#it's more smut coming

[sheepmc]

Zhongli who just can't have enough of you

MDNI

Zhongli who eats you out while you sleep or fucking your thighs because how can he not

Zhongli who fucks you on every surface in the house claiming he wants you to make a mess on everything

Zhongli who uses his tail to hold you down and ruts into you harder

Zhongli who orders you to get off on his tail while he work

Zhongli who orders his slutty bratty cockwhore to play with yourself with the geo construct

Zhongli who manhandles you into a mean mating press while also giving your pussy a couple slaps for being so horny and wet for him

Zhongli who fucks his cum and eggs into you until you're mindless from pleasure

Zhongli who when riled up will fuck you until you're begging for forgiveness for riling him up

Zhongli who is only encouraged by your begging fucks you even harder, faster until you pass out only to be awaken by him still fucking your oversensitive body

Zhongli who cares for you after such an intense session together whispering sweet praises and words of love in your ear

Zhongli who prepares a bath and food for you to eat and recover even massaging your sore oversensitive body just don't mind him giving your pussy a few playful licks

Zhongli who makes sure you're well taken care of before drifting into the land of dreams with you embracing your body close to his

Zhongli who may or may not slip his cocks in your pussy in the middle of the night just to be even closer to you, to feel you and if you're up for it in the morning slow lazy cuddle fucking

@crystalflygeo @meimeimeirin @silentmoths @ainescribe @zhxngii @moraxsthrone

[sparklingchim]

you're losing me masterlist | jjk

pairing: jungkook x you

rating: 18+

genre: angst, married couple, age gap, ceo jk, nepo baby oc, second chance romance

summary: amidst marital challenges, jungkook and you struggle with the complexities of your relationship. yet, the lingering question remains: how do you truly determine if the journey is worthwhile?

*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ**✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

part 01: midnight trouble (m)

jungkook is late from work yet again. but he shows you just how much he missed you.

part 02: silly costumes & haunted hearts (m)

having a bit too much fun at chanyeol's halloween party, jungkook unexpectedly joins the party too.

part 03: questions in the air 50% written

probing questions and rising tensions cloud the family dinner.

part 04: bittersweet beginnings

encountering jungkook at a gala helps you to forget the rest of the world for a little while.

[andersonfilms]

❝ LONG NIGHT, LONG RIDE ❞ ✶ ABBY ANDERSON !

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, nsfw themes, country!abby, petname usage (sweetheart, darling), mechanical bullrider!abby, abby is a big ass flirt, kinda shy!reader, dub-con (alcohol involved). 

RAY RAMBLES ★ idk a random thought and i kinda ran with it. if you like, i have a part in mind with smut for my slutty friends. to be continued ...

you’ve never seen a woman move like she did. it wasn’t the first time you’d seen her there. nestled deep in the heart of texas, tattered-blue denim jeans hugging her thick thighs deliciously, white tank top accentuating her toned abdomen. worn-in brown boots on her feet, blonde hair as carefree as she appeared, hips in sync with the mechanic bull as her skillful hips ride as the operator strategically tries to rid her off of it. s’not an easy task by any means. 

she has the face you can’t quite seem to forget. you never really do. it’s become a ritual of yours. every friday night, you end up in this rundown bar, the only one in this nothing town. maybe it’s pathetic to pine over someone so clearly out of your league. but she’s easy on the eyes, the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. surely, it wouldn’t hurt to just look. 

the girl of your dreams is riding the bull again, and looking goddamn hot doing it. possibly even hotter than this texas heat in the beginning of summer’s warmth. someone as muscular, toned, and broad as her shouldn’t be doing it so gracefully. it’s been a month of watching her. every friday night you nurse the ice bear, condensation dripping down to your fingertips, soaking your wrists as the liquid drips further. 

she’s making quite the show of it tonight. anderson, ever the performer. 

the only name you’ve heard being used, quite loose lips of the small town groupies. apparently, anderson, is the talk of the town and tonight the girls next to you at the bar are as chatty as ever. you only pick up remnants. bits and pieces of their drunken gossip. 

she broke up with her girlfriend. been two months actually according to nora. time to make a move. 

anderson wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. 

whatever. i’m going to make sure she’s riding me tonight. you’ll see. 

you force yourself to disengage the eavesdropping and look away from the scene of her riding the bull. you’ve seen her do it so many times you know it’ll be over soon. it’s pathetic how you know that in the first place. 

you’ll leave soon, the commitment of work bright and early looks over your intoxicated brain. but then you hear loud boots stomping their way to you. looking over you notice it’s her and she makes conversation with the bartender as she sips on the chilled bottle of beer. 

“seen you here every friday for the best month, darling. do you like the show?” anderson chuckles as her body inches forward. her thumb picking at label on her beverage.

she’s noticed you before? 

“mhm, not sure. still trying to figure out if i do.” 

she nods smoothly, amping you nerves as she scoots the bar stool closer to yours, before taking a seat. meaty, strong, legs opened wide as they rest on each side, supporting the weight of her built frame.

“hm.” she hums, watching as you take another swing of your beer. 

she opens her mouth, more of her southern drawl seeping out but the girls from before manage to squeeze through the small space between you and the mysteriously hot woman who occupies your brain. 

“anderson, you look really good tonight.” the girl from before resurfaces, her sultry tone sharp enough to cut through the entire room, her hands making connection with her toned, freckled bicep descending down her forearm. you make yourself scarce to the bathroom, not enjoying the sudden storm in your stomach. 

it’s just there. 

jealousy storming it before you could even stop it. it’s clear anderson is more than sought after. she’s everyone’s dream, yourself included. you’ve had one short lived conversation. maybe she’s an asshole, a cheater, an ego the size of this massive state.

it’s what you told yourself as you washed your hands in the washroom. it’s the only thing you could tell yourself. the hint of rejection was even more unsettling so you decided to pay your tab and get the hell out of here. 

the vibrator tucked in your nightstand drawer had never done you wrong. why break a good thing? right? god, there’s never been a more pathetic moment on earth. you and your wand against the world of scorned loneliness. but then she’s in there with you. you’re frozen, unable to move as walks in. confidently, resting her broad back against the wooden door. the single use bathroom does not give you much room to breathe. 

anderson crosses her arms, muscles flexing as her arms visibly look bigger, as if they weren’t already delicious enough. she looks down as you’re slightly bent over the short sink, suddenly taking interest in your ass. 

well, it seems sudden to you. 

“you really didn’t have to run off.” she tuts, as you find her frame in the mirror. you swear she bucks her hips slightly but you must be imagining it. taking note of her golden locks flowing past her sculpted shoulders, brown stetson hat concealing her eyes from you, for the most part.

“i don’t know. you seem pretty preoccupied. didn’t wanna put a damper on your night.” once you were done rinsing your hands, you turned around, arms placed at your side. every single bone of your body incredibly nervous to speak with her. especially to be alone together.

“besides, it seems like you have a lot of fans mesmerized by you, anderson. everyone seems to talk about you.” 

“maybe? but i wanna talk to you, darling.” pushing off the door, anderson inches herself closer towards you.

“would this be something you want? my attention?” raising her head, tilting it to the side as she awaits your response. 

“you’re… forward.” you grasp at straws, trying to find the right words but nothing seems right. 

“jus’ know what i want when i see it.” anderson admits. you’re not sure what to think. the sinfully hot woman, everyone’s vying for her attention, and she’s decided to extend her interest in you. why? you’re not sure. “what?” 

“i-i just don’t know what to say to you, anderson.” she smirks, the sly smile of hers on display. “anderson, huh?” 

“isn’t that your name?” you perch yourself onto the sink. clearly, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. “sort of. it’s what everyone here knows at least. but you should call me by my name. my real one.” 

you’re honored with a privilege, a simple one, just for you. it’s intoxicating how special she can make you feel. your heart beating out of your chest the more she takes. affecting all and any rational thought occupying your brain. it’s just her. 

“abigail, but you can call me abby. abs.” she takes a few steps forward inching closer to the space between your open thighs.

“whatever you want, really. as long as these pretty lips are talking to me. hm? how does that sound to you?” 

you visibly gulp as  she inches closer and closer…

“uh, um, abigail’s pretty.” she’s got you now. utterly fucking trapped. 

abby chuckles. if she wasn’t this hot, it would be downright condescending. “mmm, think i’m pretty, sweetheart?” she’s so sure of what she wants, eyes set on you and it’s s’much to handle. the trap’s been set and you’re falling into her southern charm far easier than you would have if it were anyone else.

you barely nod your head, shyly biting your lip. finally, giving her something to work with. abby’s thinking about devouring you whole, eating you right up, bringing you home with her, pulling you into her bedroom, tearing you apart in every way she knows how. 

the light shining in your eyes makes her think you’d let her. 

“y-yeah, i do.” abby makes home between your thighs, standing at her full height, stammering six feet tall. firmly grabbing your legs before wrapping them around her torso. “bet you do, sweetheart. i’m sure you think about all sorts of things, especially about me.” 

your breath hitches as abby removes her hat, shaking her blonde hair to the side, sunkissed skin even more exquisite up close. freckled cheeks, the adorable bump in her nose, her nipples hard and now poking through the tank top, chest nearly against yours as she wedges herself impossibly close to you. perfectly shaped lips moving closer to yours. 

“why don’t you tell me what you think about when i’m riding the bull? when my hips roll, my head tossed back, and my back arched. be a sweetheart and tell me, darling.” her hat is placed in free hand while the other softly grips your chin, thumb smoothing over the soft skin.

“be real good and tell me.” 

you pause for a moment, doing your best not to fumble over your words, just this once. 

“most of the time, i can’t stop looking at your hips. how in control you look, so confident and my mind just…drifts.” you linger, eyes meeting her baby blues and fuck. fuck. fuck. 

you’ve never been so doomed to fall. 

“darling, don’t leave me hanging. what does it drift to?” abby asks, dipping her lips to your neck, ghosting over the access point, until she lightly kisses at your collarbones. so light, it makes you question if this is just some cruel, fever dream you’ll wake up from.

“shit.” abby takes it as a sign to continue her lips dip into your chest, hardly divulging to where you need her, before she’s ascending back up to your neck. “you gonna be good for me?” she whispers in your ear, her breath calm and even. 

you nod and abby bites your ear playfully as you moan, pulling her in by your legs. “hm, if i keep whispering pretty little things in your ear? can you handle me, sweetheart?” her southern accent further cementing you in her honey grip. 

“maybe? i don’t know. fuck, yes?” abby giggles, her voice dropping an octave as she goes in for the kill. “oh sweetheart. i might just kill this pussy of yours with what i have to say next.” on instinct, your hands tangle themselves into the root of her blonde hair, tugging her closer to you. wanting to suffocate her in your scent, but she’s already halfway there. 

“abigail, just say it. please?” she nods, loving how you’re already using your manners. fuck, so good for her already, not even having to ask twice. abby feels the heartbeat of her clit stirring in her pants as it chases the sound of your voice. she’s so feral, already. yeah, you may feel like a goner but if only you knew she is by far so much worse. 

“i noticed you the first night. those pretty fucking eyes staring at me. wouldn’t fucking leave me for anything, even when the bartender was trying to get your attention. those bambi eyes on me, bright eyed and practically begging for me….” abby’s purposely whines in your ear, causing you to grind into her. she can’t stop the chuckle leaving her lips. 

“you’re being mean. just tell me.” abby pauses as she grins like the cheshire cat. you tug her hair back tightly, the moan she emits is loud. her eyes nearly roll back into her head, but she’s able to stop it before it goes too far. before you push her to the subspace she can so easily get to when push comes to shove. for now, she’ll bask in the dominance. 

all of it so new, so fresh. “oh, i’m being mean?” abby threatens cockily. “i have  been awfully mean, huh? letting those pretty girls flirt with me right in front of you.” she kisses lightly underneath your ear before continuing.

“been thinking about you the last couple of weeks when i’m riding.” abby teases.

“you do?” your jaw slacks, your grip on abby’s head releases. “sure have, darling. m’thinking about how you want to ride me instead. pretty thighs rubbing together when you’d look my way.” abby’s hand drops to your thigh, rubbing your inner thighs with her thumb. basking in how you open them even wider, unprompted. just a small mention and you’re right back to her riding the bull. whimpered out for her, needing her to do anything, something. 

“why don’t we get out of here and you can come home with me?” she pleads, pressing a kiss to your temple. sweet and sultry with half-lidded eyes looking at you. your eyes looking at the hat in your hands. 

you nod, “yeah, i’d like that.” shyly, scratching the nape of your neck. 

“are you going to put your hat back on?” 

“mhm, not sure.” abby bites the inside of her cheek, anxious as the next thought plagues her mind. you won’t know what a big deal it is, but everyone in the bar will know. she will know, but you won’t and somehow it makes it easier when the request flies off her lips. 

“you could wear it? if you want, sweetheart.” abby asks sweetly. you’re quiet for a moment, pondering. “who knows. might be too big or too small.” you shrug your shoulders as if you’re not interested. 

“well, why don’t we try then, sweetheart? won’t know until you do.” she maneuvers the white cowboy hat, placing it carefully in your head. 

you smile happily at her. “look! a perfect fit.” 

abby knows there’s not a damn soul who looks better than you. “yeah, sure is perfect.”

DAILY CLICK + DONT BUY TLOU + DONATE

[actuallysaiyan]

"Missed you so much," Kento moans as he thrusts into you. He presses a kiss to your temple. "Hate being away from my darling for so long..."

His large hands cup your face, kissing your lips fervently. He's been away for a week for a business trip, and today is the first day in seven days that he's able to actually touch you. FaceTime and phone calls just don't do this justice.

"I think next time I'm just going to bring you with me," he grunts as your walls spasm around him. "Just bring my pretty little darling with me."

[stargazedmona]

Neuvillete is a virgin. However, you didn’t know that. Granted, he’s incredibly good looking, tall, well-built, and has a level-headed personality, but he’s never once in his life kissed or held hands before. It was comedic. He’s deemed one of the finest bachelors in Fontaine yet he’s never once secured a girlfriend.

It’s not like he never wanted one. As a matter of fact, he wanted you and you only! You’re not even a powerful figure. You’re just an adventurer who took measly commissions dished out by the guild. You were a nobody! To Neuvilette, however, you were sweet, cheerful, friendly, and a wonderful person. You’re so kind to him and so caring, and whenever you crossed paths, you would often hand him little trinkets from your latest adventures.

As level-headed as he is, the man crumbles after receiving your tiny gifts because it warms his heart. It stirs something inside of him that he can’t seem to understand.

But his thoughts and views of you isn’t always so innocent—oh, archons, no. In fact, when the moon is at its brightest peak and the rays of its light sneaks through the windows of his bedroom, Neuvilette is having the most lewd and most nastiest thoughts of you. It nearly pains him that he thinks of you in such a way that he’s tugging at his dick to relieve himself.

It’s a cold night but he has a leg propped up and his other hand is pulling apart his tie and collared top and his coat is strewn on the floor in such a messy manner—it’s so unlike him. But he’s so hot and sweaty, and the more he fucks his hand with his fists with the thought of you riding his cock, the hotter he gets. The man was practically panting and licking his lips as he gets closer to his orgasm.

This was his nightly routine. He sees you, receives your gift, and he goes home after a long day and relieves himself by stroking his cock. Something about you was just so addicting.

