#it's heavy on the smut

[rinneverse]

cw. boothill x f!reader drabble, riding (but really he’s the one in charge), piv penetration, cyborg dick, a hint of dacryphilia perhaps, this is seriously just some major brainrot im having please help, minors dni pls and ty :)

cold metal bites into the supple flesh of your hips.

it’s a stark contrast to the heat your body radiates, icy fingertips clutching you tightly as boothill guides you along his dick, sinfully dragging against the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“ridin’ me so well, cutie. you like being used like this, huh?” sharp teeth graze the sensitive skin of your throat before he laughs, deep and condescending. “i’ll make sure you’re satisfied. can’t have you doubtin’ me again, can we?”

you’re too fucked out to even answer. boothill’s strong hands force you to bounce on his ribbed metal cock, drawing whines and mindless babbles from your lips as you slump against him. your hands pull and tug at his silky hair while you plead, “hol’on, waaait, s’too much..!”

it’s honestly your fault that you’re even in this situation. you had teased boothill about his cyborg body—“you get a dick attachment with that robo-body or what?”—and now you’re paying the price.

“too much now?” boothill sneers, sharp teeth glinting in the low lights of the room as he looks at you. his red pupils drink in your debauched expression, the way sweat beads at your temple and drips down your face.

he suddenly slows, grinding his hips up in to yours as he drags a hand up the slope of your body, leaving a trail of icy nerves in its wake. he grips your face, squishing the fat of your cheeks. silvery tears of pleasure line your lashes, something boothill smugly takes note of. when a tear trickles down your cheek, he’s immediately leaning forward to lap it up with his tongue.

“thought you said i wouldn’t be able to keep up with the real thing. you so sure about that now?”

your attempt to shake your head is stopped only by the way he grips you. he leans in, nipping at your plush lower lip before he continues.

“i do love a challenge, though.” his voice is rough, tinged with heated desire as he grinds his dick further into you. “am i proving ya wrong, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you whimper, thighs trembling as he kisses you, long and deep. boothill moves his hand back down to your waist and takes up his earlier pace, using you almost like his own personal fucktoy.

“that’s a good girl,” he drawls. “let me take care of you, yeah?”

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[pastels-and-lace]

Current audiobook and sewing project 🌸

[chrollohearttags]

soft dom!choso and his overactive girl..his baby who’s always on go, always working hard and never takes a moment to herself. She never stops, even at the expense of her own well-being. That’s until he turns you into a babbling mess..forcing you to rut yourself on your own fingers as he sits in front of you, instructing his pretty girl on how to pleasure yourself. “There we go, sweet girl..keep going. You’re not moving from that spot until we get you off, understand?” Met only with your whiny moans and streaming tears; drool seeping from both your mouth and between your thighs..that sweet release pooling on the chair that he’s so kindly bound your ankles to. Meanwhile, he’s stroking himself with a smile on his face. You’re an absolute wreck, all but begging him to come but it’s all for your own good..after all, he knows best. <3333

“Yeah..I know, sweet girl. But you can do it. Just listen to my voice, baby..you don’t need to do anything except make yourself feel good. Don’t think about anything else..”

[daisynik7]

Toji is the type to be so cold to you in front of your friends. Scoffs at every little thing you say, rolls his eyes at your cheesy jokes, pretends that he couldn't care less about you. He's that one asshole "friend" in your group who you can't seem to get along with, so you bicker and bicker with each other constantly. It's no secret that the two of you can't stand one another.

What is a secret is when the two of you are alone.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he whispers, his mouth grazing your ear as he stands behind you at the kitchen sink. The others are still gathered in the living room; you went here to wash your hands. He followed you in, always does. He jumps at every chance he can get to be alone with you, just to have moments like this.

Tonight, he pissed you off by joking about how boring you are for having to leave the party early tonight. Something stupid, it always is. You flipped him the bird in response, refusing to say a word, knowing it would just encourage him.

And now, he's here with you. His hands around your hips, pulling you closer to him, pushing himself closer to you. He kisses the back of your neck, fingers inching between your legs, his erection throbbing against you. He never says sorry, only apologizes by giving you his cock. This time, you don't want to make it so easy for him.

"Thought you said I was boring," you say, jutting your ass towards him.

"That was just a joke," he purrs, rubbing your clothed pussy with his fingers. "You know how excited you make me."

You hum, pretending to reconsider the original plan. "Maybe I should just stay here longer."

