#immaculate. superior.

[pirateswhore]

thinking both gay and straight thoughts ab season 1 Emma. like ESPECIALLY this outfit

[blackflcgs]

you know how goofy metalhead dudes tend to have super hot but really mean goth gfs? well that's ed and izzy in their modern verses

[stormyoceans]

Obsessed with the image of Mork being little spoon and just resting in Day's arms while they are lying under the same blanket. Like a parallel to nong Vice Versa

NONG VICE VERSA IM SFJKSHFKGSKGDJ SCREAMING PLEASE THAT'S SO CUTE AND AFFECTIONATE I LOVE IT

ALSO YOU AND ME BOTH ANON LIKE MORK BEING THE LITTLE SPOON IS LITERALLY SO POWERFUL AND VISIONARY. and it's both that /and/ day being the big spoon. i know the result is the same so one would think there's no point in stating that, but i just love what it says about the characters and their relationship

on one hand you have mork who is older and has the role of the caretaker, but who has also struggled alone for a long time and is constantly made to feel inferior by society, while on the other you have day who is younger and has had a more sheltered life but that doesn't make him timid or naive. and idk i just love the picture that this paints in my head. mork isn't shy by any means but he has a lot of self doubts and most of the time he thinks that day deserves someone better than him, which makes him hesitant in a lot of things, while day has nothing that holds him back. he's gonna touch mork's face and hold him at night and bare his teeth at him and all these gestures are both claim and reassurance: you are mine and i am yours

and eventually mork is gonna look at day's arms wrapped around him and finally start to believe it

[midnighttales357]

I'm very much a 'I think I'm gonna cause trouble on purpose' kinda girlie so when I hear the pretentious self important bullshit of "Oh I've never watched p0rn" my go to response is to tell them how much hornier than me they must be and just watch their prude asses try to dig themselves out of their own hole

[uniqueartisanconnoisseur]

Mother Theodore Gurein Shrine, an Indiana Oasis

Sometimes are you like me and you are just drawn to a place, called to go and learn more? That’s how it was with the Saint Mother Theodore Guerin shrine. Located at Saint Mary of the Woods, the shrine is located on campus in the Providence Spirituality & Conference Center. The grounds look like Europe offering a chance to find beauty and faith together in one place. I drug Keith from our stay in…

[sb25p]

I went to a Bring Me The Horizon concert this week and let me tell ya…if you were a bearded, moustachey, big boyo wearing a sleeveless denim jacket with a million band and punk patches ironed all over them, just know that I fell in love with you at first sight…and there was a lot of them…so there was a lot of falling, let me tell ya.

[inkyajax]

something ‘bout you

character: professor!alhaitham

genre: smut ; modern university au set in teyvat

notes: waaaah it’s finally finished!!! i have no idea how this piece got to be as long as it did but alas, here we are. this has got to be the longest blow job i’ve ever written ehehehe. as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: dangerous woman by ariana grande

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, praise, professor/graduate student relationship, sir kink, face fucking, cum swallowing, a teeny tiny bit of manipulation, lying via omission, reader is a film and linguistics student, a bit of academic jargon but nothing crazy or crucial, dom/sub dynamics

words: 8k

synopsis:

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers.  He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning.  “Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?”  Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights.  The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea.  He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes. “I want you,” you admit instead.

The banquet hall is small yet elegant, beige walls warmed by the fuchsia beams of the setting sun, streaming in thick strips through the floor-to-ceiling crystal windows. Silverware clinks delicately against fine china, glass champagne flutes clacking with front teeth as lips wrap around the edges, daintily mingling with the soft murmur of voices blanketing the room. 

Such is the life of a University of Sumeru elite. 

Classes don’t officially begin until Monday, but the entire graduate faculty of the Department of Linguistics had been invited to a prefatory mixer held at one of the grand hotels in the city. 

It is a long-standing tradition, the email invite had informed you, that the professors and supervisors of the department throw the graduate students—new and old—an intimate yet extravagant start-of-the-year dinner. 

It’s mostly meant for new students—only five accepted into the program per year—to introduce themselves to their colleagues and supervisors, becoming familiar with the faces they’ll be seeing for the next one-to-five years of their lives. 

You had been special enough to receive an acceptance letter into the PhD program, travelling from your Masters program in Liyue to the city of Sumeru to study under some of the most renowned scholars of the subject. 

And so now you stand, lingering near the immaculately organized table of hors d’oeuvres and fidgeting with the crystal flute between your palms, index finger absentmindedly tracing the rim as eager, interested eyes sweep across the room again, soaking up the atmosphere. 

You have worked so hard to get here, to get to this point, to stand in this room with the gilt-edged supremes of the scholastic world and be one of them—a part of this exclusive, highly-coveted club composed of the outstanding, the superior, the royals of academia.

A large, smooth hand yanks you, rough and abrupt, from your appreciative daydream, blinking rapidly as you stare up at the man who is unexpectedly talking to you—talking at you—as if he knows you well, already mid-sentence about the legend of King Deshret by the time your shock dissipates, concentration tuning into his frequency.  

“—And that’s why he went mad.”

Teal eyes hold yours, steady and intent and willing you not to look away, the fingers wrapped firmly around your bicep flexing the moment your stare begins to stray, watching through your peripheral vision as a man with white hair and rust eyes passes by, features set in hard stone. 

It is only after the man is out of earshot that your captor relaxes, fingers loosening but not fully releasing their grip on your flesh. 

“Thanks for that,” he says, suddenly sounding disinterested and distracted, gaze flitting around the room. 

“Was that true?” 

“What?” he looks back over at you, as if he’s surprised you just spoke to him. 

“Was that true?” you repeat. “I thought that since Nabu Malikata had warned him of the repercussions of the ritual prior to them performing it that he knew she’d die—that he knew she had chosen to die—and went mad with guilt due to him choosing his own selfish desires over the love of his life.” 

He shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of his scotch. “A common misconception, often due to mistranslations and the incorrigible feelings of the translators themselves. Romantics, you know,” he shrugs, head tilting as he observes you, bright yet sharp eyes studying your face in slow, excruciating detail, as he he’s trying to divest your thoughts through your features. “Are you new? I don’t think I’ve seen you around the department before.” 

Razored teal glints like a scalpel as it attempts to dissect you, his scintillating gaze carefully shaving away at any pretences. 

“I am,” you confirm with a nod, struggling to suppress the pride tugging at the corners of your lips as you introduce yourself. “One of the three lucky souls to have been accepted as a PhD Candidate.” 

“Nice to meet you,” the man murmurs, giving your arm another little squeeze in greeting before finally releasing it. “I’m Haitham. Alhaitham, if you want to be formal, but Haitham is fine.” 

His body relaxes, shoulders no longer pinched, muscles no longer coiled as he gets more comfortable, leaning against a large column, his stance becoming permanent. 

“So, tell me. Where did you complete your Masters?” 

Your heart thumps against your ribs, pushing hard breath up your throat, nerves suddenly buzzing beneath the swelter of his intense stare, fighting the urge to shrink away from his fulgurous attention. 

“Liyue,” you say. “I studied under the guidance of Professor Zhongli.” 

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow in lazy intrigue, notes of condescension glazing his tone, a small smirk adoring his lips. “That’s impressive.” 

“You know him?” 

“Everybody in the academic world knows him, sweetheart. I’m sure you know that, as well.” 

Bashful heat seeps into your cheeks, tingling little pinpricks of embarrassment sprouting beneath your skin. 

“Well, I just—”

“Please,” Alhaitham cuts your off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The man is a master in several subjects; there’s not a chance anyone who is a true scholar hasn’t encountered and studied his work. What did you study beneath him?” 

“Um,” you begin, wincing at how idiotic it sounds, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “I wrote my thesis under his supervision. During my undergrad I majored in linguistics and specialized in cinema studies, so naturally my thesis aimed at analyzing and dissecting the role and importance of language in film—more specifically, how particular language conveys meaning and impacts the psychology of the viewer, as well as how particular language influences, dictates and affects the way a viewer derives meaning from the piece.” 

“Wow,” Alhaitham breathes, and for the first time tonight he sounds genuinely impressed, sincerely interested, notes of intrigue imbuing his tone. “I’d love to read it, if you’ll allow me.” 

“Of course,” you preen, the pressure on your lungs letting up a little beneath his praise. “It took me nearly two years to complete, and under Professor Zhongli’s supervision I was even able to conduct field studies and experiments to gather information and data.” 

“Is that so?” his smirk grows into a lopsided grin, his eyes sparkling with supercilious amusement. “Like what?” 

“As I’m sure you’re well aware of, how a certain character speaks and the words they use says a lot about who they are and where they hail from, but that’s only half the equation. The other half depends on the viewer themselves—their own background, upbringing, experiences, beliefs, and intelligence all influence the way they will perceive and derive meaning from an individual film. The research concluded that, based on these factors, two individuals from separate classes more often than not arrive at substantially different meanings of the information provided from the same film.” 

“Well done,” he murmurs, appreciative, and you can’t help but glow beneath his words, his commendation a beam of nurturing sunlight, drawing you closer to his heat.

“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head respectfully. “And what about you? Are you a student?” 

He laughs, bright and warm, almost as if your mistake is cute. 

“No, no, I am a Professor.” 

“What do you teach?” 

“Syntactic Patterns in Ancient Runes, and Advanced Morphology,” he says easily. “Speaking of which, will you be TAing any classes this year?” 

“I will! Though I have not yet been approved to teach my own class, only tutorials for the first years. Understandable, I guess, since I’m a new student and all.” 

Your disappointment is palpable, hanging thick and heavy in the air, and his demeanour softens a little, a warm hand clasping over your shoulder.

“Cheer up,” he says. “I’m positive they’ll give you your own lecture the moment you hit your third year—those positions are usually reserved to upper-year PhD’s.” The tips of his fingers press into your muscles in a comforting massage, and you can’t help but lean into his touch a little, body deliquescing. “Which class will you be TAing for?” 

“Intro to Linguistics: Sentence Structure and Meaning,” you make a face, the thought sobering you slightly. “By the way, would you happen to know who’s teaching that class this year? There’s no professor listed on the website yet, but if they’re here I’d love to introduce myself.” 

Something darkens his eyes, his smile turned wolfish, a shock of unease unravelling slow and sticky in the pit of your belly.

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” he says dismissively, though there’s a shard of something submerged in teal irises, sharp and dangerous, glimmering beneath crystal lights. “He’s a jackass anyway. Antisocial, selfish, you know the type. Introducing yourself to him wouldn’t make much of a difference—he isn’t a fan of those overeager polite types, not unless they’re genuine.” 

“Oh,” you frown, deflating a little, ignoring the ice prickling at the base of your spine. “That’s a shame. I was hoping to be on good terms with him.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s on good terms with him,” Alhaitham mutters dryly, eyes narrowing as they sweep across the room, almost accusing in manner. “But who knows,” he says as he looks back at you, hard gaze palliating just a touch. “You might be the one to change that.” 

Confusion sprouts across your face, features crinkling as you draw in a breath to inquire, but a booming voice cuts you off, briskly announcing that it is time for dinner and requesting everyone take their seats. 

“Here,” Alhaitham murmurs as slim fingers cuff your wrist, leading you. “Come sit with me.” 

The dinner is several courses long, but you hardly remember any of them, too caught up in teal eyes and a velvet voice, in the hand that has found it’s way onto you knee, thumb stroking the bone in rhythmic motions through your tights, in the ankles currently tangled around your own, tightening every so often and hauling you a little bit closer—any time you say something that procures that amused little sound, playing on the back of his tongue; any time you say something that raises his brows and leaves his eyes shimmering, head tilted cutely in curious study.

The conversation flows seamlessly as the night passes, as servers bring and remove plates, as guests mingle around the ballroom, arriving to and departing from your table—but the two of you don’t dare move an inch, entirely captivated by your intimate discussion; heads bowed, legs locked, words murmured between the steadily dissipating space between your mouths. 

He tells you about his most recent excavation into the long lost tomb of a prince, about the runes he found intricately engraved on the gorgeous sarcophagus, about what they said and how they fit into his most recent collection of essays—highly coveted information, he had mentioned, sure to note he hadn’t told anyone about this; not until tonight, not until you, his voice taking on a slight air of incredulity, as if he can’t believe he just revealed such information so easily. 

You tell him about the research Zhongli personally funded after you were nearly expelled from the program for sneaking into the film reel archives despite being explicitly denied access—all in the pursuit of knowledge, of course, you had bristled with a roll of your eyes, insisting that such important pieces should not be so inaccessible to scholars—and of the many trips your valued Professor took you on, traversing film festivals across the whole of Inazuma. 