It got even worse when Neuvilette had bumped into you. This time, you didn’t stop and say hello or give him a gift. Instead, you brush pass him so quickly, give a hasty apology, and ran to who knows where. You dropped a handkerchief as you did and Neuvilette picked it up. Before he could give it to you, you had already gone out of his sight.

Neuvilette was by all means a gentleman, but he was a desperate virgin as well. That night, he cradled your handkerchief in his hand and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His lips parted and he lets out a soft groan. You smelled so enticing and it was enough to turn him on.

For the first time that night, he touched himself and groaned your name as he sniffed your handkerchief. He has never came so fast in all his years of living.

[radio-writes]

What is Left of Me Without You?

Synopsis: Your husband didn't love you, not yet at least—that's what he told you. First, he wanted to see just how much you loved him.

Warnings: dubcon, smut, oral - m receiving, sex, abusive relationship, heavy manipulation, gaslighting, some misogyny, angst

Tags: married, one sided romantic love, Alastor x Reader, female!reader, reader is somewhere on the ace spectrum too

MDNI

To everyone in your town, you and your husband were the picture perfect couple.

Alastor, the bright, charming, down-right intoxicating radio host, walking down the street with you, his absolute darling of a wife on his arm.

Smiling, giggling, sharing hushed whispers. It looked as if the two of you were lost in your own lovely little world.

Even behind closed doors, Alastor proved himself to be the perfect gentleman. You never wanted for anything, never grieved, never felt lonely. 

If you so much as glanced at something by a storefront, Alastor would have it tied with a bow at the foot of your bed.

If anything caused you grief, or even inconvenienced you the slightest bit, Alastor would have dealt with it by the end of the day. 

If you ever felt lonely, well...

You supposed you didn't really have the right to feel lonely. Alastor was always there, wasn't he?

You woke up to the sound of your husband's humming. His smooth voice glided over each note skillfully as you peeled your eyes open.

The sight before you wasn't anything new: the other half of the bed empty and already fixed up. 

You turned to sit up, and found Alastor in front of your vanity as he straightened his bowtie. He caught your eye through the reflection, and his smile broadened.

The greater half of New Orleans would probably kill to be in your place right now. Seated in a lavish bedroom, your famous, dapper husband walking to your side of the bed to place a kiss on your hand. 

"Well good morning, darling! Don't you look adorable in this state." His sweet words greeted you.

It was there again, that odd feeling that sunk in your gut. What was that?

"Good morning, my dear." You greeted him back, ignoring whatever it was. A tired smile graced your lips as you peered up at him. "Headed to work already?" You asked him. 

"Why, of course! Who else would wake up New Orleans and tell all those sleepy bones to shake a leg and hop to work?" He struck a pose, hand on his chest. "Only yours truly, of course!" 

His warm chestnut eyes met yours through the lenses of his glasses. You let out a tired, soft laugh as you glanced away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks.

You adored this man—every single bit of him—so you found it hard not to get flustered over him, even after all this time. Hell, you were still counting your lucky stars that he chose to marry you of all people.

Why? Well, you tried not to ask yourself that.

He'd already given you his answer, hadn't he?

Alastor placed a chaste kiss to your cheek, quickly pulling you out of your thoughts before they could spiral. You looked back at your husband as he said something about having to run off or risk being late.

You remained sat in your bed, smiling and watching with hearts in your eyes as your darling husband waved on his way out of your room. 

"Looking forward to what you'll cook up this evening, sweetheart!" Alastor grinned, right before the door shut behind him.

And it was there again.

The gnawing feeling was coming by more and more frequently now. What was it?

Was it actually loneliness? But that would be so silly, wouldn't it?

Your husband didn't love you, but he trusted you. And that should be enough for now.

At least, that's what he said when he proposed.

You and Alastor knew each other for a very long time, and basically all of New Orleans knew you took a very strong liking to him.

Alastor had raised the proposition back then. You remember how he had explained that it would be a good thing for both your sakes. How you'd get to be with someone you loved oh so much, and how convenient it would be for him to finally get marriage out of the way. And even more so with a cherished friend like you!

Sure, you hesitated back then; unsure if you really wanted to marry a man who didn't love you the way you did him. But he sung you praises, he sung you promises.

You were darling, you were beautiful, you were smart, you were kind. How could he not grow to love you in your marriage? How could he resist falling for a such a doll who was offering him her heart?

So you said yes. 

Because you loved Alastor with every bit of your heart, but he simply just wasn't ready to love you back yet.

And he was such a lovely man who never failed to shower you with affection. Maybe you were just asking for too much—fretting over such small things—for you to feel upset about waking up without your husband beside you. 

And—and he was a radio host, after all. Of course he had to get to work early.

You really didn't need to spare it another second of thought.

No, what you really needed to focus on was how you could help your dear, hardworking husband.

You shook your head and slapped your hands softly against your cheeks. You've got to knock that annoying feeling loose. It was all so pointless.

With a more determined look, you got up from the bed. You neatly fixed the sheets and pillows, taking extra care to make sure every single wrinkle was smoothened out.

You silently ran over the list of tasks you had to do today.

Obviously there's cleaning and making sure the house was in order. It would be a real shame if Alastor came home to an untidy space. He's already out working late for both of you, the least you could do was make sure he had a clean home to rest in.

You ought to make time to drop by the market for some fresh meat to cook up. Alastor would surely be famished after work, right? And your mama always did say that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach. 

You could also drop by the tailors and get the hem of one of your Alastor's dress shirts straightened out. He hasn't said anything about it, but he's avoided using that particular one for a while now. You knew the uneven stitches had to be bugging him.

Oh, you really needed to pass by a locksmith, too. That dang lock on the basement door still had not budged no matter what Alastor did, and you just could not find the key anywhere.

You've been waving the issue off for a while now—Alastor was right in saying there's no real rush to it, nothing really important down there, anyway—but it'd be nice to have the extra storage available to you again.

You let out a huffed breath and placed your hands on your waist. You held your head high and ready. "Right. Let's get this show started."

It was a busy day, as it always was for you. The hours ticked by as quickly as loose sand through an open palm.

You didn't have time to feel lonely, not when you were too busy scrubbing with all your might against a particularly stubborn grease stain on your sink. 

When the house was finally all neat, you got yourself ready to head out. Hair done, just a touch of make up, and a rather modest dress—at least as modest as Alastor had bought you. That man did lean towards the more finer tastes.

You felt it was a bit much just to do a few errands, but you were the sweet wife of a local personality. You had an image to uphold. You had to make sure you didn't do anything to tarnish your darling husband's reputation. 

This was just part of the whole package, you supposed. Nothing that can be done about it.

Heading out into the afternoon sun, you painted on a bright smile for all the kind people that greeted you. Cheery, happy, friendly. Oh, but not too friendly.

Meek, quiet, all prim and proper. The makings of a fine lady worthy of her spot by the dapper radio host's side.

You dropped your husband's shirt off by the tailors first. They seemed to be more than happy to rush your request once you let slip who it belonged to. They promised they could have it ready in just a few hours. You thanked them softly, and noted how they were such jolly workers, laughing even as you left the store.

You dropped by the locksmith before the market, not really wanting to carry out a bunch of raw meat as you went about your day.

The nicely dressed man was a bit—difficult to talk to. He seemed to think you had no idea what a door even was. He had just started explaining how you open a doorknob when you felt your cheeks start to strain from how hard you worked to maintain a smile.

"Oh dear me, would you look at the time," You politely cut him off, pretending to be shocked at how late into the day it was. "I am so sorry, sir, but my husband should be coming home any minute now and I haven't even started on dinner!" 

A lie. Alastor always came home late.

The man raised a brow at you in disbelief. Not that he didn't buy your act, but more judgmental that a woman would be so careless as to forget to take care of her spouse.

You ignore the look he gave you, keeping your shy smile on. "Maybe you could just sell me the tools. I could get my husband to work on it."

"Sure thing, sweetheart," The man shrugged. "I'll get what you need in a split, so you can run back and make a quick stew at the very least."

He ended up selling you the tools, along with a bunch of other needless things, with the assurance that your husband would definitely need them all.

You bit your tongue as you smiled and thanked him.

Why on earth would you need a box of nails and a bottle of glue to split a lock open?

But you really did not have it in you to stand in that shop any longer.

Besides, how would it look if the papers caught whiff of Alastor's sweet little wife yelling and lecturing a local shop keeper.

You couldn't burden your husband like that.

You hurriedly rushed to the market before they could close, buying the best cut of meat they still had at this hour, before you made your way back to the tailors to check on the progress.

The workers snickered as you entered, but you really didn't think much of it until they pulled out the dress shirt you dropped off.

A large, nasty stain of lord-knows-what sat right at the center of what used to be its pristine white color.

Your smile strained badly. "Oh dear, what on earth happened?" You asked with feigned worry. You already knew what happened.

"Afraid we spilled a bit of lunch on it, sweetie." One of the ladies explained, her companions giggling behind her. "Couldn't be avoided, unfortunately."

You felt your eye twitch.

"I'm sure a lovely doll like you could find a way to fix it. Wouldn't want that hotty husband of yours to leave your pretty face for something like this, would ya?" She went on.

"You better run, though. I heard the cleaners were planning on closing up early today." Another bitch woman spoke up.

Had you been any less horrified at your husband's ruined shirt, you would have been fuming.

You quickly took the shirt and paid, rushing out before you did anything stupid. Like cry.

Oh Alastor's rivals would have a field day twisting a story like that.

As you left the ladies called out "We did straighten the hem, darling!" And a more snarky, muttered comment, "Although, you'd think someone as handsome as Alastor could find a gal that could do something that simple herself."

The walk back home was probably the most tiring part of it all. Having to keep your back straight, your smile lovely, your voice friendly. Never letting the kind people know anything was wrong.

Because you knew those kind people were all itching to have any reason to gossip about your husband.

And you just couldn't have that.

Your shoulders finally sagged as you closed the door to your house. Your smile dropped immediately as you leaned against the door in exhaustion.

You stuffed the ruined shirt in your bag, thinking maybe your can throw it out later on, but you just knew Alastor would notice it was missing. He won't be happy with you, that's for sure.

Never mind that you've bent over backwards for the better half of a year to cater to him. Never mind that you've hidden all your faults under the rug. Never mind that you've been absolutely devoted to him even before your marriage.

You had to be perfect.

But you weren't. And you knew that. It seemed every other woman in New Orleans knew that. And now with the ruined shirt, Alastor would know that too.

He'll see you as less.

It's there again, that's stupid heavy feeling in your gut. Whatever it was.

You sighed in defeat. If you couldn't get the shirt fixed, maybe you could at least make sure he had a good meal to come home to? Maybe that could make him overlook your faults this time.

You burnt it. Somehow,—despite normally being an amazing cook every other time besides tonight—you managed to burn dinner.

You put your hands over your face, groaning in frustration, just absolutely exasperated. Why on earth was everything going wrong today. Why couldn't you just do one thing right? Why couldn't you just be of some help to Alastor? Why—

You lifted your face from your hands, attempting to slow your breathing. Your eyes glanced around your ruined kitchen and your burnt dinner, and that stupid shirt peaking out of your bag, and...the door to the basement? 

Right! Maybe there could still be one thing you could do right today.

You wiped your hands over your apron, immediately scrambling for the tools you bought earlier today. 

While you weren't the smartest when it came to these things, surely you could figure something out to try to loosen the lock.

You've watched your gentle husband fiddle around with the lock many times before, never opting to break the thing. You suspected he didn't want to look in any way violent in front of you, but you always thought it was so needlessly complicated.

You grabbed a hammer from the pile of junk and made your way towards the basement door. You tested the lock's strength with a few, rather light, taps of the hammer head. It didn't feel that sturdy. You thought you could definitely break it with a bit of force on your end.

You gripped the handle with both hands and brought the hammer down on it.

Once. The sound of metals clashing echoed in your house

Twice. You had to do at least this today.

Thrice. You can't be useless to him.

You smashed the hammer down onto the lock one more time and the battered thing fell to floor. 

Your eyes widened, lips spreading into grin out of relief.

Thank heavens, you managed something today. Alastor would be glad to hear this, at least. 

You bent over, picking up the fallen lock from the floor.

A weight pressed against you from behind.

Startled out of your wit, you stood up straight, just in time for whoever it was to flatten your body right against the basement door.

"What a lovely sight that was." You hear Alastor's voice right by your ear.

His head found home where your shoulder and head met. His nose trailed up against your skin as he breathed you in.

A gasp escaped your parted lips as you feel his hands squeeze the flesh of your hips harshly.

"Alastor?" You were partly dazed, confused what was happening.

His hips pressed against yours at the sound of his name from your mouth, and you all but recoil.

Alastor was rarely handsy, and that was fine by you. You actually realized that you much preferred it that way. Alastor's love being the only thing you ever really wanted from him.

Moments like these have always caught you off guard.

Because your husband knew that. He knew you weren't comfortable with being intimate. He knew you'd much rather have him just sit by you. He knew you weren't one to jump his bones.

And Alastor normally respected that.

"What a naughty little doll you are," Alastor's breath hot against your skin. "Welcoming a man home all bent over, presenting yourself." He whispered.

Your eyes widened, attempting to turn to face him, but his body kept yours pinned to the door.

"Baby, no. I," Your breathing had gone a bit ragged. "I was just picking up this lock here."

You raised your hand, showing the broken, battered lock in your grip. "I finally managed to open the stubborn thing." You tried to smile up at him over your shoulder, expecting praise.

Alastor's eyes stayed on the lock for a second too long you think, before his hand circled your wrist and yanked your arm behind your back. His swift hands made your other arm follow after it immediately.

The ache in your limbs, the grip he had on you, the shock of it all made the lock tumble right out of your grasp.

Alastor let out a hum of disappointment. "That's a real shame, sweetheart. I thought you were finally opening up to me." He said, his voice still filled with mirth. "Could have really used it tonight, too."

You felt him ground his hips against your clothed ass. His half hard cock evident against you.

He used one hand to keep your arms where they were, the other made its way to caress up your torso. His large palm trailing past your breasts, ending up by your soft cheeks.

Contrasting with the ones that held you still, his fingers were gentle against your face. His fingertips barely ghosted over your skin.

"I had a rather rough day at work, you see. Could you blame a man for wanting a little comfort from his wife?" He whispered.

The words hung in the air. Your lips unable to deny him, but unable to agree all the same.

A heartbeat passes, and suddenly you were free. Alastor stepped back from you, your body relaxing at the absence of his towering figure. 

"But what kind of ruffian would I be to force a lady to do that against her will," Alastor said, his tone rather carefree.

You turned around to finally face him, only to see him looking else where.

Your eyes followed his line of sight and you noticed the ruined shirt, pulled out of the bag, sitting right next to a burnt dinner, all framed by a horribly messy kitchen.

Alastor looked back at you, his charming smile ever present. "I'm sure you excel at all the other aspects of being a wife, anyway." He says, as if he hadn't just seen the failure you've made of your day.

He began to walk away, and your hand reached out before you could even think. Almost as if on reflex. Almost as if it's what you had to do.

You meekly pulled him back. His eyes watched you, almost expectantly, as you cupped your palms against his cheeks, and invited him down to meet you.

Your lips brushed chastely against his as he let out a satisfied hum.

You pulled away just enough to speak, your eyes looking up at him as your breaths mixed. "What...what can I do for you, my love?"

Alastor's smile stretched, his lips dipping down to meet yours again for a second time. His hand quickly found its way to the small of your back, heavy as he ushered you out of the kitchen.

"I think that's better discussed in the bedroom, darling." He purred against your ear.