He almost whines before he catches himself, because Toji Fushiguro would rather be caught dead than caught whining over a woman. But with you, he comes close. The only reason you want to leave this silly party early is so you could prepare your house for when he comes over later to spend the night, a routine the two of you have been doing in secret for a while now. And of course, he's at fault for ruining the plan with his idiotic mouth.

When he doesn't respond, you turn around, smirking. "Nothing to say? I'm having fun here anyways, so it's better that I don't leave - "

He mumbles something that's barely audible, though you know exactly what he's trying to say. "Could you repeat that a little louder, please?" you tease him, cupping your ear with your hand, enjoying this way too much.

He swallows hard, avoiding your gaze by looking up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," you mutters, through gritted teeth.

You tip his chin to make him face you, smiling. "Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Toji Fushiguro would rather be caught dead than be called a "good boy." But once again, it's proved that you are the exception.

[cinnasweetss]

Out Of Bounds (M) - sim jaeyun

PAIRINGS: jake x female reader, afab reader

SYNOPSIS: in which jake is your little brothers best friend that knows absolutely no boundaries when it comes to you.

GENRE: smut, pwp.

CONTENT: jake is super whiny, one-sided pining, reader is slightly older, overuse of the word ‘noona’, jake def has a thing for older women, mentions of drinking, masturbation (m), mentions non consensual groping, mentions of verbal threats.

jake is everything but a pleasure to be around. endless flirting, groping, threats aimed at your boyfriend, and other unspeakable things. all done where no one can hear you beg him to just leave you alone, just this once. or hear him grumble about how much he likes you, and won’t stop.

jake is like your brother too, just a little bit more annoying. although his actions can be a bit much, you know he’s a kind hearted boy deep down with pure intentions. even if his actions can be a bit much. it’s nothing you can’t handle.

your never bring this up to your brother either. never would you deny him of a friend just because he has a very insatiable desire for you. boys will be boys! your friends say their siblings friends develop little crushes on them too. but jake’s feelings and wants for you are not little.

so, it’s no surprise that he calls you late at night after a night of drinking with your younger brother. overcome by the feeling of needing to hear his best friends older sister. just to settle him. that’s it.

your phone rings next to your pillow, pulling you from your slumber. it takes a minute for you to roll over, sighing when you pick up your phone and see ‘sim jake’ written across the screen.

“hmm? what is it?”

you know he’s been drinking. that’s why you don’t hesitate to answer. “Just…thinking about my noona.” his noona. you’re always referred to that way. his voice is slow and slurred, hinting at just how much he’s drank by now. “are you drunk?”

you have to say you're flattered. extremely. to be on his mind even when he’s drunk and has likely been around plenty of drunk women says a lot. “a lil- little bit..." you hear an exhale come through the speaker, and another noise follow. "jake, how much did you drink? do you need me to come get you?" you’re sitting up out of your bed, ready to throw on clothes and leave just incase he does need you. there’s a short pause before you hear his voice again.

“Can you- fuck... can you say my name again?" he sounds out of breath, and you can faintly hear some very suspicious sounds coming from the other end. those words mark a new boundary that’s been broken. adding to the multitude of broken boundaries. "what are you doing?" his tone sounded very suggestive, and it makes you stop, pressing your phone closer to your ear. "Thinkin' about you, noona..." he responds, and this time, he moans. "Jake..." you don’t mean to feed into him. not all all. you're just utterly shocked and at a loss for words. but most of all, worried about this would affect your relationship with him. "oh, fuck.” he's shameless in the way he moans, loud and whiny, begging you to say more. "tell me, noona..." he starts, moaning directly into your ear... "y-your panties...what color are they?"

“they’re…red..”

"ahhh, shit." you can hear him struggle with himself like he's imagining you in red panties , likely doing something lewd. "today...in the kitchen. did you like it? when I touched you?" ‘touched’ is too sweet of a word to describe what he did to you. groped, manhandled, fondled, is better. overpowering you when you tried to push his hands away from your chest, beg him to stop before your brother sees. tell him he must learn how to control himself.

“you cant...touch me like that...it isn’t right.” those are words you’ve said to him a million times before. words that go through one ear and out the other without a second thought. "cant help it. fuck, fuck, i'm so close! keep talking, please noona!" you can hear him increase speed in whatever he's doing, which, sounds exactly like he's jerking off.