He tells you about his childhood in Sumeru, about what got him interested in semiotics and linguistics, about the first language he learned—and about how his grandmother taught him, eyes gone soft with fondness for the since passed woman. 

You tell him about your childhood in Fontaine, about scraped knees and local theatre and sparkling blue water, about your favourite Fontainian film movements and how they first sparked your passion for the performing arts. 

“I don’t know anything about Fontainian Neorealism or the Fontaine New Wave,” he admits, “but I do know that Sumeru has a flourishing arts and culture sector—and I assume that’s why you’ve chosen to study here. Am I correct?” 

“You are,” you nod with a small smirk, sipping on red wine. “It is exceptionally difficult to study Sumeru’s robust art history without actually being here. All I know are the things I’ve read in books—which are not nearly a suitable substitute for experiencing it with your own eyes.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “Let’s make a deal, then.” 

“A deal?” 

“A trade, of sorts,” he begins, smirking when you blink twice in curiosity. “I’ll take you to a performance at Zubayr Theater, and you take me to see a Fontainan film. Sound fair?” 

“Sounds wonderful.”

A small smile graces his lips, wispy at the edges, a peculiar sentiment sparkling in his gaze. “It’s a date, then.” 

And you can’t help the fizzy feeling that starts to froth in your veins at the word, at the promise of seeing him again, of spending more uninterrupted time with him, just the two of you. 

It must show on your face in some way, must be evident in the sweet, girlish giggle that bubbles uncontrollably past your lips, because his smile stretches, still soft, and he chuckles gently, nothing more than a huff of breath on his tongue.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.” 

The palm cupping your knee is hot and heavy, his grasp flexing with his response, staying itself for a moment before it slides up your thigh, slow and careful and appraising, thumb stopping a millimeter shy from the hem of your short black dress.

Keen teal eyes stay trained on your face, focused in their evaluation, ready to analyze any slight change in expression his action may elicit.

But you only lean closer, legs spreading an inch or so wider, shuffling to the edge of your seat, a silent plea for more. 

A silent plea that does not go unnoticed by Alhaitham, as indicated by his small smile, sharp eyes dulling a little with their inquisition and fingers sinking into plush flesh, grip strengthening before relaxing again, the tip of his thumb stroking the material of your dress.

All without a single hitch in his words, swiftly and smoothly moving onto the next topic. 

And you only fall further. 

You can’t manage to keep your hands to yourself, either, it seems, touch vying and voracious for more of him: playing with the gold bangles encircling his wrist; twisting the gilded jade class ring pressed firmly against his second knuckle; drifting over the back of his hand, a single fingertip outlining the bones and veins contouring his flesh. 

He doesn’t appear to mind, though, flipping his hand over to gift you more access, allowing you to trace the lines of his palm with a manicured nail, his fingers spreading wider, presenting more of himself to you as you vividly discuss Metz and how he built his cinematic semiotics theory off of structural linguistics. 

His hand is nearly in your lap now, your thighs cushioning one another’s, knees bumping clumsily against the edge of each other’s chairs as you subconsciously try to inch closer, caught up in every fucking thing about him; his viscous voice, cascading over you like melty syrup; his vivid stare, so bright and full of passion it’s practically glowing; his magnificent mind, gears churning at a rapid yet efficient pace, producing ribbons of wisdom, flowing smooth and fluid from his lips, confident and self-assured. 

You’re drowning in him, submerging yourself further and further into his presence, more intoxicated by his aura than the wine roiling warm and sweet in your belly. It produces something insatiable, a starved clawing at your chest that grapples for more and more and more of him, every fragment of information you manage to extract doing nothing to satisfy the hunger, instead exacerbating the craving. 

You’ve never met anyone like him before; never met anyone so blunt and real and unabashedly themselves, never met anyone so sincerely scholarly, so dedicated to their studies, so zealous in their never-ending pursuit of knowledge.

It’s inspiring; it’s intoxicating.

Alhaitham’s mind is brilliant, beautiful, an ornate maze of thoughts, each one leading to something new, each one unravelling like the petals of a lotus, sparking further debates, remarks, ponders. 

You could get lost in here forever, you think—stumbling your way around sharp corners and down twisting corridors, consistently in awe of the next thing you discover. 

You must murmur it out to him, dreamy and wine-drunk and wrapped up in him, sentiments streaming seamlessly from your brain to your lips without your permission, because he laughs, the sound mild and tender, his gaze softening. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm,” you nod, lazy and languid. “It’s so beautiful, Haitham.”

“I’ve never had anyone call my mind beautiful before,” he muses. “But I think it might be my favourite compliment to receive yet.” 

Bubbles of pride tingle behind your ribs, and your chest puffs out a little, spine straightening beneath his praise, murmuring out a little self-satisfied, well, then, you’re welcome. 

“Proud of yourself, huh?” he teases, though the notes infusing his voice are playful, his eyes shining as he studies you, cataloging your expressions.

“Yes, Sir,” you confirm. “You’re a hard man to please.”

“Oh, am I?” he snorts, head tilting in question.

“S’not a bad thing,” you continue, words slurred just a touch, heavy with admiration. Dainty hands find his own, your fingers beginning to toy with his, idle and absent-minded as they curl and straighten knuckles. 

“No?” he smirks, pinky catching yours in a swift hook. “I mean, you seem to be doing a pretty good job so far.” 

“I could do better, if you want me to.” 

It’s bold, brash, and entirely unbefitting, but the offer slips from your mouth without thought or consent, startling you in it’s veracity, a jolt of desire zipping through your veins. 

Your hand moves entirely of its own accord, touch tiptoeing up his thigh in invitation, inching toward the half-hard lump in his trousers. 

He catches your wrist just before you reach his cock, slim fingers braceletting your arm and squeezing once in warning. 

“Are you sure you want to go down this path, sweetheart?” 

Hooded teal observes you closely, irises shaded into a deep navy, glimmering under the chandelier lights. 

The question drips from his lips in a dark, decadent murmur, simultaneously an enticement and a warning, his thumb idly stroking your skin as he awaits your response—an action that brings some semblance of comfort, despite the dangerous thrill sparkling in his eye.

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. Despite speaking to him for the duration of the night, you don’t know this man—don’t know his rank in the department or his status among his peers and how that may impact you in the future. On all accounts, it most definitely is not a good idea. 

He seems to know so, too, if his timbre of caution is anything to go by, but that ray in his eye flares, begging you to say yes.

Because the desire is too strong, a potent drug infusing your blood and hazing your brain, overwhelming your senses and overriding your better judgement, and you find yourself unable to resist, easily placing blame on the wine and the party and the undeniable allure of this stranger, instead of your own ravenous craving. 

“I want you,” you admit instead, the confession oozing from between pouted lips, stark with it’s honesty, unapologetic with your longing. 

Alhaitham laughs, low and smooth, watching you through thick, fanned lashes. 

“How do you want me?”

He’s playing with you now, a hawk toying with his food between razored talons, forcing his prey to go exactly where he wants it to. 

You can’t find it in yourself to care. 

“However you’ll give you to me,” you respond, brazen but sincere, glassy eyes wide and captivating his own. 

Teal searches your face for a moment, pries apart your features in search of falsities and finds nothing but unadulterated candour, so sheer it boarders on pathetic. 

“All right,” he finally says, hand smoothing along your wrist to press your palms together, lacing your fingers with his and giving a gentle tug. “Come.” 

You tread behind him like the sweetest little kitten, inebriated galaxies swirling in your irises, desperate and obedient and eager for your treat. 

But you’re just a touch too impatient, it seems.

Because he barely makes it to the washroom, free hand on the doorknob, intending to throw one last glance back at you—one final confirmation, are you sure? written in the motion—before you’re surging forward, soft palms cushioning a defined jaw, dainty fingers hooking behind the hinges and yanking, crushing his lips to yours.

It isn’t graceful in the slightest, a rough mangle of tongues and teeth, incisors catching on lips and canines scraping slick muscle, but Alhaitham recalibrates quickly enough, large hands curling around your hips and pulling you to his form. 

The door to the men’s washroom swings open as your knotted bodies fall through it, hinges loose and creaky, the metal handle slamming against the tiled wall, the resounding bang! bouncing throughout the room.

The stumbling of your footsteps echoes around you, obnoxious smacking of lips and slurping of tongues amplified by the open space as you gulp down his breathy little chuckle, the sound warm and tingling as it spills down your throat. 

A tangled mess of legs and limbs, you fall into the first available stall, rickety door whacking off the side, the lock jingling from the force. 

He allows you to crowd him into a corner, hinges of the flimsy door tinkering again as your legs slotting together and your tongues grind, tips teasing each other in curling little licks, catching one another and then slipping away, tracing the ridges of teeth, burrowing into the divots of cheeks. 

A strong hand stays wrapped around your neck, nails just barely nipping your skin as he grips you in place, his other hand busying itself with a palmful of your ass, fingertips planting bruises into soft flesh. 

A responding hiss slithers from your mouth into his, the sound massed on his tongue, the muscle folding around it and sucking, savouring your pain until it melts into his flesh.

Your hands are indecisive, traversing the buttons of his shirt and the loops of his trousers until, finally, they find his belt, fingers eager and vying as they pick at the heavy buckle, and he snorts. 

“It’s cute, how utterly desperate you are,” he mumbles into the kiss, slippery mouths sliding together, leavings streaks of saliva painted across chins. 

You are desperate, too desperate, and if you were of sound mind you’d be rightfully embarrassed of such behaviour, pawing at him like some impatient teenager, pathetically aching for more of him. 

But the wine and the glamour and Alhaitham’s intoxicating taste—cedar wood and mint, cloaked by expensive scotch—has cast a murky cloud over your brain, stuffing your skull full of nothing but ardour, dulling all of your senses, honing all of your needs, to him, him, him. 

The thigh wedged between your own, sculpted from strong, lean muscle, flexes twice, hitching up further into your core, a pitchy mewl spilling onto his tongue as a reward. You can feel his cock, hot and hard and pressed tightly against your hip, rutting into you in small, uneven little motions, dense heat sprawling, slow and sticky, in the pit of your tummy. 

“God, you’re already making such a fucking mess,” he nearly moans into your mouth, thigh tensing again in emphasis, cotton doused in slick arousal. “And I’ve barely even touched you. I guess you really do want me, don’t you?” 

And although his words are teasing, imbued with notes of playful mocking, his tone is sweet, almost as if he’s in awe of how honest you were. 

“S’bad,” you whimper, tongue sketching out the curve of his cupid’s bow. “So bad.”

“Yeah? Tell me,” he pants, a hand wreathing around your jaw, keeping your stare trapped in his. “Tell me what you want.” 

The demand is damp as it drifts across your face, scalding little pinpricks erupting beneath your skin, paired with a low whine of embarrassment. His gaze is too vehement, eyes wide and unblinking as they impel you, your own lids squeezing shut in the face of such fervour. 

“Ah!” the hand clamped around your jaw tightens. “Open them. Look at me, and tell me what you want. You’re a big girl, I know you can do it.”

It almost hurts to look at him, another bout of humiliation flushing through your veins as you squint, features twisted up in a wince. 

“C’mon,” he goads, fingertips thrumming against you cheek once in a fluent wave. “Where’s that big beautiful brain gone now? You were so eloquent at dinner.”  

“I—I wanna ride your cock!” you nearly sob, the profession a stringy plead shoved from your tongue, tangled in threads of saliva. “I really wanna ride your cock.” 

“Aw, how precious,” he clicks his tongue, as if it’s such a shame, words filtered through a slight faux pout. “Too bad naughty girls don’t get to ride my cock.” 

“Wh-What?” you blink, tears beading at the corners of your eyes, just barely caught in outer lashes. “Naughty?”

And, oh, the smile that spreads across his cheeks is downright sinister, eyes flashing with levity. 

“Do good girls put their hands all over a stranger’s cock?” he tilts his head, that shiny sliver in his iris catching in the light. “Does that not qualify as misbehaviour to you?”

“But—But I—I’m good!”  

The response is automatic, barreling up your throat and out your mouth before you have a moment to seize it, a fierce need to prove yourself igniting behind your ribs, eyebrows knit cutely as you stare at him, eyes beseeching despite your bratty tone. 

“Are you?” he raises a brow, eyes hard, but mirth plays with the corners of his lips. “Your behaviour thus far says otherwise.”

“I am!” 

Your gaze steadily holds his own, daring, challenging, insistent, your features scrunched up in a stubborn petulance.

“All right, prove it to me,” he says after a beat, exhaling an amused little huff. “Show me you’re a good girl and suck my cock.” 