You swallowed thickly against your tightening throat. 

Normally Alastor's hands on you were cherished, but you wanted nothing more than to squirm away from his hold right then. You knew where this was heading, but it just was not something you ever found appealing.

But you could do it for Alastor, right? You have done it for him before, anyway. 

Even if you didn't particularly enjoy it, at least you'd be satisfying your husband. At least you'd be close to him. At least you'd be useful to him.

Alastor, like the chivalrous gentleman he is, opened the door of your bedroom for you as he lead you in. You heard the click of the lock behind you, right before you were quickly tossed onto your bed.

You squealed as your felt your body bounce against the soft sheets. Your dress bunched up your thighs as you adjusted your legs.

Alastor stood at the foot of your bed, working his bowtie off with nimble fingers. "Darling, why so tense? It's only me." He says, his voice almost soothing.

But it was there again. That annoying feeling. It seems heavier than ever.

Was it really loneliness? 

How could you even be lonely now, when the man you love was waiting to mount you.

"I'm just nervous, that's all, darling," You managed to say honestly. "It hurt quite a bit last time."

Your eyes watched closely as Alastor's hand made quick work of the buttons in his vest, shrugging it off and placing his knee on the bed. His eyes trained on your reactions all the while, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty on your face as you bit your lip.

"I know a way we can ease that," He said. He reached out his hand to you, inviting you to take it.

Your shaky hand didn't hesitate. Because you'd do anything for this man.

You loved Alastor, so much, with your whole body, but he seemed to revel a bit too much in that knowledge.

He knew you could never deny him. So when your hand was in his, he pulled you closer, watching with delight as you awkwardly crawled to the end of your bed.

"Care for a box lunch, darling? It'd hurt less if we're a lot more slick." Alastor teased, chuckling as you looked at him with confusion.

The gears seemed to click in your head when one of his hand rested on your hair, the other worked his belt off.

"Oh," Was pretty much all you managed to squeak out. It was definitely not what you expected. 

You hadn't noticed that you tried to pull away until Alastor applied a bit more pressure on your scalp to keep you still. 

He pulled his heavy cock free from its confines. He ran his hand over it, lazily pumping the hardening member in his palm as his gaze was transfixed on you.

Your wide eyes watched every movement of his hand. Panicked, you seemed. Not unlike many panicked does he's shot down in the past.

Not unlike many panicked other things he's felt lose life under his hands.

"Something wrong?" Alastor mused, head tilting as he watched you flinch at the sight of his dick twitching.

Your eyes finally pulled away from your husband's groin, looking up to meet the man's lidded gaze behind his glasses. "We haven't really tried that before and," You bit your lip, unsure on how to proceed. "It just seems a bit deviant." 

"Well then it's lucky we're both in such safe company then, isn't it?" The hand in your hair loosened it's grip, opting to softly comb through your hair. The slight tension in your shoulders melted away. "I've been rather curious about what all fuss was about, didn't really have a partner I trusted enough before to try, though." 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. He saw how bad you messed up today, didn't he? He saw how miserably you failed at the simplest of tasks. But he still trusted you? He still trusted you enough to do something as unorthodox as this?

"I suppose I've been rather curious about it myself." You smiled up at him nervously, your hand reached out by your own choice to hold his hefty cock in your palm.

You were lying.

He knew you were lying and he loved it.

"Then open up, my dear." You heard him say, gently guiding your head closer to his crotch.

You decided looking up at your husband was easier than watching your own hand pleasure his shaft. You kept his gaze as you parted your lips, letting your soft tongue meet the skin of his head before wrapping your lips around it.

There was a rather salty taste in your mouth, a bit of his precum leaking onto your tongue. You tried not to cringe at the taste, choosing instead to focus on the way Alastor's brows furrowed when you took more of him into your warm, obedient mouth.

"How do I taste, darling?" He teased, knowing you couldn't answer. 

He looked down at you expectantly. Not knowing what else you could do, you began to slowly bob your head, keeping your lips wrapped around his shaft.

You took your time, slowly letting more of him past your lips each time you sank your head back down. Eyes trained on your husband's face, part of you wondering if he'd praise you if you did a well enough job. But it seemed your efforts offered far too little friction for Alastor's patience.

His hips started moving against your face. Softly at first, but he soon began to push at your head to meet his thrusts.

The head of his hard cock nudged your throat and you choked. Your hands immediately went to his hips, nails digging in with how hard you held onto him. 

Tears forms in your eyes as you looked up at your husband, and your heart immediately filled with panic when you were met with a look of disappointment. 

"Hmm. Seems this might have been too much for you to handle." He sighed, finally pulling you off his dick.

A string of saliva stayed between the head of his cock and your lips as you coughed and gasped for air. 

But even as your jaw throbbed, you went to reach your hand out and tried to lean back in towards his dick. "No, no. I can do it, I promise," You said hurriedly.

"There's no need to force yourself, my darling wife," Alastor tutted, pushing you back by your shoulder, stopping you from getting another chance to prove yourself. "We can't help that you have your limits."

"I just need practice." You swore, looking up at your husband. You hated that you disappointed him again.

His fingers reach out to tilt your chin up, making space for his lips at your neck as he slowly pushed you back into the bed with his own body.

"If you ask nicely enough, I'm sure we can have you try again another time," Alastor said softly, as if granting you such a troublesome request.

The back of your head softly met your pillows as Alastor nudged your legs apart with his knee.

He slotted himself between your legs, grinding his slick cock impatiently against your panties. His groan was practically breathed into your ear.

You wanted to hear more of it. While you weren't particularly eager for sex, you were starved for your husband's praises. And if this is what it took then so be it.

You bucked your hips up to remove your underwear, your groin meeting his lazy thrusts as you did. 

"And here I was beginning to think you didn't want me." Alastor jested as he parted from your neck to help you rid yourself of your underwear. His long fingers slid the flimsy thing down one leg and let it stay on the other.

"There probably isn't a woman in this apple that doesn't want you, my love." You half-joked, but your soft laugh abruptly ended in a gasp.

Alastor pressed the thick head of his cock at your entrance, teasingly pushing in just the smallest bit. "You're most likely right," He said, watching as your eyes closed at his trespass. "But you are the only one lucky enough to have me."

And you should know it.

Your back arched as your husband pushed past the tight hole of your entrance. What little resistance your walls made barely bothered him as his throbbing head forced your walls apart.

His hands dug into the sheets by your body. The smooth covers wrinkling in his grip as he strained to stay still.

"This alright for you, darling?" He asked, running his thumb softly under your eye to coax you into looking at him.

Your heart fluttered. Even when in such carnal need he cared about your silly little wants. You pry your eyes open to see Alastor peering down at you with a smile.

"I could stay with this much if you need me to." He told you, rocking hips barely moving. The head of his cock nearly slipping out before he pushed back in, just until it disappeared again into your warm walls.

He was being so kind and accommodating, you couldn't bring yourself to be so needlessly selfish.

Your cunt strained to take even just his very tip, but it was so pointless to let something like that get in the way. Your petty little apprehensions shouldn't matter. Not when you're with your husband.

Your lips strained to force a smile. "I think I can take more, my dear."

It was all Alastor really needed to hear. he dragged his dick out of you, letting it slip out. Wanting you to feel how empty you were without him. Before he rammed his hips against yours; sheathing his cock fully in your warm cunt.

"What a gal," Alastor praised. "Loving, kind, and gentle, but takes a cock like she's on the clock in a call house."

Alastor loved the way you keened at his words.

He loved the way you yearned for his touch, even when you both knew it wasn't your game.

He loved the way you worshiped him, always so desperate to please him.

Oh, how he loved how you were always so ready to give him everything. 

Alastor loved you, but just not in the way you hoped.

When you woke up the next morning, the view in front of you wasn't anything new.

Alastor's half of the bed was empty. The previously rumpled sheets for the previous night's rendezvous were pristine and smoothened out once more.

It was there again. Whatever that feeling was. 

You assumed it's going to be here for a while.

Alastor seemed to have already headed out before you awoke, not that it felt any different from other mornings.

With a sigh you made your bed. Once again going over everything you had to do for the day.

You had to clean—because you always had to clean—but more so now knowing you left quite the mess yesterday. You have to stop by the market once more, maybe look through clothing stores to find a new shirt for Alastor.

You didn't want him upset with you over that after all. While he didn't bring it up, you knew it still likely bothered him.

You made your way to the kitchen, ready to get the day started.

Except something glimmered as you walked by it. Your head turned to its direction, seeing the same padlock you broke the night before in perfect condition—back on the door to the basement.

Your brows furrowed as you approached it. Fingers gingerly examining the cold metal.

But, how could it be back on here? You swore you broke this stubborn thing last night.

From the corner of your eye, you see a note on the counter, immediately recognizing Alastor's messy handwriting. 

Yes, of course. He must have replaced the old one and fixed whatever damaged you did on the door while you were asleep. That would easily explain it.

You picked up the note, smiling softly to yourself at how silly it was to be confused.

It was a brilliant bash, my darling, but it seems this lock is just much too sturdy :(

Don't fret! I'll find a way to open it eventually! Do try to stay away from the tools though, dear. We wouldn't want you hurting your soft delicate hands!

Yours, Alastor

P.S.

I'd prefer a little less char on the meat this time! Haha!

You tried to reread the note several times, wondering if your husband was pulling your leg again. 

You broke this lock, you knew you did.

You swung a hammer at it thrice and it broke. 

Thrice? Or was it four times?

Whatever, the count didn't matter.

Or did it? 

You remained where you stood, confused at what to believe. The note still clutched in your hands.

Did you really break the lock last night? Or were you just so desperate to get something right that your fooled yourself into thinking that?

If you broke the lock then why was it still there now? Why would your darling husband tell you otherwise?

The only reasonable conclusion was that you didn't.

Surely, that made sense, right?

Your eyes stared at the note. Alastor's name seemingly bright against everything else. 

No other possibility made sense. Besides, if Alastor trusted you enough to marry you, it only made sense to return that privilege.

Right.

Your eyes lifted from the note, to the kitchen in front of you. The mess you made still loud and present and ugly. 

There was no use standing there fretting over such a silly, pointless, thing. Not when you had more pressing matters to attend to.

Who really cares about a dumb little lock, anyway? Didn't you have such a long list of tasks to do today?

Like proving your worth

To yourself

To the world

To your husband. 

Part 1 of 2 I hadn't intended for this fic to run as long as it did, and the best part was yet to come. It would have taken ages to get this out if I didn't cut it into half. Anyway, Read part 2 of 2 here!

[bowrapped]

burning for you

feline hybrid!reader x older!leon

tags: 18+, porn without plot, cis!afab!reader, owner/pet dynamics, daddy kink, mating/heat cycles, breeding kink, praise kink, hand kink, dd/lg-like themes, established relationship, surprisingly soft?

4.3k words

notes: i took the plunge and finally completed an nsfw fic based on some of my submissions to @lipglossanon as 🎀 anon! i hope y’all enjoy :)

crossposted to ao3

The front door subtly clicked as Leon unlocked it. Usually, you would already be headed to the door in greeting, your sensitive ears picking up his presence from the smallest of noises. This time, however, you were nowhere to be seen, and Leon called out to you as he shed his various accoutrement and walked deeper into the home.

Life with a hybrid had come with solace and routine for Leon, though it was a bit touch and go at times. You had a penchant for digging into his dirty laundry, wrapping yourself in sweaty workout clothes that you swore smelled divine. You were incredibly affectionate, something that both comforted and occasionally confounded Leon. You sweetly stayed by his side, purring as your long tail swished with affection. That’s not to say you were clingy—just honest in your feelings for the older man.

All of these factors were even more pronounced during your heat cycles. Leon knew another was coming soon, and he had a hunch it had come a bit early in spite of his preparations.

The thought was practically confirmed when there was no response to his calls. Leon quickly moved to his bedroom, past experience guiding him to your likely whereabouts.

As expected, he found you curled against his sheets and an assortment of his clothes. Your hands were bunched in the pile of fabric, pointedly refraining from touching your lower body while your thighs pressed together—trying and failing to find relief.

In his presence, you merely whined and curled yourself further into the makeshift nest around you, seemingly unable or unwilling to move very far.

Leon moved to sit on the edge of the bed and sighed, “There you are.”

You quickly shifted from your spot, your face pressed into his side as your hands tightly gripped his shirt. Your body was so tightly strung that you were near tears as you clung to your owner. Voice high and desperate, you cried into the cloth, “I needed you—need you so bad, Daddy.”

Daddy. The name had been your suggestion. You’d asked to call him that from the beginning, stating that it encompassed everything you dreamed an owner would be. A caregiver—someone who would love you unconditionally. His heart had melted at the confession, and he couldn’t help the twinge of arousal hearing the title from your lips. He diligently kept the expected promise of the name, and spoiled you just as it suggested. Middle age was surely softening him, but he wouldn’t focus on that now.

Leon easily untangled you from his side, gathered you in his arms, and sat against the dark wooden headboard. You were pliant as he settled you in his lap, back pressed against his chest and legs resting outside of his. Still, your hands clung to the muscular arms wrapped around your waist.

“Poor kitty,” Leon cooed as he guided your hair to the side, careful not to muss your pointed ears. His lips grazed your heated skin, stubble slightly tickling you as he went, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, but I’m here now, alright? Daddy’ll make it better.”

“Daddy, please, I—“ you mewled as Leon mouthed and nipped at your neck. “Was so good. I didn’t touch myself just like you told me to. Been waiting for you. Been so good,” your breath was heavy while you babbled, desperate for Leon to touch you.

He hummed in interest and smiled softly at your words—though you couldn’t see it. That rule was another staple in your dynamic, not born from sadism, but what Leon considered necessity.

Though you’d gotten better, you still had a tendency toward messiness. While he couldn’t fully fault you, he still needed to set some ground rules. Coming home to the sight of you grinding against his pillow was hot in the moment, but the extra laundry to be done after the fact was another story.

“Is that right?” He continued to press kisses into your nape as his hands roamed across your clothed chest, “That’s my girl. Daddy’s so proud of you, baby.”

You preened under his praise, chasing the large, rough hands that languidly explored your upper body over the threadbare fabric of Leon’s old tee. Your smaller fingers wrapped around his wrist in an attempt to pull his hands lower. You needed his fingers on your clit, in your cunt, anywhere that could give relief to the burning heat threatening to consume you.

Your body relaxed against Leon’s as he easily followed your lead. The feeling immediately dissipated when he didn’t go further down, but lifted your shirt hem instead.

“Daddy…” you grumbled. Your disappointment was evident, but Leon still pointedly ignored your spread legs and instead exposed your chest to the cool air of the room.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice low in his chest. “Want to give you some attention here first,” his calloused palms rested underneath your breasts, “We can’t have them feeling left out, can we?”

A high moan caught in your throat. You wanted to argue, to pull his hands down again, but you merely held onto his wrists as he continued to caress you. Your want to follow Leon’s somehow won out over heated desperation.

He caught your pebbled nipples between his forefinger and thumb, rolling and tugging them before grasping your breasts once more. You arched into his calloused hands, pleasured whimpers unmistakable in spite of your discontent.

“There you go…” Leon’s voice was soothing. “I know it’s hard, but just let me play a little.”

You let him. You always did. In your mind, Leon hung the stars, and you consistently followed him even when you protested.

It didn’t help that the rough attention he gave your breasts was a dizzying combination of too much and not enough. Your mind would be muddled regardless, but it was especially so now.