"you're so pretty, too pretty, noona..." he rambles on in his fit of pleasure. telling you how much he wants to kiss you, and fuck you between very loud moans. "wish I could cum in you instead...agh! I gotta have you...gotta make you mine." his words bring heat to your cheeks despite the vulgarity of it all. "Jake..." you start, the other seemingly seconds apart from coming undone. "yes? yes, yes, noona!" he pants over the phone, whining and struggling to hold himself back from cumming before you get to respond. "maybe one day." those words from you are all it takes, a "fuck i'm gonna cum! i'm cumming! fuck!" being yelled into the speaker as he releases every pent up emotion he has for you in the form of one intense orgasm.

sim jaeyun, is way Out Of Bounds.

[tojisun]

beast simon preparing you for days so you can take in his knot. he clicks his tongue when you get whiny and desperate, and grabs you by your jaw because you��re not being obedient; because you insist that you can take all of him already when he can barely fit four of his fingers in you. you always end up squirming, legs shutting close as you cum, splintered moans scratching from your ragged throat. but you’re too overstimulated already, so wrung dry, and you feel like your cunt’s been stretched out enough. you say this to simon and all he does is pull your face close to his, his gaze intense, before grunting out, “next time i hear y’whine, my knot’s goin’ down y’r throat instead.” that shouldn’t have made you wetter than you are already—

[yourdoorisunlocked]

ᴄᴀʀɴᴀʟ | ɴꜱꜰᴡ

𝐀/𝐍: Ok, so first of all, lemme give a heavy MINORS DNI for this one. Now that they're (probably) gone, I'd like to thank @certifiedcrybabyyy and @jyoongim for inspiring me to write this shameful piece of debauchery.

Am I ashamed of what I have done? Maybe.

Will I do this again? Absolutely.

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐢𝐭 ➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏,𝟐𝟎𝟐

. . .

. . .

Your entire body shivered with anticipation, arms brushing against the restraints of shadowy tendrils as your husband leaned over you with his ungloved, blackened hands lovingly tracing your love handles, ghosting over your belly and groping your breasts. 

“So beautiful, so ready to take me, aren’t you~?” You nodded hastily at the sound of his gentle praise, and Alastor preened. How perfect, how eager you were to help him through his rut, which you had known the moment it was coming.

You noticed the way he’d growl at any other residents of the hotel who got just a bit too close to you, how he was more forward with his affections, always keeping a possessive arm around your waist or even mentally tugging on the chain that linked him to you, a reminder of your presence that soothed him greatly. 

Alastor had even begun sneaking more food onto your plate, and you pretended not to notice, eating everything you could possibly stomach to satiate your husband, knowing it was his own instincts spurring him on and urged him to prepare you for the long month ahead that he would spend, obsessing over breeding you.

And you, so compliant and sweet for him, had only made Alastor more smitten with you when you happily accepted to take part in easing his ravenous appetite for his mate.

Such behavior should be rewarded, should it not?

“Oh, you’re mine, ma chère. You’re all mine.” A slow zip was all you heard before a throbbing pressure rubbed gently against your thighs, which were being slowly spread apart as Alastor pushed himself further inside, his black tongue running over his lips at the lewd sight of you being slowly spread wide for him. 

“Al’, p-please, be gentle..."  

You could feel the mattress shift beneath you as Alastor gently caressed your cheeks with a long claw, his tender gaze shifting between passion and devotion as he murmured, "I promise, my love. Do tell me if it becomes too much," and sealed it with a slow, searing kiss.

The uncomfortable burn of Alastor entering you, since he had fucked you mercilessly into the shape of his cock, was absent now, and instead an overwhelming sense of pure, euphoric fullness made your tongue loll from behind your lips. Alastor quickly leaned forward to suck and bite it, moaning at the flavor of your saliva melting against his greedy tongue. 

“Perfect. You're so fucking perfect, darling~,” a low growl rumbled against you as you laid yourself limp in your mate’s hold, allowing him to take the lead in his ruts as he so wished. 

The pure pheromones that seeped from Alastor, hazy with pure lust and leaving him with only his raw, carnal instincts to mate and breed you made you shudder, and the emerald-green collar latched around your neck seemed to squeeze even tighter around your windpipe, choking any moans you breathed out in that moment. 

“P-Please, move Alastor,” your soft mewls called to his inner instincts, and Alastor's ear flicked as he leaned forward with half-lidded crimson eyes, his breath shuddering against you with the ravenous urge to bite, and renew his claiming mark upon the tender flesh of your neck.