And that’s all the encouragement you need, really, desperate to prove yourself worthy and capable as you slide down his body, knees on his toes, lidded stare never breaking contact with his own—heavy, dark, starving.

His collarbone, sharply prominent and peeking out from beneath his shirt lapels, heaves a little with his laboured breaths, the faintest sheen of sweat beginning to lacquer the bones, catching delicately in the fluorescent light. 

Nosing along the impressive bulge straining against his trousers, you hum a little in appreciation, trailing hot, humid kisses up the length in a haphazard outline. A hushed giggle vibrates in your throat as his cock jumps beneath your touch, begging for what Alhaitham would never dare to, tongue unfurling from your mouth to roll, slow and hard, over the clothed head. 

The slick muscle wraps itself around the tip as best it can, wet heat seeping through his pants as your tongue siphons his cock into your mouth, lips closing around the head and suckling, hard. 

A breath snares on his sternum, his hips twitching once in complement, chased by a low, alluring chuckle. 

“Huh,” he says to himself, though the letters are breathless. “I didn’t know good girls were little teases…” 

The implication is not lost on you, and you roll your eyes, grumbling out a muffled no fun into his groin before your fingers immediately get to work—button popped, zipper tugged, knuckles curled in the elastic waistbands, hauling his pants and briefs midway down his thighs. 

His cock is just as gorgeous as he is, thick and velvety and twined with pulsing veins that surge and swell the moment they’re wrapped in your tongue.

It’s impossible to silence the pathetic whimper of appreciation that spills from your throat the moment his cock is free, massive and magnificent, and you can’t resist nuzzling your cheek into it in admiration, catlike, the flushed head leaving a fat streak of pre-cum painted just below your eye.

A curse pries its way past his lips, fading into a breathy exhale, his fingers latching beneath your jaw and tilting your face to his, taking a moment to cherish the sight. 

You look so beautiful stained with him—glistening pre-cum dashed across your check in a perfect stripe; lips swollen and licked raw, shimmering with his spit—and he can’t help but stare, ravenous pupils having gnawed away at teal irises, desperate to soak up as much of the scene as physically possible, leaving nothing more than a thin ring to outline the orbs. 

His thumb swipes through the sticky substance, rubs it into your skin until it’s gone dry, seeped into the tissues and absorbed completely, and your neck strains a little, yearning to present more of your cheek to him, offering.

Another second or two passes as he grants himself one final moment of marvel, before his fingers release your head, a non-verbal command to continue. 

And you obey flawlessly, instantly. 

A dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock, tongue darting from between raw lips to lap kittenishly at the head, flattening along the curve and dragging twice in unhurried succession before digging the point into his slit, procuring another pretty pearl of pre-cum, oozing enticingly to adorn the tip. 

It’s so dense, so bloated it looks mere moments away from dropping, your tongue stretching out   far and wide in a precursory measure, ready to catch it when it falls. And it does, only a beat later, dripping slow and gross into your waiting mouth in a single strand, thick and viscid.

A hefty moan resounds in your throat as it seeps into your tastebuds, his flavour bitter and strong, fluttering lashes framing rolling whites. 

The noise that splinters in his throat is strained, yearning beneath a heavy hedonism, and his fingers tighten in your hair, a subtle caution. Smirking, your glance up at him again, sinful tongue laving lasciviously over your puffy lips, yet your eyes are not bratty, instead glittering with such potent awe it almost hurts, like he’s some sort of veneered saint, exalt pouring from your gaze. 

It crushes down on his chest, flattens his lungs and makes it difficult to draw in breath, oxygen stalling in his throat, the urge to yank you up and kiss the goddamn life out of you near unbearable as it tears at his chest. But he comes back to his senses, restraint held intact by a single spider silk thread, a dull, distant voice in the back of his skull reminding him of your task, of your lesson.  

You seem to know, too. 

No words need to be spoken, no warnings need to be issued, the hand around the base of his cock flexing slightly as it readjusts its grip, feeding him to yourself, taking him inch by inch down your eager throat. 

“S’it,” he encourages as he watches you, eyes lidded and hazy with lust. “That’s it, baby, take as much of it as you can for me.” 

The incentive, haunted by the ghost of potential praise if you succeed, only makes you more avid in your quest, throat stretching around his girth as you stuff it full of his cock, reflexes instinctively attempting to push him from the gummy column, constricting as you gag around the head.

It’s hard to know what he likes—how fast, how deep, how rough and filthy—but from the limited information you’ve gathered tonight, you can infer that he isn’t a fan of teasing; at least, not when he’s the one being teased. 

“A little more,” he instructs, but the command is gentle, a thumb skimming along the line of your jaw, hinges straining as you immediately submit, mouth opening wider, throat sexpanding further as you take more of him, more for him.

“Fuck, look at that,” he pants out, thumb caressing your jaw again before his palm cups beneath your chin, tilting your head up, the action inadvertently forcing his cock farther down your throat. “You’re so good.”

Blinking twice in response, you stare up at him, irises encrusted with stars of worship, their shine unhindered by the bleary gloss of reflexive tears that have already begun to collect, lashes clumped into soaked spikes, just barely keeping the torrent at bay.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt more respected, revered, in his entire life. 

Another blink—a quick beating of lashes—sends crystalline dewdrops flowing down your cheeks, the softest sniffle, half-stifled, shuddering delicately around his cock. 

“H-Hah,” he breathes out, an involuntary little sound pulled from deep within his chest, your agape mouth working itself open greater, lips stretching over his bulk.

He holds you still for a moment, takes time to admire such a pretty sight, hips jolting slightly, eyes watching as the bulge in your throat jumps, as you choke around him but don’t dare push him away, instead squeezing the base of his cock, attempting to jam it down even more. Your chin juts forward in a futile attempt to aid, salacious squelching echoing throughout the bathroom as you swallow, hard and with conviction, trying to lead him further into your body. 

The back of his knuckle swipes through a stream of glittering salt, collecting your tears on his skin and bringing it to his mouth, tongue washing over it slowly, savouring your taste. 

And you wait. 

How very good of you.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he finally says as he releases his grip, permitting you to take control again. “Show me how much of me you can take down your throat.” 

And, really, that’s all of the enticement you need, head beginning to move the instant he demands it, mouth gliding down his shaft, slow and steady, until the tip of your nose just barely brushes your second knuckle. A pause, a mere millisecond for him to feel your throat convulse, before you’re pulling back up, lips puckering as they tighten around his shaft, glazing his flesh in a thin, shimmering film of saliva. 

Each stroke of your mouth has your pace accelerating, opting to keep your fist wrapped firmly at the base of his cock to steady it instead of allowing it to follow the trajectory of your lips.

It grows sloppy quick, your spit-soaked hand readjusting it’s slippery grip as your upper lip repeatedly bashes into it, the threads of saliva keeping your mouth and finger connected snapping each time your lips reach his head, nearly pulling off of his cock completely before your mouth sinks down again

“Yeah, yeah, there you go,” he grunts out, words torn around the edges, breathing raw and ragged. “Good girl, my perfect girl, doing so well for me.” 

A whine reverberates around his cock, your legs spreading slightly as your back bows and your neck arches, an ambitious attempt to take more of him, throat gaping and split open, drenched cunt grinding into the toe of his polished shoe. 

He groans a little, the sound tapering off into something choked and broken, his hips stuttering forward and involuntarily plunging his entire length down your throat, body retching at the abrupt intrusion. 

And suddenly, all of this isn’t exactly enough for you. 

Because while you can nearly fit all of him down your throat on your own, and while he seems to be more than satisfied with your progress, there’s still an inch or so that you’re missing, palm curled around it in a manner that’s almost protective, and you want to take all of him. 

You want to prove that you can take all of him, for him. 

A thick, milky string of spit and pre-cum dangles and droops heavily in the space between your lips and his cock as you peel your mouth from his shaft entirely, wrecked little coughs furling on your tongue, eyes wet and wide and full of reverence as you look up at him, imploring.

With a little effort, he hefts his lids open from their sedative state, staring down at you with glazed, gluttonous pupils, head tilting a little in inquiry.

“I want you to fuck my throat, Sir,” you rasp out in explanation, voice rough and raw, request grating against your throat. “Please, fuck my throat, Sir, please.” 

The plead is garbled, drooled out from the corners of your mouth curled in copious drivels of foamy spit, collecting on your chin and dripping off your jaw in viscous glass cords. 

Chest heaving with ragged breath, he watches as drool drizzles across your collarbone and exposed bosom, sticky and sloppy. You’re making such a mess—he’s making such a mess of you, and you’re so willing, so unwavering, raring for more. 

“Fuck,” he nearly whines out, the curse cracked. 

Deft fingers grip your face, blunt nails biting into your cheeks as he forces your head up further, an attempt to get a better look at you. 

“Yeah?” he breathes, the word drifting across your face, eyes hunting after it in an almost rabid manner. “You want Sir to fuck your mouth?” 

A whimper vibrates on your tongue, head nodding as best it can in his firm grasp. 

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, wanna take as much of you as possible, Sir; wanna take all of you, Sir; wanna be so good for you, Sir,” your head quirks a little, nuzzling into his touch. “Please, help me, help me show you how good I can be.” 

Your confession is molten and dreamy, flowing from your lips in one thick, continuous stream, your eyes limpid, desperate with the desire to please. 

“Though you’ve proven you are capable of doing it on your own, it’s precious that you’re asking for my help.”

A hum of contemplation rumbles in his chest, head tilting in observation, his scrutinizing gaze framed by heavy lids, eyes now slow and steady as they search your face.

“You need Sir to guide you, huh?” he’s asking as his other hand replaces your own, wrapping around the base of his cock and giving it two good, quick pumps before bringing the head to your lips, mouth obediently dropping open, a sound of confirmation playing on the back of your tongue.

Yes, yes, you’re nodding, tongue curling in the air a little, almost as if enticing him closer.

“No, not need,” he revises, smudging a thin stroke of pre-cum across your waiting, urgent tongue. “Want. Isn’t that right?” 

It’s true—you don’t technically need his assistance, could manage perfectly well on your own the task of sucking him off and stuffing your throat with his cum, but you want his aid; want to show him that not only can you succeed, but you can surpass.

“Please,” you whimper, the word a distortion trembling against the tip of his cock. “Please, help me be the very best for you, Sir.” 

Something sharp flashes in his pupils, hungry and craving and full of teeth, his chest stuttering with it—a growl he snuffs out, strangles in his throat before it can grow into a coherent response, replaced with a simple nod.

“All right, all right, baby,” he’s pacifying as you take his cock down your throat again, the hinges of your jaw straining as your mouth stretches around him. “Sir will help you out this time.” 

A mewl of thanks vibrates around his cock as he threads himself down your throat, his hips jerking once, fast and short, a matching whimper spilling from his lips. 

Delicate fingers curl in his waistband and tug a little, begging him to fuck deeper, and he concedes, groaning out breathy praise as your nose presses into that neat smattering of curls adorning his pubic bone, lips kissing the root of his shaft. 

“Christ,” he whines, hips thrusting forward a hint further as he leans back against the stall wall to get a better view, your throat tightening around him with the action. “So fucking gorgeous.” 

The stuffed full column of your throat ripples around him as you swallow with conviction, a greedy attempt to garner him even deeper into you, his shaft swollen and protruding in your neck. Tear-lacquered eyes close briefly, forcing streams of crystal to leak from the corners as you nuzzle into his groin again, the laudatory action causing gummy walls to spasm around his cockhead. 

“F-Fuck,” the curse fragments on his tongue, head tipping back against the flimsy stall wall, angular jaw and Adam’s apple on display. “Look at you, so full of me.”

There isn’t any more time to admire, though, as idle chatter, muffled and indistinct, seeps under the heavy washroom door, yanking both of you from the heavenscape you had conjointly created and shocking you with a bitter dose of reality. 

There’s no warning after that, the brute reminder of the steadily encroaching public entirely shattering whatever trance the two of you had been enveloped in, Alhaitham’s hips snapping sudden and sharp, fucking your throat with a renewed vigour. 

Your grip on his slacks tightens, knuckles curling over the waistband in a feeble attempt to help him, to pull him even closer, jaw wrenched open even wider as his hips work, so fucking dedicated to him, to pleasing him, despite the pang beginning to settle deep within the hinges.

It’s rough, and sloppy, and so fucking hot, scalding saliva smeared all over him—coating his thighs and dribbling down his balls and soaking the matted curls at the base of his cock, slippery and sticky and stained with you. 

“Doing so—so fucking good for me,” he pants out, pace never faltering. “My perfect little toy.” 

Something mangled and muted sounds in your throat, another pair of tears cascading down your cheeks and streaking them with pretty gleaming trails.