Neither his ministrations, nor your keens wavered as he spoke, “So sensitive here, sweetheart…Makes me wanna use my mouth on you—kiss you until you couldn't take it anymore.”

Your ears were downturned at his words. You knew you would take whatever Leon gave you, but you didn’t know if you could take that much teasing in your current state.

Leon huffed a laugh into your neck, ”I would, too, but you want me somewhere else, right?”

You immediately nodded, your hands again attempted to guide him between your legs. Leon’s arms remained firm, as did his tone, “C’mon. Gotta use your words for me.”

“‘M sorry,” your voice warbled, “I do.” You tugged his wrists again, succeeding this time in moving his hands further downward.

Leon’s fingertips grazed the frilly top of your panties as he playfully feigned ignorance.

“Here?” he questioned, a teasing smile on his face.

Your tail flicked in discontent as you immediately spread your legs even wider for him. “Yes. Please touch me, Daddy. I need it. Need you so badly.” Your hips canted upward, seeking friction that wasn’t there. The ache between your thighs was all-consuming, and you were desperate for the relief you knew Leon could give.

Leon gently patted your hip, “Alright. I’ll give you what you need, okay? No more teasing.”

He snaked his right hand underneath your waistband. His free arm wrapped firmly around your waist—an anchor for you as well as a way to keep you still. The wet spot you left on the white fabric was almost translucent on Leon’s hand as he gathered your slick on his fingertips.

His fingers easily glided across your entrance and up to your clit. You immediately bucked at the contact, but Leon’s arm didn't budge from its place across your soft stomach as he held you against him. His touch started in slow circular motions so as not to overwhelm your sensitive body.

Still, your hips desperately attempted to chase his hand, and you whined in both relieved pleasure and indignation at Leon’s stilling grasp. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he cooed.

As much as you wanted Leon to rush with you, he often opted to take his time. In addition to his penchant for teasing, you were precious to him, and he wished to convey that in part with how he handled you in intimate moments—at least until you urged him enough to do differently.

Leon’s languid caresses grew stronger as he guided your overstimulated body. Sloppy, rhythmic clicks and vocal, heaving breaths announced your desperation to the otherwise silent room. His fingers swept across your clit and down your soaked cunt where he began to work his fingers inside you. Your muscles immediately tightened around him, trying to pull his digits further in.

“Hah—Daddy,” you cried out, body still trying to move with the rhythm of his hand. The heel of Leon’s palm grinded against your clit as two of his fingers curled inside you. You lurched, moans caught high in your throat at the intense feeling. Your dulled nails gripped Leon’s forearms. The unfounded thought of him removing his hands had you scrambling to keep him in place.

With your limited movement, you arched back into Leon as you chased the stimulation of his hand. The feel of his hardening cock underneath you only spurred on your growing climax. The air was filled with your high-pitched cries and the lewd wet sound of Leon’s fingers moving inside of you, “Fuck—please, don’t stop, Daddy.”

A low hush brushed against your skin. “It’s okay, I won’t stop,” his lips were hotly pressed to your ear as he attempted to soothe you. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

Leon’s soft words and strong grip were grounding to your overactive mind. Though your hand was tight on his own and your cries didn’t fully cease, your body still minutely relaxed into his.

“Atta girl,” Leon murmured, “You’re alright. Just need to let Daddy take care of you.”

He pressed his palm harsher against you, trying to guide you over the edge, “Want you to cum on my fingers first. Can you do that for me?”

“Mhm. I can,” you hiccuped, “Wanna feel good. Wanna be good for you, Daddy.” You continued to chase your high, grinding down on Leon’s hand as he pressed a third finger alongside the others.

His voice kept rumbling softly in your mind, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t grasp any of the words spoken into your tufted ear. Your attention was solely focused on your impending climax and the sight of Leon’s hand between your legs.

Your eyes followed the flexing tendons in his wrist down to the hand half-hidden by soaked fabric. A part of you yearned to see his hand work against you, unconcealed by the frilled garment. Another loathed the idea of losing his touch at all.

You didn’t have to ponder the dilemma for much longer as your climax encroached the forefront of your mind. Leon’s hands and voice were both quickly guiding you toward your peak, and you followed the feeling with abandon. Your body had been left wanting, but now it could finally get relief. You trembled in his arms, ears folded and brow furrowed in pleasure.

“That’s it,” he drawled, “Know you can do it, baby.”

The knot in your core continually grew tighter under Leon’s rough hands and gentle coaxing. You fell over the edge easily. Your nails and mind latched onto the whispered promise of relief and a full cunt. Later, you’d be apologetic at each of the marks you left on Leon’s skin, but the thought was far away in the wake of your climax.

Your ears buzzed as the feeling swept you under. Leon worked your body through it, his fingers sticky with your release.

“There you go…” he cooed. His touches slowly transitioned from strong presses to soft caresses that left your body quivering.

Your chest heaved on the pleasant come down. Yet still, you felt empty in spite of his fingers. Heat demanded one thing from you, and the yearning ache in your core would not let you forget that fact.

You impatiently pulled his hand from your panties and interrupted its languid dance across your pussy. His fingers separated, and the semi-translucent strings connecting them instantly caught your eye.

Without thinking, you ran your textured tongue up his salty-sweet palm. “Daddy,” you spoke against his skin. “Wanna keep going,” you captured his fingers between your lips, catching his knuckles on your canines and muffling your voice, “Please?”

You lost yourself in your owner’s calloused hands. You had always been enamored with them and their ability to treat you with both stern guidance and delicate finesse. Today was no different.

Leon’s grip tightened around your waist. As much as (or perhaps, because) he loved it, attending to you had left him painfully hard and wanting. The feel of your warm mouth and the unintentional satisfied hums reverberating in your throat did little to help.

He shifted his fingers against your tongue, coaxing your mouth open when he spread them. You chased the thin bands of saliva connecting you, gathering his fingers back into your mouth in a meager attempt to clean them.

Leon’s eyes were fixed onto your mouth as he breathed, “Alright, baby. Just need you to get up for me, okay?”

Your lips relinquished their hold on Leon’s hand, now only slightly less messy than before. You quickly adjusted your position—poised on your knees, presenting yourself regardless of your semi-clothed form. Your tail swayed above you in silent beacon as you awaited his response.

God. Leon was sure you’d be the death of him. He’d expected you to simply shift, to sit between his legs and face him while you anticipated his next words. Normally, you would, and Leon felt this boldness was a side effect of your biology-induced desperation. Either way, he couldn’t help but enjoy the view.

His hands easily rested on your hips as he knelt behind you. One rested at your tailbone, your soft fur nestled in the cradle between his index finger and thumb. The other teased at the line of your underwear in the silent promise of removing the garment.

“Shit,” he sighed, “Almost too pretty for your own good.” His palms were hot against your skin, unmoving but firm.

You shivered underneath him when you realized the image you likely projected in that moment. You, half-clothed with tousled hair and your hips high in offering. Him, still in the base of his work clothes with only flushed cheeks and tented jeans to betray his lust.

Fighting the urge to grind back into him, you let Leon explore your body at his own pace.

He silently stroked the base of your tail as his eyes and free hand roamed over your body. A low purr vibrated in your chest. Though the heated ache persisted, you always indulged in any attention Leon gave you.

Leon had a strong teasing streak—something that had seriously frustrated you at first. In your mind, you didn’t know why you would deny yourself when you could instead be honest and proactive in your desires.

With time, you learned that while it did partially come from a place of mischief, it mostly stemmed from appreciation. He wanted to take his time with you, lathe affection on each inch of your skin, and cement that you were his to cherish.

His hand shifted across your ass and down to the gusset of your panties. Your hips jumped when his thumb ran a smooth line down to your clothed clit.

“Daddy…”

Though you understood his teasing, it didn’t mean you were never impatient in the wake of it.

Leon gently hushed you, “Want to take my time with you for a little longer. Just be patient for me.”

You breathed in quiet pants as his light touches continued. He pulled the damp cotton down your thighs, smoothing your puffed tail as it threaded through the makeshift hole in the fabric.

His hand again found its place between your legs. You jerked under his touch as his thumb ran along soaked skin. Before you could fully sink into the feeling, it seemed to leave almost as soon as it arrived.

You turned back to protest, but all impatient remarks caught in your throat when you caught his eye over your shoulder. Leon mirrored your earlier actions, albeit much less messily, savoring what your body left on the pad of his thumb.

Noticing your reaction, his eyes creased at the edges. “You made it look so good, thought I needed a reminder.” His free hand revealed more of your face from under your mussed locks, “But that can come later, right?”

He shifted back, deft fingers quickly undoing the clasps of his well-worn belt and deep blue jeans. A low sigh escaped him as he freed his cock. Precum beaded at the flushed tip, belying the composure he’d shown thus far.

You reached for Leon’s hand in a silent plea, and he quickly tangled your fingers in understanding.

A high moan rushed from your throat as he slowly guided himself into your welcoming heat. The feeling of him was not new, but it was nevertheless overwhelming. Your mind was awash with him. The dull burning stretch of your muscles, the warmth of his hands on your sides, and the timbre of Leon’s voice all swam in your muddled mind and culminated in slurred gratitude.

Daddy—thank you, thank you, thank you…!

“Shh, don’t gotta thank me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You hiccuped a relieved sob at finally being filled. Your face burned—though you couldn’t dwell on your outburst. Instead, your breathing was heavy as you tried to relax around him. Wanted as it was, the insistent press of his cock was heady in your cotton-filled brain.

Leon let out a low moan as your body greedily took him in. In spite of your shared desperation, he kept his pace slow and his touch gentle. His hand squeezed yours in reassurance, and he quietly called your name. “Talk to me,” he coaxed, voice rough in his throat.

You nodded earnestly, one side of your face against the bedsheets, “I’m okay…” your voice trembled, “Sorry.”

He chuckled, “It’s alright. Don’t want to hurt you, that's all.”

“You won’t,” you grinded against him as you deepened the arch of your back, goading Leon further, “I can take it, Daddy. Please?”

“Fuck…” Leon hissed, his hips involuntarily following yours. He pressed your intertwined hands into the mattress, “I can never say no to you, can I?”

Your voice was lost in your throat, and the rhetorical question was simply met with pleased mewls as he finally moved. Obscene wet noises resounded from where your bodies were joined. The sound mingled with your voices in an unorthodox symphony.

Leon’s hand untangled from yours, moving to firmly grasp your hip. With it, he guided your body onto his, thrusts heavy as he fell into rhythm. His eyes trailed down the glistening line of your spine to where the two of you were connected. Your cunt wrapped tightly around him, seemingly trying to keep his cock nestled deep inside.

“Can’t help but spoil you.” Leon’s voice was low and rough as his eyes remained on you. A white band of your arousal already began to gather at his base—another mark of explicit honesty from your tightly wound body.

Each of your cries were muffled into the mattress as he fucked you. Your pleasured babbles were almost unintelligible to Leon as you continued to hide from him.

Muscular arms gathered you close to his chest, your damp skin hot against his own. Your head lolled to the side in a meager bid for him to move higher as he placed more forceful, heated kisses along your shoulder. “You don’t need to hide, sweetheart,” he murmured, stubble now rough against you. As he spoke, one of his hands trailed down to your soaked cunt.

It easily found its mark, rubbing quick circles along your clit and further coaxing you to your climax. You bucked in his grasp at the added stimulation. Your hands clutched his forearms as they searched for an anchor. You were certain his grip was the only thing keeping you kneeling on your shaking legs.

Your words were interspersed with whines and moans as he continued to move inside of you, “‘M sorry, Daddy—just feels so good.”

You could feel his smile at your words. “It’s alright,” he breathed, “Just let go for me.” His other hand found its way to your breast, cradling it in his palm. He let his thumb trace circles across its peak, his movements gentle yet purposeful.

Your voice continued to fill the room in tandem with the sound of your bodies moving together. Each of Leon’s touches had you barreling toward your peak.

Your tail trembled against Leon’s chest, and you whined high in your throat, the vibrations reaching Leon’s lips as he kissed your fevered skin, “Daddy, ‘m so close—please.” You weren't sure what you were asking for with your pleasure-slurred words. You just knew you didn’t want him to stop.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. He continued to rub your clit as he pressed his lips against yours in a messy kiss. His heavy breaths mingled with yours as he spoke, “Daddy’s got you. It’s okay.”

His movements became more forceful, his hips pumping into you faster than before. His encouraging whispers and forceful touches remained as you reached the edge.

A final coo from him had you tumbling to your orgasm. Your body shook in Leon’s grasp as he fucked you through it. You almost chanted his name and given title like a prayer as you crested over each wave of pleasure. Your cunt tightly squeezed around him. Leon’s resulting groan was lost in the rushing of your ears.

He continued to thrust into you, feeling his own release beginning to come soon after yours. “Oh, fuck,” he choked back a whine, his breath hot against your sweat-dampened skin.

You reached behind you, hooking your fingers into what you could of Leon’s thigh. “Please, don’t stop,” you begged—desperate for him even now, “Wan’ it inside.”

Leon’s cock throbbed at your request. The admission wasn’t new by any means, but it was no less spurring. His arms snaked closer around your waist, seeking more leverage to buck his hips upwards into yours.

“Okay, I’ll give you what you want, baby. Give it to you,” he rested a palm just under your navel, “right here. Right where it should be, hm?.”

You clenched around him again, eliciting another pleasured hiss from Leon. “Yes! Want it so bad. Wanna be full. Need to be full, Daddy,” your frantic pleas continued.

Your trimmed nails pressed small crescent moons into Leon’s skin as you clung to him. You reached between your legs, already seeking another release as Leon chased his own.

“Shh…” Leon soothed you, rubbing his hand along your side. “It's okay. I won’t stop.” He deftly replaced your hand with his own, his larger fingers rubbing quick circles against your swollen clit.

“Just a little bit longer, baby,” he whispered hoarsely. “Then I’ll fill you up. Try and make you a mommy. Would my pretty girl like that?”

Your body prickled in arousal at Leon’s words. You nodded jerkily, words slurring while you trembled in his arms, “Please, Daddy, I want that s’much. Wan’ you to get me pregnant.”

Your heats often lead down this line of talk. Leon wasn’t even sure if it was possible, but he always indulged you. He also couldn’t deny that the idea of it taking, leaving you glowing and full of him months down the line had his abdomen tight with want.

Leon held his hips flush against you as he reached his peak. He cursed lowly into your neck while his cock throbbed, filling you with each movement. The warmth spreading within you along with your owner’s goading words sent you over the edge again with him.

Your bodies fed into each other’s pleasure in a dizzying loop. Each clench of your muscles caused him to grind more harshly into your cunt, filling you further as you milked his release.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—” your words strung together as you came around him. Your tail wrapped loosely around his waist in a meager attempt to keep him in place.

He held you tightly to his broad chest, keeping his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. He kissed your fevered temple as you came down together, whispering soothing words with each press of his lips.

You clung to him with equal fervor. Mewls quietly tumbled from your mouth while Leon enveloped you.

Your bodies remained connected as your heart rates and breathing gradually slowed. After a moment, he began to unwrap his arms from your spent frame—ready to clean the two of you from the evening. Before he could, however, your hands immediately tightened their grip on him.

“Wait—don’t want any to spill out. Wanna keep it all in. Please?” Your soft feline ears were flat against your head at the thought of Leon leaving you empty. You wanted to cockwarm him—keep him and his cum as deep as possible for as long as he’d let you.