“Ask, and you shall receive, my dear~.” 

. . . 

Alastor kept you tied to his bedposts for hours that night, his gluttonous appetite and raging instincts demanded to have him fuck you in a mating press, unsatisfied until you were dripping to the brim with his cum.

“Oho, you like that, darling~?” He plunged into you as heavy static thickened the air, and the base of his knot inflated and locked the both of you together while he fucked you senseless, and the lewd sounds of wetness and slick slapping together filled the room.

“Say it. Say you’re mine,” Alastor growled lowly into your ear, and you babbled nothing but everything he wanted to hear, begging to be his, to be bred and bedded by him for days on end. 

You had completely blacked out at some point, Alastor’s faint chanting of “Mine, mine, mine,” breathing ragged against your ears.

For the third time that evening, you woke up to pleasure flaring up your spine and your aching legs twitching in the air as Alastor continued to thrust into you with reckless abandon, singing tender praises in your ears and kissing beneath your jaw, and finally, your lips.

“Such a good mate for me... Letting me breed that needy little hole of yours, h-hah,” he pounded into you without mercy, cock slamming into that delicious spot of yours that had you writhing and twitching beneath him helplessly.

And that was exactly how he liked you. Completely at his mercy. 

"O-Oh, I'm so close! Please-!" Your gummy walls lewdly clenched around Alastor's cock as a knot formed at the base, locking the both of you together for the fifth time that evening, and he licked his lips.

"A-Alastor!"

"My name sounds so delicious when you're screaming it, ma chère."

The tendrils that had kept you bound to the mattress had tightened at the pace Alastor was wildly thrusting into you, half-transformed and pinning you beneath him with nothing but his ravenous instincts spurring him on.

"I-I love you!" You babbled, now in the throes of pure ecstasy as your husband, who was now feral and baying to fill you with his cum, slowed slightly to an agonizing pace to litter your collarbone and chest with love bites and hickeys. "P-Please, I'll let you breed me, keep me, I'll do whatever you want, forever, I'll never leave you, I-!" 

"Mm... What an offer, my dear. I might just take you up on it, darling~" you writhed beneath him, raw moans being ripped from your throat as Alastor plunged into you at a savage pace, enjoying the sight of his cock dipping in and out of your sopping wet cunt. "Now, scream for me, my Doe…" 

Alastor's possessive thrusts became more frantic, and every sinful intention of stuffing you full of his seed, watching your body accommodate his child and feeling your breasts swell and fill his large, clawed hands darkened his mind, inciting his savage thrusts into your abused clit.

The base of Alastor's knot swelled, and with a final, guttural rumble, his hot, creamy release gushed into you, and your cunt fluttered around his length as your euphoric release came, and you pulled against your restraints as you screamed Alastor's name.

He held you there for a few moments, pinning you possessively into the mattress while licking up the blood and bruises from your shoulders and collarbone, before sucking along the fresh claiming mark on your shoulder with a soft groan.

With a content hum, your husband slowly pulled out of you, and held you there for a moment, admiring how his cum dripped out of you and onto the mattress, making a mess of the sheets below the delicious sight.

"You did so well, darling," Alastor cooed softly as the tendrils lifted from your wrists and ankles, and he lifted the blindfold to reveal your two, fluttering eyes, kissing them as they drooped softly.

"But I'm afraid I'll have to clean up this mess that we've made..."

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Lmao yeah I did it. It's not my first time writing smut, but I've never posted it before so lmk if it's good or not 😭 I need to take a lap rn-

. . .

➺ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid, @slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo, @crowleysthings, @zombiesnips-blog, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @impulsivethoughtsat2am

[jkslipppiercing]

(warning: smut)

"see how good you take my cock, now?" when all you do is bounce on his cock repeatedly moaning instead of giving him a proper answer, jungkook snaps his hips up and into your entrance sharply demanding a reply.