It hurts, your throat burning and fucked raw with every ram of his cock, your lungs beginning to shrivel as he smothers your breath, routinely shoved back down in time with the piston of his hips, chest swelling painfully beneath the backlog of unreleased air. 

Hiccups splutter around him as you desperately try to draw in tiny gulps through your nose, the fluttering of your throat eliciting another hoarse groan, tumbling from his lips. 

The ache in your jaw has radiated across your face now, a pounding in your temples keeping flawless rhythm with Alhaitham’s thrusts, a twinging in your cheeks weighing heavy on the bones, creeping into your sinuses.

Yes, it all hurts so very much, but you take it all for him, just like a good little girl is supposed to, just like he asked, just like you promised you would—dutiful, doting, devoted.

And even though his hips are ruthless, avid in their chase to catch his impending high, his grip is tender, the knuckles rooted against your skull firm but not painful as they hold your head in place, his thumbs massaging soothing little circles along your hairline.

You’re weeping around him now, a potent concoction of drool and tears trickling off your tongue in viscid strings, the slick muscle curled flush around the underside of his shaft, protecting sensitive skin from the edges of sharp teeth. 

A dull pain is beginning to seep into the tip of your nose, no doubt a response to the constant collision of your face into his pelvis, and you can feel the early formations of a bruise, fragile capillaries busted open from the consistent blunt force. 

“Oh, Christ,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before springing back open, gazing down at you with fervour. “M’gonna—ah, ah—” his hips judder, thumbs pressing into the sides of your head, steadying his grasp. “M’gonna cum, and I want you to—f-fuck—to swallow it all, y’here me? Don’t waste a single fucking drop.” 

And, well, you’re nothing if not unwaveringly obedient.

Two more drives of his cock, rough and rapid, and then he’s forcing hot, thick cum down your throat, stuffing the column full with his potent seed.

It’s so much, too much, and you sputter around him, the syrupy substance overflowing back up your throat and into your mouth to seep, slow and sticky, past the tight seal of your mouth.

But he helps you with that, too, holding your head still and pressing your face tightly to his pubic bone, ensuring that his cum shoots straight down your throat as his cock continues to throb weakly, weighting your tongue. 

And you, obedient little girl that you are, devour all of it, even the few stray dollops of cream that managed to escape your mouth and roll down his balls, tongue curling hungrily around them and sopping up the remnants with gentle sucking. 

Truly, you did not waste a single fucking drop. 

And he’s so proud of you. 

“C’mere, precious,” he’s breathing out once he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, releasing his grip on your skull and hoisting you up, strong hands hooked beneath your armpits. 

He hauls you to your feet in one fluid movement, pliant legs struggling to find stable footing on the tiled floor, and props you up against his body, supporting you. Those big hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to his, aquamarine flying across your features—quick, but efficient—and surveying the damage.

“You were so perfect,” he murmurs, sowing a smattering of chaste kisses along the top of your head. “You were so, so perfect for me.” 

A response hitches in your throat, mangled by the sob desperately attempting to claw past it, and Alhaitham frowns, concern creasing his forehead. 

“Hey, you okay? Huh?” gentle palms tip your head up even further, thumbs killing tears as they swipe over your cheekbones. “You okay, sweetheart?” 

“M’fine, Sir,” you croak out, voice ruined but eyes filled with reverence. “Th-Thank you for giving me your cum.” 

The worry saturating his features is eradicated in an instant, eroded by tender awe, his lips twitching into a small smile as his eyes sweep across your face again—slower, this time, more deliberate, appreciative—thumbs continuing their soft caress. 

The sudden shouting of his name decimates any potential response before it has a chance to form in his mouth, a low growl of irritation rumbling in his chest. 

“Yeah,” he calls back, the moment the washroom door swings open, effectively halting the perpetrator in their steps. “I’ll be there soon. Give me a moment.” 

His voice is hard, stern, cold yet dripping with authority, the meek messenger squeaking out some semblance of acknowledgement before rushing from the room. 

You’re still sniffling, cheeks stained with dried, crusty salt, hair mussed and messy, and his frown returns as he looks back at you, his features pinched, reluctance weighing heavy on his form. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” 

“I am,” you nod in his grasp, finally standing on your own two feet, as if to prove it. “Promise.”

His eyes hold your own for a moment longer, assessing, before he accepts your answer as truth, fingers beginning to fuss with his dishevelled tie. 

“All right,” he sighs out the words as he primps, palms smoothing down his shirt, wrinkles casualties from your fingers. “Take your time to regain your bearings.” He looks up, a sardonic grin on his face. “I, unfortunately, have business to attend to. Such is the life of a Sumeru professor.” 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s such a drag to be faculty at the top university in the world,” you snort. 

“Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts,” he retorts, but his smile has softened to something playful. “You’ll learn soon enough.”

“Looking forward to it, Sir.” 

“Good.” 

He refolds his lapels one last time, squaring his shoulders as he mentally prepares, turning toward the stall door.

“Oh, and uh,” hand curled around the stall handle, he pauses, throwing a glance over his shoulder, eyes shining with something mischievous. “Maybe next time you can actually ride my cock, like you wanted to.” 

Head quirking, confusion crinkles your brow, your eyes searching his face. Next time?

A smirk spreads across his lips, smug and supercilious. 

“See you in class on Monday, Teaching Assistant.” 

[cottonlemonade]

Atsumu’s New Girlfriend

word count: 656 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader (feat. MSBY)

genre: fluff, crack, established relationship

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Atsumu’s team doubts your existence

It wasn’t news to anyone that Atsumu came to work with a superior smirk and a not-so-humble brag on his lips but recently it seemed to have increased exponentially. Without much, or really any, resistance, he happily told his teammates that he went and got himself a girlfriend and would not stop talking about how great you were. From all the stories his friends had heard by now you were stunning, smart, beautiful, kind, gorgeous, got along great with his mom, and laughed at all his jokes. That alone gave them all reason to believe that you were entirely made up.

But one day they went to talk with their PR manager, going over contracts for a new brand deal and as they waited for the elevator Atsumu suddenly pointed to a framed newspaper article and called, “Hey! That’s my girlfriend!”

Curious despite their better judgment, the team crowded around the article and studied the group photo at the top. Sakusa didn’t waste any time and pointed to a trash can that was somewhat off in the background. “That one?”

He easily dodged the slap on the shoulder that would have earned him.

Atsumu grumbled something under his breath and then put his finger to the glass again, pointing to a young woman on the left, dressed in an immaculately tailored pantsuit that sat perfectly on your curves, a confident smile on your face. Underneath the picture, it listed the names and professions of the five people.

“Lawyer?!”, the others called in unison.

With the smuggest grin anyone had ever worn, Atsumu crossed his arms and nodded.

“Do you know what a lawyer is?”, Sakusa asked with a brow raised in doubt, “Can you even spell it?”

“Hey!”

“Just because you hired her and see her regularly, doesn’t make her your girlfriend.”, Meian added carefully.

“I didn’t hire her. I just talked to her.”,

Sakusa didn’t buy it. “You talked to her? With words? And she liked you?”

“Uh huh, just talked to her like normal.” The setter shrugged.

“Yeah, but you opening your mouth is usually where it ends.”, Bokuto said sheepishly.

“Maybe she isn’t normal either.”, Sakusa muttered.

“I’m gonna prove it to ya!”, Atsumu called, a very prominent blush on his face, “She is at my place right now waiting for me. Let’s all go there!”

“Honey, I’m hooome!”, Atsumu called as soon as he pushed open the front door. He immediately regretted it because he had never done that before but when there was no reply, Hinata, Bokuto, and Sakusa looked at him with pity. The rest of the team, not wanting to add to his probable humiliation, decided to leave it to his friends to tease him.

“She must be in the kitchen and can’t hear. She likes to listen to music.”, Atsumu explained as he kicked off his shoes, in a tone that sounded as if listening to music while cooking was somehow the quirkiest thing ever.

And truly, now that he said it, faint music was heard, coming from a room at the far end of the entryway. Atsumu half jogged, half slid with his socks on the wooden floor, and opened the door in question. The others followed.

There you were, in an untucked blouse over pinstripe dress pants with a makeshift apron - a dish towel tucked into the collar - offering a (loud and) highly emotional rendition of the Spirit soundtrack as you stirred something that smelled absolutely heavenly on the stove. The three guests let out a long “Ohhhhh” in understanding, then continued to watch for a few stunned moments, before Atsumu broke from the group.

“Hey babe.”, he purred and shuffled over to hug and kiss you Hello.

You wiped the tears the song had brought to your eyes away and looked past him to his friends, not a singular ounce of embarrassment on your face, you said, “I definitely didn’t make enough for all y’all.”

art: @_hermoon on Twitter

a/n: Just something silly. Also, Spirit is a phenomenal movie and never fails to make me cry!

brainstorm powered by @haikyu-mp4

[first-interplanar-bank]

Saw a post earlier about how Wisconsin is superior to Massachusetts in regards to cranberry yield. While objectively it is correct that Wisconsin has a higher yield than Massachusetts, that's not the point.

Wisconsin cranberry infrastructure is nothing but sterile, boring square cranberry BEDS. So of course they yield more cranberries! They are built for boring efficiency! Nothing about their shape is interesting!

Massachusetts on the other hand, has cranberry BOGS. These shapes are influenced by the shape of the landscape itself. There is mystery and omen in the oddity of the shapes! The vibes of the weird shapes are immaculate!

In conclusion, the higher yield of cranberries in Wisconsin cannot even hope to compare to the feeling of a cranberry bog. Sterile squares are nothing compared to the ominous shapes the planet itself willed into existence

[chrollogy]

MY TURN

— hisoka morow x f!reader

syn: Hisoka turns into a complete mess all because of a strap on.

18+ MDNI; explicit smut, pegging/use of strap on, anal (m), bottom!hisoka, top!reader, porn without plot, just pure filth im so sorry, hisoka gets his shit rocked, pet name (baby), not beta read.

word count: 1.5k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. im running away . a quick lil smut warm up :3 i actually enjoyed writing this heh (oki see u on november !)

Hot. Damp. Filthy.

Hisoka’s pornographic moans filled the thick atmosphere of the room—they had no restraint whatsoever, ribbons, and ribbons of colourful curses tied with your name slipped past his wet lips; both coherent, and incoherent, each lust-filled noise came out of him with every merciless thrust of your hips. Face down, ass up. That’s the position you currently had Hisoka on, with his back unnaturally arched to take the strap even deeper.

How pathetic. A big strong man capable of killing anyone seemed to lose it at a mere silicone cock.

With Hisoka’s head turned to the side—he figured it’d be such a waste to muffle his melodic moans—he stared straight at you from over his shoulder; light amber gaze coated in pure carnal desire.

It held a hint of amusement deep beneath the brightness of its colour as if to tease you even though he’s the one getting railed into oblivion with a faux cock.

You clicked your tongue.

Even with that expression on his face—brows tightly knitted together, lips unceremoniously parted, and a glob of saliva rolling from the corner of his mouth paired with a deep crimson blush—Hisoka still managed to rouse a sense of superiority with just his eyes.

You gripped his hips, nails digging into the bareness of his pale skin before driving the strap-on cock deeper into his hole. “Mhm—aah! Yeah, that’s it—ngh!” The ivory sheets beneath his sweaty palms crumpled under his touch, eyes rolling to the back of his head as the tip of the faux cock kissed Hisoka’s sweet spot.

An icy shudder kissed up his arched back, leaving trails of goosebumps on his bare skin. Hot tears lined his pretty eyes, you watched as it rolled down his face, and onto the silk pillowcase beneath.

God, the sight before you was absolutely immaculate, downright filthy yet oddly enough, there was something so beautiful about it—the way Hisoka’s expansive back muscles flexed with pure pleasure, veins that decorated his arms bulged from the tightness of his grip on the sheets.

Not to mention how his muscular body jolted back, and forth from each merciless thrust of your hips. Bright red hair that was normally slicked back now fell onto his neck, damp, and stuck to his sweaty skin.

Hisoka looked like an absolute whore beneath you, and you lived for the sight.

If he was being honest, he couldn’t think properly anymore; his mind was nothing but a lust-filled mush, hungry for more, more, more pleasure until it pushed him into the brink of complete insanity. Pure ecstasy engulfed his body from head to toe, causing him to shake from the mind blowing sensation.

Oh, what an amazing feeling it was, if only he could live in this state forever. Sounds of wet squelches mixed with Hisoka’s shameless whimpers, and moans were like music to your ears—a sinful melody reserved for you only.

