkin." he muttered, mouth brushing your ear again, "Like you don’t wanna let me go. Like your body knows it’s mine.”

You let out something between a curse and a plea, and Sol—bless his sinful heart—just chuckled low in his throat, fingers working deeper, stroking just right.

His cock pressed against your sex, hot and heavy, his other hand still between your thighs—fingers slick with everything you gave him. His breath stuttered, voice low and wrecked as he leaned in, lips ghosting over yours.

“You’re ready, aren’t you?” he murmured. “So damn warm around my fingers… can only imagine how good you’ll feel around this.”

Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails leaving faint trails as your body trembled under the weight of him. You barely had a second to respond before—

He pushed in.

Slow, relentless, deep—filling you with every inch, drawing a strangled sound from your throat as your forehead dropped to his shoulder. The stretch had your whole body clenching, trying to breathe through the overwhelming fullness, the way every nerve lit up under his touch.

“F-fuck,” Sol hissed into your neck, voice thick with awe. “You take me so well… like you were made for me.”

That did something to you. Your whole body reacted—pulling him in closer, tighter—and he groaned, caught between control and desperation. One hand slid up your chest, teasing and playing with every sensitive spot he could find, making your hips rock helplessly into his.

He started to move. Slow at first—deliberate, dragging each thrust out to feel every inch of you shudder around him. You couldn’t pretend anymore. The smug mask you wore had shattered, replaced by whimpers and gasps and the way your nails bit into his skin.

And he was drinking it all in. Obsessed. Devoted.

He kissed you again—hot and hungry, his tongue slipping against yours, coaxing more of those beautiful sounds from your lips. He needed them. Needed you.

“Too much—ah! S-Sol…!” you choked out, barely holding onto words as your body arched into him, trembling and raw with every overwhelming sensation.

His rhythm faltered, just for a breath, and his gaze flicked up to meet yours—concern and lust tangled in those deep, dark eyes.

“Wanna be on top this time?” he rasped, voice soft but hoarse with need. “You can set the pace... take what you need.”

You tried to nod, but the moment you moved, your limbs faltered. You were boneless, wrecked, trembling from the aftershocks still rolling through your nerves. “I… I-I—” you tried, but the words melted against your tongue, leaving you breathless and aching.

He kissed you. Slow and reverent. A kiss that tasted like yes.

You shifted, trying to reposition yourself with what little strength you had left—but your body shivered from the stretch, the heat, the sheer intensity of him still buried inside you.

“Hey, hey…” Sol whispered, arms catching you gently. “Let me help you, pumpkin.”

He guided your hips with a care that almost made you cry—like you were something precious, like he could fall apart just watching you fall apart. The moment you finally sank down on him again, your back bowed, a sharp cry slipping from your lips as your hand flew to your mouth—biting into your thumb and nail just to ground yourself.

“Fuuuck,” he groaned, watching your reaction like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You feel incredible... Look at you.”

Your breath stuttered. His hands cradled your waist, steadying you, but you could feel his restraint unraveling with every passing second.

“You’re doing so good,” he breathed. “You’re perfect like this. Want me to move with you? Or… just let you take what you want?”

You swallowed hard, still biting your thumb, unable to answer—so you just rocked your hips experimentally, and shuddered when the sensation ripped through you like lightning.

Your moan came out shattered.

And Sol?

He looked like he’d die happily just to hear that sound again.

Your forehead pressed to the crook of his neck, lips brushing over the sensitive skin there as you tried—tried—to move.

He held you close, arms wrapped tight around your back like he could fuse you to him, breathing heavy and ragged against your shoulder. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and trembling.

You nodded against his neck. “Y-Yeah, I just—” You shifted your hips, slow and shaky, but even that made your breath hitch and your legs quiver. The overstimulation hit like a wave, rolling up your spine and curling your toes.

Then again. Just one more push. Just one more move.

Your thighs shook. You bit your lip. Everything felt too good, too much, and it made your muscles jelly.

“Shit,” you hissed, nails digging into his back. “What’s… wrong with me?” You half-laughed, half-whimpered, breath catching in your throat. “Why am I so—why are you so damn deep?”

Sol’s arms tightened around you instantly, and you felt it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his heart slammed in his chest right against yours. That wicked, warm chuckle rumbled through him.

“Guess I just fit you too well,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “Or maybe you’re just that gone for me, huh?”

You whimpered, biting your knuckle again. He tilted your head back gently, nose brushing yours, voice thick with a mix of awe and filth.

“You’re not broken,” he said, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “You’re just so full of me you don’t know what to do. Let me help.”

And before you could protest—he rolled his hips up into you.

Slow. Smooth. Deep.

“Guess I’ll have to help a little,” Sol murmured against your ear, voice honey-slick and low.

His hands moved to steady your hips, fingers splayed wide as he guided you slowly—gently—down again. Your breath hitched hard, every nerve flaring as you sank into the heat of him. He was already shaking, just from watching you fall apart above him.

“You’re really trembling inside,” he groaned, awe and reverence tangled in his voice. “Pumpkin… I never thought we’d be doing this. Not like this. Not so—” His voice cracked as he looked up at you. “So close.”

You tried to say something back, but all you could do was whimper, your voice lost somewhere between need and disbelief. Your face was burning, your whole body flushed from the inside out.

And Sol saw it—every flicker of emotion, every twitch of your lips, every clench of your fingers in his hair.

His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “Your face right now…” He looked wrecked. Adoring. “I wanna satisfy you more. Make you fall apart again. And again. Until that smug little mask drops for good.”

You leaned down to kiss him, slow and deep, your fingers curling in the sheets. Sol met you halfway, hands still guiding you, breath syncing with yours as the rhythm built between you like a secret language only your bodies could speak.

n Sol’s eyes—something darker, more needy than you’d seen before. His hands were still guiding you, but they were trembling now, almost desperately, as if he was afraid you might slip away from him. His chest rose and fell with each strained breath, and his gaze never left your face, burning with intensity.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice rougher than before. “I can feel every inch of you. Your heart, your breath, your body... I can’t get enough of it.”

His lips brushed against your throat, hot and possessive, as if marking you, claiming you with each kiss. It was almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, like he was driven by something more than lust—need. You could feel it in the way his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, urging you deeper. His lips trailed along your jaw, desperate but gentle, like he was savoring every second of this.

“Don’t... don’t pull away,” Sol gasped, his voice low, strained. “I need you... I need you with me. Don’t go anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tighter against him, the heat of his body radiating like a furnace. He kissed you again, his touch becoming more urgent, more possessive, until you could feel the weight of his emotions crashing into you—raw, unfiltered, as if he were willing to burn everything just to keep you here.

And in that moment, you realized: it wasn’t just his body that he was offering—it was his soul, his vulnerability, his fear of losing you.

His words were barely a whisper against your skin: “You’re mine, right? You’re not going anywhere...”

"Sol... shit, I—" Your voice cracked on the edge of a gasp, spine arching helplessly into his touch. "I’ve never been so—so greedy... I need more..."

Your words were barely coherent, trembling out of you like confessions in the dark. You clung to him, breath hitching with every aching movement. Your whole body felt too hot, too sensitive, too full—like one more touch would shatter you completely.

And Sol, sweet Sol, was smiling down at you with a look so tender it hurt. His fingers were still working you open, slowly, lovingly, obsessively—his other hand cradling your cheek as if you might break. You looked up and—fuck—you were gone.

“Hey, Y/N,” he whispered, voice syrup-sweet, eyes glittering with something deranged and soft all at once. “Look at me.”

You did—and instantly regretted it, because those eyes—those spiraling, impossible eyes—locked you in place. That inner ring of burning orange, surrounded by crimson-red, swallowed you whole. Your breath caught. You couldn't look away if you tried.

“Swear to me,” he murmured, his voice suddenly trembling at the edges. “Swear you’ll stay with me. Always. I need to hear you say it.”

“I—I’ll stay,” you gasped, lips brushing against his. “I’ll stay w-with you, Sol—Sol!! AHHH—!”

Your words broke off in a cry as another wave hit, tearing through your body. His name was the only thing left on your tongue. Your thoughts dissolved completely, leaving behind only raw need and that voice—his voice—telling you how good you were, how much he wanted you, how much he needed you to stay.

Sol kissed your cheek, then your neck, then your lips again, all while whispering like a man possessed: “That’s right. Mine. You’re mine, pumpkin... forever.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you, and you could feel his heartbeat hammering against yours—wild, unhinged, terrified in its own way.

No one had ever held you like that. No one had ever wanted you like that.

Sol started to move—slow at first, like he was savoring the moment, savoring you. Every shift of his hips sent another shock of heat through your already overwhelmed body, and you couldn’t stop the gasps that tumbled from your lips, couldn’t hold back the broken whimpers as the pleasure spiraled way past what you thought you could take.

You were barely conscious of your own voice—just helpless, dazed sounds between half-finished words, desperate declarations tumbling from your mouth like confessions in a fever dream.

“C-can’t... can’t think—ah, Sol—! I wanna stay—I belong to you—!”

Those words snapped something inside him.

He froze for half a second—just one—but his breath hitched, his grip on you tightening as if he was anchoring himself in your heat, your need, your truth

His eyes were wide, glassy with something raw—something shattering. And then he moved again, with more force, more need, like your words had sunk straight into the core of him and detonated.

"Say it again," Sol gasped, voice cracking like his heart was too full, too fragile. "Say you belong to me—"

You couldn’t even speak. Your body was trembling, helpless in his arms, your face pressed to the crook of his neck as he held you like he’d never let go. All you could manage was a choked, breathless whimper of his name, and that was enough. Too much.

He kissed the side of your face like he was praying. Like you were sacred. Like he'd break if he ever lost you.

"You’re mine," he whispered hoarsely, a promise and a plea. “You’re mine and I’m yours and—gods, I don’t care if this world burns, just stay with me.”

You tried to nod—tried to respond—but the waves crashing through your body stole everything. Your breath. Your thoughts. Even your strength. You could only cling, nails digging into the fabric on his back as your body arched into his, as he moved faster, deeper into whatever bond had fused your souls together.

Sol was unraveling. You could feel it—every sound he made, every tremble in his voice, every desperate grind of his hips said the same thing:

"I love you. I need you. I can’t lose you."

And just when it felt like your world would collapse from the inside out—

He buried his face against your neck, gasping raggedly. "Y/N—!!" His voice cracked as he reached his peak, breath hitching, movements slowing into deep, shaking pulses. You felt him fall apart around you, within you, every bit of that obsessive love spilling out in every broken whisper and trembling kiss.

And even in the aftermath—panting, sweaty, and trembling in his arms—you knew:

This wasn’t just need.

It was devotion. It was possession. It was love—sharp-edged, overwhelming, maybe even dangerous.

You didn’t even know when it shifted—when your legs were pushed back, when his weight settled over you like a storm you couldn’t escape, didn’t want to. Sol’s hands gripped under your knees, spreading you open with a reverence that burned. His gaze locked to yours, wild and worshipping, like he could see straight into your marrow and wanted to carve his name into every inch of it.

"Look at me," he panted, voice low and ragged. "I need you to feel how much I want you—how much I need you. Like this. Always like this."

Then he sank back in.

Deep. Full. Unyielding.

You cried out, fingers scrambling at his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sheer stretch, the impossible closeness. His body caged yours, chest pressed flush to yours, his mouth kissing your tears away even as he wrecked you with every thrust—slow at first, almost reverent.

But it didn’t stay slow.

He snapped his hips forward, hard, fast—desperate.

The sound of skin on skin echoed, lewd and dizzying, your broken moans swallowed by his kiss. His arms trembled with restraint, but his pace never stopped, hips grinding in deep with every stroke like he was trying to brand himself into your bones.

“I can feel you,” he gasped against your mouth. “Clenching around me like you were made for me—like you belong to me.”

Your body gave no answer, only a choked sob of pleasure that made his pupils blow wide, made his control unravel at the seams. He hooked your thighs tighter around his waist, angling himself just right until stars exploded behind your eyes.

And when you cried out his name again, broken and raw and holy, Sol lost it.

He slammed into you with a grunt, forehead pressed to yours, hands trembling as he moved faster, harder, chasing something that felt more like a fall than a climax. “That’s it—take it, take all of me—”

You were shaking, overstimulated and breathless, but he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t. His rhythm turned erratic, deeper, needier, like every thrust was a vow:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

And then he shattered.

With a strangled cry, he drove in to the hilt and came undone—his entire body trembling, hips twitching with every pulse of release, his face buried in your neck as he chanted your name like a lifeline.

“Y/N… Y/N—fuck, I love you—I love you so much I can’t—can’t breathe without you—”

You held him as tightly as you could, every part of you aching, humming, complete. He stayed buried deep inside you, wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, like pulling out would unravel everything.

And maybe it would.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was him giving you everything.

His obsession. His madness. His love.

And in that dazed, dizzied haze, as your body trembled in the aftermath and his heart thundered against yours, one thing was clear:

You were never getting out of this.

And gods help you…

You didn’t want to.

You didn’t even get a moment to breathe.

Sol was still inside you, still trembling from his high, but his mouth was already moving again—soft kisses, scattered like devotion across your jaw, your cheek, your lips. And then, without a word, he rolled his hips.

Slow. Deep. Heavy.

Your body jolted. A strangled sound caught in your throat, half-moan, half-beg, but it never made it past your lips—because he kissed you.

Hard. Messy. Desperate.

Tongue claiming, teeth grazing, swallowing every ruined sound you tried to make. You couldn’t even gasp. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was feel—his hips grinding into yours again, filling you to the hilt, his body somehow more feverish, more hungry than before.

“You can take it,” he breathed between kisses, voice dark and reverent, wrecked by love and lust and something far too raw to name. “You’re perfect—gods, you feel so perfect like this. So full of me.”

Your nails dragged down his back, helpless, overstimulated, trembling from how much you needed him, even as your body screamed from the intensity. He moved deeper, slower this time but with that same unbearable pressure—like he wanted to melt into you, fuse your bodies until there was no more him or you, just us.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, even as his hips rocked into you again. “I can’t stop. I should—but I can’t. Not when you’re like this. Not when you feel like—like home.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, reverent, lips dragging over yours like he could taste your soul on your tongue. You whimpered against him, tried to speak, to moan—but the pleasure was too much, the fullness too overwhelming. All you could do was sob softly into his mouth as he started to move faster, desperate for another high, another chance to lose himself in you.