"words, baby." he rasps into your ear from his position behind you. in the heat of the moment, the pleasure youre experiencing having been too much to handle at your state, your head had lolled back onto his shoulder with your eyes shut tight in ecstasy as you continue to ride him.

his hand snakes onto your neck and he barely squeezes, not enough to cut off your oxygen but enough to prove who's in control. "look at me."

you open your eyes then, and the most pornographic pitched moan escapes your throat when you see how beautifully jungkook fills you up. "see how well you take me? such a good girl. you're doing so well." you clench around him at the praise, moaning when he hits a good spot.

his hips continue to snap into yours rapidly as you try to bounce on him with equal efforts; wetness and precum oozes onto the floor and your clit's achy and swollen. from the looks of it, it's clear how sore you're gonna wake up tomorrow.

earlier, roughly thirty minutes ago, you had told jungkook you wanted to experiment with your sex life. he had been happy to oblige.

this is how he gave it to you. with a mirror situated in front of both of you as he sits on the floor, you bouncing on his cock with your back to him.

everything's exposed...vulnerable.

you've never been more turned on by the sight.

jungkook's hair sticks to his forehead as your own does too, both of you sweating by the force of exertion.

but fuck, he's beautiful.

his hand around your neck, with his other now trailing down to play with your clit...

and, god.

that cock.

you just know youre not gonna last long. and you prove that to him when you tighten and clench incredibly hard around him as he toys with you.

a guttural grunt reaches your ears and you can hardly breathe.

"shh, baby, i know." he moans under you, fucking you deliciously. you moan in response and everything burns.

in a good way.

your thighs burn from the position slowly turning uncomfortable, your lower belly tightens with insatiable heat, and when jungkook flicks at your clit one last time (with his hand still around your neck), a scream tears out of your chest at the utter euphoria that takes you above and beyond.

the climax hits you harder then ever before and you're no longer able to withhold the sight of his cock in you as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you arch your back, afraid it might snap. veins pop out of your neck from your moans and you've never been happier.

"fuuuuuck, baby." his thrusts turn lazy as you slump against him with a satisfied smile on your face. he watches you back in the mirror with a heated and hooded gaze before thrusting one last snap into your heat and burrying his face in your neck as he cums with a low drawl. "fuck, you're heaven."

you watch as his cum mixed with yours slushes out of you when you move to get up, only to realize you've made a huge mess on the floor. oops. got some of it on the mirror, as well.

oh, well.

it's not the first time jungkook's had you squirting all over the place.

and he knows this, because when he catches you cringing at the mess, all he does is smirk as he pulls you in for a kiss before swooping you off your feet and into the bathroom.

"come on." he kisses you again. "let's get this pretty baby cleaned up."

-unedited.

-taglist.

@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotes @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog @ash07128 @bangtans-momma

@yourbobaeyestell @laylasbunbunny @btsnpniff @olimpiiaa @caro134340lina @ohsweetmimosa @lovingkoalaface @httpjeonlicious @t-alyssa2006 @aloverga @sexytholland @skzthinker

[jenosbigtoe]

poly relationship with nomin where you love to mess with them because you think it’s funny to see their reaction.

they’re in the living room, laser focused on the video game they’re playing on the tv. you don’t even know the name of it but you know your very sexy boyfriends have been ignoring their needy girlfriend all day for some damn pixels on a screen.

you’re so needy and so frustrated; you just want their attention.

you drop a metal pot on the kitchen tile and scream,”AHHH DADDY!!”

they both come running to you, tripping over each other like “BABY WHAT HAPPENED” “WHAT’S WRONG PRINCESS”

meanwhile you’re sitting on the countertop, wearing nothing but a lacy red babydoll little top and matching thong. unharmed and not a single scratch on your pretty little head as you give them both a sly grin.

“oh nothing. i just wanted to see which one of you would come if i called for daddy.”

poly relationship with nomin and you get double the punishment for being a cheeky little slut!

@hashtagjeno this was too long to send in the dms so im just gonna post it

[b1mbodoll]

thinkin' about pervy puppy hybrid g!p bff yunjin with a corruption kink..... urghhghhhh

warnings: perv! yunjin + innocent! reader + hybrids + scent kink + biting + somnophilia + oral + virginity + referring to cum as milk / dickmilk + marking

💌: ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEE PUPPY JEN :( i need her neow

puppy yunjin n puppy reader though !!!! taking advantage of your innocent, she’ll sniff at your cunt n play it off by sayin she was just messin with you!! even goes as far as to bite you hard enough to leave a mark, strategically sinking her canines into the soft skin of your neck, whining apologetically when you freak out n tell her someone could think she’s your mate ☹️

yunnie’s a needy lil thing, rutting her hips n grinding her cock between your thighs while you sleep, acting completeoy clueless when you ask about the cum left on your fluffy lil tail the next morning <3

the first time you notice her hardened cock, you ask her about it n her tail thumps against the floor so hard, eyes glazing over before she collects herself n is able to explain it. she tells you that her cock is hard bc she loves you, giggling when you blush n asking if you wanna see it. when you agree she’s stumbling over herself to strip, taking your hand in hers n wrapping it around her length, squeezing it and moaning as precum dribbles from her slit.