With your palms flat against his shoulder blades, you shifted your weight to your hands, using his back as a leverage to angle your hips better, and reach deeper inside him. Hisoka panted in unison with every thrust, the weight of your body on top allowed him to enter a blissful haze from the lack of oxygen in his lungs—almost like a drunken state but paired with lust.

His toes curled at the foreign sensation, relishing in the way it made his body feel limp yet stiff at the same time. The familiar feeling deep inside his stomach was slowly rising to the surface—he was near his orgasm, and you knew from the way Hisoka moaned your name like a broken record.

Ah, but you weren’t quite finished with him just yet.

“Turn around for me, will you?” You panted, hastily slipping out of his hole which earned a pathetic whimper from the man before you.

Nonetheless, Hisoka obliged, and swiftly so—as though mere seconds away from pleasure was going to cost him his whole life. He adjusted himself, bare back flushed against the sheets beneath, uncomfortably sticking onto his sweat-covered skin. A bright hue of red surrounded Hisoka’s head like a sinful halo, his hair was splayed onto the pillow which made him look all the more majestic in his raw beauty.

His hard cock slapped against his abdomen, it stood proudly, and leaked of a pearlescent pre-cum which you were tempted to get your tongue on, and relish at the taste of him. You wrapped your fingers around the back of Hisoka’s knees, bending his long legs, and bringing them to his chest before slipping the faux cock back inside his hole, earning a high pitched whimper from your lover, followed by a muttered curse.

Without letting him adjust, you returned to the swift pace you had set mere moments ago, pulling louder moans, and groans from Hisoka. At this point he was long gone, drunk on pure pleasure without an ounce of sobriety left inside him, letting you do as you please with his body as long as the feeling of ecstasy was what he received—a win, win situation.

Light amber eyes slowly dipped beneath his heavy eyelids, his stare held nothing but empty lust. As odd as it was, Hisoka’s fucked out expression allowed pride to bloom across your chest, a feeling of accomplisment that you, too, were able to reduce your lover into nothing but a common whore who eagerly chased after pleasure.

After all, it was always the other way around—Hisoka never shied away from taking you in many sinful positions, rendering you cockdrunk, and unable to form a single coherent thought.

You bent over him, palms placed on either side of his head, a smug smile painted on your sweaty face, “My, my, what a scandalous sight. God, I love that expression you’re making.” You moaned—a fake one to tease him. That was usually Hisoka’s line when he’d fuck you, he always loved to comment on your fucked out expression; per his words, it fuelled his sex drive like gasoline on fire.

Hisoka could only reply with a bite of his lip. Another set of fresh tears rolled down his crimson coloured cheeks as electrifying shocks of pleasure washed over his body. With the harsh jolts of his body, and tears clouding his gaze, he couldn’t even see you properly but that didn’t really matter since he could feel you perfectly fine.

“Fist your cock for me.” You breathed out.

Hisoka snaked a shaky hand down to the apex of his legs where his cock remained untouched, and hard. He wrapped his deft fingers around the shaft, back arched off the mattress at the added pleasure, “Aah! Fuck, that feels so—ngh! So good!” Hisoka’s lips curled into a crazed smile, a breathy chuckle erupted from his throat at the feel of his hole, and cock being simultaneously pleasure.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Everything felt too fucking good, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

Completely letting himself go, Hisoka eagerly fisted his cock in time with your thrusts. His body stiffened under the immense pleasure he felt, a series of incoherent sentences flowed out of his mouth as though he spoke another language.

Hisoka was close.

So fucking close to his orgasm  as the knot inside his stomach threatened to snap with each passing second—with each thrust of your hips.

The only thing grounding him right now was his free hand curling around the ivory sheets, and if he were to let go, he might actually start floating as though on cloud nine.

“Ah—! Mhm! Yes! That’s it, baby don’t stop!” 

And you didn’t, you kept the same merciless pace despite the resistance of his walls making it a little harder to thrust inside. Hisoka panted like a dog, bare, sweaty chest heaving up, and down as if his life depended on it; his precum-covered thumb deftly rubbed at his sensitive slit—up, and down, up, and down, fast, tight circles along the tip of his cock head.

Pleasure gnawed at Hisoka’s very bones, his body trembled with immense pleasure; mind completely blank, and in a lust-filled haze. Every muscle inside his body stiffened as climax neared, all four limbs tingling with a foreign sensation as though a million butterflies kissed his bare skin.

With one last thrust from you, and a few more tight rubs on his tip, Hisoka unceremoniously came with a loud moan of your name while pressing his head further into the pillow beneath.

Ribbons, and ribbons of thick ivory spurted from his hardened cock, and onto his chiselled abdomen—Hisoka’s face contorted in pure pleasure, completely lost in the sinful sensation.

Fuck, it felt like his head was spinning.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, allowing him to bask in the serene aftermath of an earth shattering orgasm, heavy pants from both of you quickly replaced Hisoka’s lewd moans. After a heartbeat, he opened his eyes, and you were met with a cold amber stare, full of predatory intent, and carnal desire,

And with a sinister curl of his lips, Hisoka breathed out, “Now then, it’s my turn.”

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum & @pixelcafe-network !

[a-killer-obsession]

I hope no one already sent this one in when you asked for it, but 2 X

You have freed me from my horny, horny curse, I am forever in your debt

Fresh Ripe Peach

Prompt: Writer's Choice

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, incubus!killer, loss of virginity, monsterfucking, rough sex, biting, demon summoning, cum play, oral (receiving and giving), cumshot, fingering, bulging, deepthroating, praise kink, p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming, slave/master terms used

WC: 5k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

It was frankly embarrassing how horny you were, and desperate times called for desperate measures, kneeling on the floor of your cabin, chalk in one hand, dodgy looking occult spell book in the other, tracing out the markings on the page as instructed. The book was probably all bullshit, and you were already mentally resigning yourself to another night of disappointing jerking off until your vibrator died, but it was at least worth a shot. Chalk replaced by a lighter, you put down the book momentarily to light the five candles that sat at each tip of the pentagram you'd drawn, adding to the ambient low light in your room given off by your bedside lamp.

You adjusted your provocative clothing, feeling a little ridiculous but hey, if it worked you were dressed to impress. Strappy leather harness forming an upside down pentagram on your chest, lacey black bra that lacked cups, framing your bare breasts. Matching panties with a triangular cutout over your bare-shaved mound, thigh garters adorned with small metal pentagram charms, the bands digging into your plush thighs and creating delicious indents. Your hair was fixed in a sleek high ponytail, eyes lined with heavy black liner, lips painted in dark, nearly black, smudge-proof purple lipstick. You hoped the spell would work, or this immaculate outfit would be quite a waste.

Satisfied your outfit was all as it should be, you picked the book up and began to chant. Did you understand the latin you were reading? Absolutely not a lick, but you hoped it translated to something along the lines of ‘excuse me demons, dinner is served, come get some pussy’. You finished reading the spell and let out a deflated sigh as nothing happened, seriously considering begging someone on the crew to fuck you, when suddenly the room went dark, the candles all blowing out at once and the bulb in your lamp failing. A few moments of pitch black darkness later and the lamp flickered back on, your heart racing as you heard heavy footsteps running up the hall outside your room. Oh shit, did it work?

The door flew open, a flurry of blond and blue flying in and immediately yelling, the door slamming shut and latching again, notably untouched. “A SUMMONING CIRCLE? REALLY [Y/N]? ARE YOU STUPID?” The bare foot of the first mate rubbed furiously at the chalk diagram on the floor, clearly fresh from his bed in only a pair of blue gingham pyjama pants and his mask, “get rid of this shit before some other asshole decides to answer, for Lucifer's sake.”

You were entirely speechless, suddenly remembering your physical state and crossing your arms over your chest to cover your bare tits. “KILLER! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!” you shouted.

“Oh now you don't want me in here,” he tsk'd, “you summoned me, here I am! Chicken out already, girlie?”

“Summoned you?” You replied, so very confused, looking at your discarded spell book. Was there even a spell for summoning a first mate? That seemed oddly specific, and not at all occult. Superior summoning spell? Blonde asshole spell? Huh? “I- I didn't-”

“You summoned a companion demon, did you not?” he loomed over you with his hands on his hips, every rarely seen curve and divot of his muscular chest on display.

“I summoned an incub-”

“Do NOT use that word,” he cut you off, physically pinching your lips together. “It's derogatory, we prefer companion demon”

“Okay?” you relented as he let your lips go and crossed his arms over his chest, “I summoned a companion demon,” you repeated sarcastically, “so why are- wait, what do you mean ‘we’?”

“How do you think I knew what you were doing in here? You called, I answered,” he replied nonchalantly, “you're fucking lucky it was me, stupid girl.”

“But you're not-”

“-a demon?” He laughed. He removed his striped helmet and squatted in front of you, letting you see his unmasked face up close and personal. You'd always been told he didn't like his smile, but you could see now that was a blantant lie. There was a very obvious reason the Massacre Soldier covered his face. His eyes were icy blue, his pupils thin slits like a snake, his sclera entirely black, as though dipped in ink. When he opened his mouth you could see sharp extended canines and his tongue was longer and more pointed than a human's. “Like I said,” he continued as he stood, placing his mask on your dresser, “you called, I answered”

“Why- what the fuck is a inc- sorry, companion demon, doing on a pirate ship?” You asked, pulling a blanket from your bed and wrapping it around yourself, Killer rolling his eyes at the bashful motion.

“It's a long story,” he sighed, “Kid's mother was my master, she bound me to Kid as she was dying to protect him till he reached adulthood, but I grew fond of the little guy and had him bind me himself”

“So, wait, if Kid is your master, why are you here?” You queried.

“This is my territory,” he huffed, “you sent an open invite to every available asshole on the Grandline. Thanks for that, by the way. You're fucking lucky I was close enough to get here first or you'd already have some disrespectful dickhead balls deep in you. Do you have no regard for your own safety? What the fuck came over you to summon a demon?”

“I was horny… “ you mumbled under your breath.

“And you couldn't just go ask someone for a quickie?” He scorned, “Nobody on this crew is good enough for you?”

“It's not that…” you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, “they're just not… um… my type?”

“Really, nobody on this extremely diverse crew is your type?” He raised a brow.

“They're not uh… monsters?” You replied hesitantly.

“I think you'll find given our reputation that there are plenty of monsters on board,” he replied, before the penny in his brain dropped, “unless- oh you're really fucked up, huh?” He said with a shit eating smirk, “So that's it, you summoned a demon cos you want your brains fucked out by some beast? Is that it? Dirty girl~” he purred.

You were bright red with blush, slowly sinking under the top edge of the blanket. “Can you just go away please…” you mumbled, muffled by the fabric.

“Actually, I can't,” he huffed, “you made a contract when you summoned me. I'm here till sunrise. What, the scary eyes and fangs not enough for your needs?” You couldn't even bring yourself to look at him, so unbelievably ashamed of yourself. “It's just as well this isn't my true form then,” he grinned toothily.

Your eyes widened as his skin began to shift hue, turning to an icy blue that matched his eyes, the colour darkening as it made swirling patterns on his arms, turning to a royal blue, then a deep, almost black, navy at the hands. His nails lengthened, forming sharp, dangerous looking claws. His ears elongated, turning to points. You let out an audible gasp as he dropped his pants and underwear, letting the fabric pool on the floor and revealing an absolutely monstrous cock that made your mouth water, a deep royal blue adorned with navy swirls, and a now freed tail flicked out to the side from his rear, the end capped with a sharp arrow tip as he let it slowly move. Two mostly straight, navy coloured horns sprouted from the top of his head, curving almost back into him, tipped in icy blue and lined with ridges. Most impressive of all though were the two grand bat wings that spread out from behind him, clawed at the top-most point, the structured areas navy while the membranes faded to royal blue, and the same icy blue as his skin at the centermost edges.

“Is this more to your liking, Master?” He stepped towards you, leaving his pants on the floor, entirely naked and proud in front of you. Even flaccid his cock was huge, directly at your eye level as you hid under your blankets, and you bit your lip as you shamelessly eyed him like a meal, scanning over his blue tinted body. He squatted in front of you, tilting your chin up with a hooked finger, his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, claw threatening to injure. “Don't even bother trying to lie to me, this is what I was made for. I can smell your arousal, I can hear your heart quicken”

“Fuck,” was all you managed to get out, letting the blanket fall to the floor around you, exposing yourself to him.

“There's a good girl,” he purred, “let me see that pretty body.”