“You’re mine,” he breathed against your lips, fucking you through the aftershocks, through the haze, through the surrender. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

“Sh-shit—Sol—wait—!” you choked, but your voice cracked on a sob as his hips pounded into yours again, no room to think, no room to breathe, just the sound of slick, obscene rhythm and your own whimpers catching in your throat.

You tried to push at his chest, not really meaning it, just needing something to hold onto—but he only groaned, low and wrecked, and leaned down to kiss you—soft, almost sweet, completely at odds with the way he was driving into you like a man possessed.

“Just a little more,” he panted into your mouth. “Just a little more,Pumpkin—come on, stay with me.”

You couldn’t. Your back arched, legs trembling, pleasure shattering through you again so fast it knocked the breath from your lungs. You moaned something—his name, maybe? A plea?—but it was swallowed by the way he bit down gently on your neck, groaning against your skin like he was trying not to lose himself too fast.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he gasped, still thrusting, still holding you so sweetly, like you were precious even as he ruined you. “We’re gonna be together, okay? From now on. Just us.”

He licked over the bite he left, kissed your cheek, and kept going—slower, now, but so deep, like he was trying to carve himself inside you permanently.

“We’ll eat good food. We’ll be happy. You won’t need anyone else, Y/N,” he murmured, voice shaking with something more than lust. “You’re mine. I’m yours. No one—no one will love you like I do.”

You stared up at him, dazed, lips parted to respond but all that came out was a soft, broken cry as your body clenched around him again.

He smiled, so soft, eyes wide and in love and unhinged.

“And you won’t love anyone like you love me. Right?” he whispered.

You tried to say yes—tried to breathe it, to nod, anything—but your body betrayed you, trembling and writhing beneath him, lost in the feeling of him pushing in, pulling out, fucking that question into you like he needed the answer etched into your bones.

And he took it as a yes.

He kissed your temple, lips brushing the sweat-slick skin like a promise.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “No one else. Just us.”

His name tore from your lips in a gasp, and with one last, deep thrust, he came—hard, pulsing inside you, shaking as if he'd just been brought to the edge of some abyss.

His body tensed, fingers digging into your skin as he gripped you close, holding you like his very existence depended on you being there—on being his. He buried his face against your neck, leaving soft, ragged kisses as his breath hitched in the aftermath, his body trembling with exhaustion and still needing more.

You could feel him inside you, warm and spent, but there was no relief—not really. You weren’t sure where he ended and you began, the line blurred by the way your bodies intertwined, by the way he held you so tight, so desperate, as if there was nothing left for him to hold onto except you.

He whispered your name, broken and raw, so tender despite everything.

“You... you’re mine. I’ll keep you safe. Keep you close. Never let you go,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and shaky.

Your mind was a haze, thoughts swimming as you struggled to gather yourself, but he kept you there, pressed against him, unable to move, unable to break free from the pull he had on you.

“I love you. I need you,” he said softly, his voice cracking on the last word.

And then, as if the intensity of what had just happened wasn’t enough to bring him to his breaking point, he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing your ear.

Sol’s grin was like a damn sunbeam, glowing with something that was all devotion and satisfaction, his chest still rising and falling quickly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, like he couldn’t get close enough to you. The moment was everything to him—the sweet aftermath, where the world felt soft, and all he could do was hold you and drown in how good you made him feel.

You were too dazed to speak, too lost in the warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his breath on your skin.

His lips were gentle as they pressed against the sensitive spots of your neck, leaving kisses so soft, so loving, it almost felt like worship. He pulled you in closer, not letting you go, even though you couldn’t form a coherent thought at the moment.

“You did so good, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice still thick with need but now touched with tenderness. “So, so good. I’m so proud of you.”

He said it like it was a sacred truth. His words melted into your skin, every word a claim, a reminder that you were his—and he wasn’t letting you forget it.

His arms wrapped around you again, pulling you tighter, his grip firm but with an underlying softness that only spoke to how deeply he cared. He tucked you against his chest, his heart still beating hard against you, as if it couldn’t slow down just yet.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice muffled and full of warmth. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

You felt like you might melt into him, his warmth spreading through you, his kisses and soft reassurances so grounding you couldn’t help but sink into the safety of his embrace. There was a sweetness to him now—clingy but in the most affectionate, secure way—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

He wasn’t letting go. Not now, not ever. And you couldn’t deny how right it felt to be so completely his.

You could barely keep your eyes open, the world spinning and your body so spent from the intensity of everything that had just happened—but something inside you snapped.

The laughter bubbled up, low and deranged, escaping your lips before you could even think twice about it. It was manic, almost delirious, but it was real. You were feeling it—feeling him, feeling that wild, crazy need to take control now, to flip the script just a little.

Sol, his face still buried in the crook of your neck, froze for a moment. His breath hitched as he pulled back slightly, eyes wide and glowing with that possessive hunger, that unshakable devotion.

“What… what are you—?” he started, but you silenced him with your eyes.

You could barely keep yourself together, but there was fire in your chest. You were done being so lost in him, done just lying there while he took the reins. No, this time, you were going to show him.

“I wanna take control too,” you muttered, voice raw, the grin pulling at your lips almost feral. “This isn’t over yet, Sol. Night’s ours. Let’s love each other too much, okay?”

His eyes widened, pupils dilated, the grin curling on his lips as he tilted his head slightly. He was shocked—and yet, the way his hand slid over your side, the way his thumb brushed against your skin, made it clear: he loved it.

“Fuck, Y/N… you think you can handle me?” His voice was low, teasing, but that gleam in his eyes said something else entirely—something darker, something like he was ready for you to burn everything down with him.

His arms were still tight around you, but now, it was almost like he was daring you. Daring you to take the reins and lead him somewhere new, somewhere he was all in for.

You woke up, your body still humming with the aftershocks of last night. But something was... different. You looked around, confusion clouding your mind for a moment—until your gaze fell on the pretty man beside you. The one who had stolen your breath away with his wild, captivating energy.

Sol.

His hair—black with those electric green streaks—looked even more striking in the soft light of morning. It cascaded in a half-up-half-down style, those bangs framing his face in a way that made his eyes even more arresting. His irises—oh, gods—those hues of orange and crimson, like they could see right through you, like they were made to entrap you.

You couldn't look away. Even as he lay there, peaceful, so effortlessly beautiful in his sleep, you found yourself staring, not even caring if it was a little unsettling. He was yours now. You couldn’t stop the way your heart raced at the thought.

You reached out and gently patted his head, your fingers grazing the strands of his hair, feeling the soft texture. It was almost too much, too perfect, too real. And just like that, those vivid eyes blinked open, meeting yours with that sleepy confusion, before they sharpened and narrowed, those mesmerizing eyes locking onto yours.

"Good morning, Sol..." you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips as your pulse quickened. You had to explain. You had to claim him.

"We need to take a bath... Y’know?" Your voice was light, teasing even, but underneath was something darker, a promise of what was to come.

For a moment, Sol stayed silent, his gaze steady, those eyes studying you. There was something about the way he looked at you now—it was almost like he was waiting for you to confirm what this was, what you were. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You held him gently by the face, your fingers brushing against his skin, before pulling him closer, locking eyes with him as if you were both trapped in this moment. This love.

“This isn’t a dream,” you murmured, voice turning darker, more twisted. “We’re together now, Sol. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever.”

Your smile, deranged, yandere-like, spread across your face as you whispered it again, your hands gripping his face more firmly now.

“I love you. I love you so much, Sol,” you confessed, the words leaving your lips like a vow. Your voice was almost manic, desperate. "No one else could ever love you like I do. No one can have you but me. You're mine—body, soul, everything. And I'll never let you go."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and you wanted to savor every second of it. The world outside—irrelevant. All that mattered was that Sol was here with you. And you were never letting him leave.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, your breath shaky, heart thudding in your chest.

"You're mine, Sol. Always. Forever. And there's no way out, is there?"

You managed to hobble to the bathroom with Sol’s help, giggling the whole way like you weren’t on the verge of collapsing. He bathed you both gently, sweetly, as if you were glass he’d cracked with his love last night and was now trying to piece back together. His touches were reverent, every kiss to your shoulder like a whispered apology and a promise.

And then—he said it.

“Let’s skip university today.”

You blinked at him.

"Together?"

He grinned, still wet from the bath, towel hanging low on his hips, eyes sparkling like he’d won the damn lottery. “Yeah. Let’s just... be us. Just for today.”

You could’ve cried. But instead you nodded and muttered something like, “Okay... only if you make curry.”

That made him laugh. A full, warm laugh, like you hadn’t completely shattered him the night before with how much you loved him.

Later, he was at the stove, humming while the smell of spicy, warm curry filled the air. You tried to help. Really, you did. But when you tried to stand—

“Ah—!” you winced, collapsing right back onto the futon, legs still jelly.

“Hey—hey, hey!” Sol rushed over, panic rising. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, grinning way too wide. “Can’t walk because you... you know.”

His face flushed a deep crimson, but he didn’t deny it.

Then, as he was stirring the curry, his voice came soft. Too soft.

"...Did you look after me too?..I mean"

Your grin widened—slow, almost foxlike.

You raised your hand and pointed to the cupboard in the corner. Sol tilted his head in confusion, then padded over.

When he opened it...

Silence.

He stared.

There, in a neat but deeply unhinged box, were dozens of photos of him. Drawings—some accurate, some bordering on manic. His used bandages. Pieces of fabric from his worn clothes. The one with a heart drawn around his face in red marker. Oh. And the other side?

Your notes.

Obsessive, stalker-style notes. Favorite foods, times he left campus, places he sat when he was sad, one particular napkin , Multiple drawings of him "Y/N + Sol 4ever" scrawled beneath.

His hands trembled as he picked up a drawing of himself you did from memory—wildly off-proportion, but filled with adoration. The kind of adoration that could turn a person feral.

You tilted your head and asked sweetly, “Why’re you red, Sol?”

He didn’t answer.

He collapsed.

Like, full-on faceplant.

��SOL?!” You scrambled (as best you could) over to him, panic blooming. “SOL ARE YOU OKAY?! BREATHE, BREATHE—OH GODS I BROKE YOU—”

You pulled him into your lap, frantically patting his cheeks as his body shuddered, somewhere between laughter and a panic attack. His face buried in your chest as you whispered urgently, “You’re mine, Sol. Don’t break. I can’t fix you if you break—!”

But Sol just let out a breathy, dazed laugh.

“I—I was the-” he muttered, staring blankly at your shrine box. “I thought I was the insane one. I thought I was obsessed. But you—you—”

You grinned, cradling his face, nose touching his. “You love me, right?”

He blinked at you, dazed. “Yes—of course—”

“Good.” You kissed his forehead. “Because You loved me first. I’ll love you forever. And if you ever leave me, I’ll carve your name into my skin and haunt you!”

He just stared. Still red. Still broken.

Still so yours.

And somewhere in the kitchen, the curry began to burn. But neither of you cared.

[girlfromflor]

part 5 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

after you shared your first kiss with johnny and kyle, things started to shift within the group. it was clear that physical displays of affection were a thing now, but it was more than that. they all started to act more affectionate with each other in front of you – you knew they shared these moments, they just never really explored that in front of you.

you were grateful they did, because now you could relish on watching them rather than being watched. you liked that they were attentive to you, but you liked this natural flow of things better. they stopped worrying about what you'd think and simply acted according to what felt better – and probably that was the closest to seeing what they were like before you, that you'd ever get.

you walk freely around their house now, and they come and go from yours. sleepovers started happening, you catch them cuddling each other on your bed and you casually fix the blankets around them tighter. you started seeing soap give ghost a peck on the lips through the mask, john's hand on kyle’s thigh under the table during dinner, ghost hugging kyle by the waist while whispering things in his ear – things that were very imaginable considering the way you felt arousal building inside you out of nowhere –, and john pulling johnny to sit on his lap using the excuse that “there's no place in the couch for everyone”.

john and johnny were a special duo. maybe it was because johnny has too much energy and john is more responsive to it than ghost and kyle, but johnny truly acts like a needy puppy around the captain. you've seen johnny act like that with simon and receive a groaned “you're such a needy mutt” enveloped with lust and want, and you could feel johnny’s satisfaction at having such attention. but john clearly scratched a deeper part of johnny's mind. you were proved just that when you walked past the hall of their house unannounced on one afternoon. you could make out some murmuring from the kitchen, busy taking your shoes off which gave you enough time to make out john’s voice, you don’t know who he’s talking to – but you could imagine.

“would you like that?” it's low and seductive, and you've never heard john speak like that. there's no response, but given his next words the man had either nodded or shaken his head, “then be a good boy and do as you’re told, yeah?”

“yes, sir,” you hear johnny's voice and your stomach is completely taken by butterflies. johnny was breathless and for a second you’re afraid of stepping inside and disturbing an intimate moment, but you heard them moving and decided to do it anyway.

they are standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, john is staring at soap like he's a five course meal and johnny looks almost flustered – that's new.

“uh… hi, guys,” you whisper and the response is immediate – john moves too quickly for you to react, fast and determined.

“baby!” he greets you with a bright smile – the one he usually has when he's up to something –, pulling you by your hand to stand closer to him. “be a sweetheart and give your captain a kiss, aye?”

you turn to look at johnny, to take a hint on what to do – he's too quiet, what were they talking about? –, but john moves faster and holds your cheeks with one of his big hands.