curiousity gets the best of you and you unknowingly push her closer n closer to an orgasm, digging your thumb into the tip of her cock and stroking it, even listening to her when she tells you to lick at the “milk” leaking down her length.

your tongue making contact with it is enough to make her orgasm, squeezing her eyes shut as she blows her load and thick ropes of cum spurt onto your pretty face, your ears lying flat against your head while jolts of white hot pleasure course through her body.

one taste of her gets you addicted immediately, pawing at her thighs and whining desperately while begging for more of her “dick milk.”

yunjin takes advantage of your enthusiasm, teaching you how to take your cock in your virgin puppycunt and filling you up until she physically can’t anymore, shooting blanks and whimpering from overstimulation. she’s turned you into a needy little whore and it’s almost embarrassing how much you crave her dick, humping her while she sleeps, working her length between your folds and doing your best to keep quiet, not wanting to wake her.

it gets so bad you start begging yunjin to claim you as her mate, tangling your fingers in her hair and forcing her head into the crook of your neck, offering the ummarked skin to her while she pounds your tight hole, the poor puppygirl nearly salivating at the thought of properly owning you.

[cupcakeinat0r]

[chrollohearttags]

been sitting up going half crazy..thinking about Armin fucking you + acting like he’s in control. Hand around your throat, another on the headboard and all in your face but he’s screaming louder than you are. Hell, loud enough for the both of you. Crying and begging to come. That tight little cunt won’t stop sucking him and he can’t pull out, regardless of how dizzy he’s becoming. Just a whiny lil’ mess and he’s trying to be all dominant but it’s no use.. “y-yeah, baby? You like that? I know it feels s-so good!—“ but he’s the one losing his mind and you just find it so sexy how vulnerable he’s willing to be. Never shy about how much he loves being one with his girl. <33

[tired-biscuit]

18+ mdni / fem!reader

I think Bakugou would do a little grunt whenever you'd touch his dick.

It's bound to happen more frequently if it's a sexual touch, of course. Like, when you find yourself on your knees in front of him - pressing a soft kiss onto his sensitive, pink tip, for example. Messily smearing the bead of pre-cum with your lips before taking a couple of inches of his cock down your tight throat. Sucking him so hard, then, that he feels the need to repeat the noise and lace it with a dirty curse, before he spills much too fast, much too soon for his liking; making you taste the bitter salt of his cum with a furrowed brow and a frown.

He grunts whenever your legs wrap around his waist, and he gets to sink balls deep inside of your wet warmth for the first time after literal days of hard work and that wretched prohero schedule of his; holding you in a firm, albeit loving mating press that lets him see you entirely as he at long last plunges into your soft cunt and proceeds to screw your soul out with that steady pat, pat, pat.

And he also grunts as he bends you over and makes that first contact with your sticky slit after leering for ages at how beautiful you look; attired in that pretty dress he only sees you pull out of your closet on date nights - the dress that always seems to end up hiked up around your waist by the time you come back home from the restaurant.

He grunts as you reach out to stroke him with only one of your hands before bed to make him relax; right over his underwear until that damp patch forms on the dark cotton, and you're smirking at him like a cat when your thumb grazes it. Grunts as he wakes up in the middle of the night and feels the need to fuck your thighs and turn you into a whining mess just to get back at you for earlier. Grunts as you straddle him then, too; the intent to sit on his cock and ride it into bliss riddling your sleepy features.

He always grunts at things like that.

But sometimes, a grunt slips out when you could just be messing around with him. Sure, Katsuki might not seem like a person to enjoy a silly thing like that - having a woman merely poking and playing with his dick, like it's a toy - but he endures it all because it's you who does it. After all, comfort has long since settled inside of his heart after years of being in an established relationship.

So, they're playfully innocent things. Him groaning as you absent-mindedly rub your ass against his crotch when you pass by him to get to the sink in your little kitchen; mind working on assembling a grocery list instead of thinking about sin, whilst he's left there to sweat and strain his pyjama bottoms just from a mere brush.