You leaned back on the palms of your hands, letting your legs stretch out in front of you, forced to part slightly as they slid either side of him. He ran his eyes down your body, humming contently to himself, before his eyes ran back up and met yours. “This contract is an exchange,” he explained, crawling forward to loom over you, “I give you pleasure, and in exchange you allow me to feed off your sexual energy. It costs you nothing, you won't even notice it leaving you, save for being maybe a little tired tomorrow”

“Is this… what you usually do with Kid?” You stuttered as he placed a hand on your stomach, catching the waistband of your panties and playing with it as he used the cutout to hook his thumb through them.

“It is,” he smirked, “people don't summon demons like they used to, it's better to have a bound Master”

“Killer, how old are you?” You asked curiously, noting that the slits in his eyes were significantly more dilated now as he looked at your body.

“I resent that question,” he huffed.

“Oh come on, humour me,” he squinted at you in annoyance, “more than a hundred? More than five hundred?” He rolled his eyes. “More than a thousand?” He gave you a playful look that told you that you were close. “MORE THAN A THOUSAND?”

“Why, you wanna call me great-great-great-great-great grandaddy while I fuck you?” He smirked, unflinching as you smacked his chest in retaliation. “What do you want out of this anyway? I'm at your servitude, whatever you want, it's yours. No kink too fucked up.”

“I, uh… I don't know…” you mumbled, turning shy again.

“No? Nothing you particularly enjoy?” He asked. You looked at him shyly and he blinked in recognition. “I swear to Lucifer, [y/n] tell me you did not summon a demon to take your virginity!”

You gave him a forced apologetic smile and he groaned, “You are actually so fucking lucky that I answered your call, fucking hell. Actually, scratch that, maybe I'm the lucky one. Do you even know what a rarity you are to demons like me? You're a ripe peach, ready to sink teeth into. Fuck, your energy is going to be delicious.” You could see the way his pupils were pulsing and dilating as he looked at you, his sharp tongue running over his fangs, looking like he was ready to physically bite into you. You felt very much like prey pinned under a predator with Killer's large body looming over you, looking down at you with eyes nearly entirely black from lust, mere slivers of blue left in them, his tail flicking behind him like that of a cat enjoying playing with a mouse. “I'm going to have such fun with you, my peach”

You squeaked as Killer suddenly grabbed you and threw you on the bed unceremoniously, your body bouncing a little at the impact. You started to instinctively crawl backwards, away from the dangerous predator, but he grabbed your ankles and pulled you back towards him. “Ah, ah, where are you going, my peach? We have a deal. I'm gonna eat you right up,” he gave you a toothy grin before pulling your leg up and sinking his teeth into your plush thigh, right over a garter, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make you yelp. He hooked the garter with his fangs as he drew back, pulling on it and letting it go to ping against your thigh, making you hiss. “Such a pretty outfit for me too,” he hummed, spreading a hand out over your mound, sharp claws pressing against your soft belly, before he suddenly made a fist, bunching the front of your panties in his hand and pulling hard, “it's too bad I have to ruin it,” he feigned a pout, before adding his other hand to the mix and tearing the panties from your body.

“Killer!” You shouted, trying to squish your legs shut, but he was far stronger than you and easily pried your thighs open, pinning them against your stomach.

“Come now, don't go getting shy on me now,” he purred, getting his first look at your bare pussy, “such a pretty, pink peach too, and so juicy,” he knelt down and flicked out his long, pointed tongue, swiping it over your cunt and collecting your slick on it as you whined, drawing it back into his mouth with a satisfied hum as he savoured the flavour, “so sweet too, I can't wait to devour you. You'll let me, won't you my peach?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you realised that despite his rough and threatening treatment thus far, he was asking for consent before going any further. Perhaps you were lucky it was him and not another, you got the sense that demons did not usually ask consent. You bit your lip and gave him a nod, your pussy aching for more after the one brief touch, and he gave you a toothy grin, his fangs glinting under the low light from your lamp. His face disappeared from your view again, unable to see him past your own legs, but fuck could you feel him. His tongue was sinfully skillful as it played with your clit, rolling and flicking it, running firm stripes over it, dipping down towards your entrance and teasing it with just the tip of his tongue as he gathered the honey that dripped from it. You moaned and writhed at every gesture, clawing at the blankets either side of you wishing you could pull on his hair or, fuck, maybe even his horns. Whether it be because he could read your mind, sense your need, or because he just wanted to look at you with that shit-eating grin, he let his hold on your legs loosen enough that you were able to let your knees fall outwards, revealing his face half covered by your pussy. His head now accessible, you were able to reach down and grab one of his horns, which he must have liked as he groaned against your cunt. Spurred on by your small spike of confidence, he let his tongue drag down to your entrance, looking up at you with those inky eyes and a sharp smile as he sunk his tongue inside you, enjoying the way your face contorted with pleasure as a deep moan fell from your lips.

He thrust his tongue in and out of you, curling its length occasionally to flick against your g-spot as he brought a hand to your mound, pressing against it while his thumb reached down to play with your clit. You pulled hard on his horn as your head lolled back, hips rolling in time with his shallow thrusts as he brought you to your peak, creamy ring forming around his tongue as he worked you through it.

“So sweet, my peach,” he purred as he kissed your thighs, wings stretching out behind him as he crawled up your body. “I ask again though, is there anything you want of me? Before I fuck the coherence out of you”

“Wanna- wanna taste you,” you mumbled, one hand draped over your face, the other still clutching his horn.

“So take it,” he purred. You stared at him through half-lidded eyes, before grabbing his other horn and pulling him down towards you, crashing your lips against his. He let you lead the kiss, flicking his tongue against yours, enjoying the feel of your curious muscle against his. Your hands left his horns to travel down his body, feeling and groping at his arms and pecks, rubbing your thumbs over his nipples and tracing your nails down his abdomen. You wrapped both hands around his thick cock, pumping it sloppily, your inexperienced determination making him smile against your mouth. He reached down and guided your pace, squeezing your hands to adjust your pressure and moving your hands in a way that indicated he preferred the focus on the base, letting your hands go once you got the hang of it. His hands wandered over your body, pinching and pulling at your nipples, one hand moving further to play with your cunt more, making lewd squelches that made you blush as he slipped two fingers inside you and matched his thrusts to the pace you were pumping him with. He swallowed your moans, your pure sexual energy making his whole body tingle delightfully as he consumed it, adding a third finger and working towards stretching you out enough to take his thick member.

You could feel his precum dripping down his shaft in generous streams, running over your fingers as you stroked him, lubricating your motions. You brought a hand to your mouth and he watched as you experimentally licked the precum from it. He brought his own fingers from your cunt to your mouth, and you opened your mouth for him, shivering at his toothy grin as you sucked your own arousal off his digits. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard on them, running your tongue around them and pressing it flat against the underside, and he swore under his breath.

“Such a pretty mouth, my peach, almost as pretty as that pussy,” he purred, “would you like to taste more? I'd love to see how those pretty pink lips look wrapped around my cock”

He pulled his fingers from your mouth with a pop and you pushed towards him, his wings spreading behind him as he let you push him flat against the bed to straddle him. You kissed him hard before running your kisses to his jaw, breezing past his goatee to suck and nip at his neck. He whined as you made a particularly harsh bite, the sound making electricity go straight to your cunt, so you did it again. Over and over you bit down, sucking his flesh into your mouth and leaving dark bruises in your wake, running your tongue flat to soothe over them before continuing, leaving a trail of bites and bruises like step stones from his neck to his cock, each whine and groan making your pussy drip more. You enthusiastically took his cock in your hand as you reached it, running your tongue up the underside and collecting the precum beaded at the end, salty and hot on your tongue as you swirled it over the head. He was watching you carefully as you licked him, his head falling flat to the bed as you finally took him in your mouth, a string of curses falling from his mouth as you took as much as you could fit off him and serviced the rest with your two hands tight around his base. His cock stretched your lips to the limits, corners stinging from it, and you gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat, so much of him still outside your mouth. With each dip of your head you worked to take him deeper, gagging less intensely each time as you adjusted to the intrusion, breathing through your nose and relaxing your throat till you were able to take most of him, having to remove your hands from his base and instead groping at his thighs. His tail wrapped around your throat gently, using it to feel the way his cock made your throat bulge, one of his hands grabbing your ponytail and twisting it around his wrist to hold it like a leash.

“Fuck, good girl [y/n],” Killer groaned, “look at you, taking me like a natural, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Do you want my cum, sweet girl? Want me to cum down that tight throat of yours? Or maybe you want it on your face, paint you with my cum so you look like the sweet little monsterfucking slut you are, huh? Would you like that?”

You whined around him, vibrating his cock in your mouth before burying his cock right to the base, your nose against his blonde tuft of public hair as your eyes watered, eyeliner running down your face with it as your lipstick wore off and made a purple ring around his cock. “Ohhhhh fuck [y/n], just like that, just like that, fuck, gonna cum sweet girl, where do you want it baby?”

You pulled off his cock with a pop, making your choice clear. He held your ponytail tight, making you whine as he started furiously fisting himself with his other hand. “Show me your tongue sweetheart,” he groaned, and you lolled your tongue out for him, closing your eyes as you anticipated getting cum near them. Your hands kneaded his thighs as he threw back his head and groaned, ropes of cum splashing against your face and tongue, some of it overshooting and getting in your hair as he coated your face with dripping swathes of cum, making your pussy clench around nothing. Your pretty cupless bra and harness were entirely ruined by this seed, white puddles catching on the pieces as his cum dribbled down your neck and chest.

“Damn, look at you,” Killer purred as he loosened his hold on your hair and let his cock go, using his thumb to push more cum into your mouth, watching you swallow it as you sucked on his thumb and shivered at the dark look in his eyes. “Now you look like a needy little slut who would summon a demon, perfect little peach. C'mere”

He pulled you close and kissed you hard, and you shivered as he started running his long tongue across your skin, cleaning his cum off you, occasionally using his tongue to push more cum into your mouth which the two of you would then swap between your mouths and play with till you needed to swallow, Killer then returning to licking your face and repeating the cycle till his cum was entirely replaced with his saliva. His cock was still hard and you pulled yourself the rest of the way into his lap, grinding your cunt against his dick, making you both moan.

“Needy little slut,” he cooed, “you want my cock, my peach? Take it, it's yours.”

You ached with a desperate need to feel full, so you raised yourself on your knees eagerly, reaching down between your bodies to take him in your hand and align him with your entrance. He watched with pride as you sunk down on him, hand going to his shoulder once he was inside you enough, gripping him hard as he guided you with a hand on each side of your ass. The stretch stung but you were more than determined to get all of him inside you, and you let out a stuttered breath as you found yourself fully seated in his lap, entirely impaled on his thick cock. “Look at you!” He exclaimed proudly, “I didn't think you could do it, you take me so well, so tight and wet around me”

“Killl~” you whined, using his shoulders as anchor points to lift yourself before dropping back down, whining at the pull against your strained pussy. “Too- too big-” you whined.

“Nonsense, look at you, you took all of me first try,” he praised, “look at your lovely tummy bulging, what a pretty sight, my peach”

You looked down between your bodies and sure enough you could see the swelling of your abdomen where his cock was sheathed inside you, making you whine at how full you were. “You're doing so good,” he cooed, lifting you easily by your ass and lowering you again, making you moan, repeating the process over and over, each time lifting you further and faster, until you were bouncing on his cock and screaming his name, holding his horns for support and he brought his hips up at the same time, slamming into you each time he lowered your body. His eyes were rolling from the pungent sexual energy that was emanating from you, making his whole body shudder, the dense concentrated nature of your previously untapped energy making him moan and curse under his breath as he consumed it. There was a burst of energy that made his toes curl as you came hard, squirting on his cock and writhing against him, pulling so hard on his horns he wouldn't be surprised if you accidentally tore them clean off. You went entirely limp as your orgasm faded, still jolting occasionally from aftershocks as he continued at the same brutal pace, drunk on your sexual energy and craving more of it. No human food could ever compare to the pure satisfying flavour of a virgin's untouched energy, not even his favourite spaghetti dish, you were a rare delicacy he was thoroughly enjoying.

Unable to hold yourself up any longer, he let you fall to the bed, pulling out of you only for a moment to flip you to your front, pushing your thighs together and straddling them as he resheathed himself. He fucked you like a stag in rut, grunting with every hard thrust, wings flapping excitedly above you and tail shaking like a lion about to spray to mark his territory. He wanted to mark you, make you his possession, against his better thinking and his contract as your servant. Your energy was just so intoxicating that it was making him blind with lust, and he couldn't help but lean down and sink his teeth into your shoulder, holding you tight in his jaw as he felt your pussy clench around him again. You saw white and were sure you passed out for a moment from how hard you came, sparkles in your vision as everything went tight then slack, that last wave of energy and your pussy tight around his cock being all he needed to throw him over the edge. He groaned against your shoulder, biting down harder and drawing blood, his wings stretching out and shaking, tail going limp, cock throbbing as he unloaded inside you, his heavy load dripping from your overstuffed cunt as he stilled inside you.