“ah, ah, tha’ what i told ya to do?” he asks, still smiling – condescendingly so – and you shake your head as an answer. “that's right, love,” he places both his hands on your hips, pulling you closer – and you have to put your hands on his chest to ground yourself. “now, what was it that you were supposed to do? huh?”

you're not sure if he wants a verbal response. maybe he does but doesn't want to push you too far, because you stay silent as you stand on the tip of your toes to kiss him and he accepts. you barely acknowledge the fact that this is the first time you're going to kiss john as he hums and moves down to brush his nose on your cheek. you close your eyes, then soon enough the feeling of his lips on yours overtakes your senses – but is johnny's moan that wrecks you. you gasp and john's tongue finds its way inside your mouth, his own sound of pleasure echoing in your mind.

the first thing that you do when you pull away from the kiss is search for johnny’s eyes – only to see him shamelessly palming his cock through his sweatpants while watching the two of you –, and that results in a hard squeeze of john's hands on your hips. you whimper in surprise, and you can hear johnny mimic the sound from where he stands – and fuck, you want to look at him so bad, but john is completely taking over you thoughts.

“sorry,” you blurt out instinctively, not actually guilty but it's a way of showing you're not disregarding john for johnny.

“‘s okay, love,” john answers and gives your lips a brief kiss, lovingly. when he lets you go he turns to johnny, “think you can behave?” johnny nods and is funny how he does it like his life depends on it. but then john tsks and orders, “words, johnny.”

“yes, sir,” soap answers, soft and pliant and so attractively, your thighs press themselves together.

“c'mon, then,” price motions his head for johnny to come closer and the scot doesn't hesitate to obey.

as soap approaches the two of you, john pulls him by the waist for him to step between you. then he whispers in johnny's ear “go on,” in the most unbothered tone, and johnny – with his back pressed against the captain’s chest – bends down to kiss you in a heartbeat.

the kiss is a mess. it makes the two of you breathless too fast but it's too good to stop. johnny's hands touch your waist, your neck and your face before dropping to your hips and you can't help but squeeze the muscle of his arms underneath your palms. john pulls soap further back in his chest as a warning and johnny pulls away from you with a whine. you blink slowly watching the men in front of you – john presses a kiss to the scot's cheek before saying, “good boy.”

johnny blushes at the words, his eyes on you like he's half expecting you to laugh at him. you bite your lip and decide to break the silence after a moment, “i thought you were out grocery shopping…”

johnny smiles and john chuckles saying “simon and kyle went. they should be back in an hour.”

later that day, you found yourself in their kitchen again. john was the only one there finishing dinner when you arrived and he said, “sweetheart, can you go get the lads?” you answered with a nod before making your way upstairs.

you had gone back to your house, taken a shower and done some of your chores. simon and kyle came back after you left, so you hadn't had the chance to talk to them. ghost's door is the first one in the hallway, so naturally there’s where you go first, not even bothering to knock because it was already wide open.

“simon, john told me to—” you stop mid-sentence as you walk past the door frame, stunned at the sight in front of you – a maskless simon, flushed and panting, caging kyle in between his arms and the dresser.

he turns his face to you slowly, clearly having trouble breaking eye contact with the younger man. “yes, luvie?” simon voices out, nonchalantly like you hadn't just caught him and kyle in the middle of something.

“you're– you don’t have your mask on,” you deadpan, failing to address kyle, who's still pressed against the furniture and looking at you.

“very attentive of you to notice,” he smiles, and is like he's taking pleasure in your surprised expression.

“shut up—” you take a few steps forward, but halt halfway – what were you going to do, kiss him? – and instead of going to them you whisper, “you're beautiful…” only to be met with a smirk and a look that says ‘i know’, so you do your own playful teasing. “well, not as much as kyle—”

“oi! you little shit!” he laughs and lets kyle go to move in your direction – probably to grab you and do god knows what – but you take a step back.

nervously laughing, trying to stop staring at simon's handsome face, you look at kyle, blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind,  “were you two making out?”

“why?” comes kyle’s voice instantly, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second – what a dummy. “would ya wanna join?” kyle adds, moving to you much like simon is. 

you step backwards once more, answering defiantly, “as if, i've kissed you already,” but it's more of a gasp than anything – it's also a mistake with the way simon’s eyes darken, he took it as a challenge. “i don’t want to be scolded by john,” you say, remembering that you were supposed to be calling them for dinner.

“i think you’d quite enjoy his punishment, love,” simon states, and he's too close for this conversation to be considered appropriate. so instead of facing them you turn on your heels and sprint to johnny's room in the end of the hallway, the sound of their feet thudding behind you as they follow.

you open johnny's door fast, not bothering to close it before throwing yourself in the bed where he was laying, watching tv. johnny doesn’t  have time to question what's happening before simon and kyle come barging in, laughing.

“what did ye do, bon?” he asks then, side eyeing you.

“she owes me a kiss,” simon answers for you and motions his head in your direction, exchanging a glance with johnny. 

johnny moves instantly, sitting up and holding your arms, pulling you to press your back against his chest with you sitting in the middle of his legs – shit, you're fucked. kyle sits down first, by your side, hand stroking your cheek. and then comes simon.

he finds his place between your legs, parting them to fit himself more comfortably. “word is you kissed everyone but me, luvie, that correct?” simon questions as his face grows closer to yours and you squirm in johnny's arms – you can hear kyle chuckling by your side.

you nod regardless, before saying “in my defense, your mask worked like an imaginary wall between us.”

“yeah? what about now?” he whispers, breath fanning over your nose. you stay silent, not knowing what to answer. he chuckles, “no excuse now, huh?”

you pout, lips involuntarily moving and it catches his attention. he moves down to brush his lips on yours and you move forward trying to press them together. he backs up with a smile, “ya wan’ a kiss, luvie?”

you nod, and maybe you do it a bit too desperately because kyle groans from where he's watching and johnny places his hands on your hips. simon hums, moving to peck your lips – and it's supposed to be just a peck, but you can't help yourself. you launch forward, lips pressing more vigorously on him and he groans. one of his hands cup your cheek to move your head, guiding you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing yours in a passionate caress.

when he pulls away, you take a moment to ground yourself. you are too drown in your arousal and simon’s – and also johnny and kyle's. the amount of horniness taking your senses makes you want to hump yourself in johnny's legs until you're crying and the four of you have to forcefully think of something else to try and balance it out since john is not there to help shift the emotions, and that's when you gasp,

“fuck, john is going to kill us.”

series masterlist a/n: is it weird that i've posted three days in a row? | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3

[writeriguess]

Hii! May I request Pro Hero! Katsuki x Fem reader where she has a dog quirk? Can be sfw or nsfw!

a/n: I don't think I'm comfortable to write full on nfsw for animal quirk readers but I added some spice <3

Heel, Damn It!

Being a Pro Hero with a dog quirk had its perks. Enhanced speed, heightened senses, an unshakable tracking ability—hell, even your fluffy ears and tail had their uses. But none of that stopped Bakugo Katsuki from treating you like an overgrown mutt whenever you got on his nerves.

Which, to be fair, was pretty often.

"Oi, quit waggin’ that damn tail, it's distracting," he grumbled, arms crossed as you stood beside him during a Pro Hero press conference.

You huffed, trying to force your tail to stop wagging, but the more you stole glances at Bakugo, the more it thumped against your legs. Like a damn telltale sign of how much you liked him.

"I can't help it," you muttered, voice low enough that the microphones wouldn’t pick it up. You glanced up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. "You smell nice today."

A visible shudder ran down his spine.

His jaw clenched, and a muscle in his neck twitched as he turned to glare at you. "Shut the hell up," he growled under his breath.

You barely suppressed a giggle. Because you could hear his damn heartbeat. The slight jump in pace. The way his scent spiked—just a little—like he was flustered but too damn proud to admit it.

Even better? The reporters in front of you were too busy scribbling down notes about Dynamight’s latest villain takedown to notice the way his ears turned red.

Oh, you were gonna have so much fun with this.

***

You barely had time to kick off your boots before Bakugo grabbed you by the waist, spun you around, and caged you against the kitchen counter.

"Alright, you little shit," he growled, voice dangerously low, breath fanning against your face. "You got some nerve sayin’ that crap in public."

You blinked up at him innocently. "Saying what? That you smell good?"

"Tch—yeah," he scoffed. "You do it on purpose, don’t ya?"

Your tail flicked behind you, the soft fur brushing against his thigh. His hands twitched at your waist.

Maybe you were playing with fire. Maybe you liked it.

You tilted your head—a little too much like a real dog—and grinned. "Maybe. What are you gonna do about it, Alpha?"

The moment the word left your lips, Bakugo stiffened. His crimson gaze darkened, and his fingers dug a little harder into your waist.

You could hear it. That tiny little snarl at the back of his throat.

Your tail wagged faster.

Oh, you were in trouble.

"You think you’re funny, huh?" His voice was a low rumble, all heat and barely-restrained frustration. "Teasin’ me like that—waggin’ your tail like a dumbass every time you see me."

You smirked, ears twitching. "Not my fault you make me happy."

The snarl he let out this time was more pronounced. His grip on your waist tightened, and before you could react, he lifted you off the ground and dropped you onto the counter.

You yelped, startled, ears flicking up. "Katsu—!"

"You got somethin’ to say, pup?" he muttered, stepping between your legs, caging you in completely.

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. The way he towered over you, the heat radiating off his body, the sharp way his eyes bore into yours—it sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, trying not to get too caught up in his scent, but damn it, he smelled good. Musky, warm, with the lingering scent of burnt caramel and him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt. "You’re kinda hot when you’re mad," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Bakugo let out a dark chuckle, his lips quirking up into something almost smug.

"You’re gonna regret sayin’ that, mutt."

His hands slid up, fingers tracing your ribs before skimming higher, up to your jaw. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to hold his gaze, and for once, your tail froze.

Shit.

He leaned in, lips barely a breath away from yours. You could feel the warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

His voice dropped even lower, gravelly and teasing. "Where's all that attitude now?"

Your ears twitched, and your tail started wagging again, completely betraying you.

Damn it.

Bakugo grinned, feral. "Thought so."

And then, finally, he kissed you.

Hot. Rough. A little desperate.

His hands grabbed at your waist, pulling you flush against him, while his lips moved against yours with raw, unfiltered need. You gasped into the kiss, fingers tangling into his hair, tugging just enough to hear him growl against your mouth.

Your tail was going wild at this point.

He noticed.

"The hell kinda dog are you," he muttered between kisses, "waggin’ your damn tail ‘cause I’m kissin’ you?"

You barely managed a breathless laugh. "A happy one?"

Bakugo bit your lip. Not hard, but enough to send heat pooling in your stomach.

"Yeah?" His hands slid lower, fingers digging into the soft curve of your thighs. "You wanna be a good girl for me, then?"

Oh.

Oh, that was dangerous.

Your ears flicked, heat rising to your cheeks. "Katsuki—"

He pulled back just enough to smirk.

"What's wrong, pup?" His voice was all teasing now, playful yet still rough around the edges. "Where'd all that bark go?"

Your tail thumped against the counter.

You were so done for.

[tottentz]

KISS ME FROM THE RUSH .ᐟ ── honkai star rail ?! ❛ i can't get enough ❜ 🗝 ﹢を ˒ㅤ ft. aventurine, blade, dr. ratio, argenti, sunday, jing yuan.

ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 WARNINGS ! mdni. reader has no pronouns but has afab anatomy, soft dom ! character & inexperienced ! reader, dry humping / aventurine, praising, pet names, fingering / boothill + jing yuan, oral ( receiving ) / blade, blowjob + cum swallowing / dr. ratio, implied multiple orgasm + overstimulation, dacriphilia, lil of corruption kink ( if you squint ). ♡ˎˊ˗

mature content ahead ! + please take care of yourself before proceeding.

aventurine .ᐟ

slender fingertips dig into the excess squish of your hips, prompting you to wriggle your waist and forcibly slot your pelvis where aventurine ushers you atop his lap, bunching your skirt in his fidgety palms as you delectably initiate a merciless roll of your hips that had his cock straining against the crotch of his jeans and his own hips eagerly bucking upwards.

he devours you in his embrace, and presses a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth before swallowing every mewl-like cry that parts your lips.

the lengthening drag led your clit to the silver buckle of his belt; pulpous bud sinking against the metal and flattening whenever aventurine thrusted his hips and temporarily pinned the bundle, catching the sensory mound before it dislodged and continued its previous rut.

you hissed through your teeth, breaking away from his lips to speckle rosy contortions into his skin. aventurine impatiently rocks his hips as if a mutt graveling in his heat, stiffening cock occasionally bumping your clit before the imprint would card through your soiled unde, gliding trough the dampened fabric with a friction that could kindle fire.

"that's it, baby," he coos, "almost there..."

he sounds breathless as he speaks, body shuddering when you placed a hot palm to his nape, grounding yourself and forcing coarse friction where you straddled him, desperate to clash against his pants as if you'd soon wear the denim to nothing and leave him bare.

"see...now isn't that nice?" he breathlessly laughs, "you're doing so well..., does it feel good?"

his hips erratically jerk, and the breathless pants from his mouth divulged his own craving, lips blowing against your collar before biting his presence into your skin. he's just as far off as you. ruby red and temple coated with sweat, aventurine is flushed and trembling under your hold. 

all he gets as a response is a pathetic whine, making him grin, "of course it does, sweetheart..." he so desperately wants to ravish what sensible though remained of your dizzying head; fuck you until you couldn't discern the hour of the day, but he refrained. not yet.

"that's it, sweetheart, that's it, cum for me. c'mon give it to me, show me how you pretty you are, yeah?." 

and you do, you gasp and squeal when the high finally crashes over you. he slows his thrusts, barely letting you go before carefully pressing back in, working you diligently through the high s you tremble and cream all over his pants like the sweet thing you are. 

blade .ᐟ

to his surprise, you don't yelp or squeak or become flustered when he occupied himself between your legs, only biting your lip as wild pulsations rendered your brain to mush and melted your forefront conscious into a haze of silver lining.

 matching the complex twist of the interstate, your abdomen began to tie its knot of arousal and nervousness, your posture tensing into a deep arch that forced your head against the leather seat and a whimper to fall from your glossed lips, and before you could cover your face with your hands, blade quickly hold your wrists down again.

"don't." his voice is mereley above a whisper as erratic shivers shook your withering figure against the bed.

 "you okay?" you choke intead a series of strangled moans following his order.