Leon shook his head and looked down at you with affectionate amusement, “Greedy…” Despite his teasing remark, he allowed himself to be pulled back.

Ensuring your bodies remained connected, Leon carefully guided you both back to your earlier position—you sat in his lap while his back rested against the headboard.

The feeling of his jeans underneath you erred on the edge of uncomfortable as the opened fly pressed into your skin. You refused to admit it to Leon, though, and instead opted to lean further into the man.

His fingers combed through your hair, taming some of the tangles. Your head tilted toward his touch, eager to be pet. He readily obliged you and you purred contentedly in his arms, heat sated—at least for the moment.

[wriothesleybear]

Gallagher is a man who loves to please his woman. He loves foreplay and he spends extra time on it. He likes spoiling you and wants to make sure you know how much he loves you. One of his favorite ways he does that is by littering your body with kisses. He usually starts with your legs. If he had to choose his favorite body part of yours, he'd choose your legs. He either has you sit or lay down on the bed so he can take off your shoes first. Once they're off, he plants a soft kiss on the top of your foot, moving up to your ankle and planting one there as well. His warm, strong, calloused hands gently hold your leg as his lips move up it, planting multiple kisses along the way. The feel of both his hands and lips gliding across your skin as he explores your body. His stubble slightly scratching you but it's a nice feeling. Don't even get me started on how good this man eats pussy.

[ugh-yoongi]

hi! hope youre well!! would u mind putting together a taehyung rec list whenever u have the time? 🥹 happy holidays!

decided to combine these while i have a quick minute! thank you both for asking, hope you find something you enjoy in here. :)

most of these works contain mature themes/content. please heed tags and do not engage with any explicit work if you are a minor!

i know there are a bunch i’ve forgotten (and i feel like i see jimin/tae fics the least these days???), so please reblog and share your own work and your faves!

taehyung x reader

a human touch by @snackhobi

heatwave by @curly-bangtan

too long; didn't read by @fortunexkookie

upstream colour by @honeymoonjin

backseat serenade by @jungkxook

just a taste by @xjoonchildx

let it snow by @suga-kookiemonster

everything by @gukyi (special shoutout to good luck charm tho)

all of @here2bbtstrash's drabbles

jimin x reader

catch your drift by @snackhobi

into the wilderness by @gukyi

the devil in his details by @johobi

warm hands (ice cold heart) by @hobidreams

florezco by @honeymoonjin

red flag by @xjoonchildx

dreamy by @1kook

point of no return by @wwilloww

the shape of your body by @here2bbtstrash

menace by @eoieopda

good for you

as always, member x member fics under the cut!

member x member

taegi/yoonmin: see yoongi recs here

taejoon/minimoni: see namjoon recs here

vhope/jihope: see hoseok recs here

taejin/jinmin: see seokjin recs here

taekook/jikook: see jungkook recs here

you're only brave in the moonlight (vmin)

paint (vmin)

ring the changes (vmin)

you keep me up at night (vmin)

help me hold onto you (vmin)

i will make you whole (vmin)

hooters on peachtree (vmin)

meaner than mean (vmin)

you know i know (vmin)

the only one who makes me (vmin)

you are my bravest everything (vmin)

[jpxfordsstuff]

Like obviously I love him more then you 🙄

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part two

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: implied sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 2.5k

You weren’t sure what woke you at first but when you opened your eyes, you found the brilliant, early morning light that streamed through a crack in the curtains. Groaning, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not missing the unmistakable rustling of clothes somewhere at the foot of the bed. 

Peeking over the sheets to the source of the sound, you found Ale working to put her pants back on, her bare back to you. You propped yourself against the headboard as you watched on, biting your lip at how Ale’s tattoos deliciously shifted over her rippling muscles. She picked something up from the floor before she turned towards the bed and you caught sight of the darkening marks on her neck and chest. When she saw you looking at her, she smiled, a little bashful, which you returned in kind.

“What time is it?” You cringed at how you croaked out the words.

“Early. You should go back to sleep.” Ale said, putting her bra on as she kept your gaze.

You hummed. “I could say the same for you.”

Ignoring what she said you sat up on the bed, allowing the sheets to slide down and settle by your waist as you stretched. Ale’s eyes wandered to your chest which, you supposed, bore the same marks you could see on hers, and you relished the attention. Once she found your eyes again, you sent her a knowing smirk before you left the bed, headed to the closet where you grabbed the nearest fresh shirt you had, and tossed it to Ale. 

Without even looking at the shirt, she caught it with ease. You raised your brow, both in question and in wonder. In response, Ale just smiled innocently at you. Ale pulled the shirt over her head, hiding the marks from view, then she moved towards you, her eyes dark and shining with intent.

Your body remembered last night’s endeavours before you did: every nerve in your skin lit up in anticipation for Ale’s touch, a fuse waiting for a spark. She laced an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to her front with a strength that left you breathless, her clothed body firm against your bare flesh. Without your heels she almost towered over you that you had to stand on your toes to wrap your arms around her neck. You closed your eyes when you felt the words she spoke against your temple.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I have to go.”

You sighed, unable to hide your disappointment. But what did you expect? You knew what you were getting into last night–you knew this was meant to only be a one-time thing. Besides, you were never one for relationships anyway; all your dalliances were brief and fleeting, ending before they ever got serious. Still, something about Ale pulled you to her, a force that compelled a desire to get to know her. The logical part of you already accepted the fact that you’d probably never see her again after this, but a small part of you wanted to rebel and resist that fate. 

Unsurprisingly, logic won out.

“I shouldn’t keep you, then,” you whispered against her collarbone. Ale shivered and that made you smile: it’s good to know you weren’t the only one still feeling the effects from the previous night.

“You’re not making this easy,” she whined and you laughed. 

“Alright, alright. I guess it’s time for me to let you go.”

There was a moment of silence but not an uncomfortable one. You looked at her, soaked in how her features caught the morning light, how her fair hazel eyes almost appeared like twin golden suns. You were tempted to kiss her lips then but you settled for a chaste one on her cheek instead. “Keep the shirt, to remember me by and… a thank you for last night. It was wonderful.”

“I had a good time, too,” she hummed, a small smile on her lips. 

You returned her smile, and then you gently pushed her away as you took a step back. “Go, Ale.”

Ale stood there for a moment more, took one last look at you, gave you one last smile and she was out of the bedroom. When you heard the front door shut, you sighed again as something akin to regret settled in your bones. Maybe you should’ve at least asked for her number…

“So… did you have fun?” A deep voice filtered through the speaker before you saw the familiar mop of blonde hair and blue eyes on your screen. You rolled your eyes at his dry tone but you smiled nonetheless.

“Oh hi, Derek, I’m doing fine! Thank you for asking!”

Derek gave you an unimpressed look. “Come on. I need details cause that club was exclusive for a reason. So, did you hook up with someone?”

“Dude, stop! That’s so–” you shook your head, a palm over your face. You swore if he wasn’t family you would’ve… you breathed through your nose. “Thank you for the pass and everything but I’m not obligated to tell you shit.”

“Fine, I see how it is. Just ‘cause I’m not there you’re keeping secrets from me now, huh?” He raised an exaggerated eyebrow. 

“Then maybe you should’ve come here with me,” you retorted with faux annoyance. “What’s the point of you owning a house in Barcelona if you’re not going to use it? It’s literally rotting here! The fact that you haven’t even put any personal things in here is criminal!”

“And let this agency burn down to the ground while both of us are away? Pfft, yeah, right!” Derek scoffed. “You know it’s either you or me who can keep watch around here. Besides, the house can wait and you’re using it now, right? So, a win-win in my book.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that so you opted to change the topic. “How are things on your end anyway?”

“Chaotic, as usual. And it doesn’t help we’re now down two–actually, three including you–of our best in the Spot News department.”

At that, you sat up from the couch, alarm and dread filled your body and you brought the phone closer to you. “Oh my god, did something happen?” 

Derek sighed heavily, his demeanour clouded over as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was Jones and Gilda–they’re stable, don’t worry!–they got caught in a flash flood on the way to the base at their area. Sick with some minor injuries, Jones more so than Gilda, but thankfully they’re both okay.”

At that, you breathed out in relief. You were well acquainted with the dangers that came with your job but you could never get used to how quickly a situation could get from bad to worse. The mere thought was enough to turn your hands cold. 

“When did this happen?”

“Early morning today in our timezone.”

“Oh, fuck. Derek, why didn’t you call me?!”

“Dude, you’re on leave. And it’s not that I didn’t want to let you know, I just wasn’t about to wake you up in the middle of the night to give you this headache. I’m just about done with the paperworks anyway.” A moment silence, then Derek sighed. “You really chose the worst time to go on leave. You know, I had to send Jersey to start covering Spot.”

“Not my fault you authorised it. I was happy to wait another month, remember? Wait, so if Jersey is doing Spot, who’s doing Sports?”

“I know, I know, don’t remind me ‘cause I’m already regretting it. And no one’s doing it. Spot coverage is more important but–”

“–we get a decent sum from Sports, too,” you finished for him. You did some quick estimation in your head: a month or two without Sports could prove costly, too great of a sum to let go. You hummed, rubbing your chin, but it didn’t take you long to realise that you could help out, your mind immediately fleeted to your conversation with Ale and her suggestion.

“I’ll cover it, Derek.”

“No. You’re supposed to be enjoying your leave–”

“Derek.” You fixed a stern gaze at him, the one you knew that he knew meant your mind was made up. Then you proceeded to reassure him that it was fine, and then you told him about your plan. “Alright, then, I’ll leave the press passes to you.”

“I’ll e-mail them to you once I get ‘em, most likely by tonight your time. I–” 

“Derek, you got to see–” Another voice filtered through the speaker while you watched as Derek turned his head to the side and held his hand up to whoever it was before returning his focus back to you.

“Okay, as much as I’d love to keep talking to you, Robert just brought me a huge stack of paper so I’m going to bail.” 

“Alright. Have fun, you. Talk to you later.”

“Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, thank you.”

“No worries. Kiss Mom for me when you see her.”

“I will. Love you, sis.”

“I love you, too.”

After calling Jones and Gilda to ask about their condition and to send them your well wishes, you decided to spend the rest of your day at the nearby square and the beach. A day as good as this wasn’t meant to be wasted by staying inside so you grabbed several rolls of film and your beloved Leica camera before heading out. 

It was already late afternoon when you found yourself trudging along the shoreline of one of Barcelona’s beaches, appreciating the orange-tinged skies and how the gulls called from above. When you looked to the horizon, you found a mother and her little daughter paddle-boarding just a hundred meters from the shore. You could see almost no details in the shadows of their silhouette but the large setting sun framed them in such a way that you felt to take a shot of the moment. So you adjusted your aperture accordingly, pressed the viewfinder against your brow, lined up your shot, and pressed the shutter.

“I thought you looked familiar… And I was right.”

Your thumb froze over the advance lever when you heard someone speak from somewhere behind you. That voice… could it be?

You whipped your head over your shoulder and found none other than Ale standing there. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a white opened blouse that put her toned abs and Nike sports bra on display, loose hair slightly damp, with a leash in one hand that lead to a small, fluffy dog. She also had on a pair of black wraparound sunglasses that she moved to the top of her head, revealing her hazel eyes that captivated your gaze immediately.

You could hardly believe your eyes and your luck; you already accepted her fleeting presence in your life but to meet her again in a city as big as Barcelona without any means of contact… that surely was nothing short of a miracle.

“Ale, hi! I–I never thought I’d see you again,” you said after you finally found your voice but as soon as the words left your mouth, your cheeks warmed. What were you supposed to say to a one night stand in this situation, especially when you clearly wanted it to happen again?

“Me neither. I should thank Nala for dragging me out here.” Ale grinned as she glanced down at her dog by her feet. You crooned as you bent down, then you offered your hand first and only after Nala licked your knuckles did you proceed to pet her.

“Thank you, Nala, for taking your owner for a walk.” At that, a hearty laugh came from Ale which caused Nala, who seemed to be overjoyed by the sound of her owner’s delight, to yip and wag her tail. And just as quickly as she had, she seemed to get bored and began to bound forward, urging Ale to move as well so you stood up, brushed the sand from your palms, and fell in step with her. 

For a moment, the space between you was filled by the sound of the waves, the sound of the shifting sand beneath your feet, and the ever-bustling noise from the city. Then you recalled your conversation with Derek this morning.

“I thought about what you said, about covering women’s football. I’m going to be given a press pass for a match, not sure which one they’ll give me, though. But do you know of any big matches coming up?”

“Really? That’s great! Do you have any particular team in mind or…?”

“Research is still on my to-do list so no, not really. I’m all ears for suggestions, though.”

“I see. Well, there is this match coming up: Real Madrid and Barcelona. Since you don’t know, there’s rivalry between the two teams so any match between them tends to get crowded. You should come watch.” 

“That sounds like a good one. I hope that’s what they’ll get me into. Will you be there?”

“I hope so, too. And yes, I’ll be there.” As she said this, her eyes shone with a glint not dissimilar to what you saw in them the night you met. Her lips tilted to the side, closed but quirked at the corners like she was holding in a laugh. If it weren’t already clear that night, it was now–you were definitely missing something here.

“What?” You asked, confused. What was she not telling you? But at the question, Ale only let out a small giggle, grinning as she did so.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said, shaking her head. You didn’t believe her but you let it slide one more time and the fact that she looked so distracting didn’t help either.

She had her head turned to you, her loose hair framed her face and strands fluttered in the cool, ocean breeze. You had to tilt your head up slightly to meet her eyes and, without any bidding, memories from that night and the morning after filtered through your mind: the way she held you against her, the way you wanted her to stay… maybe you should ask her if she was free tonight.

“–what do you have in mind?”

You blinked. “What?”

Ale threw her head back, letting out another hearty laugh before she looked at you and you saw amusement swimming in her eyes. Then, she continued with a smirk, “you asked if I was free tonight. I said yes. Or… was I not meant to hear that?”

Your ears and cheeks burnt while you internally cursed your slippery tongue.  That was smooth. Real smooth. “Ummm…”

You woke the next morning with a delicious soreness between your thighs, a pleasant reminder of the way Ale ravished you last night. Similar to the first morning after, you heard the rustling of clothes being put on. But before you could fully open your eyes, warmth from Ale’s lips branded the skin on your shoulder. 

“I have to go. See you next time?” Ale murmured softly. You shifted slightly to the side and you saw how the sunlight behind her gilded her hair with an amber halo and made her eyes appear like molten gold. 

Brushing a loose strand behind her ear, you hummed in confirmation and pressed your forehead sleepily against the sharp line of her jaw, closing your eyes as you did so and you whispered, “you know where to find me.”

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 27 <3

Ushijima x dirtytalk

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 2,3 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"Here, Wakatoshi-kun! Look at this!"

A phone gets shoved into his face, the brightness level way too high for comfort, but he squints to take a look at the screen. A small grunt leaves his lips at the lack of greeting from his red-haired friend, but he chooses to focus on the screen instead.

It's an Instagram post with a picture of him, one taken during the Olympics. He looks at the picture, confused, but then Tendou starts scrolling through the comments

"I'd combust if he called me 'baby' with that deep voice."

"Do you think he's vocal in bed?" Reply: "He doesn't talk much in interviews, so I doubt it." Reply: "What a waste. His voice is so hot."