Your hand slipping when a rare opportunity shows up and you can shower together, making him groan as you cover both his skin and your own in strawberry-scented foam that makes him scrunch his nose in faux disapproval until he feels the need to call you childish, even though the corners of his lips are twitching upwards during it.

Sometimes, it's just you hiking your leg over his waist when you cuddle on the couch, putting it right there with no aim to arouse whatsoever. You're both trying to watch a movie you'll perhaps - probably not - finish for once; reaching the credits without falling asleep, and he's already grunting, softly scolding you that the weight of your leg makes his balls hurt, making you laugh.

And sometimes, he grunts just because he's so tired as you unbuckle his belt to help him undress after an especially rough day at work. Your knuckle runs over the zipper of his pants by pure accident whilst you drag it down, and the sound comes out deep from the back of his throat because he just can't help it.

Just like he can't help the grunt of relief when you finally drag him into bed a couple of minutes later; cuddling him to sleep until his face is nuzzled right against your chest, expression content because he's finally home.

[cuethediscoandthedrinks]

jake sully + breeding/pregnancy kink hcs~

a bit of fluffy smut, enjoy lovelies <3

song rec while reading: i see who you are - instrumental (björk)

• lying in each other's arms, sat not too far from the communal bonfire; you could see friends and family all around you from the secluded spot you were in

• most of the children were asleep at this late hour, but some gently sleeping babies and their mothers sat around the hearth, sharing stories with their sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers

• the dark of night contrasted with the warmth and yellowish hues from the burning embers, smiles and sleeping faces, alongside quiet laughs and chatter echoed off of the inner cave walls

• you'd felt especially restless all day, the only thought tiding you through the chores and work being this moment; sat with your head to jake's chest, nuzzled up into his neck; your face was turned ever so slightly to the side, taking in the sight before you

• usually the urge to fly, jump and run was enough to keep you distracted from this, but today the still of the little hours of the night with the steady beat of jake's heart was enough to remind you: this was home, and so was he

• the seed of hope in making it permanent had been developing as you immersed and integrated yourself more and more into the na'vi culture; your shared bond with jake only strengthening, and the yearning to share your love in new and more meaningful ways grew in your mind and heart

• looking out to the circle of na'vi huddled close together, sharing songs and stories, your eyes naturally inclined to those expecting; some mothers were yet to have their children of course, younger in stature and skin tone, their bellies swollen and full, usually their mates by their side; the sight made your heart flutter, and a small smile grace your features

• jake noticed this, of course; you'd been much quieter than usual, although the way your body relaxed into him intimated that this quiet was of no alarm - he'a merely been glancing down every so often to your form, curled up in his arms as he traced patterns on your hips and upper thighs

• your expression of an almost warm-hearted wistfulness caught him off-guard, though; usually you were asleep by now, breaths deeper and body heavier in his arms. this time your eyes were cast to the group sat about the fire nearby, your lips briefly pursing in thought only to grow back into a small smile

• using his index and middle fingers, jake ever so gently lifted your face up to his by your chin, taking in your softened sleepy features, whispering a quiet "...what's on your mind, babygirl?"

• sitting up a little further, you wrapped your arms around either side of his neck, lightly stroking the soft braid, brushing any stray hairs away from his face, behind his ears; jake's arms snaked their way around your waist, his eyes flicking up and down your form in curiosity

• you'd then proceeded to express what filled your thoughts; being human and working at the base in pandora, the probability of having any children was low. but your life was so different now; even your body was made of completely different components - all that was you was your mind, and whatever you wanted it to be was now up to you; unconstrained by human rules and physical limits

• at your words, jake made sure to listen closely; his earnest little tail flicks and swivelled ears making sure to pay attention, as you continued to express how you felt the increasing urge to have a family; and how the prospect of being pregnant was especially appealing to you

• the idea of being so claimed by someone, in such an intimate way; enough to change your whole body once more, not only for your baby, but for your mate. giving him a family, and the mutual respect and love that such a shared act represents, it made your heart swell

• jake's gently widened eyes and small open-mouthed smile only affirmed your words, giving you the confidence to continue, almost whispering your confession, "..i just...i want to have that with you, if you wanted it too...i don't have it in me to fight something so instinctual...i'd have your babies, i want them...with you."