"i'm okay." he muses on that notion for a time, flicking his thumbs over your throbbing clit, the strokes stimulating the hardened bud that felt as if would burst in due time. nimbly dragging the anxious tips of your fingers between your legs. "it feels good?." 

you sniffle and nod, "really good..."

he hums and leans down, kissing your clit for one fleeting second before his hands are on your knees, keeping them pinned to your chest while he sat between your thighs as he licks at you, tentatively until he hears you quietly moan. then he's lapping, eager, pressing his face firmer against your cunt. 

the pressure was unfamiliar but it wasn't bad. in fact it felt really good, all the while your taste fills his mouth, floods his tongue, and he knows without a doubt that he would try this over again.

"blade-!" you gasp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair, effectively messing it up.

his cock is painfully hard in his pants but he can't bring himself to care -- not when he's got your spread like this, working your towards your high with every touch he gives you.

and when you finally cum, it's with a harsh tug of his hair. drawing his name from your lips, you arched further into the sheets as the last of your orgasm shook your weak limbs. his name carried significance. the tenor more than just a lovely echo of your rapture. 

he hums, opening his pretty eyes to look at you. when he pulls away, theres a string a spit connected to his lips before he smiles, letting you close your thighs and curl up. the sight of you breathless and teary eyed from the intense orgasm makes him want to go for seconds.

dr. ratio .ᐟ

"what do you want?" veritas asks. he shifts a bit, the mattress creaking again. a hand lands in your hair. it doesn't pull or tangle. gentle. too gentle. he never pulls when asked; for now, you slowly relaxe into this.

"it would be good if you hurry up, too,"you remained at attention. readily awaiting as if a devoted minion who had yet to receive orders.

"impatient."veritas hums, his touch unhurried. he takes his time more than he takes. you have never known what to do with it. you still don't, now, with goosebumps on your skin.

"and you're awfully slow," you say. "i just wanna make you feel good, you know."

there's a low, thoughtful hum. veritas is always thinking. you never know what he's thinking about, but veritas Ratio is a beautiful frowner, anyways.

"very well" a sigh. tiredness, fondness. you are too dizzy on pleassure to tell "open," veritas directs, lightly touching beneath your chin. his hands are warm. he touches with purpose. efficiency, but no lack of gentleness. he touches you like a craftsman touches his work. you open your mouth.

you impishly swiped your tongue past your lips before bringing your parted mounds to the base of his dick. puckishly dragging your tongue against his pulsating sex, you followed the protruding vessels of blue, soon hallowing your cheeks as to sink your head towards his pelvis. 

it earns him a soft hiss. veritas is never loud, but he's always honest. you rub your tongue along the underside, tracing the crown, flicking the slit. 

a whispered curse word. veritas' hips press up a little, his hand settles on your head, there is too much saliva in your mouth, you don't know how to do it, and so you let it make a mess instead. 

veritas curses again, his hand stays in place, though he's not trying to hold you in place. he makes a few shallow thrusts, cock sliding deeper, rubbing the back of your throat until you gag on your own spit, and then veritas eases you off to come up for air.

"good," veritas tells you, low and rough at your water-welled tear ducts glossed your eyes in crystalline solution. veritas is gentle even in this.

he warns you that he's close, and you moan like encouragement. his pace gentles. you are allowed to control the pace again, to pull off if you want to, but you stay.

veritas' thighs tense on either side of you, his breathings hallow and unsteady. he's always been beautiful in pleasure. all of him. veritas comes in waves on your tongue a moment later.  

"pretty." veritas says contemplatively, careful not to waste a drop, so when his hand falls from your hair to your spit-slick chin, examining you, he can whip the mess from your chin with his knuckles. ever kind, ever considerate. 

boothill .ᐟ

"stop staring" a moan rises in the back of your throat, and he thinks you look beatiful, how you shie away, hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand when your moans begin to get loud, closing your eyes in ecstasy, letting the unintelligible noises melt away as boothill's hand slips inside your underwear.

"'m'enjoying the view." he runs the other hand down from your face to your chest, it dances on your body, caresses the curve of your neck, the valley of your breasts, rolling the sensitive bud beneath his fingertips, mindful to place bruising kisses along your neck where deep shapes of his ministrations would be left for you to cover.

his lips latche onto the skin of your shoulder, and he worked his away along the base until kissing the incision of flesh that dimpled behind your ear. 

“look at ya,” perceptible to his observant gaze, your shoulders trembled enthusiastically, accompanying the quiver of your knees that were soon to clamp around his hand. “fudge, you're gon' be the death 'o me, darl.” he cooes against your heated skin, noting the way your hold on him tightened.

his fingers press inside, and the both of you groan together. his digits are slender, dangerous maybe, and he eases them in so slowly it makes you whine. your hips buck up against his hand, back arching, and he chuckles, a cold hand pressing down on your navel to keep your steady.

"there ya go. not so desperate after all, hm?" the sensation so riveting that you are tender into his arms as he fucks you, somehow both gentle and rough. 

his fingers are sharp but slow, calculated to hit against your sweet spot with every thrust. he's filling the silence with gentle hums, encouraging you as you wither away, gasping and panting and begging.

"too good f'me," he whispers, crowding himself against your chest so you feel the cold metal of his own pressed up againts your skin, all over you. "aren'tcha?" there's a retort on the tip of your tongue, but the moment you open your mouth to speak, his hand  squeeze your cheeks together "aren'tcha?"

you're nodding before you know it.

"i am," you whimper, hands bracing yourself up. your arms are quivering from the endless sensation of his big hand on you, slicking up and down and up and down slowly. he is bringing you to your climax with every soft kiss he press into your shoulder. "i'm good for you."

and you can't help the words that spill out of your mouth as you cum hard around his fingers, that twinge into the air between you. you shuddered and almost screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after the two ecstasies preceded it. 

unfamiliar with actions that caused your pretty little lips to squeal, boothill was sure to conduct each one, refusing to yield his practice until you had been blinded by sheer white, breathless and convulsing in his arms.

argenti .ᐟ

you hook your arms around argenti's neck before bringing him down for another kiss—one with more fervor, more intensity than you would otherwise offer. he doesn't reciprocate for a moment, seemingly astonished with your sudden vigor. but in time, he melts against your lips until one after the other.

such as now, his heavy body draped over yours, hips flush against you with his thick cock buried inside you.

"shh," he coos, fingers laced between yours as you sob and wail into the bed, feet mindlessly kicking as you cum around his stationary cock. he presses his lips against your shoulder, "how do you feel?" he teases you as you sniffle and tearfully look at him over your shoulder.

"s'good," you whisper and he smiles so sweetly at you that it makes your heart flutter.

he chuckles again, soft and reassuring as he lifts your thighs with strong hands, bracketing them again across his hips. 

"i know it does," he responds, carefully rutting his hips against you, stirring his cock within your walls, "you came so quickly."

"'again-!" you cut off to moan when he suddenly pulls back, "wanna  cum again"

"again" he considers, and you jolt when he pins your hips in place with one hand while seizing your wrist with the other. his look immediately morphs into something more captivatin, chuckling, "i'll make you cum again,"

but contrary to your expectations, argenti doesn't start fucking you into the mattress like a wild animal. instead, he hoists your hips even higher, holding your body at an odd angle. you're about to ask what he's trying to do, but when he plunges his cock back into your weeping hole, the words evaporate on your tongue.

"you are so beutiful," he assures. his sudden, unrelenting pace continues from then on out. argenti grips your thighs hard, but not enough to leave bruises. 

his discretion makes your heart flutter, but you can't quite bask in the sentiment given that his cock is hitting all the spots that make stars dance in the seams of your vision.

deep. he's so impossibly deep that you fear it'll take you days to sweat him out. a trail of saliva dribbles on your chin as argenti slowly guides you to the apex of an orgasm.his name sounds like an incantation on your lips, and you wonder if the aeons would let you have this man forever.

"argenti!" you squealed, gasping as you reached down to grab his wrist, "oh! wait, 'm gonna-!"

"it's alright," he assures, voice just as soft and even as ever, "just let it happen. want you to feel good for me."

your eyes roll back in your head and you gasp, al the while he whispered praises as you trembling and gushed, soaking his hand and cock. but he didn't mind, he just enjoyed the sight of you feeling good all because of him.

sunday .ᐟ

mass against his own. his chest is keenly pressed into your breasts, pinning you to the mattress with an intimidating vigor and a punishing snap of his hips. 

your ankles knock together behind his nape, and your knees crudely tense by your ears. a palm is cleaved at your waist, nails shoveling into the fat of your hips as the other hooks the bend of your knee into a firm mating press.

 your fingertips fiercely claw at his shoulders, scrambling for a pillar to keep your conscious ground and aware, but you can count the stars behind your glossy lids, another flitter of light flickering into the dark as the male slotted between your legs commences another tunneling of your tiny cunnie.

"'s too much—" tears descend the swell of your heated cheeks, droplets streaking your skin and smearing the mascara you previously applied to your fluttering lashes, brows tense and crinkled as your eyes lulled towards the back of your head and exposed the reddened white of your dazed optics.

"is that so?" a hum colored his tone, mocking and high, "i just want to be selfish and feel you cum around me. that's okay, isn't it?"

he lets your head fall to the bed again as he pauses the pounding of his hips to reach for your face, grabbing the fat of your flushed cheeks before he presss his thumb on your bottom lip.

you're embarrassingly compliant, parting your lips at the same time—tongue swirling around his skin as you cover them in a sheen of saliva. sunday doesn't say a word, but there's an uncharacteristic glint in his eyes that you never would've associated with him earlier.

"but do look pretty like this." his strong hand lets go of your face, instead moving to gently move your hair from your face where it's stuck to the mix of saliva and tears- the juxtaposition reminds you again of how much he actually cared."you know i always want to make you feel good."

a tap to your temple brings you out of your stupor- you're mindless, you're a mess, it's humiliating, but he smiles down at you. "you can give me one more, hm?"

you whimper; mewl as if language were unknown to you. all you can do is cry, sob, as his splits your little pussy in half. your name echoes from his kiss swollen lips as his fucks you harder into the mattress. his brain is in shambles; cluttered and screwed as if he had lost reasoning, but he was aware of himself; aware of his present endeavor-

he won't stop until you are sobbing his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own because he had begun to relentlessly hammer a delicate plot that induced your vision to flicker and blurrily haze with spangled glimmers of hot electricity.

jing yuan .ᐟ

there's just something so sweet about your voice when you are desperate. when you are laying in front of you, legs trashing as jing yuan watches, a small smile on his face as you try, try so hard to angle his fingers just right.

"can't," you whimper, free hand reaching out for him. but he leans back, smiling in faux sympathy. 

the nimble pads of his fingertips pried apart your slicken folds to clamp at the inflated bud between your legs, amber optics indifferent to your puppy-dog pout and repetitive mantra of plea as he forcibly held your thigh apart, eyes flittering the expanse of your skin when you pitifully cried and spoke incoherent requests he blatantly neglected to acknowledge.   

he hums softly, shifting closer to you and hoisting you up by your armpits, he settles you in his lap. "better?" he murmurs against your skin, taking the vibrator in your hands and pressing it up against her drooling cunt, buzzing along her clit. she chokes out a small, yes, before burying her face in your shoulder.

"feels good, doesn't it?," he whispers. "tell me."

he can feel you tensing every time he pushes his calloused fingers just a little deeper, the way your toes curl and your ankles dig into his back. he knows you feel good. he just wanna hear it. "'s good," you whimper. "good!— feels really good."

"gonna cum?" he cradles your face with his free hand, dipping his head down to press a small kiss to your lips, swallowing your breaths. "gonna cum for me, yeah?"

you nod. your brain's melted into pretty pink goo, oozing out of your ears with every second his fingers keep fucking into you. he pushes you, keeps pushing you into ecstasy, until your unravelling on his fingers. "oh," he coos. "so pretty, look at you."

you don't know when you start cumming. you don't know when you stop. he doesn't stop though, never stops. he keeps fucking into you, the sensation so riveting you don't even feel your third orgasm until it materialises in your trembling legs.

jing yuan hushes you. "just let me, dear," he makes quick work of your clit, having you gasping his name "so good f'me, yeah? cum, come on. i know you got it in you."

you stifle your cries into his shoulder, and he smiles softly. it's times like these where he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, when he brushes the soft hair and tuck it behind your ear in a move of adoration. it's times like these when he thinks that you are so good, so sweet, you'd do anything he say, right?

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[pleasestayawayidonotlikeyou]

I have a request honestly I like your writing style so I was wondering how would papyrus,edge,cash,mutt,stretch reacts to the reader asking for a kiss

@sharkie-ds your request is my pleasure >;)

I'm assuming it's not their first time kissing, also, I added Rus and Coffee too, hope you don't mind!

Featuring: Papyrus, Edge, Honey, Cash, Rus Mutt and Coffee.

Masterlist

Papyrus

Oh my, you want a kiss from the great Papyrus?? He's flattered!

Grabs you up and gives kiss after kiss, making a "muah!" Sound every time he starts another kiss.

He doesn't like being still, even in bed, so, if you want more, he gives you some smooches in between what he's doing,

Edge

Of course you'd want a kiss of the great and terrible Edge!

Bends down, gives you a slow and long kiss, being careful because of his sharp fangs, and goes back to whatever he was doing.

However, if you want some more smooches... Then you're not getting out of this place until he decides to stop.

Honey

A lazy smile appears on his face as he looks at you.

Wraps his arms around you and gives you a slow kiss followed by smooches.

Well, looks like now he's the one who wants more... And who are you to deny?

Cash

Oh? A kiss you say?

This dirt bag will tease you a LOT until he finally gives you a kiss, and knowing him, he's only going to give you a very quick smooch and laugh when you ask for a proper kiss.

Though when the night arrives he's kissing you until he can't breathe anymore, oh wait he doesn't have lungs- Guess he'll just have to continue the kisses.

Rus

Another fucker who teases.

But unlike Cash he doesn't wait to kiss you, oh no no no, he teases you yet he's spreading kisses all over your face.

He doesn't even care if Rasp or anyone is near, he now wants his (not so) well deserved smooches.

Mutt

You don't need to ask twice, he's already kissing you passionately, hands on your waist and sited on his lap.