"LOOK AT HIS ABS *drools*"

"The world is going crazy ever since you said 'baby' in that one interview!" Tendou wildly gestures with his phone still in his hand, his grin almost smug when he elbows Ushijima. A frown appears on the spiker's face as he tries to recall the interview. It was one that he wasn't too fond of, due to the number of personal questions that had been asked. Way too personal questions for his liking.

"Ushijima-san, do you have any plans to start a family soon? When can we expect a baby, a little Ushijima junior?" "Baby?" he had echoed, clearly taken aback by this question, something that the interviewer probably failed to notice, but to the people close to him, it was fairly obvious. The silence after this question lead to speculation on the internet about his relationship status, something that he has kept private so far.

"It wasn't in a sexual way." Ushijima states after skimming through more comments, raising his eyebrows when the messages get more explicit and vulgar. "I was surprised when he asked the question."

"Doesn't matter! The world is going feral now, everybody wants to be Wakatoshi's baby! And even I have to admit that I got butterflies when I heard you say that. Y/n is really lucky~" Tendou hums, mischief clear in his eyes, but Ushijima fails to follow his train of thoughts with this.

"Why is she lucky?"

"Because she gets you to say sweet and dirty things to her all day long. You can't fool me, Wakatoshi-kun; I'm not only your best but also your oldest friend." Tendou winks and strolls ahead, oblivious to the way Wakatoshi is left standing there with a frown on his face, still.

xxxxx

"Y/n?"

You rub your arms dry with a fluffy towel when his voice comes from the other side of the door.

"Hmm?" you hum, smiling excitedly because he is finally back home. "I'll be out in a second."

"Yes, please. We need to talk." You hear him lean against the door frame, clearly waiting for you to come out.

You freeze at his words, eyes growing wide when realization settles in and you fully comprehend his words. "Talk? Talk about what?" you know that you sound shrill and loud, but you can't help yourself but to feel nervous at his serious tone- even more serious than normally.

"About us." Your jaw drops, and you quickly reach for your bathrobe, hastily unfolding the fabric to its full length.

"What do you mean about us? Is there a problem with us?" You finally manage to pull your arms through the fabric, quickly wrapping the fabric along your body before you open the door. You're met with Ushijima's broad chest as he quickly straightens to his full posture. His olive eyes roam over your body, lingering for a short moment on your exposed cleavage before they return back to your face. He looks nervous, there is no other way to put it. "I'm not sure. I think there could might be a problem."

"And what would that be?" You cross your arms in front of your chest, your eyes boring into his face as if you could find answers for his unusual behavior there. You've never seen him like this before. His usual warm eyes are clouded with worry, his hands fidgeting with his phone in his hands. "Toshi? What is it? Please, talk to me." You're tempted to take the phone out of his hands, but you refrain from touching him, not when you don't know what's going on.

"Are you happy with our sex life?" His eyes don't leave your face, not for even the slightest second to see your reaction, and your jaw drops at the sudden question- you expected a lot, but definitely not this.

"I'm- I mean, yes I am? Shouldn't I be? Are you unhappy?" You take a slight step back, creating distance between the two of you, baffled by the sudden implication that he thinks that you're not satisfied. Or that he might not be. Sex with Wakatoshi is great- hard, rough, and passionate. He knows how to fuck you, that is for sure, but he also knows how to be gentle and sweet, how to take care of you and spoil you, especially during aftercare. You lack nothing in your sex life with him- and you hope that he feels the same.

"I am happy. Very. I enjoy sex with you very much much," he states firmly, but that only confuses you more.

"Why are you asking me then? What made you think that I could be unhappy?" You move closer to him, worry etched in your features when you finally take his phone and put it aside to grab his hands.

"Do you want me to talk more? To be more vocal? I saw a video and people kept on commenting how they want me to call them 'baby' and some more things. Would you like that too?" The way he asks nonchalantly like he was just talking about dinner made this even more embarrassing somehow.

"For you to call me 'baby' during sex?"

"Hmm." He nods and looks expectantly at you, his hands squeezing yours while his gaze seems somewhat calmer now that he is convinced that you're satisfied.

"You... you can call me whatever you want. I'm fine with it." You try to sound unbothered and calm, but the slightly shaking note shows how the thought of him calling you "baby" or "his pretty girl" while he thrusts into you does something to you. He nods, hesitating for a second, but then his hands suddenly drop yours to pull you in by the waist, his other hand coming to your chin while he leans down until his lips are close to your ear.

"My baby. Or would you rather be my babygirl?" His honey-like voice almost puts a spell on you, and you find yourself shivering in his arms, thighs involuntarily clenching together. "S-sounds good, Toshi." You bring your hands up to his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt and his slow and steady heartbeat.

"And what would my babygirl like me to do? Does my babygirl want to be touched?" He lowly mumbles against the shell of your ear, your heart now beating faster when his hands start to roam over your body. "Yes," you breathlessly answer, hands slightly clenching into the fabric of his shirt. Definitely not what you had expected as the outcome of the conversation, but vocal Wakatoshi makes your pussy throb with every single word.

"My babygirl needs me to touch her, huh? I will take care of that pretty little princess cunt." He kisses your cheek, and your legs feel like jelly at this point. You cling to him, hanging on every single one of his words. You feel your arousal growing, feel how you start to get wet the more his hands keep touching you.

"More," you whisper, feeling hot and bothered while he keeps on touching you and pressing kisses to your neck. "More? Is my babygirl needy? That pretty princess cunny needs me to touch her?" He lifts the bathrobe just enough to place one hand on your thigh, and you feel like your body is on fire when he touches you there.

"Yes," you gasp, your hands now finding purchase on his shoulders while you cling onto him like your life depends on it. "What does that little princess cunny want? My fingers?" He grazes his fingertips along your thigh, moving dangerously close to your pussy under the bathrobe- bare, and basically creaming for him the longer he keeps playing with your body.

"Or my tongue?" he licks along the column of your neck, and you gasp at his words, the sensation hot and forbidden god. "I want to taste you, baby. You always taste so sweet. Do you want my tongue between your legs? Licking at your pretty pussy?" His fingers reach your throbbing pussy, slightly parting your folds and dipping in your wetness.

"Do it, do it, Toshi, please," you press your legs together around his hand, effectively caging him right where you need it. "Hmm, but you have to cum on my fingers first." He pecks your cheek and pulls his hand away from your legs, just to place it on your hips to guide you towards the bed. "Lay down for me, baby. Open that bathrobe for me."

His baritone echoes through the room, and you feel yourself doing everything like you're in a haze, full of need for him. "Hmm, that's my good girl." He hums apporvingly when you discard the bathrobe on the floor. Your body is trembling in the cool air of the room, but Ushijima is quick to join you on the bed and to hover above you, radiating so much heat that you instantly feel warm.

"Baby, spread your legs for me. Show me everything." You take a deep breath and slowly part your legs, revealing your glistening folds to him. A shiver runs down his body, and he clears his throat before he speaks again, his voice now lower when he is obviously bothered and turned on by the situation. "Look at how wet you are for me. All for me."

You frantically nod, anticipation rushing through your body while you wait for him to touch you. His fingers finally roam over your thighs, and your head falls back into the pillow at the way he touches you, the way he knows exactly where and how to touch you.

"So impatient. I can't wait to be inside of you, to feel you around me." Your gaze falls to the tent in his pants, the thought of him fucking you making your head spin and your pussy throb with need. His fingers move between your legs, moving along your folds and pressing against your clit. You moan at the sensation, your hands fisting the sheets when his thumb prods on your entrance.

"You look so pretty like this. Just waiting for me to touch you, to fuck you. And you feel so good around my fingers." He pushes his thumb inside of you, and you almost close your legs around him. "I will make you feel so good. I will make you cum on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock." You clench around the digit at his words, your eyes focused on his handsome face while he keeps on rubbing your clit. "More, please more," you whine your body shaking underneath his. "Shhh, I'll give you more. I'll give you what you need, baby." His eyes roam down your body and you almost protest when he pulls his thumb out, just to quickly replace it with three of his fingers. "Oh, Toshi," you whine, your hips arching into him, and you start to fuck yourself on his fingers. He keeps the fast rhythm, pulling his fingers out, and pushing them back inside, curling them pulling them out again. "You feel so good. You're is creaming for me, look at that." His words only add fuel to your desire, and you grab his shoulders to push him down to you to connect your lips in a needy kiss. He groans into your mouth, his movements slowing down for a few moments before he sets his rhythm again, a fast and punishing pace now.

Your nails rake along his bare shoulders, leaving red marks, and he groans at the sensation. "Come on, baby girl. Let me feel you clench around me. Cream on my fingers, make a mess for me," his voice sends you over the edge, and you moan his name when you cum, your walls pulsing and clenching softly around his fingers. He groans your name, sweet praises of how you're his good girl, how pretty you look under him, how much he loves you, leave his lips and your body arches from the bed into his while your face contorts in pure bliss.

He prolongs your high, making sure to keep his pace and to curl his fingers just the right way, and your body goes limp when he finally slows down. His lips meet yours, pressing chaste and loving kisses to your face. "Was that okay?" The slight frown on his face is back, a clear sign of him being deep in thoughts when he pulls back after a few more kisses.

"More than okay. I think I could cum from your voice alone." You smile up at him and cup his cheek, the afterglow making you feel so good while you lay under him.

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity now sparkling in his eyes at your words, and you are quick to explain further. "I- I didn't mean that literally. Like- I just wanted to say that your voice is hot. And you are hot." Your cheeks heat up when he simply nods and hums, a mild smile on his lips.

"I want to test that out. Let's see if I can make you cum with my voice alone, baby."

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - eren jaeger x afab!reader, 18+!!

okay hi. after my many-months writing hiatus, i am offering up this humble creation. welcome to the world of quick bright things, caught somewhere between a fairytale and a shakespeare play and a priceless piece of jewelry. this was inspired by....a lot of things, from midsummer night's dream to saltburn to the secret history to romeo & juliet like, you name it and i've probably crammed it in here. eren is a lot different than i normally write him (or read him, for that matter), i hope you all find him as lovely as i do! this will be 2 parts (for now...), i'm not sure what else to say except i'm happy to be back and i hope you all love part 1 ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

wc: 10.4k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

cws: alcohol, swearing, smut, fingering, reader has female anatomy, wet dreams, allusions to cannibalism (idk that's a stretch it's more of a metaphor), exhibitionism, cum-eating, creepy stepsiblings, rich assholes, throat-closing amounts of sexual tension, i honestly don't even know what to put here

without further ado...

-

"Last year I abstained / this year I devour / without guilt / which is also an art."

“Now don’t forget: university is for discovery, for adventure.” Your mother tucks the front of your shirt into your skirt, tugs at your collar until it’s sitting prettily against the cliff of your collarbones. It’s not a good fabric, this shirt; it’s cheap and scratches uncomfortably at the summer sunburn still lingering on your chest. “It’s for finding your passions, your life path, yourself…”

“Darling, you’ve been philosophizing since breakfast. You’re going to give the poor girl a conniption.” Your father chuckles lightly, swinging the hammer at the wall of your dormitory and finishing the hanging of one of your many posters over your creaky, lofted bed. The posters are bright and colorful, almost garish in the pristine, ancient light pouring in from the windows. With a slow blink, you realize you’re going to take them down later, that they feel incongruous with the dust particles and the oak furniture.

“It’s alright, really.” You manage a smile of compromise, lips clamped tight to hold the flutter of nerves in your throat at bay. “I think I’ve got it from here.”

There’s an expectedly teary goodbye, a small monologue from your father about how much you’ve grown, and a few reminders from your mother to separate the darks and the lights when you do laundry, to focus on your studies. Just before she slips out behind her husband, she grabs you by the shoulders and presses her lips to the side of your head, kisses a blood-red print into the shell of your ear.

“Don’t forget. Find something.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Whether it started with that conversation or with the buildup that accompanied the thirty-six months of monotonous paper-writing and numb boredom of your first three years at Oxford, you can’t be sure. In truth, maybe your first three years weren’t all that boring, and they only seem so by comparison of everything that came after, but you can’t be entirely sure of that either.

What you can be sure of is that something down the line—between meeting Sasha in that class on Milton and squeezing her hand as the plane landed and the dozens of bottles of champagne you’ve consumed over the last weeks—something led you to this moment, standing in this kitchen somewhere outside Verona with your bare feet against the hot clay tiles, staring at the sharp angle of an unfamiliar, tanned collarbone. 

He’s coated in linen: a half-unbuttoned, burnt-orange drape of a shirt is rolled carefully up around strong forearms, and one large, boyish foot peeks out from his baggy jeans, propped up on its throne upon the opposite knee. A golden cross winks at you from his chest, nestled in the sparsest dusting of chest hair and dripping with the same peach juice that’s sliding down his Adam’s apple, from his strong chin, from the crooked smirk that’s pointed at you like a knife.

You recognize him before he speaks– this must be Eren. Sasha’s mentioned him enough times: the shock of rich, dark hair, the lakewater eyes, the way he leans back in his chair like a king and cocks his head like a trickster. This is Eren, and you tell him so.

“Guilty.” The sun compliments everything about him but his smile, a little too sharp with too much danger behind it. It’s a smile made for moonlight. “And you are?”

A memory surfaces in your mind, a cautionary childhood tale. “You can never let a fairy know your name,” Emma tells you, graver than death, crouched in the bushes beside you, “or they steal you away, and you can never be human again.”

“Well?” Eren says expectantly, head leaning even further to the left. He’s studying you, the baggy linen pants pooling around your toes and ruby-studded ears poking out of a fray of frazzled bedhead. You feel naked, feel a wild urge come over you and wonder how his eyes would glow at you if you were. You shiver, goosebumps raising in the stuffy summer air. When his lips twitch, you realize Eren’s noticed; you feel feverish.

You mumble your name at him, as if it’s something given unwillingly. Waking the espresso machine seems like the right thing to do with your hands, and you’re grateful for the noisy mechanical sounds it provides to shatter the still morning. You bring an absentminded hand to rub over the tip of your ear, feel if it’s grown to a point yet.

“We haven’t met, have we? I feel like if we had, I’d remember.”

God, you wish he’d stop talking.

“Well, do you go to Oxford?”

“Sometimes.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs, little bells and glass shattering. “I’ve been abroad for the last semester. I flew in from Egypt a couple of weeks ago.”

“Hm,” you hum to yourself, choosing a small red cup for your morning coffee. You aren’t sure what to say; the most exotic place you’ve ever visited was a seaside town three hours from your house.

You can hear his newspaper crinkling; the sound of him putting it down betrays his arrival behind you, but you still don’t expect the puff of warm breath over your shoulder. He comes into your space like he belongs there, like there’s never been a door that wasn’t held open for him to stride through. “Are you still asleep?”

Before you can answer, you hear a shriek from down the hallway, and you breathe a little sigh of relief, thanking whatever ancient gods that belong to the hills you’re in for the interruption. Venus springs to mind, and you swat her and her entourage of Graces away from you with a huff.

“You absolute asshole!” Historia comes barreling into the kitchen, dramatic, fluffy dressing robe spilling out into the unrelenting summer heat behind her. You realize that in the three weeks you’ve spent with her, you haven’t once seen her in the actual kitchen, watching the way the breakfast chef’s eyes widen at the sight of her as he hurries by with an armful of eggs.

“Stori!” Eren elegantly catches her best attempt at a tackle with the good grace you assume he does everything with, breaking out into a warm peal of laughter. “Since when do you not love a surprise?”