• as you subtly began to gyrate your hips into his now slowly hardening length, jake's expression only deepened as he nodded along to you; your words almost washing over him and sending him into a trance. you wanted children, and to mother, and best of all..with him. you wanted his children

• paired with your now growing arousal, and lightly rocking your form against his, he could tell that this captivated you in more ways than one. his mind shifting from a place of pride and sentimentality, to that of lust and an intimate kind of eroticism at your proposed prospect

• he'd have no quarrel with fucking you deep, watching as you swell full with his child; jake sighed out at the thought, "ah, i see..must mean you want a daddy too, huh. a daddy and his babygirl, mmhm?", your now more desperate grinds only increased the heat between you, the proximity beginning to rile the both of you up

• "..yes..but really..w'na be a mama.." you'd let out, eyes flickering back and forth between his emerald orbs and the ground; your flustered form couldn't be masked even by the enthusiasm you showed at the idea of starting a family

• letting out a feigned-innocent hum of approval, jake nuzzled his face closer to yours, understanding what you really meant - maybe the family was in the future, but your current state: pussy wet, pupils dilated, hips circling hard into his cock, was more interested in the prospect of making the babies, rather than rearing them

• "..ahh, ok..so my babygirl wants to be a mommy, and wants mommy and daddy to make babies, am i right?..protect their family..take care of each other?..well shit, sweetheart", he'd keen, already knowing the answer through your eager nods, the little high-pitched whine that escaped your lips, and your eyebrows contorting in weakly hidden arousal

• jake was fully on board with this idea of course, but took great satisfaction in watching your squirms of pleasure at the fantasy; sliding a hand down to your cloth-covered entrance, he moved the material to the side, sliding in his swollen cock; there'd usually be more foreplay, but feeling how much of your juices were already dripping from you, he took little more time in riling you up

• making sure to be out of direct sight from those at the fire, he gently scooted both of you deeper into the shadowed corner of the cave; once fully-sheathed inside your clenching, wet pussy, jake began to gently pump in and out of you;

• hips bucking rhythmically into you, your hips matching his speed as you rode him in equal fervor; in between desperate chesty groans, jake continued to gasp out, "..ffuck..you w-want a baby, sweetheart? i'll give it to you, i'll give it...ah-ah, fffuck..",

• "so t-tight for me..must've really wanted this, hm?..mommy wants daddy's seed, deep inside, right? m'gonna fuck it nice and deep for you babygirl, don't worry..sh-shit..", as his hips pushed deeper into you, his head leaned back on the cold stone wall, eyes clasped shut from the way your pussy constricted around his pulsing length

• all the while your hushed moans echoed in his ears, as you wantonly nodded to his lustful words; knowing just how much you wanted his babies, he was going to make damn sure you got them.

:,)

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light. 

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday. 

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time. 

 And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why. 

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do. 

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand. 

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag. 

"No. Not at all–" 

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–" 

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk. 

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him. 

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?" 

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous. 

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it? 

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible, 

"Is everything okay?" 

Instinctually, he seizes up. 

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–" 

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely. 

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it. 

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks. 

He doesn't owe you shit. 

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame. 

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you. 

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone. 

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up. 

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other. 

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens. 

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours. 

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket. 

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–" 

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while. 

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning. 

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate. 

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze. 

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart. 

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home,  opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it. 

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips. 

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve. 

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody. 

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go? 

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise. 

[Received: 15:33]

Out. 

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands. 

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs. 

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay? 

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response. 

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings. 

Immediately, you pick up. 

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers. 

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears. 

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear. 

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole." 

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm. 

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms. 

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past. 

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems. 

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh. 

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up. 

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden. 

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine. 

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock. 

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is. 

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket. 

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment. 

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly. 

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.” 

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail. 

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu. 

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips. 

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?" 

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant. 

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly. 

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest. 

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask. 

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock. 

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile. 

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–" 

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe. 

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more. 

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles. 

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish. 

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi. 

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't. 

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes. 

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths. 

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough. 

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl. 

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are. 

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him. 

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn. 

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass. 

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road. 

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room. 

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch. 

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly. 

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then. 

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination. 

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room. 

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob. 

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it. 

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself. 

Nodding, you oblige. 

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate. 

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan. 

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen. 

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first. 

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head. 

“No. No. Just you. Only you.” 

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head. 

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.” 

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow. 

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head. 

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders. 

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

_

_

_

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[slitherysrpent]

Let me know if you ever get tired of carrying your boobs so I can hold them for you ;)