He's touch-starved, so this moment may turn into a cuddle + smooch session on the couch.

If Mal doesn't call you, then enjoy his cuddles, because you're going to be there for quite some time.

Coffee

Blushes like crazy, especially if his brother is near, even after years of dating a simple kiss still makes him flustered.

But Coffee likes the feeling of your lips pressed against his, so despite his shyness he bends down and gives you a pretty quick kiss.

If you want a smooth session, he'll happily give it to you! On the comfort of your shared room of course.

[lushrue]

pt. 2 to this

cw: petplay (sort of?), oral (m! receiving), unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation

your bouncing leg was shaking the table.

you could see it in the way water sloshed in the glasses, hear it in the subtle rattle of cutlery. your eyes darted between your husband and johnny, watching as they ate like there wasn’t a storm brewing inside you. you’d been buzzing with excitement ever since johnny accepted the invitation to dinner again. memories had plagued you all week, the phantom feeling of johnny’s hands on your thighs or his tongue between your legs making you fluster at the worst of times. even Simon couldn’t settle you like he normally could.

now, sitting here and watching johnny’s tongue dart out to clean some sauce from his lips had you sweating and blushing like a schoolgirl. you only realized you were staring when simon’s fingers snapped in front of your face, pulling your attention back to him. “where’d ya go, dove?” he asked teasingly, a knowing smirk on his face. you press your thighs together beneath the table, trying to give yourself a snippet of pleasure to tide you over. just get through dinner, you thought. then I can have what I want.

“nowhere,” you lie, bunching your dress up in one fist and forcing your fork into the other. you took a bite of the food you’d prepared, trying to put up the most natural facade you could. “just thinking.” johnny let out a huff of breath through his nose, amusement shining in his eyes. “i ken wha’ yer thinkin’ about,” he replied, a teasing lilt to his voice. there was movement under the table and johnny yelped, shooting simon a glare. he started to protest, but simon’s eyes darkened and he withered. you fight back a whimper, squirming in your seat and stuffing another bite into your mouth to stifle the sound.

displays of dominance from your husband were commonplace. he was a domineering man and you never begrudged him an opportunity to throw his weight around at home. he was used to being in charge, and you were used to letting him take the reins. seeing him do it to someone else was even more thrilling, though. the idea of you and johnny both melting into him, giving yourselves over to his control, didn’t do much to help the heat steadily building in your core. simon sighed, his fork clattering against his plate as he set it down.

“can’t enjoy a nice meal without the two of you pawin’ at each other, hmm?” his tone carried no malice, but it was a clear scolding. you almost felt ashamed, like a puppy who’d disobeyed its master. simon’s attention fixed on johnny, who hardly looked as surprised as he had the first time this happened. this time, he was eager, knowing the prize that awaited him if he behaved. “a mutt, tha’s all you are. filthy mutt tha’ can’t keep ‘is paws to ‘imself.” your breath caught in your throat and johnny whined, high-pitched and wanton. your eyes widened, staring between the two of them.

the meal was long forgotten at this point. you’d slaved over the roast, but that was the least of your concerns. not when whatever was happening between your husband and his subordinate seemed much more delicious. “remember wha’ we talked about, yeah?” simon asked, and johnny nodded obediently in response. they’d talked? you felt out of the loop, but it didn’t scare you as much as you felt it should. simon never let anything happen to you; it always happened with you and he would tell you as much as you needed to know.

simon’s gaze fixed on you and you flustered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "gotta earn the right to touch my pretty princess, yeah?” you caught johnny’s nod in your periphery, and all of a sudden, your throat dried up. the weight of both sets of eyes on you was heavy, but not oppressive. it was safe, like a warm blanket straight out of the dryer. it made you gooey at your core, the weight of being so thoroughly admired. you couldn’t say that you hadn’t planned for that; you’d pulled your tightest dress out of your closet with the object of being fawned over.

simon reached for the burgundy napkins you’d carefully set on the table, folded artistically before johnny arrived to give your wandering thoughts something more appropriate to focus on. he wiped the corners of his mouth, folding it tactfully and laying it back down beside his plate. both yours and johnny’s eyes followed it, sharing a secret wish that simon’s fingers would show either of you the same kind of care. 

simon noticed, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth as he pushed his chair back to stand. as if commanded, the two of you stand not long after him. johnny’s eyes were shining as he bounced on the balls of his feet, anticipating the treat he would get for his obedience. “c’mon, then,” he muttered, and the two of you fall into step behind him.

you go to the bedroom this time. this didn’t feel spontaneous the way last time had. there was a plan in place, even if you didn’t know the specifics of it. both johnny and simon moved with a practiced ease, tactical and confident. they knew what was happening, and it made it easier for you to fall into the desire that had been practically consuming you all week. you take your place on the bed, leaning back onto the pillows like you did for simon when it was just the two of you. you position your arms to bracket either side of your chest, pushing up your breasts and looking between the two men.

the heat of their gaze on you was enough to burn, both of them admiring you in their own way. simon’s was a quiet possessiveness, a comfort in knowing that you belonged to him. he’d looked at you the same way on your wedding night. johnny’s eyes, though, wanted. he looked at you like a candy display in a store window, the best rifle on the market or the tastiest MRE the british government could supply. simon made you feel wanted, but johnny made you feel desired.

heat rises to your cheeks, your gaze averting to escape the intensity of theirs. simon snaps his fingers and you raise your head again, watching johnny move. the signal meant nothing to you, but it was a command for johnny. he toed off his boots, removing his socks and shirt after that. everything was folded neatly and placed on a chair near the bed until he remained in just his boxer-briefs. simon snapped again, and johnny sunk to his knees by the bed. you were breathless watching the display, how effortless simon’s dominance was and how easily johnny yielded to it.

“good lad,” simon praised, and you both shuddered. he chuckled at the evidence of his influence, stepping over to johnny’s side and laying a hand on his head. “you remember last time, righ’, lovie?” he asked, addressing you. you nod, unsure of where to look. simon enjoyed your eye contact, but johnny was such a vision on his knees. simon hummed, looking down at johnny as well. “got a little impatient, didn’t he?” you nod again, and so does johnny. simon’s fingers tighten around johnny’s mohawk, tugging his head back. your breath catches in your throat at the whine johnny lets out. your chest was heaving now, rising and falling sharply as your heart pounded in your chest.

“we’re gonna teach ‘im a lesson tonight, pretty. you an’ me. nasty pup needs to learn ‘ow to think with ‘is brain and not ‘is cock.” your eyes widen, understanding the purpose behind all the planning. it seemed simon had taken johnny’s education upon himself, making sure it was done just right. it was so like your husband to take in a stray, train him up to be an obedient guard dog. that was exactly what he was doing with johnny: training.

simon released his grip on johnny’s hair, letting the scot’s chin drop to his chest. he was breathing just as heavily as you, the heat of desire flushing his skin and turning it a pretty shade of pink. your lips were parted as you stared down at him, half wondering if he’d get to have you at all tonight. perhaps simon would be cruel and make him kneel on the rough carpet while you relished in all the pleasure. or perhaps simon would let him have another taste of you, but keep a tighter hold on the leash. you pressed your thighs together as the possibilities raced through your mind, feeling the stickiness that was steadily growing.

the sight of johnny was eclipsed by simon’s broad torso. you looked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded but alight with the anticipation of what was to come. no matter what simon did with johnny, you’d get your due. he always made sure of that. “jus’ pretend he’s not even there, dove,” simon murmured gruffly, the gravel in his voice vibrating in your chest. shivers traveled down your spine, rattling each bone on the way down. “gotta ignore ‘em when they’ve misbehaved. only way they learn.”

beside the bed, johnny whimpered, nails digging into the calloused skin on his knees. it felt cruel to give johnny no attention, to leave him wanting and aching while you and simon had your fun. despite simon’s command, you let your eyes fall to the scot while your husband is distracted sucking a mark into your neck. you expected to find johnny looking uncomfortable, maybe giving himself some pleasure in the absence of yours or simon’s hands. instead, his gaze was heavy on the both of you, just watching. his cock stood at attention between thick thighs, red and leaking precum from the tip.

your cheeks instantly flush, tucking your head into the crease between simon’s shoulder and neck. simon hums affectionately, feeling you clam up with embarrassment at realizing what was going on. “he’s jus’ a stupid dog, lovie,” simon soothes, and your cunt clenches at the moan johnny lets out. “no’ like he knows wha’s goin’ on. jus’ focus on me, yeah?” your eyes drift back to his, glassy with tears that want to fall. “there she is,” he croons, stroking your cheek with one hand as he eases the straps of your dress down with the other. “tha’s my pretty girl. let me make ya feel good, huh? earned it, workin’ hard on that dinner like ya did.” you settle back against the mattress, nodding slowly. simon seemed to be enjoying this immensely, and if the glance you stole johnny’s direction was any clue, so was he. they wanted a show, so a show they’d get.

you relaxed into simon’s hold, movements slow and syrupy as you let desire consume you. you’d been waiting all night for this, so it was only right that you got to enjoy it. simon eased your dress over your full breasts, down over your plush stomach and hips. as each inch of skin was bared, the carpet rustled beside the bed with johnny’s impatient shifting. his hands twitched with the phantom sensations of undressing you himself, feeling you squirm under his fingertips. simon’s calloused hand brushing across your chest brought you back to the present, rough skin catching on your sensitive nipple. you jolted and simon grinned with delight. “sorry, doll. gonna be more careful, yeah?” you nod, and simon’s hands continued downward.

he brushed over the curves and valleys of you, taking time to sink his fingers into the fat on your stomach and hips. as much as you were putting on a show for johnny, arching your back and playing up your blissed-out expressions, so was he. every pause, every hum, it was all to show johnny how much he was missing, how much simon was enjoying you. it was one thing to see how much your husband adored you in private; it was another thing entirely to have another man watch you being worshipped. that’s what simon was doing, in truth. worshipping you, paying homage to every curve and divot.

caught up as you were in the excitement of it all, it took you by surprise when one of simon’s fingers pressed into you. it didn’t hurt, not with how wet you had been since the bedroom door shut. the stretch was just sudden and you keened, hips bucking up off the bed. simon’s forearm came up, holding your hips in place. “don’ run from it,” he teased, crooking his finger to brush against that spot that made you melt. the moan that left your lips was guttural, uncontrolled. johnny let out one to match, which made simon chuckle. “hear that, lovie?” he asked, a certain cruelness in his tone. “poor mutt can’t help ‘imself. just too pretty when she’s gettin’ fucked, ain’t she, pup?”

“uh huh,” johnny choked out, thrusting into the air on instinct. there was nothing to sink his poor, neglected cock into, but his body didn’t care. “please, simon, please let me touch her!” simon hummed thoughtfully, as if considering, before turning his attention back to you. you’d been writhing under his hand the whole time, teetering dangerously close to an orgasm. “what do you think, doll?” he asked you, pressing his finger up into your gummy walls. “want me to stop so johnny can have a turn with you?”

you weren’t really thinking anything beyond how desperately you needed to come. you’d been practically edging yourself all day, clenching your thighs and rubbing yourself against the edges of the dining room chairs to get some relief from the overwhelming desire. all you heard was the word “stop,” and you knew you didn’t want that. you shook your head, pressing your hips down to urge simon to continue. simon chuckled, clicking his tongue. “sorry, pup. looks like she ain’t ready for you yet.” johnny whined, but made no move to disobey. one of simon’s many talents was caring thoroughly for his lovers, and johnny trusted in that.

with simon’s attention fully back on you, you felt closer to the edge than ever. his eyes alone made you want to come, deep chocolate focused on nothing but your pleasure. you imagined he stared through the scope of a sniper rifle with the same intensity, trained on his target and eager for his reward. “wanted to come first, didn’t you, baby? wanted my finger just…like…this.” each word was punctuated with a crook of his finger, your toes curling at the intensity. every exhale was a moan or whine or plea to keep going, fully out of your mind with the pleasure you were receiving.

“go on, then. you’ve got a captive audience.” the reminder of johnny sitting there on his knees, watching, was all you needed to fall apart. your orgasm slammed into you, making your thighs tremble and your back arch. you gasped and whined through it, simon’s finger slowing until it finally stilled and eased out of you. your eyes opened just in time to catch him holding his finger down to johnny, wiggling it in front of his face. “well? gonna lick it up like a good dog?” he said sharply. even though he’d asked, his tone made it clear there was only one correct answer.

it’s not like johnny would have refused anyway, the scent of your juices too intoxicating to resist. he leaned forward, lapping at simon’s finger with his tongue. he sucked and licked, making sure to get every drop of you that he could. the sight made your walls flutter around nothing, lust building up again as quickly as it was sated. “so you do know how to use your mouth,” simon snapped, pulling his finger away from johnny’s lips. “must’ve been a fluke last time, then.” johnny nodded, shifting on the carpet to take some pressure off of his knees. “yes, sir,” he replied obediently, and the tone of his voice made your pussy clench around nothing.

simon got up from the bed, yanking johnny up from the floor by his mohawk and pushing him towards the bed. johnny yelped, but went easily, vibrating with excitement. he’d been patient, so now he got a reward. “can’t trust your mouth near ‘er,” simon said, and you felt a bit of disappointment at that. “but you can use yer cock just fine.” both you and johnny perked up, your heart beating faster in your chest. without hesitation, johnny got up on the bed, positioning himself between your legs. you willingly opened them for him, ready for the pleasure of being filled. the thickness of him had felt wonderful in your mouth last time, so you could only imagine how well he would stretch you out.

before he could indulge you, though, simon grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. johnny gasped, his fingers digging into your thighs as he fought to hold himself back. “gotta set some rules first, though,” simon said, releasing johnny’s neck and petting his mohawk. “you do exactly as i say. that goes for both of ya.” you and johnny nod, eager to get to what you’ve both been waiting for. “and for johnny,” simon began, tone darker. “if you cum before she does, i’ll make sure you never feel her sweet cunt again. understand?” johnny shivered, the threat clear. that wasn’t something he wanted to chance. “yes, sir,” he replied, and simon finally moved away.

with johnny’s metaphorical leash dropped, he was free to do whatever he wanted to you, and you were pliant enough to let him. his teeth scraped along your collarbones and the tops of your breasts, licking up the sweat from your skin. you shiver and moan, bringing up your hands to dig your fingers into his shoulders. you earn his teeth clamping around your nipple, the blend of pleasure and pain making you whine. satisfied, johnny raised his upper body, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it. it wasn’t like he needed to get hard enough to fuck you. no, he was showing off.