“Since always.” Historia’s face is scrunched up where she’s buried it into the crook of his neck, forehead red with the effort of squeezing Eren as hard as she can. “You could have at least called, I mean– ugh, I didn’t even get the chance to get your favorite–”

“Relax.” Eren urges her, rubbing soothing circles into the small of her back. He carries them both over to his seat, plopping down and curling her up in his lap like a child. Eren holds his cup of coffee to her lips temptingly, and Historia shoves it away with another scowl. You hide your giggle at her antics behind your espresso, not wanting to remind them of your presence, but enjoying the show all the same. “Brat.”

“Ow,” Historia hisses when he pinches her thigh, expression lightening when she catches sight of something on the wall. “I always forget how pretty the kitchen is here.”

“Where’s your brother?”

“Still getting dressed.” Historia’s blue eyes turn to the frescoed ceiling with an irritated huff. “You know he can’t stand to be seen in his pajamas.”

“That’s because he doesn’t wear any,” Eren remarks with an eye roll of his own. “You could have called to let me know we’d adopted such a pretty houseguest for the summer.”

Your face burns with acknowledgement, and you can feel your toes curling into the clay bricks of the floor hard enough to scrape the tip of your pinky. Eren seems satisfied at your bewilderment, letting his eyes drag over your hardly-covered chest lazy as a wandering mouth.

“Why would anyone wear pajamas under those heavy duvets? It’s almost thirty-two degrees out.” Armin breezes in in a feigned display of nonchalance, but you can see the way his eyes skim over Eren like a ship narrowly avoiding an iceberg. The Titanic was inevitable, and so is the gravity of Eren sitting golden on the other side of the room.

“You look good, Min.” Eren squints his eyes at Armin’s shirt, nearly identical to his own. “Where’d you get that?”

“You left it last summer,” Historia hums, tucking her head under Eren’s chin and nuzzling into his chest more completely. Armin makes a soft snort of irritation, grabbing for a fig in the bowl of fruit on the counter and beginning to rummage through the cabinet drawers.

“Do you want half a fig?” Armin’s cool gaze slides to you, and you shake your head, feeling a little underwater as two lifelong relationships unfurl in front of you, your mind still fuzzy from last night’s wine. “Historia?”

Historia says no as Eren says yes, and Armin makes his sound of annoyance again before continuing his rummaging, muttering about the inconvenience of finding a knife.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sasha, still disheveled with sleep and grinning bright as Christmas morning, pops her head around the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the construction of your pyramid?”

“I’m not dead, Sasha,” Eren laughs—it really is distracting when he does that—pulling Sasha onto his other knee, ignoring Historia’s grumbles of discontent. The NYU Men’s Lacrosse t-shirt that Sasha cropped too short rides up, exposing the swell of her breast, but no one acknowledges it. Eren’s hand tucks in snugly around the curve of her hip, easy and natural, and you wonder if his fingers have ever itched to travel up under the hem of her tiny sleep shorts.

“Not dead yet.” Historia glares up at him venomously, reluctantly making room for Sasha to pile onto Eren and smother his face with kisses. Sasha pulls away from him suddenly and frowns.

“Peaches?”

“Where are the knives in this fucking kitchen?” Armin’s growl of frustration is loud enough to make you jump, and Sasha giggles at you.

“Jesus, Armin, you’re going to kill her, and it’s not even noon.” Sasha slips off of Eren’s knee, practically bouncing over to where Armin’s viciously jiggling a locked drawer. She slides open the drawer next to him and draws a long, wide knife from it, passing it to him with the blade extended and her eyes on you. “Did you meet Eren?”

“Careful of his hand!” Historia squeals, shooting an arm out towards Armin as if she can deflect the tip of the blade from across the room.

“It’s fine, Stor.” Armin’s voice floats across his nearly-bare shoulder, mild and careless as it grazes the collar of the too-big button down sliding off of his slim frame.

“That knife’s a little big for a fig, Sasha.” Eren stands, placing Historia on the table and pinching her cheek when she scowls at him.

“There’s no such thing as a too-big knife– listen to me. Did you meet Eren?” Sasha’s fingers are gripping into the flesh of your arm– hard. Your eyes widen in surprise at the urgency in her eyes, like if you haven’t been introduced to Eren, there’s grave danger afoot.

“We met.” It happens quickly and easily, the slide of his heavy arm around your shoulders. You can feel your body tense under the lazy weight of him, big hand wrapped around you like it belongs there. “I don’t think she’s particularly fond of me.”

Eren shoots you a wink that you’re sure is intended to mean something, a reference to an inside joke that you have yet to establish, maybe.

“I didn’t say that,” you say in your own defense, wanting to yank Sasha to the side and demand to know why she hadn’t warned you that Cupid himself was going to greet you in the kitchen this morning. Armin slices the fig neatly in half, a strangely practiced motion performed by small, soft hands. He offers it to you again insistently, and frowns when you shake your head.

“I said I wanted it, ‘Min,” Eren says with a hint of red to his words, snatching the halved fig from Armin’s hand and biting into it voraciously, little pieces of the flesh spattered around the corner of his mouth.

“You’re such a brute,” Armin scoffs, picking the meat of his half out gingerly with an oyster fork that you don’t remember him grabbing from the drawer.

“Why don’t you like Eren?” Sasha pouts at you, grabbing the hand that’s squashed between yours and Eren’s hips. Your palm feels hot against her fingers.

“I said I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say much of anything, to be fair.” Eren’s got the fig pressed to his mouth, digging his teeth and tongue around in the husk of it obscenely enough to make your cheeks warm. Being so close to him is filthy, that cross around his neck is looking you straight in the eye to make sure you feel it. 

“Eren’s always a pest,” Historia provides from her perch on the kitchen table, picking at her perfectly manicured toenails, “why would she like him?”

“You like him plenty,” Armin says, not looking at her. It’s not the first time that’s been brought up, if Historia’s answering sneer is anything to go by.

“You’ll love him if you give him a chance.” Sasha smiles hopefully at you, nodding.

“Yeah,” Eren grins down at you, teeth colored with fig, “give me a chance.”

“Eren, you’re going to scare her off,” Armin says with a roll of his eyes, peering around Eren’s broad shoulders to look you up and down. The way his eyes drag over you makes you feel like there might be a stab wound somewhere on your person that you don’t know about yet, the adrenaline of the moment keeping you numb.

“Back off her, Eren,” Historia echoes, “she’s fun, I don’t want you to make her leave.”

“She’s not going to leave.” Eren looks directly at you as he says it, something in his smile growing imperceptibly darker. A dare. How much will you let me get away with?

You stare and stare at him, ignoring the continued bickering of Armin and Historia in the background. He’s golden and blood-red, oil smeared on his forehead and a crown of thorns nestled in his dark thatch of hair if you look close enough. If you’re not imagining it, his hand might be tightening around your shoulder, maybe he’ll leave a purple bruise on it.

“Of course not,” Sasha interrupts your thoughts, thumbing at your cheek affectionately, “she belongs here. With us.”

“She’s our little fairy,” Historia giggles dreamily, referencing the long-winded fairy tales you drunkenly make up every night, casting each other as heroines and knights and dragons.

“Right,” Eren agrees, not breaking your gaze, “our little fairy.”

The only thing that comes to mind is your childhood friend, Emma, looking on at you sadly with her muddy toes, watching the wings sprout from your back.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Days lug themselves by, barefooted and dragging their heels, and most of the time, even the monotonous rise and fall of the sun doesn’t help to differentiate one calendar block from the next. Like a bat, or maybe a slinky, silvery fish in an underwater cave, you rely on your other senses to track the passage of time.

For example, today, you know it’s a Wednesday because Maria, one of the three house chefs, brings fresh peaches up from the co-op down the hill every Wednesday. Sasha’s spent the last thirty minutes hand feeding you peach flesh as you lounge by the pool, insisting that you suck her fingers clean of juice and feeding you little sips of champagne each time you sober up enough to tell her that that’s lewd. Historia swats at you and giggles at the smacking and slurping sounds you make around Sasha’s fingers, oiled-up palm landing on oiled-up hip with a wet slap; Armin admonishes her quietly from his seat beside her, insisting the girlish noises emanating from the three of you are tearing him from his book. You can feel Eren watching, too– that’s all, though. Always just watching.

You wonder how opaque the lenses of Armin’s sunglasses are, perched haphazardly on your nose, wonder if they’re doing a good job of masking the slow lick of your gaze over Eren’s skin, wonder if you care. Maybe the champagne is finally getting to your head.

“We should go in soon,” Historia sighs, a hand tossed across her forehead. She’s a little movie star, built for the golden age. “It’s so hot.”

“It’s always this hot,” Sasha argues, and you can practically hear the furrow in her brow, not willing to take your eyes off of the trickle of sweat running down Eren’s chest to see it for yourself. You’re really getting the hang of it, this opposite-sense thing. Everything’s upside down here in the heat.

“She’s getting hungry,” Armin supplies, wiping the sweat off his palms to reach up and turn the page of his novel. Brideshead Revisited. A little on the nose, isn’t it?

“I am not!” Historia hates when people point out her appetite, but not really. She kicks up a fuss because it’s “ladylike”, and she’s advised you to do the same.

“You are,” you sigh, really feeling the heat sink into you even with the heavy, lazy movement of lolling your head to face her, “you always get hungry around this time.”

“What time is it, then?”

You don’t reply– you don’t know the answer.

“I think we’re all hungry,” Eren, ever the peacemaker when he can find the time to be so, sits up, letting the shirt that’s been shading his face fall into his lap. Your eyes track its descent– even that seems slow. He says something to you, managing a crooked grin while he squints in the heat of the sun, but you don’t hear it.

“Huh?”

“Everyone except you, anyway,” he repeats himself, reaching over Sasha and smearing his thumb through the peach juice collected on your chin. Eren’s thumb disappears between his pink lips, and when he sucks on it with a satisfied hum, your jaw clenches hard enough to hurt.

“I guess it’s getting close to dinner,” Sasha says regretfully, picking her wristwatch, a priceless Braus family heirloom, up from a puddle of orange juice and tanning oil. “We should probably clean off.”

“I might even shower twice,” Armin rubs a hand over his belly with a grimace, “this tanning oil makes my skin greasy.”

“I feel disgusting,” Historia agrees, sliding red toes into her sandals and standing with a dramatic stretch.

“Filthy,” Eren murmurs in agreement. He’s still staring at you.

“I’ll be in soon. I’m so close to the color I wanted for today– I just need, like, ten more minutes.” You peel down the strip of bathing suit stretched over your hip, showing off the distinct mark of yesterday’s color and today’s tan.

“You’re crazy,” Sasha scoffs, throwing some designer sarong her mother lent her over her shoulder, “I’m melting.”

Armin and Historia pause their bickering over who gets to wear Armin’s Cucinelli belt to dinner—Armin wants it for his trousers, Historia for her maxi dress—just long enough to offer a momentary goodbye, breezing along into the house with Sasha. You settle back into your chair and take a deep breath, letting the sun sink into you just long enough to forget that you’re not alone.

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the improper shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment– Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.” He practically spits it into your mouth, one thigh pressed into where you’re sticky and sinful, and he chuckles under his breath when you shudder under him, feverish in the late-afternoon heat.

Before you can even think of biting back, Eren’s off of you, picking your sandals off of the ground and sliding them gently onto your feet, stopping to run his palm from your ankle to your kneecap with an appraising hum. 

“We should head inside,” he says evenly, offering a hand to pull you to your feet, “I’d hate for us to miss dinner.”

You don’t have anything to say back to him, letting him lace his fingers through yours like lines in a play, interspersing seamlessly with the summer scenery. Eren leads you through the kitchen, waits patiently for you to take your sandals off, and waves you on your way up the stairs, saying he needs a cigarette. As the distance between you grows, your mind grows clearer, and you turn on your heel, calling down to him from the top of the stairs.

“Eren? Eren? Where are you, Eren?”

“Call me something else,” Eren pokes his head around the corner, smoke pouring from the grin on his face, “whatever you want, really. Make your own name for me.”

“You stare at me, too,” you say, tearing through his impishness. Eren cocks his head, unperturbed, smile growing wide as he nods.

“I do.”

“So you’re…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, not where it might echo in the cavernous hallway, where it might take the form of a confession. You scamper down the stairs, nearly sliding on bare feet, almost crashing into Eren when he appears at the foot of the staircase, catching you with two broad palms on either side of your ribcage. You pluck the cigarette from his mouth, stick it between your own teeth, narrow your eyes accusingly, and whisper: “You’re hungry too.”

“For every man hath business and desire, Such it is.” Eren takes the cigarette back, pulling on it and making a clear show of trying to hide a smirk.

“Hamlet?”

“A woman with teeth and a brain,” Eren tilts his head at you, “aren’t you something?”

“Do you always quote Shakespeare when you want to fuck somebody?”

“Only when I want to fuck you.” Eren stubs the cigarette out on the ancient oak of the staircase railing, grins up at you brilliantly, smiles brighter when he notices how obviously flustered you are.

“I need to go take a shower,” you say hurriedly, choking on the remnants of your shame and your confidence as they burn out in your throat, making an attempt to back up the stairs away from him. Eren laughs at your attempted escape, catching you by the wrist and pulling you close to him, close enough to dizzy you on the tendrils of smoke still sticking to him. Your breath stills, your heart slows as Eren wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you together, skin on tacky skin.

“Oh, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” Eren coos to you, mouth moving against your cheekbone. “C’mon, just one bite.”

“He that is proud eats up himself,” you hiss a quote back at him in response, ripping yourself from his grip and scrambling up the stairs, heart pounding and cheeks burning. You can hear a lovesick sigh follow you up to your room, and hope that the slam of the door behind you is enough to keep it from touching you.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The murky waters of your vision ripple out into clarity, and you’ve found yourself in a forest. You’ve been here before, you recognize the tall, thick trunks and the bed of fallen leaves under your feet. You’ve been coming here since you were a little girl, been wiggling your toes in the greenery since before you could remember. You never come alone.

It appears just as you remembered: a blinding glimmer of light, a flame for a head, and ribbonlike wisps of energy that beckon you like arms, like love. One step towards it, and it disappears, vanishing into nothing with an echo that might be laughter. You think it’s happy to see you.

When it reappears a few feet away, you take your first steps, sighing at the feeling of the wild enveloping you, of the prickling of your skin, kissed by the chill winding through the trees. You wish you could explore this place, so familiar and so strange all at once, but you know you have to keep moving, keep following the lights as they lead you deeper and deeper into the forest. They won’t hurt you; you aren’t sure why that’s true, aren’t sure why you keep moving. You just know better than to stop.

They lead you over a familiar path, winding past a creek, over a bed of flat stones with an ice-cold creek running over them. You never tire here, legs pumping and arms working to push yourself faster. You’ve never caught the lights, and you aren’t sure if you ever will, but again, you know better than to doubt. It feels like hours, feels like minutes, feels like purpose, chasing these lights through the forest, but suddenly, something’s new.

There’s a little chirping sound, almost conversational and too high-pitched for you to understand; you’re not even sure if you recognize the language. It ricochets around the bones in your body, touches something ancient in their marrow. You almost jerk your head to the right to find the source, but you resist, pushing ahead on your path as the lights lead you deeper. You get the feeling that you’ve gone off-script somewhere, that this is a part of the forest you haven’t seen before, but the warmth in your bones shoos your doubts away. You’ve never been this far, but it feels like home.

A growl curls around the shell of your ear, plants fear right in the center of your chest. Your eyes widen at the light before you before it disappears; you frown at the next one, not daring to speak but demanding an answer anyhow. The lights will save you, won’t they?