His jaw finally released you, swiping his tongue over the tender mark in apology as he panted hard against your back, his wings falling slack and draping either side of you like curtains. In your haze you reached out and touched one, making him shiver as you ran soft fingers over the delicate membrane. “Don't pull out yet, please…” you whispered shyly. He kissed the centre of your back and wrapped his arms around you, rolling you to your side with him and draping his wing over both of you like a blanket. His tail wrapped around your thigh as pressed his legs against yours, his head coming to rest on the pillow behind you, his soft breath tickling the baby hairs on the small of your neck.

“Whatever you want, my peach,” he cooed, “I'm yours till sunrise”

“And… after sunrise?” You asked hesitantly.

“Enjoyed yourself, did we?” He chuffed, “promise me you won't summon anymore demons and I'll let you have me on your whim, when Kid doesn't want me. Perhaps you can have both of us, if it pleases you. But this has to be our secret, okay my peach? The demon stuff, not the fucking. The World Government does not take kindly to demons, hence why I don't reveal myself in battle, even if it would give me a significant advantage. Fairly sure the whole ship knows we fucked at this point though, given how loud you were, I wouldn't be surprised if you even woke Kid, screaming like a coyote in heat”

“Killlerrr,” you whined with a pout. He smacked your face playfully with his wing and you huffed indignantly.

“What, you summon a demon to fuck you and expect to stay dead silent the whole night?” He laughed, “sweetheart I've got a thousand years of experience making people cum, and I'm young for a demon. The sounds you made were absolutely delicious, music to my ears, you're lucky I'm even letting you rest right now. A sweet ripe peach like you, any other demon would still be fucking you, even if you passed out they wouldn't stop till sunrise. Don't think you're off the hook yet just because I allowed you some cuddles, I can't wait to get more of your delectable energy.” He punctuated his sentence with a quick thrust of his cock still inside you, making you squeal. You didn't understand how he could possibly still be hard but you could only assume it was a demon thing. “Are you well though, my peach? Didn't hurt you too much?”

“Mmm… just my shoulder,” you touched where he'd biten and winced, and he apologetically kissed the spot tenderly, “otherwise I feel good. Feels nice, havin’ you inside me”

“Ah, I got a little carried away with that bite,” he ran his tongue over it and you could feel the pain fade as it magically began to close, “my apologies, master. Perhaps I can make it up to you.”

His hips began rocking again, a devious grin on his face, making you moan unabashedly as he set off a new wave of merciless fucking, and you had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

[stormyoceans]

Monica. Are you saying that prior to rewatching VV I did not have superior taste

the fact that you eventually decided to rewatch vice versa and now not only you enjoy it but are also writing fics for it is the very proof that you’ve always had superior taste, you just strayed from god’s light for a little while, but that’s okay, it happens to the best of us 😌

[he-calls-me-kitten]

Hiii I was wondering if you take requests? If you do could you pleaseee do a Lucifer and MC smut 🙏 if not it’s totally okay but I also wanted to say you are genuinely one the best writers I’ve seen you have a serious talent 🫶🫶

Aww thank you so much for your kind words 😭💕 Also ofc it's okay! Lucifer x MC smut coming right up :3

#05 Complex

Lucifer x GN! MC

You appear in the student council room at recess, following the instructions he texted you. He's already there waiting. The way he is sitting alone at the head of the table - you already know you're not here for work.

He didn't even gesture at a chair or pull one out for you. He simply pushed himself away from the table. You already know where you were supposed to sit.

"MC, I need you to revise some documents to make sure I didn't make any errors." Lies. His work has always been immaculate. He has never needed revisions.

You take your place on his lap as intended and pretend to rifle through the documents, barely scanning the titles and subjects. Meanwhile one of his hands had already made it inside your shirt, casually going back and forth on your perked up nipples.

"Lucifer...." You groaned.

"What is it? Did I miss a signature somewhere?" He made it worse by pinching it. You almost jumped. He chuckled at your reactions.

He was getting more daunting lately, claiming you anywhere and anytime. It was only a matter of time until you got caught. Sometimes you felt like he wanted to get caught.

He wanted others to see just how deeply under his spell you are, how futile their efforts are to win you over from him. His superiority complex would be the death of you.

"You're more sensitive than usual today, MC." He said with his length halfway inside you. You were trembling, bent over the desk for support like this.

"It's too open...a-and the next meeting is in 30 minutes." You knew these warnings were nothing but more of a turn on.

"Hmm...what a pity. I could have gone for much longer." Lucifer palmed your ass lovingly. "But no worries, I can still provide you plenty of pleasure with the given time."

As a busy overworked man, he was a master at the art of quickies. You learnt that from hands on experience. And now as he held down your wrists above your head and thrust into your hole at an ungodly pace, you wondered what he would have done with more time.

You tried to bite down on your uniform collar to keep yourself from moaning too loud. He kissed the side of your eyes - tears had begin to leak from sheer pleasure building up inside you. "You silenced yourself without me having to tell you - how fast you learn. I'm so... proud of you."

He was done mere minutes before the door clicked open and Diavolo and Barbatos entered.

"Ah early today as well? I'm glad I can atleast rely on you both to be punctual." Diavolo laughed blissfully unaware that Lucifer fucked you on his very chair. Lucifer nodded while squeezing your thigh under the table.

[handsareterrifying]

Didn't have enough for a story, so I thought I'd share the idea.

Zoro sees Sanji in a dress for the first time

Zoro had every intention of making fun of the cook when he saw him sparring with Caroline in full dress fit. Of course he didn't really care what the cook wore, but knew that Sanji cared too much about his appearance for this not to bother him. And there were few greater joys than pissing off the cook. He was ready to lay into him, but then he saw him fight. The confidence, the precision, the power he exuded in this dress was too exciting to ignore. His kicks against Caroline were precise, harsh, and swift. Zoro could only gawk starry eyed with wonder. Fighting with Sanji was always fun, but he wanted to get in on whatever this was. The crew was surprised when Zoro didn't seem to react whatsoever to the dress. "What the hell do I care what he wears, you can still see his ridiculous eyebrows anyways". Eventually Sanji told them the story of his training on Momoiro. Now on occasion he even dares to go out in feminine garb. He's still loyal to his suit and ties for most daily wear, but Zoro looked forward to these feminine dress days. He relished their spars together, the thought of fighting this superior Sanji. He admired him with even greater regard now. Because that's bro. Bro is sensitive, he's manly, he's elegant, he can cook, he defies gender expectations, but most importantly bro will kick your fucking ass. Zoro comes to his verbal defense when he hears someone speaking ill of the cook. The smart ones walk away avoiding conflict. The ones stupid enough to challenge the cook are quickly beaten down, and those unfortunate enough to try to call him derogatory terms as they walk away, get a small taste of Zoro's swords and wrath. But he secretly hopes that they will challenge the cook, just so he can catch a glimpse of that immaculate form and power.

Zoro volunteers to carry the bags when Sanji goes clothes shopping with the girls, making suggestions for dresses and skirts that will be better suited to fighting. He treats the cook differently when he dresses up. But it's not what one might expect, he doesn't hold doors or partake in other acts of chivalry, he hypes him up. Complimenting his muscle tone and form, he playfully wrestles with him without the use of insults. He even begins talking to him like they're normal best friends, telling him about the new moves he is practicing and even asking for input. He's completely enamored. Who wouldn't be when the cook is the ultimate bro. His infatuation is obvious to Sanji and the rest of the crew, but they all wait for the day that Zoro figures it out for himself.

[kamisatomay018]

Let yourself Love, Dear Iudex.

Neuvillette x female reader

Angst with comfort, very fluff and lengthy

Hope you enjoy!<3

“Forgive me, but I cannot accept your feelings..”

You were sure that if it was humanly possible, all of teyvat would’ve been able to hear your heart shatter. What were you expecting, that the Chief Justice of Fontaine would reciprocate your feelings? A fool is what you felt like, but you had no option, the feelings were too difficult to conceal, you needed to let it out even if it meant getting your heart broken. You had been the Iudex’s assistant for 4 years. You were excellent at your job, gaining the respect and admiration of all the people of Fontaine. Neuvillette had also been in awe of your work, and over the time you both had become closely acquainted with one another. He was an immaculate gentleman, his words sounding like the purest verses of poetry. His siren eyes held the depth of an ocean, his calm and gentle demeanour made you feel comforted. He was everything you could’ve ever asked for in a man.

After 2 years of loving him silently, you had gathered your courage to confess to him, somewhere hoping that the soft glances he often sent your way, the flowers you would receive from melusines and the hours you both spent chatting in his office about all sorts of topics weren’t just gestures a “friend” would receive. But of course, you were wrong. And now you stood in his office, heart aching and eyes wishing to burst into tears as the only man you had ever loved turned you down. You couldn’t be upset, you couldn’t be angry, you knew you couldn’t force him to love you. You heard the heavy rain pour outside, making you internally sigh in relief. At least outside this office you wouldn’t have to conceal your heartbreak.

You took a deep breath, managing to still smile despite the pain that swam in your green eyes, looking at the man in front of you who looked concerned and apologetic. Pity was the last thing you needed right now. “May I at least know why?” Perhaps this was not the wisest decision, perhaps his words would only pierce your shattered heart even more but you needed to know the truth. You knew that Neuvillette always spoke the truth, no matter how harsh it was. He was the Chief Justice for a reason after all.

Neuvillette’s eyes drifted away from yours, hesitant and clouded with emotions he himself struggled to understand. “I…do not understand love, I do not know if I feel the same way towards you for I can barely even understand myself. I cannot abandon my duties..”

You felt like scoffing or screaming because of this mediocre excuse he had given. It did not make sense to you, it did not make you understand whether you were the problem or that he just did not like you. His words were contradictory and confusing, and they infuriated you for some reason. You took another deep breath, not wishing to disrespect him. Before your friend, he was your superior. You stood up, just wanting to be as far away from him as possible for now. The walls of his office that were once your safe haven now felt suffocating, the walls which once echoed with your laughter were now filled with deafening silence.

“Then I’ll take my leave, my job for today is over. You can stay rest assured Monsieur, this topic will not be brought up, nor will it interfere with my work. Forgive me if I made you uncomfortable. Have a good night.”

“Please wait-“ but it was too late, you had walked out of his office hurriedly, tears falling as soon as you turned your back to him. The rain only grew stronger, as neuvillette felt even more conflicted, varieties of intense emotions creating chaos in his heart and mind. He felt so much pain, yet it wasn’t physical. He felt his heart become so heavy, guilt and remorse filling up his soul. Did he not do the right thing? He remembered the sight of your green eyes, which 10 minutes earlier shone brightly with happiness and warmth; but now because of him they looked pained and teary. Your trembling voice, the expression of pure agony on your face, he could not bear to remember it.

He knew that you were someone he trusted, someone he enjoyed spending his leisure time with. Whenever you were with him, it rarely rained. He felt content and happy, he felt less worried about the burden of his duties and his true identity. You were like sunshine to him, warm and bright, having the capability to shine through even the cloudiest of skies. But now he had dulled that bright shine, now he had hidden your bright light behind his dark grey clouds of rain. He massaged his forehead with his fingers. Archons, these emotions were so difficult to deal with. Now he was sure that he would lose you, and that fact hurt him so much that it made the skies roar with thunder. But he also couldn’t hurt you, he couldn’t lie to you. He truly did not understand love, so what if he was going to trap you in a beautiful lie? No, you deserved someone far better than him, a man who was not cowardly enough to hide in his office and make the people suffer through endless rain because he was in pain.

You stood outside your apartment building, drenched in rain. At least the sky was crying with you, and was helping you conceal your tears. How pitiful you must be looking, you thought, crying because of a rejection. But what bothered you was that Neuvillette’s reason for rejecting you was absolutely barbaric and ridiculous. So what if he didn’t understand love? If only he had given you a chance, you would’ve helped him learn what love is. But you were not going to beg for his love, you were not going to be desperate for anyone. All you could hope for was that he would come to his senses and realise that he just needed to open his heart and let himself love someone.

The next morning started, but there was no sun shining, rather the rain kept pouring down on the city unrelentingly. Worried about the Hydro Dragon, the traveler and Paimon entered his office, hoping to ease his troubles. “Neuvillette what’s wrong? It’s been raining cats and dogs since last evening!” Spoke paimon’s cheerful voice, as her tiny frame floated towards him. He looked up, a small yet tired smile forming on his face. “Ah it’s you two, forgive me for this rain, it must be causing quite and inconvenience for you.” The traveler observed the melancholy in the Chief Justice’s eyes and walked towards him. “We are just worried about you, please tell us, what’s wrong?”