“gonna give ya all o’ this, lass,” he rasped, eyes fixed on your dripping wet folds. it was like you weren’t even there, johnny’s gaze locked between your legs. “she’s gonna swallow me up so nice. so warm and wet, can see how bad she wants me from ‘ere.” he wasn’t wrong. every word out of his mouth had your walls fluttering, begging for the pressure of his cock to fill them out.

johnny didn’t make love to you slow and gentle like simon did. simon treated you with care, like a porcelain doll that would shatter if he squeezed too hard. johnny fucked instead, thrusting all the way to the hilt in one go. you arched off the bed, nails digging into johnny’s back as you fought to stay grounded. the pleasure went straight to your head, making you almost dizzy with the force and the overwhelming stretch. in the moment it took you to catch your breath, simon’s weight made a dip in the mattress beside your head. the smell of his musk hit your nose, thick and potent, and you knew in an instant what was going on.

johnny groaned, the thought of what simon was about to do enough to add force and speed to his thrusts. simon ran a hand through your hair, tilting your head up to the angle he wanted it. his eyebrow quirked up, a wordless question to make sure this was what you wanted. you let your mouth fall open as a reply, sticking your tongue out for him. simon’s moan was all you needed to know you’d made the right decision.

it was almost too much, the feeling of simon’s and johnny’s hands on you at the same time. simon was petting your hair with one hand and holding your chin with the other, angling your head so he could fuck all the way down your throat. johnny was touching and squeezing, his hands exploring your thighs and ass with the hunger of a feral animal. the difference between them, simon’s gentleness and johnny’s roughness, made you clench down on johnny’s cock. the scot threw his head back, hips stuttering as he struggled to stave off his release.

“‘s too good, sir,” johnny babbled, thrusting his hips forward once more before stilling. “don’...don’ think I’m gonna last.” the assault on your throat was relentless, simon’s pace remaining steady as he reached over to grab johnny by the neck. “remember the rule, pup,” simon said, voice strained as your tongue caressed the underside of his cock. “gotta make her cum first. you know wha’ to do.” johnny’s thrusts slowly resumed after that, but that was secondary to the electric shock of his thumb on your clit.

there had been so much stimulation, so much feeling, that the circles he was making felt like pinpricks under your heated skin. you gasped, spluttering around Simon’s cock for only a moment before the pleasure evened out into something more bearable. you clenched around johnny’s cock each time he crested the top of your clit, which only made him thrust faster. “c’mon, bonnie. give it to me, i wan’ it so bad!” johnny was practically sobbing above you, his cock twitching inside you with how much effort it was taking to hold back his release.

simon groaned above you, salty pre spilling down the back of your throat. his hand braced on the headboard, he looked like adonis above you, glistening and blissed out with pleasure. “you heard ‘im, doll,” simon breathed out between whispered curses. “mutt’s earned a treat. best no’ keep ‘im waitin’.” johnny’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, and that gave you what you needed to fall over the edge again. your walls tightened around him, clenching down with the force of your orgasm. you could hear johnny above you, babbling about how good you felt, before the warmth of his cum filled you.

seeing his wife and his subordinate losing themselves was enough for simon, too. a few more thrusts and he spilled down your throat, salty cum painting the base of your tongue. you swallowed, giving him a bit more stimulation before they both pulled out of you, leaving you empty.

you didn’t have time to feel the coldness of it, not when johnny was draping himself over you and peppering your cheeks with kisses. “did so good, lassie,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your torso. “such a perfect cunt. thank ye, thank ye for lettin’ me use her.” johnny’s compliments made you fluster, the weight of his adoration almost too much to bear. you mumble back a response, something to placate him, but your tongue is too heavy and your mind too empty.

by the time simon comes back with water and towels, you and johnny are both asleep, his sweaty body plastered to yours. simon could only smile and join the heap, holding you both close. yes, he thought, again hadn’t been such a bad idea.

[thebettertraiaad]

sweet victory note; I know this sounds corny but its a highschool au!! mascot!damian x reader

this was stupid, so fucking stupid. he thought dancing along with the band march waving around the school flag, at least his face didnt show to see his murderous scowl on his face, he was forced by the teachers and the encouragement of his father to join extra activities other than the art club, well the last time he joined a sport he still was treated poorly so why not be the mascot that had their face covered? he was only a bit glad no one saw his face, since he had to do overly flashy moved like doing the cartwheel and splits while waving around that stupid pole, the crowd in Gotham high was many; parents, teachers and students, Alfred taking a video of the dramatic march before it was time for the actual a sports event. the only enjoyment he did have was seeing you, and how his mask hid his usually intimidating face, it was refreshing seeing you without that uniform off, besides those shorts you had on were nice- "you really need to stop ogling me mutt." your voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he scoffed, even with the mask on his voice could still be herd, if not a little muffled. "as if your much to look at." he quipped back, you couldnt help make a face. sassy as always it seemed, typical. "must be hot in that suit, not to mention its a hot day." you were only saying that to get a glimpse if him without it, all your attempts were failures since he either had only the top part on when changing or too many boys in the changing room which was irritating. "dont worry so much." "what about those ice cream stands?" suggesting before he shook his head. "what about lemonade?" ehh, sure why not. its also the perfect excuse to see his face! "hm sure, my treat." It was in the middle of the sports event, while you were busy thinking of what his face would look like, since you only seen the bottom part before- the last thing you ever expected for him to have abs since what normal highschooler has abs?! he was thinking it was something else, he mistaken your little banters as flirting and he surprisingly reciprocated, he saw it as more of a date. he totally isnt smitten at all!!

of course you spent all day trying to look at his face and he was quick to notice, he just wanted to tease you for a bit while not drinking the lemonade yet whilst you both were looking out at the other students enjoying and playing in the sports even. "are you always so keen in looking at me, hm?" he finally called you out on it making you scoff trying not to make it so obvious as you looked away, biting the tip of the straw. "no I wasnt!" "what a load of bullshit. whats so interesting about my mask huh?" it wasnt his mask dammit! you might as well tell him, shaking your head letting out a defeated sigh. "its not your mask.. I just wanted to see your face since I wanted to at least talk to you without it, maybe out of school...?" it was so humiliating how embarrassed you were! not to mention the sheepishness of your tone like some flustered girl admitting fault. he couldnt lie he had been trying to hide his face on purpose as well. "its okay if your ugly under that costume--" that made him scowl at your words. "hey! Im not ugly, fine I'll take off the costume if your so curious." taking the costumes head off, finally revealing his face to you, well he wasnt lying, he was far from ugly and how it made you nearly choke on your lemonade. "Damian??" at least you knew his name, but you looked so surprised it was almost annoying. "yeah, shocker I know."

"no its not that! I just didnt expect mister doom gloom and top marks to be the schools mascot." of course you recognized him, the Wayne and also top student. "calm down with your insults, besides it wasnt my choice."

"I know, I mean I couldnt imagen having to dance and twirl around such a hot ugly costume either." and that made him smack the back of your head ever so lightly, making you yelp in surprise before looking at his glare, there wasnt really any malice of bite to it. "I do not twirl like some ballerina." "obviously! ballerinas are beautiful and graceful and your far from that."

the ends of his lips couldnt help but twitch, trying not to smirk, he had to give it to you that your wit and comebacks were a little funny. "hmph, maybe we should have properly had our date properly more than school events." now that made you pause, a date?? you were confused, since when did the two of you started dating? well sure you were single right now but did he ever asked before? it was confusing. "since when have we started dating?" finally asking, he also looked rather dumbly confused as much as you. "huh?" "well I do like you! but I was just a little confused-- Its not like I said no or anything like that!" you did like the mascot guy and damian but you just never knew they were the same person! "oh, I must apologies. I just thought since you and I purposefully seek out each other that it meant I was finally able to woo you and that this stage was the courting stage." you were both such dumbasses, you couldnt help laugh a little with how ridiculous this all was. "so this was our unofficial date?" he couldnt say anything but nod, looking away at you from embarrassment at how you both seem to misunderstood in someway. "so are we still going on the date?" "yes." he said it a bit too quickly, he was a bit happy you liked him back even if you two 'dated' without the two of you really knowing. at the end of school he might as well be skipping with how weirdly giddy he was yet it didnt show, the drive back home made him feel like he won a war that never even happened, he was just happy that he finally had some guts to tell you that without having to give up ques. @juan1dupree23 I didnt have an idea so ignore the last part since it was a little confusing, I didnt know how to make the ending😅

[charliemwrites]

Mean Simon, Part 5

Another thing in the queue done 😎 also plan on reformatting this so it has a proper title and pretty dividers tonight.

Content: Established kidnapping situation, dub-con touching, Fear Play/Kink

Simon and Johnny come home from deployment to you snoozing in the den. The house is clean as always, smells like lemons and linen, but there are signs of you everywhere. A half-finished puzzle on the coffee table, a book on the arm of the couch, a cup left on the kitchen counter. Not the spick and span catalgouesque space they left.

Simon’s a little surprised to find he doesn’t mind. Something in his shoulders eases at the sight of you. A soft thing to come home to, nesting up in his and Johnny’s territory. A novelty that hasn't worn off.

“Oh, pretty girl,” Johnny coos, dropping his bags in the entry and beelining for you.

The sound of him startles you, fingers curling tight into the blankets. You make a nervous sound of protest, disoriented as you blink against the afternoon light. Not that he cares, smothering you beneath his weight and kissing your face.

“Johnny…?” you yawn, slow to release the fabric. Take a moment to calibrate and then nudge gently at his chest. “S’mon doesn’ like shoes on the carpet.”

“That’s right,” Simon rumbles, “so I’m having a hard time understanding why the fuck they’re there.”

Johnny jolts, shoots him a sheepish look over his shoulder. All it takes is a narrow glare for him to skitter away, mumbling apologies and excuses about missing you. Simon ignores him for the moment.

“Here, pet.”

It takes you an extra beat to realize he's talking to you, but then you’re up and padding over to him, rubbing at your eyes. You stop within arms reach (progress, he notes) and peer at him through your lashes.

“Hi, sir,” you chime.

Not quite what he had in mind, but it’s a start.

“Good while I was gone?”

You tilt your head. “Yes? Unless… there was something I was supposed to do…?”

He huffs in amusement. Such a nervous, sweet thing. He pats your head, smirks a bit at how you fluster, hands fidgeting.

“House looks fine,” he says by way of answer.

“Oh, I-I left some things out…” you mumble, glancing at the few unobtrusive items. “Sorry.”

“Just keep it under control, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.”

Johnny, just finished removing his boots and gear, wraps himself around you from behind. You place a hand slowly on his arm in return, hiding that you don’t melt into him the way he does to you.

“Are you hungry?” you ask.

Not especially, but Simon’s never hungry fresh off a mission, belly warm with more than his share of slaughter. But the thought of your cooking is appetizing.

“Make something.”

“Okay.” You wiggle a bit and tap at Johnny’s tight arm. “Johnny?”

Simon bites back a chuckle at the helpless look you shoot him.

“Shower, Sergeant. Now.”

“Yessir,” Johnny grumbles, slow to unwind from you. Petulant little shit.

As soon as you’re clear, Simon snatches him by the scruff. You jump, eyes rounding.

“Off to the kitchen, little one. The mutt needs one more run ‘round the yard I think.”

Johnny whines, but Simon’s watching your face, noting the fear that flickers across it while you inch away. Just as he suspected, even seeing Johnny disciplined is enough to shake you.

“Yes, sir,” you reply more fervently, turning on your heel and nearly bolting.

He lets out a breath. One thing at a time. For now, he’s got a spoiled pup to bring to heel.

Simon’s been busy these last two weeks.

Johnny on his own is nearly a full time job. Even after he got you, the pup is high energy and too clever for his own good. A working dog, that one. And finding “work” for him to do (especially since he’s been banned from entertaining himself with your pretty holes) has kept Simon rather occupied during this leave.

Add you to the mix and Simon’s bloodlust has been slower to boil over than usual - too busy to miss his guns.

He’s been acclimating you. The No Touching directive seems seared into your muscles, a good lesson to have, an important rule for your own safety as much as Simon’s preference. But it doesn’t serve him any longer. He’s trying to retrain you to Johnny’s rule, No Touching Without Permission - but of all your apprehensions, this one seems the worst.

You’ve gotten braver about speaking to him. Only stutter over every other sentence rather than every other word. You still pick and choose carefully, tune your voice to the notes of conciliation, but not silent unless spoken to anymore. Simon’s almost proud.

But the touching issue. That’s what he really wants to break.

You can at least share space with him now without startling at every little thing. Curled up on the couch, you’re folding laundry. Johnny’s gone off to shower, busy in the garden all afternoon. The telly is on, a sci-fi movie that Simon isn’t interested in but you seem to enjoy.

You're cross-legged in a loose pair of shorts and the jumper Johnny stuffed you into (with his own name across the back, the little shit). Quiet, calm. He likes the way you fold clothes - imprecise, a little messy. Not the perfect squares he and Johnny make.

“Pet.”

You turn to him, expression curious. Much better.

“C’mere.”

You pause. “Can I finish this shirt?”

He nods. There’s only a tiny shake in your hands as you do. Then you stand and shuffle to close the small distance.

Still not touching.

Lazily, he spreads his knees apart, feet planted wide and beckons you closer with a finger. This time you do hesitate, knee bent to step forward for one beat… two… then you finally force yourself to squeeze between his legs. You don’t even brush against him. It’s almost impressive.

“Told you to c’mere, didn’t I?” he drawls.

You brow furrows, confusion turning your plush lips into a cute little pout.

“I - am I not… here?” you ask.

He practically purrs. “No.” He gestures again. “Here.”

You suck in a tiny breath as it seems to click. “Y-your lap?”

He hums. You open your mouth, close it. Fidget and then open your mouth again. Nothing comes out.

“Not gonna say again, pet,” he rumbles.

You inhale deeply. And then, as if he’s a bear trap about to snap closed, you start to climb over him. Slowly, so slowly, you ease each of your legs over his, hands hovering until you nearly lose your balance and have to use his shoulders for support. You’re straddling him, but none of your weight is on his thighs; you’re up on your knees and trembling.

He meets your eyes. Waits.

“Sir… I…”

“All the way.”

Embarrassed heat radiates off you as you lower slowly, until your soft ass is pillowed on his broad thighs.

“Good girl,” he soothes. “See, that’s not so bad, is it?”

You shake your head, but you’re not able to meet his eyes. He’s starting to see why Johnny fawns over you so much. You make such precious expressions.

“Eyes up.”

You drag your gaze to his - and this time he does coo. You’re all teary and overwhelmed, nearly holding your breath, fingers twitching on his shoulders.

“You’re doing so well, lamb.”

You’re struggling to maintain eye contact, so he takes pity, appreciating the entirety of you on him instead. Admires the round pudge of your thighs and bent hips, the curve of your spine staying upright. He thumbs your ribs, feels your heart rabbiting against them.

“Breathe,” he coaxes.

You inhale sharply, blinking hard. His cock jumps against the waistband of his joggers.

“I-is there…?” You stop. He nods for you to try again. “W-why, um… this?”

“Think you ‘n I could use some exposure to each other, eh?”

You blink. “E-exposure?”

“Mm.” He raises a hand, gradually so you can see it coming. Twists a strand of your hair around his trigger finger - lets it bounce back. Does it again. “Can’t have you skitterin’ about like a kicked dog.”

“Oh.” You blink. “I-I thought…”

He waits for you to finish the sentence, but you just press your lips together nervously. Still a work in progress, then.

“‘F I wanted that, you wouldn’t be up here.”

Never mind the months he spent ignoring your presence and scowling when you got too close. Or the week he made a game of spooking you just before this all began. He doesn’t want that anymore.

You may be Johnny’s toy, but Johnny belongs to Simon. Besides, he got you for Johnny. Only right that he plays with you too.

“Alright, little one. Off you go before the pup comes back and makes a fuss.”

You scramble as quickly and carefully as you can back to your end of the couch. Simon turns back to the telly and lets you be.

Johnny, bless him, doesn’t notice that you’re any quieter than usual.

The next time he has you climb into his lap, he’s drinking bourbon. You’ve cast him one too many glances from your side of the couch, keep losing your place in your book.

When Johnny eventually shuffles off to shower and prep his pretty ass, Simon calls you over again. You crawl across the couch and sit back on your heels at his side, more curious than frightened for once.

“You want a sip?” he asks, tilting the glass towards you.

“…please?” you ask.

He hums. “Tilt your head.”

You only jolt a little when he cups the nape of your neck, urging your head back. Understanding, you part your lips - though you must be expecting the glass. You squeak a little as he seals his mouth over yours, golden drops of bourbon sliding off his tongue onto yours.

He lingers, the taste of you mixing with the alcohol into something heady. Your mouth is so sweet and yielding, tongue shy as it grazes his. He licks across your dull canines, relishes in the noise trapped in the back of your throat, before pulling away.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It burns,” you mumble, a bit high-pitched.

“You’ll get used to it.”

With liquid courage in your tummy, you make the journey into his lap a little quicker this time.

“What’re you lookin’ at, huh?” he asks, leaning back to watch you through lidded eyes.

“You, um… your jaw. You usually wear the mask,” you explain, flushing.

“Pull it up to eat,” he points out.

“‘M usually eating too, though.”

He snorts in amusement. “Nosy little thing.”

You must hear that he doesn’t mean it because your voice isn’t especially sincere when you mumble, “sorry.”

Your eyes keep roaming what little of his face is available, though. And your twitchy little fingers keep flexing in his shirt.

“Ask.”

“Can I touch?”

He hums. “Ask nicer.”

You blink, consider. “May I please touch your face, sir?”

He grunts the affirmative, mouth dried by the honeyed lilt to your voice. Sugar would taste bitter in comparison.

Your fingers brush featherlight across the point of his jaw. Follow the line of it until you reach a nasty scar from a hunting knife. Trace it twice before creeping along to his chin. You repeat it for the mark there, all the way up to the corner of his lips. He snaps his teeth, making you yelp and jerk back.

“That was mean,” you complain quietly.

“Poor dear,” he croons, flashing his canines again.

“D-don’t bite… please.”

He makes a noncommittal noise, but you still take the chance of skimming those gentle fingers across his mangled cheek. It’s a strange sensation, charged. Sends odd prickles across his entire face, down his spine. Not even Johnny touches him this softly.

Simon’s teeth and jaw ache with the urge to sink in and shake. You’d give like a ripe peach, he just knows it. Would taste just as good. His mouth waters.

“Enough.”

You instantly pull away. Not even a squeak of protest. He flutters his eyes open; you’ve got both hands clearly visible and to yourself. Smart thing.

“You scared ‘o me?” he wonders.

You don’t answer, but the indent your teeth press into your bottom lip is answer enough.

“Good. Should be.”

You swallow, start to lower your hands, intending to get off his lap. He snatches up one of your wrists before you get far, the bones so delicate in his grasp. You gasp quietly, but know better than to try to escape.

“Didn’t tell you to go yet.”

“O-okay,” you breathe.

Eyes on yours, he drags your hand closer, brushes his lips across the tender meat of your thumb. Your fingers stay lax, but your pupils are blown out. Slowly, deliberately, he presses his teeth into the flesh and closes his jaw until you twitch, expression tightening with discomfort. There.

He stays like that for the count of three, then lets go.

There’s a perfect imprint of his teeth in your skin. Might even bruise. Pretty.

He twists his wrist, flattens your palm against his. So much smaller than his, more elegant. More delicate. A much different animal from him, but still you belong in his den.

“Breathe,” he reminds without looking away.

You inhale shakily. Practically squirming now. He drops his hand and presses the bourbon glass into yours.

“One more for the road.”

You take the tiniest of sips. He chuckles at the face you make as you hand it back.

You don’t like the taste as much as from his lips.

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[gooobraghhh]

I’ve successfully completely broken a mutual of mine and it has been so fun

I’ve talked about @the-kennel-keeper on here a few times but I think I really need to display the whole picture.

He started out like most of my followers, a puppy boy anon in my askbox that had a massive crush on me, but I had happened to follow his account along with like 10 others that were in the trans nsft tag when I first made this blog. He sent me an anonymous ask about realizing I followed him and how it got him so exited but he spam liked me like right before he sent it which made it exceedingly obvious who he was. That little pathetic mistake that was rip for being made fun of was the first thing that got me interested and his general tendency to accidentally humiliate himself or be easily tricked has remained extremely adorable. He finally dm’d me some message about how much he loves my blog since he wanted my direct attention and he did one of those ask games where one of the questions was like “who’s your tumbr crush?” and of course I asked him that one anonymously.

Surprise surprise he says me and at that point I’d sort of gathered too much dirt on him to let it go to waste and I really didn’t even try. We flirted, he talked about how he was only submissive in an extremely defiant, bratty way and how he basically can’t be tamed which just made him all the more alluring of a target for me. He did act like that for a while, but I built up to this perfect demeaning message where I revealed both of my little secrets on him and he just had no choice but to give in. The message ended with me telling him that I own him and I managed to get a “Yes ma’am” in response. He got so worked up that night that he finally got himself off after not being able to for months. I think that’s when I truly gained control over him.

Since then I’ve been slowly training him more and more. Learning exactly what gets him flustered and makes him tick. He started being more obedient, begging on command, singing my praises. A month or two later and the progress is undeniable. Hes cum for me a total of ~10 times (probably more than that, he couldn’t remember the exact number at first but I let him round down) 5 of which have been in the last 24 hours. He volunteered to send me audios of him jerking off and praising how good he’s been trained, he responds “yes ma’am” to basically every command I give him.

I know him so well that I can make him kind of shut down and give in from just a sentence or two of dirty talk. I mean I really pushed him today and yesterday and he couldn’t help but get himself off several times while recording it for me.

This man genuinely thought he was untamable, before talking to me he hadn’t even cum in months, but I’ve taken real good care of my new mutt. Thoroughly corrupted him into my perfect toy. Sometimes I even give him dirt on me just to give him a fighting chance but he’s so pathetic it doesn’t even matter. He’s had sex dreams about me and has chatted with me while around his friends, desperately trying to keep his composure.

So I’m starting a counter in my pinned of how many times he’s cum while thinking of me. It’s only fair I get to show off my hard work I think. We can all enjoy seeing how fucking pitifully submissive my mutt is.

And you can be jealous of him while that number ticks up because I know there’s a lot of you that’d kill to be in his position.

Exited to see how fast I can get keep the number increasing.

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* Odd Disaster .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Synopsis || Finding your boyfriend at the dog park was one thing, but finding him with a puppy and a pink bow on her head was another. 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, no smut or angst, oneshot, dating au, funny wholesome moments, opposites attract, flirty reader, he’s just a lil guy, 816 word count

"C'mon boy, we gotta head home!"

The doberman's ears perk up and he's on his feet in an instant, staying by y/n's side as they walk to the exit, but before she could open the gate, she pauses.

Her eyes widened as an adorable teacup dog approached her own pup, its small cotton ball tail wagging with interest as it sniffed the air around him.

A cute pink bow on her head.

The other puppy seems to be sticking to her dogs side, as if eager to join them on this adventure.

Y/N could only look at the pair in awe – the difference in size and personalities was clearly visible – the tiny puppy was clearly more energetic and cheerful, while her own was always more of a quiet fellow that grumbles whenever his peace is disrupted.

It honestly reminded the girl of herself and a specific someone.

Her gaze softens and she crouches down to pet the little one's fur, its plush white coat underneath her fingertips, so soft and well taken care of.

"Oi! Where do you think you're going huh."

Y/N's freezes as she recognizes the familiar voice, her head snapping up to be met with his once irritated expression – now quickly turned shocked at her appearance – his piercing red orbs looking down at her with a now softened look.

A bright smile forms on her face as she stands up, finding her boyfriend here of all places was an odd but funny coincidence.

"Katsuki, what are you doing here?! Stalking me are ya~"

He rolls his eyes in response, and much to her disbelief, crouches down to put a leash on the hyper puppy from earlier.

Wait-

She bursts into laughter at the realization, the difference in sizes was too absurd to not find hilarious, his eye twitches as his mood intensifies.

"What's so damn funny?!"

"I-It's just- i didn't expect you of all people to have such a tiny dog- pfft-"

His cheeks dusts in pink at her words, quickly averting his eyes to avoid further embarrassment.

"It's not mine! It's the old hags-"

He finally notices her own dog and scoffs, accusingly pointing at the two of you.

"-and you're one to talk! Why is that dog bigger than you!"

Y/N's laughter only continues as she holds her stomach – in an attempt to get a hold of herself – as she wipes the tears beginning to form.

Reality would make more sense if they just swapped dogs at this point.

"Now that's just petty!"

"Hmph, just stating the obvious."

The blonde opens the gate, intending to exit first but... seems like his dog has a mind of its own, pulling on the leash to chase y/n's pet around.

Bakugo groans as he stumbles forward in her direction.

"Tsk- this damn clingy mutt!"

"Ah! Katsuki watch out!"

As the two dogs run around the couple, the leashes begin swirling in circles – tangling the two classmates together – as if being wrapped like a present.

They collide with each other and fall on the soft grass below, y/n once again bursting into laughter as they end up practically trapped, with bakugo mumbling curses under his breath at the turn of events.

"N-No way that just happened-"

"Stop laughing, you idiot! Get off me!"

"I can't!"

She can see the way his cheeks redden at their close proximity, squirming around to get loose, yet only making it worse.

The sight of him flustered only made her want to tease him even more.

Her eyes twinkle with mischief, giving him a wink and cheesy smile.

"If you wanted to touch me, you could've just said so~"

The boy nearly chokes on air, caught off guard by her words – scoffing with fake annoyance to hide his bashful self – not yet used to her forwardness.

"Shut it and stay still!"

He groans as he tries untangling the leashes, fumbling around to find an exit as their dogs simply watch in confusion.

Probably wondering why the hell their owners are huddled together on the floor.

She leans her head against the crook of his neck, smiling happily as if unaffected by this whole ordeal, simply ravishing in the golden opportunity to be against him.

It wasn't often they were touchy like this... plus she knew he'd find a solution.

His breath hitches at her sudden clinginess and his hands move faster to work at the wrapped material, feeling hyper aware of their surroundings.

"love you~"

"...you're alright I guess."

"hey!"

At the sight of her pout, he sighs and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead to shut her up, which worked immediately.

It always did.

He successfully undoes the leashes a few seconds later, freeing the both of them as they dusted off their clothes, continuing their walk back home.

Noticing her abnormal silence, he could only smirk in triumph at her flustered self.

One point for him. 

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| truly idk where this came from but i then remembered the movie '101 Dalmations' had a similar scene like this, heres a pic i found of that scene - link! i find katsuki owning a small puppy so funny, i had to write this lolololol, also kinda rushed this bc i have family over so this finna flop (i locked myself in my room to write instead of socializing... am i cooked?) tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[cherryredstars]

HIII!! just wanna preface that i LOVE your blog and your fics are my fav!! ilysm

So i have a general fic idea abt which is mainly js a bunch of different aspects i want mushed up into one fic but imagine virgin!miguel and semi-experienced!reader, and this involves his underrated wristussy, so like reader is super horny and ALSO mixing sub!miguel and this fic where miguel has a lot…of yk, so basically virginsub!miguel with his wristussy, lots of cum, and a reader with a mission.

sorry ik this is literally a mash up of 20 different things and fics and it might not make any sense but ik your mind can create great things! thank you so much and ily! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Creampie, Loss of Virginity, Sub!Miguel

A/N: Thank you so much, lovie! Enjoy!!

Unedited

You would have never guessed.