“My thanks to you both for your concern, but I’m afraid that I cannot find the proper words to describe my emotions..” “That’s not a problem, just speak your heart out!!” Paimon said, and her words made Neuvillette think. Speak his heart out? Had he ever done that? “Please keep this matter extremely private then…” “of course we will neuvillette, you can trust us” the traveler said with a reassuring smile on his face.

“What is it like to…love someone?” Spoke they hydro dragon’s deep voice, laced with such heavy emotion. Both the traveler and his floating companion were shocked, never having expected such a question. They silently looked at each other, communicating through their eyes to help the poor man out as much as they could. Taking the lead like always, Paimon spoke in her loud yet cheerful voice. “That’s easy!! Paimon has read about love in soo many books! Some say that you feel butterflies in your tummy, that you feel like time stops and that they’re the one!!”

Neuvillette was perplexed at that. Time stopping? Butterflies in the stomach? What in teyvat was going on? “Oh stop it Paimon, you’re confusing him! Well, I personally have never been in love, but I have observed a lot of people in love and I can tell you about them, if that helps?” The traveler spoke, and neuvillette felt a great sense of gratitude. “Yes, that would be quite helpful.” “Well then, when you’re in love with someone, you feel calm and comfortable, and it’s as if time passes by in a flash when you’re around them. You feel like spending time in their company, you observe every little thing about them, their likes and dislikes, their habits..And when they’re not close, it makes your heart feel heavy, as if something is missing and just not right…What’s important is that if you love a person, you’d want to protect them forever, and seeing them hurt would hurt you physically, mentally and emotionally.”

Neuvillette felt as if his world had turned upside down. Every feeling described by the traveler was what he felt for you. Had he actually fallen in love unknowingly and rejected you? Dear archons, he was such a foolish man. “It..appears that I have made a grave mistake…” Paimon blinked curiously, looking at him. “What mistake?” “I turned down the girl I loved because I thought the emotions I feel for her weren’t love but something entirely different…” Oh boy, the traveler thought. So that’s why it’s been raining so much. “Well that’s not a problem! You can just go back to her and apologise! I’m sure she would understand if she loves you!!” Neuvillette’s eyes looked at Paimon with uncertainty. “Is it really that simple? Will she really forgive me?” The traveler smiled, placing his hands on his hips. “You won’t know until you try Neuvillette.”

After a good moment of silence, Neuvillette gathered his thoughts together, nodding. He had done wrong, and he had to correct it. He realised that he always felt this way around you, but he didn’t know it was love. You were very precious to him, and he couldn’t lose you because of his fault. “My sincere thanks to you both. I will remember your words. I should go now.” Paimon giggled, waving at him. “Good luck!!”

You were sitting in your bed, arms wrapped around yourself while you looked outside the window, hearing the pitter-patter of rain. It was your day off, which you were really thankful for. How could you face Neuvillette after what happened yesterday? You were snapped out of your thoughts as you heard knocks on your main door. Who could it be? You got up, opening the door and gasped softly. “Monsieur? What are you doing here- oh my you’re drenched!” Worry took over your heart as you led him inside your apartment, about to go fetch a towel for him. But you were stopped by his hand gently holding yours. “Please wait..there are things I wish to discuss with you Mon Amour..” wait. What did he just call you?

You turned to face him, now noticing the fresh rainbow roses in his hand, surrounded with sparkling water droplets. Could it be that he had finally realised something? You nodded at his words, a blush making itself visible on your cheeks. Neuvillette’s face lit up, as he sweetly handed you the flowers, then holding your free hand. “Please, forgive me, my reaction yesterday was unacceptable…I was just caught off guard, unable to process my emotions. But in that process I ended up hurting you, and that fact makes my soul ache endlessly…” your eyes turned soft, as you stepped closer to him. “Then have you processed your emotions now?”

His oh so beautiful siren eyes met yours, as he smiled “yes I have. With a little help, I understood that..I do indeed reciprocate your feelings Mon Amour…I do love you…” a tear fell down your cheek at those words. Finally, the words you wanted to hear for two years were spoken. “Are you sure..? You’re not forcing yourself to love me for my sake right?” He chuckled softly, cupping your cheeks softly, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Mon Amour, I truly do love you. When you are near, my days are filled with joy. Your laughter is my remedy, your eyes are where I feel the most comfort..when you are away from me, my heart feels hollow, my entire being feels cold and empty. You are like sunshine for me, bright and warm, shining through the cloudy skies around my heart..But I cannot lie to you, loving me is not easy..I find it difficult to understand my emotions, and I might not be the best partner you need.”

Without caring about anything else, you hugged him tightly. This was all you needed, he was all you ever wanted. “Neuvillette, you are perfect for me. We have enough time, I will teach you how to love, I will show you what love feels like. I just need you by my side, I need your hand in mine.” Goodness, the warmth he felt in your embrace was so addictive that he never wished to leave. He hugged you closer, inhaling your scent. “I can promise you that I will always be by your side. You are everything for me Mon Amour…you are the only person who has taken the time to love me for who I am..I cannot thank you enough for it.”

The rain slowed down, and the clouds parted to make way for the bright sunlight to shine through the skies. A beautiful rainbow formed between the clouds, as the two lovers embraced one another. “Just let yourself love my dear Iudex, and everything will fall in place.” He smiled even more, heart full of joy. “I will try my best for you Sunshine..”

You looked at him now, with a smile so sweet that it made his heart race and stomach feel weird. Perhaps Paimon was right about the butterflies in the stomach. He watched as his love cupped his cheeks, leaning closer and as both their eyes closed, he felt her soft lips against his. Only he knows how crazy his heart went at that moment. Archons, he wouldn’t be able to survive this love if you kept going on. But did he want to stop? No; not at all. You both smiled as you kissed each other so softly, pure love blossoming in your hearts. You both were finally happy.

[soullessdianthus]

14 & 15 with Simon??? Can be separate !

A/N: Apologies in advance, I was a little tipsy while writing this. (⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄) Also sorry for the wait, I had written a whole different version of your request, but it wasn't sticking right with me. Brat taming with lieutenant Ghost in his office! They just like to tease each other. :3

𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 | “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.” + “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

Warnings: established relationship, protective!Ghost?, smut (rough, p in v, brat taming, dom/sub dynamics?)

━ The hell was that? ━ His voice was sharp and full of venom, like always. Full of disappointment, soaking to the core of human flesh. Burning skin, muscles and bones like acid. 

Only the loud thud of the closed doors to his office broke the tension hanging in the air. 

━ What?

You wanted him to say it out loud, to name the reason for his outburst. You were testing his boundaries today, playing with fire. And what did your grandmother tell you? Be careful or you’ll burn your fingers.

That day something was a bit odd about the lieutenant. You noticed how his broad shoulders tensed as he walked you to his office, the way he clenched his fists hanging by his sides, how agitated he was.

Most of the soldiers around the base didn’t even notice those little details, but you did. 

━ Don’t act clueless, sergeant.

Oh, you knew perfectly well what you did wrong. Talking in an undermining way to your superior in front of the recruits? A dangerous game you’ve been playing. He didn’t like being so insolently challenged. 

━ All I did was just pinpointing how you articulate in a demeaning way towards the recruits. You think they’ll stay for long, after being called names? ━ You stood still in front of his desk, hands neatly crossed behind your lower back. After a second you added his rank to stay professional. ━ Sir.

━ Since when do you care about the rookies? Ah, ‘cause you like ‘em, don’t you? You’re seekin’ their attention, isn’t that right? Some little, pathetic boy to play with? 

His warm breath, you could feel it on the back of your neck. Ghost was standing right behind you, his figure towering over yours. Lieutenant tried to intimidate you, to scare you a little. Like in the good, old days. 

━ They are nicer and more eloquent to talk to than you, that’s for sure. You think you’re better than everyone else, do you? Too big of an ego perhaps? 

You finished the sentence with confidence, a stupid smirk twisting the corners of your mouth. 

You weren’t victorious for long. 

Ghost moved quickly, grabbing your hands and locking them where you put them yourself - behind. His other palm pushed the back of your neck into the cold space of his desk. Single strands of your hair tickled his veiny wrist. 

Your whole upper body was pressed tightly to the surface, your left cheek meeting the solid facet. You gasped, being treated so… roughly all of the sudden. 

But wasn’t that what you wanted from the sole beginning?  

━ I think you’re forgetting your place, sergeant ━ Ghost stepped closer towards your pinned body, the front of his clothed thighs and pelvis rubbing against your rear. ━ Got a lil’ bit ahead of yourself. You need a reminder, where do you belong. 

You squirmed under his tight grip, struggling against his immaculate strength. The coiling, irritating sensation began to warm your legs up. But you didn’t protest verbally, not once. 

He released your pretty neck, it could be broken so easily if he only wanted to. The man quickly undid your cargo pants and slid them down your thighs along with your underwear. 

Drenched underwear, the wet stain couldn’t be missed. Not by the lieutenant. 

━ When I’m done with you, you ain’t gonna walk tomorrow, sweetheart. ━ Ghost said near to your ear, when the outside of his calloused palm, teased your inner thighs, slowly climbing up and returning down. 

Who could have thought that such a cold brute as Simon Riley could caress you so gently? But he did that on purpose. To prolong your torture. The wait.  

━ No more sweet talkin’ to those recruits ━ it was an order, de facto, no room for a civilized discussion left. ━ The next time you look at ‘em, I’m goin’ to break their fuckin’ arms.

How could such a violent threat make you so aroused at the same time? Did that make you a degenerate? Fuck. 

You were fucked in the head.

Lieutenant was standing so close, you could feel when he took care of his own trousers and finally released his swollen cock from its confinement. Without any further warning he began forcing his way inside of your silky, dripping walls.

The sudden intrusion made you mewl underneath him, back collapsing almost like you tried to escape.

━ Come on, you can take more than that. 

Within the next firm thrust, Ghost bottomed out, stretching your aroused cunt around his pulsating shaft. He quickly picked out a pace so brutal and fast, almost vulgar, that made you gasp for air.

Ghost was taking all his anger and jealousy on poor you. 

He made your body move rapidly forward with each thrust, your lips parting and mouth falling open. Lieutenant’s office was soon filled with your moans of pleasure, thoughts focused on the glorious feeling of him stuffing your pussy full. 

Ghost held your hands behind your back as he kept pounding into your needy cunt. His other arm keeping your hips steady, his fingers digging so deep into your flesh that it’d certainly bruise the next day. 

Good, he had to leave some marks. So the rookies knew you were his.

━ That’s a good girl ━ he praised you briefly ━ keep moanin’, so they can hear you clearly. Who makes you feel this good, eh? 

He didn’t slow down at all, yet he demanded a response when you could barely focus on anything else than feeling of him. Ghost breaths were becoming louder, almost like a little grunts. You could hear them even through his skull mask, he still had kept on. 

━ Y-You, Ghost. ━ You spat out, barely audible. You were getting closer and closer to your sweet release, but of course he had to take that from you. 

When your automatic mumbling didn’t satisfy him, he pulled out all of his length, leaving you aching for his touch, unsatisfied. Empty.

Lieutenant had to control each aspect of this situation. He had to have an audit over you. Entirely. 

━ That’s not the right answer. ━ The hand that was digging into your hip bone, began to stroke gently down your spine. Each brush of his hand, sending you a warm tingle down your already sore limbs. 

Oh, how you loved his touch.

━ Yo-You, sir. 

━ That’s better. 

Ghost once again began to thrust into you in a merciless rhythm. If your hands were free at the moment, you would surely grip the hard edges of the desk and hold onto your dear life. The way he treated you like an object he could take it all out on you, made you crumble between his fingers.

You little degenerate. 

He managed to contain himself from bursting until you became a literal, whimpering mess underneath him. The delirious feeling of your orgasm blinded you for a few seconds and enhanced each sensation, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes. Ghost barely held back when your inner walls began clenching on him, inviting him to finish too.

So he did - the spurts of his warm cum painted your pussy on the inside as you laid limp, upper half spreaded over his desk. Ghost finally released your poor, aching wrists and put his palm across the furniture’s surface, trying to catch his breath.

There were some days when Ghost was too rough and absolutely wasn’t thinking about how sore you’ll be the next day. So when you were both done, the guilt began to build up inside of his head. 

━ You’re my needy thing, right? ━ He asked rhetorically, before placing a kiss over your forehead. Through that stupid mask of course.

━ All yours, Simon. Always.