To think the Miguel O'Hara had even less experience than you did was extremely surprising, yet completely satisfactory. It made you feel powerful, like you were slightly better than him. It fed something carnal in your brain, unlocking a hungry beast that was thirsting for more.

It made it easy to get Miguel under you, straddling his naked waist and teasing the tip of his twitchy, swollen cock with your warm hole. Having his breath seize in his throat as his hips tried to push up into you, seeking that undeniable pleasure that his body knew lay just between your parted legs. Something so close yet so painfully far away. It made you chuckle, seeing this big, strong man melt into a desperate mess under you with the slightest touch. All because his poor cock has never been choked by someone's warm walls before.

It's fascinating to watch, to study every jump of muscle as your hole parts to take him in. How his eyes roll and a look of desperate pain washes over his face as you take inch by inch of his cock until he's balls deep. Observing the way he whines at your moan as his cock twitches inside of you as the thick length tries to mold you to the shape of him. It's so delicious, especially when that's all it takes to break the poor hero.

You laugh meanly when you start moving, giddy when he starts to chase after your hole with no pattern. Sloppy, need-driven thrusts that don't completely align with your movements and make him whimper for more. Words escaping him until the only thing grounding him is the saturated image of him messily pumping his spent into your tight opening. Having it fill you so well that it ends up dripping around his dick and staining his balls. It has him drooling and pawing blindly at your skin.

It makes you puff at the stupid mutt under you, your hands grabbing his until you force them above his head. He tries to fight you- quite pathetically- as his mind screams at him to touch your skin in any place he can reach. You grunt as you have to readjust your hands, your thumb catching on an almost hollow spot just above the bone of his wrist. It catches you by surprised when he makes a tortured noise, body arching and lifting you up with him slightly. He makes the noise again when you're forced to tighten your grip on his wrists to keep you from falling off, your thumb pressing into the dented spot of his wrist.

Confused, you swipe your thumb over the area, understanding clicking in your brain when he whines and tries to twist away from you. A slow smirk covers your lips as you lean down to his ear, grinding your hips against him and ever so slowly swiping at the sensitive area.

"Miggy," You coo in a saccharine voice, "Are you okay? You seem flustered, baby."

Miguel pants, eyes lidded and his mind barely registering the words coming from your mouth. You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement before leaning back and taking one of his wrists with you. Your hips continue to buck against Miguel, letting his cock drag against your walls as your free hand comes to grip his chin. His eyes lock on your face, his lips parted in an attempt to get air into his lungs and let his pleasure escape in pitchy noises. You smile sweetly at him, bringing his wrist to your mouth and placing a small kiss to the small hole. Miguel lets out a noise that vaguely resembles a plea, and you hum against his skin in acknowledgement.

His eyes waver before focusing on your lips, eyes shiny with lust as he drowsily blinks. Your lips part slightly, your warm breath hitting his skin and causing his hips to buck up in anticipation. Your tongue pokes out, the tip of the muscle landing right beside the hollow, causing him to whine. You can't help the smile on your face as you give his cock a hard grind before pressing your tongue against his sensitive wrist.

Miguel's eyes roll back in seconds, a choked noise parting from his lips as his body quivers violently. You gasp as you feel him release inside of you, warmth rushing inside of you to the point that your lower half feels heavy. You desperately try to help him ride out the pleasure, moving your hips fast against him until your body gives out with it's own release. You slump into Miguel with a moan, your breath tickling his sweaty skin as you both calm down.

You can feel something warm and sticky beginning to slicken your thighs, but you simply sigh in content as you still hold Miguel's wrist to your mouth and give the hollow slow kitten licks. You giggle when you hear Miguel's breath hitch, his cock slowly chubbing up inside of you again.

You would never oppose a second round.

[snow-snowball]

You call him "baby".

Characters: James Diamond, Logan Mitchell, Carlos Garcia, Kendall Knight.

Warnings: none; SFW

W: 1k

A/N: English is not my first language, so I apologise for my mistakes. Dividers belong to @enchanthings-a and her new blog @enchanthings

James Diamond:

• “Baby? Me?” the guy looked at you in confusion.

• James was clearly flustered. He was just around when you needed help retrieving the kite that got stuck in a tree.

• He often plays the role of the cool, glamorous guy, frequently hearing compliments like “Hey, handsome!” or “Looking good, are you free tonight?”, but no one had ever called him that way before.

• “No one’s ever called me that…” he said, pulling a purple bandana from his pocket and tying it around his head. “But if you want to, feel free to call me that when it’s just us, babe!” James winked at you, and after you raised an eyebrow in disbelief, he eventually retrieved the kite and casually handed it to you. “Did your little boy do well?” he asked, flashing a bright smile. You giggled, ruffled his hair playfully, and then dashed off.

• Even though he tries to project a cool demeanor, James is actually shy. He loved how you called him that, but he prefers to keep it private, not wanting his friends to tease him about it.

Logan Mitchell:

• Logan was in the kitchen, trying to fix Kendall's mom's mixer. She had asked him to do it three days ago, but Logan had been so swamped that it kept slipping his mind. Today, though, Gustavo finally gave them a day off, and the guy jumped at the chance to keep his promise.

• “Alright, this goes here, and that goes there. Got it,” he mumbled when suddenly you burst through the door, making him drop the screws he was supposed to attach.

• “Hey, baby, have you seen Carlos?” you asked while stepping inside, scanning the room for the guy in the helmet. “That fool broke my eyeshadow while goofing around!”

• “Ow!” Logan stubbed his pinky toe on the edge of the table, knocked over the glass of water, then slipped and fell.

• “Oh my God! Logan!” You rushed over to help him up. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

• “What did you just call me, like, three minutes ago?” he asked, rubbing his bruised tailbone.

• “Baby?”

• “Baby…that’s intriguing. Are you developing some sort of motherly instinct or something?”

• “Mother…what? What the hell do you mean, maternal instinct? God, Logan, you innocent goofball.” You slapped your forehead and headed for the door. “If you see Carlos, give me a shout!” The door slammed shut, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. Honestly, he understood what you meant when you called him that. But he was so flustered that he decided to get out of the situation with his usual cleverness.

• “Ha-ha-ha! Baby Logan!” Someone’s laughter echoed in the room, and Logan turned to see Carlos fall from the ceiling. “Ouch.” He lay on the floor for a few minutes, writhing in pain, before giving a thumbs-up. “I’m fine!”

Carlos Garcia:

• Carlos was heading to the park, happily munching on a corn dog when suddenly you crashed into him and quickly ducked behind his broad back. Dogs were chasing you, and you were scared out of your wits. Carlos looked at you in confusion, then at the mutts, and back at you.

• “Dude, please help me!” You pressed yourself against his solid frame, trembling with fear. Without missing a beat, he pulled out more corn dogs from who-knows-where and tossed them into the bushes, where the dogs immediately bolted after them. “Farewell, my tasty treats,” Carlos lamented, but his mood lifted instantly when he felt a kiss on his cheek.

• “Thanks, babe!” You wrapped your arms around him tightly, giving him another peck on the cheek before dashing off.

• “Whoa…” The guy broke into a goofy grin and fainted right there. His friends, who had orchestrated the whole thing (they didn’t mean to scare you; they just wanted to set you up with Carlos), high-fived each other and rushed to pick him up, narrowly avoiding the feet of passing pedestrians.

Kendall Knight:

• Kendall was completely wiped out after yet another concert.

• The screaming fans and equally rowdy friends had drained him to the bone.

• So, exhausted, he broke away from his buddies, heading home for some much-needed peace and quiet.

• His fatigue was so overwhelming that he mixed up the numbers and accidentally walked into your place.

• You were in the middle of whipping up dinner when you heard the front door bang shut.

• Curious, you strolled down the hallway and spotted the adorably snoozing Kendall sprawled out on your couch. Chuckling at the hilarity of the situation, you fetched a blanket from your room, gently covering him so he wouldn’t freeze. With that done, you returned to the kitchen, now needing to whip up dinner for two.

• Half-asleep, Kendall caught the sound of clattering from the kitchen and a delicious smell wafting through the air, thinking it was his mom cooking. He snuggled deeper into the blanket. Then, another mouthwatering aroma hit him—one that had been driving him wild for the last three months.

• Bolting upright, Kendall looked around, realizing he wasn’t at home. Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the kitchen.

• You were busy pulling out plates when suddenly, strong arms wrapped around your waist, and a sleepy head rested on your shoulder.

• “Hey babe? Did you sleep well?” you asked, turning to embrace him, your fingers gently running through his hair.

• “Mmhmm,” he mumbled, nuzzling his chin deeper into your shoulder. “Babe? Is that my new nickname now?” Kendall chuckled sleepily, pulling back to plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “So, what’s for dinner?” Just as he leaned in for a kiss on the lips, the rest of Big Time Rush burst in, catching you both in a cozy moment.

• “Looks like we showed up at a bad time.” Logan quipped, awkwardly covering his eyes.

• “Ooh! Pasta!” Carlos darted over to one of the pots, grabbing a plate from the cupboard and piling food onto it. The others shot him disapproving glares. “What?” Carlos asked with a mouthful. “I’m starving!”

© 2024 do reblog, but don’t copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages. Any coincidences are coincidental! @snow-snowball

[coolchickgigi]

Okay okay hear me out! I’m new at writing but would it be possible to just spit out the idea 💡

Let’s say we are in the omegaverse (the ABO where alpha O and beta A exist)

There are 2 omega reader bffs, one was an Omega A and the other an Omega O. Both friends have been very close throughout school as they looked after eachother. Especially Omega A who always stood up for Omega O. Their plan after school was to travel the world to study abroad, but they each wanted to go to different schools in other parts of the world. So they promised to keep in contact and support each other from far away. They both shared an interest in nursing and wanted to help in the military. Thankfully both schools are quite close to military bases.

As both omegas go to their chosen universities, they venture on into those fun college night outs. They seem to be attracted to the bars where soldiers go to unwind. As their each in different parts of the world, they still text each-other telling the other what their plan was for the night. Betting how many drinks they can get for free, how many people they can make hot and flustered, even comparing who had the hottest guys at their bar. Well coincidentally both omegas found themselves in the hungry eyes of their own future pack.

Omega A found herself in the sight of the most strongest military pack, Task force 141. Her confidence in handling herself in public, despite being an omega, has intrigued the pack. They were both enthralled and concerned about your safety as you flirted and played with the poor soldiers heart strings, don’t worry love they’ll save you soon and fix that straight out of you. (heh try to)

It was Captain Price who brought attention to the rest of his boys to you. Price was an Alpha A with a level head unlike most alpha A’s who were known to be aggressive and overly dominant. He made sure to hold power over his men while being a good and protective alpha. Whereas he had his lieutenant, Ghost, who was also an alpha A, who had a deep strong loyalty to his pack and his captain. He is reserved most of the time but can become very aggressive when needed to be. (Oh don’t get me started on how bad his ruts can be, poor Johnny) Then the other pack members, Gaz who is a Beta A and Soap a Beta O. They worked together to bring a balance to the pack and being there for their alphas of the pack. However it was mostly Johnny who became the most helpful with the alphas ruts. Simon always calling the Scot a mutt in heat, since Johnnys ruts were more like heats as he became in tuned with the pack.

Thankfully, you were just what they were looking for. They needed an omega who could handle the demands of two powerful alphas, and the young energetic energy of the packs two betas. They just needed to find their ways into your bubble and court you properly dear. Don’t worry, their already marking you as their own in their heads as they challenge every other soldier with an icy glare and their strong scents already scaring off the poor alpha who left you with his tail tucked. Now you just needed to stomp your way to them and they’ll handle your pretty self just fine love.

As for Omega O, she found herself at the bar that was most frequented by the Kortac pack on rare occasions. Luckily for them, they came after a long mission and found you incredibly drunk and had a boost of confidence, despite being shy most of your life. You felt the need to prove yourself since you always felt like you were seen as weak for being an Omega O. So you stomped your small feet up to the biggest soldier you saw, pointing your much smaller finger up to his face, which really only reached his chest, demanding a staring contest. Unlucky for you, you challenged Konig, the Alpha A of the Kortac pack. He didn’t really like being challenged, his subordinates knew that better than anyone else. But to you, he could only smirk down thinking how cute you were being, and also wanted to see when would it be good to correct your behavior. He couldn’t get out of the challenge anyway, as you seemed to have started the contest already as you stare drunkenly into his deep blue eyes through his mask. Without knowing you started, he blinked as he looked to his pack to see if they see this. Hornagi, the beta A of the pack, snickered and couldn’t help but find the whole thing interesting. His other pack mate, Kreuger, an Alpha beta was more focused on how your eyes lit up as you declared you won. Konig who looked back down at you, speaking in a his deep accented voice, “don’t think that’s how it works, and don’t you know how to speak to your superiors”. Which all you could do was laugh with a challenging grin, “you’re just mad I won and you lost!”. But the alpha could only roll his eyes and let a small smirk slip under his mask. It was Hornagi who called out and told you to come challenge some real alphas, picking fun at the tall Austrian man who glared at him. You drunkingly turned and wobbled your way to the table to get every last drop worth of your strong buzz. But as you all play drinking games, they sneakily tell the bartender to just give you water. Which you still happily chugged in triumph unaware of the change in flavor. They just couldn’t believe such a small Omega O could be so energetic and even more so not afraid of them. But the more you let yourself get comfortable so did they, and after that night they needed to make sure you weren’t getting hurt by the wrong people. So they obviously made a pack decision to court you. Don’t worry little maus, they’ll keep you under their watch and hopefully under them soon. They’ll show you how good it is to be in a pack that can and will protect you, they have no doubt about that.

And when both friends, Omega O and Omega A, finally get back together after finishing schooling, they each have a pack mark to show off. Each sharing their stories of how it happened, and best believe these two won’t leave out any juicy details.

Okok sorry for long post but please tell me if I should dive more into this 👀

I can make separate stories of each of the omegas experiences, and even have it where the best friends work together. Like playing games with their pack and seeing what reaction they’d get. Ahhhh I’m sorry ok I’ll stop ✋ (not)

I’ve been wanting more fics of the cod omegaverse so I had to do it myself. Please lmk if you like this idea, if not I might still write it anyway