Shrieks from overhead, guttural, animalistic calls, howls and chatters of excitement; you never presumed to be alone in this forest, but you never presumed to be in danger, either. The lights urge you on, vanishing and regenerating at an alarming rate, your feet drumming against the forest floor faster and faster. A sliver of moonlight begins to glow from the trees a ways off, an indication that there’s a clearing ahead, and you shove the bile in your throat down, swing your arms faster, ignore the frantic fluttering of your pulse in time with the bestial chorus ringing clearer and louder from the trees with each passing second.

You do, against all odds, manage to launch yourself into the clearing, and the moment you feel the soft cushion of moss under your feet, as opposed to the branch-littered, crunchy path of the forest, you nearly stumble to your knees as your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the clearing. The grumblings of the woodland entities have quieted, an almost awestruck silence settling in the open space around you.

“There you are.”

Your head snaps up comically fast– “You?”

“Me,” Eren says, that razor-sharp, moonlight smile lighting up his face. He looks…right here, as if the forest is extending a sense of belonging, as if he’s been here longer than the ancient trees themselves. Even the little crown nestled atop his head is fitting: a tangle of brambles and thorns and leaves tucked into his dark locks. Is that a throne under him, that mass of branches and leaves and some silvery metal you can’t place?

His eyes glow in the starlight, illuminated with a certain hunger that you can feel reverberating through your bones. It should be frightening, but it’s enticing. You feel welcome.

“What are you doing here?” Your tongue is slower on the uptake than your mind, and you can feel the suspicious expression folding your facial features, hiding the thrum of anticipation the sight of him brings.

Eren cocks his head pityingly, smiling at you in a way that would seem predatory if it wasn’t so entirely disarming, so entirely inviting. Your feet are bringing you closer before he even speaks— you know why you’re here before he says it.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren beckons you onto his lap, firmly grabbing your shoulder and silently demanding you straddle him when you try to turn away from him, “you’re beautiful, so…alive here.”

He takes a bit of your hair between your fingers and rubs it, satisfaction flickering over his face. It’s then that you realize how little fabric covers you; really, it’s only a thin, wispy excuse of a dress, hanging in tatters around your body and leaving your skin free for the taking. Taking notice of your dress leads you to take notice of another pressing matter: Eren’s naked beneath you.

“Where are we?”

“Does it matter?” Eren reaches up to toy with your hair again, smiling gently. He tilts his head up, asking you for something you can’t identify, but that you already know you’re willing to give. Your soul, maybe.

Your lips meet his in a tentative brush, a motion that feels shy, but practiced. It’s a reflex, an instinct, to kiss him this way. Eren groans gutturally against your mouth, pressing into you deeper, digging his fingertips into your bare skin. The chorus of inhuman chatter erupts around you both again, and you jump, almost pushing away from him before he stops you with a firm hand against the small of your back.

“Sh,” he whispers, nipping at your chin, “don’t pay them any mind. You’re with me, remember?”

It’s difficult at first with the ever-growing hum of life around you, but it grows increasingly easier to melt into him, to lose yourself in the rhythm of him. He’s thick and hard underneath you, pressed right where you’re already slick and ready for him, and he’s got a tight grip on your hips, working you against him to make sure you feel it and oh– do you feel it.

A debauched gasp pours from your mouth to his; Eren sinks sharp teeth into your bottom lip with a grunt of approval, pulls you up to situate you over his twitching cock. You can feel the lecherous eyes of the woodland creatures, spirits, monsters, whatever they may be around you, looking in on the sticky, tangible arousal building between your bodies. The steady glow of Eren’s eyes, the prick of the thorns in his hair under your fingertips, the insistent weight of him pressing against the wet heat of you: all of it keeps you grounded, keeps your hips rolling into Eren like your life depends on it, like it’s what you were born to do.

“Are you ready?” Eren murmurs, quiet as the grave, stilling your hips and lifting you.

“I’m not sure, I–”

“I’ve been waiting so long,” Eren interrupts, “so long for you– you’re ready for me, I know you are.”

And with that, he’s sliding you down onto his cock, splitting you open, dropping your jaw. The cacophony from the forest grows deafening, but the glowing eyes in the brush streak and blur as your eyes flutter closed, a stuttered moan falling from your lips.

“Oh–”

“Knew you were ready,” Eren sinks his teeth into your collarbone, lets you wiggle and roll your hips until he’s situated comfortably inside of you. “You were born for this. For me.”

You can’t even bring yourself to disagree, to refute, to question. It’s godly, the way he fills you, the twinge of pain in the pit of your belly that doesn’t waver, no matter which way you squirm. The longer you sit, perched upon him– you feel something akin to divinity, akin to prophecy ringing through your bones. You were born for this.

“Eren…” It’s more of a sigh than anything, a confession and an admittance of guilt, a repentance. He likes the way it tastes, you can tell by the way his hands grip you harder, roll you along his cock faster with an urgency that betrays his calm, adoring gaze. He’s sinking his claws into you, bit by bit, and you’re better for it. You belong here, with the night on your skin and Eren nestled inside of you.

“Don’t ever leave,” Eren smiles gently, as if it’s a choice, “stay with me forever.”

The pleasure’s beginning to peak in your stomach, the howls swirling in the air around you start to feel more like a blanket, the moonlight like a crown. His hands are so hot they almost burn, his tongue licking up your neck feels like a baptism. Your back is arching, your blood is rushing, the stars are speaking to you– what are they saying?

Your fingernails have left angry indents in your throat where you’ve clutched into the skin in a desperate attempt to regain your breath, shooting up out of your slumber with a vicious jolt. Your head spins with the sudden movement, the antique furnishings of the room bleeding into candlelit blurs as you heave for breath.

“Sleeping?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the gravel of Eren’s voice, having believed yourself to be alone. Some instinctual part of your mind almost remembers falling asleep on the loveseat in the glass-enclosed sunroom earlier, one too many martinis to thank for that, but you can worry about that later– Eren’s your priority now, shirtless and leaned against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised and a very telling flush rising to his cheeks. The chilly wetness between your legs brings your dream to the forefront of your mind. Had he heard, somehow?

“What are you doing down here?” You do your best to narrow your eyes into something convincing enough to pass for annoyance, unsure if you’ve managed to pull it off with the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“Water,” Eren says simply, raising a glass you hadn’t noticed he was holding, “but it seems like you might need it more than I do.”

“I don’t–” He ignores you, crossing the room to hand you the ornate glass. Your throat is dry, and so you drink, eyeing him suspiciously as you sip.

“Dreaming?” The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

“Nightmare.” You push yourself up to sit, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “How’d you know?”

A long pause, Eren’s eyes dragging over you slowly, your skin burning. “You were squirming.”

“It was disturbing,” you say truthfully, looking over your shoulder and half-expecting to see some horrible monster leering at you from the doorway, salivating over you and Eren, “but I’ve had this same dream since I was a kid. Part of it, anyway.”

“Need company?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaken by the dream and how low Eren’s pajama pants hang on his hips, “I just need to get to my real bed. I’m sure sleeping outside had something to do with it.”

“That’s not true.” Eren’s scooping you up into his arms before you can open your mouth to argue, as if you even would. This isn’t unusual for him; you’ve grown used to his tendency to touch you, to hold you close to his chest as though you belong there. It echoes in your head, you were born for this. A shudder wracks through your body. “Cold?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your own voice. Eren nuzzles your head deeper into his shoulder, lets you get a noseful of the scent of him. Dewdrops, mankind, a rotting forest floor. It gives you a disconcerting sense of deja vu.

“Sleeping outside is good for you,” Eren goes on, scaling the stairs with impossible ease, “my mom used to tell me that.”

“Is that so?” It brings a sleepy little smile to your face, despite yourself: the image of a messy-haired, fussy baby Eren, curled up in his mother’s lap and looking up at the night sky.

“Sure.” You can hear the nostalgia in his voice. “The stars can talk to you that way, through your dreams. They show you where you’re supposed to go.”

Your blood runs cold at that– does he know? How could he? He’s a man, not a mind-reader, not a mystic. Right? You let him carry you to your door in silence, the only noise being the padding of his bare feet down the Turkish carpet runner in the hall. When he gets to your door, Eren finally starts to move to let you down, and your mouth moves without your permission, voice small and echoing in the still nighttime air.

“Eren?”

He freezes, muscles locking you in place against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

Eren settles you on your feet before answering, leaving one lingering hand on your hip and bringing the other up to brush at your cheek. Your eye must have been watering– his thumb catches a stray tear. His smile is a little too sharp when he answers.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” Relief courses through your body, but your muscles stay taut under his touch.

“Okay,” Eren looks you up and down one more time, as if he’s making sure you’re all there, “goodnight, then. I hope your dreams get better.”

When he turns to go, the broad silhouette of him growing darker as he retreats, you remember something fragile underneath the floorboards.

“Wait, Eren! You forgot your water.”

“My what?” When he turns to face you, he’s still grinning– baring his teeth, more like. You think you’re imagining the glow in his eyes, too fresh from that dream.

“Your water. I think I have a cup in my room if you need it.”

“Oh.” Eren waves a hand nonchalantly through the air, catching a stray stream of moonlight. You can see the dust particles dancing around his hand, enchanted by his movement. “Wasn’t thirsty."

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s a slinky, dazzling dress; Elie Saab, Spring 2005, maybe? 2006? Sasha had lent it to you, insisted upon you taking it, really. It’s got to be worth at least your years’ rent payment, dripping with Swarovski and cut low and square across your chest, and easily the most decadent thing you’ve ever worn but– it’s family dinner night. No expense is spared.

Historia sits across from you, reaching one dainty hand out for Armin’s negroni, nearly dipping the massive drop-pearl charm on her bracelet into the first course: a cold, cucumber soup. Armin nudges her meaningfully, scowling and handing his glass to her, glancing apologetically at the stiff-backed butler across the room, who wasn’t looking anyway. Sasha’s at the head of the table, working on Historia’s serving of the cucumber soup, dunking focaccia bread into it in a voracious manner that you’re sure wasn’t outlined in the etiquette courses she’d endured as a child. And he’s next to you, naturally.

His dinner jacket looks out of place on him, oddly enough: angular and overly formal, as well-fitting as it is. You wish it was a little greener, a little more playful, something to match the Eren you’ve gotten to know under all the glitz and glamour. It’s too human for him, really, but that thought makes you shudder faster than you can shove it to the side.

“Wasn’t that the girl from Luxembourg?” Sasha asks through a giggle, finally leaning back to allow the butler to collect the remnants of her first course. Historia frowns at her, gulps back nearly half of Armin’s cocktail.

“No, the girl from Luxembourg was a slut. He wouldn’t have touched her.”

Armin and Eren exchange a look that implies that, whoever the slut from Luxembourg might have been, she didn’t escape their clutches unscathed. Historia notices the guilty smile dimpling Eren’s cheek and smacks Armin in retaliation.

“Ouch, Stori!” Armin scowls right back at her; if you didn’t know about Armin’s father’s remarriage to Historia’s mother, you’d think they were actually related.

“She was a slut,” Historia sniffs, finishing the rest of Armin’s cocktail in a second swig.

“It was Eren’s idea– you’re always punishing me for what he does.” When the staff place the second course, some sort of ceviche, in front of him, Armin crosses his arms over his chest and looks away like a huffy child. Sasha laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have your own hand in things. You can’t blame everything on Eren.”

“Maybe he can,” you shrug, the champagne going to your head. You’re feeling impish, feeling like one of them. Wildly, you reach a hand up to pinch at Eren’s cheek, smiling to yourself when you feel it turn warm under your fingers. “I mean, just look at him. He’s a devil.”

“Am not,” Eren scoffs, slapping a hand on your leg and shaking it playfully, “you weren’t there anyway. Min’s very convincing when he wants to be.”

“I am.” Armin smiles at you, head tilting intrepidly. “I can get Eren to share anything I want, I bet.”

It feels loaded, like a challenge, and Eren’s fingers tighten where he’s gripping your leg. When you chance a glance to the side at him, his jaw is tense, gaze focused on Armin like a threat, like a predator.

“Not anything,” Eren says, voice low and dangerous, more somber than you’ve ever heard him. Armin’s face falls for a millisecond, scrunching his nose at the murderous glint in Eren’s eyes, before he clenches his jaw and glances between the two of you with a haughty smirk.

“Est-ce vrai? En êtes-vous sûr? Tu l'as dit toi-même - je suis convaincant quand je veux quelque chose.”

“Ne commencez pas avec moi, pas pour ça.” It’s hardly louder than a murmur, but the threat carries all the same. You look to Sasha with widened eyes, hoping for a translation, but she’s chewing slowly on a bite of her ceviche, looking at Armin, Eren, then Armin again with a strange expression you’ve never seen before.

A heavy silence settles over the table, Eren’s fingertips leaving sore spots through your dress where they’re digging into your thigh, and Armin’s eyes dancing over Eren’s face, that same smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Daring.

“You two are so in love,” Historia gripes with a roll of her eyes, smashing the carefully-cubed ceviche on her plate into a mush. You eye the smear of meat on her fork disdainfully and set down the bite you had been about to pop in your mouth, opting for your glass of bubbles instead.

The jokingly grumpy lilt of Historia’s comment seems to cut the thread of tension that had grown taut between the two men, as Armin allows Sasha to pull him away from Eren and back into his corner of the table with her and Historia. Their conversation drones on, the ethics of Eren and Armin’s tendency to tag-team women fading into the background as you wait for Eren’s hand to slip from your thigh. It doesn’t.

His thumb rubs idly over the slit of your dress, brushing it back and forth over your bare skin for just long enough to get you used to the pressure of his palm beaming heat through the thin fabric, get your guard down. And then his fingers slip underneath, grabbing into the hot flesh of your thigh.

You jump ever so slightly, flighty as a fawn, and Eren chuckles under his breath beside you when you choke a bit on your champagne. He’s cool—stoic, even—as he bashfully bats away the scandalous insinuations of Sasha and Historia’s storytelling, the lewd raise of Armin’s eyebrows at the mention of a certain leggy redhead in Prague. His hand stays steady, possessive and permanent on your leg. When Armin and Historia start arguing over yet another of Armin’s alleged missteps with one of her college friends, Eren takes the opening to lean into you, murmuring into your ear.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” His breath puffs out hot and sensual against the shell of your ear, and you can feel your earring lifting with the movement of his lips. He’s so close.

“Not jumpy,” you answer under your breath, trying to keep your composure.

“Hm,” Eren hums, leaning back just enough to study your profile, “wasn’t sure if you’d dozed off, started dreaming again.”

Your head whips towards him in what is surely an uncouth accusation of insinuation, borne of shock, but luckily, Armin’s too busy being hand-fed ceviche by Sasha and scolded by Historia to notice. Other than his eyes, Eren’s stiller than death, watching over the antics with the littlest smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. His eyes, though, flick down to you, glinting like a dare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means something?” It’s a challenge, and you realize too late that the rope around your ankle has cinched, and you’re caught in his trap.

“No,” you say, hoping for more conviction in your voice, but it comes out as a breathy whisper. The corner of Eren’s mouth twitches, and it pulls an irritated huff from you.

“Tell me about your dream. The one that woke you up the other night.”

“Tell you– w-what? Here?”

“Yes, here,” Eren repeats you, quiet and calm, keeping one eye on your bickering friends to ensure you’re kept all to himself, “unless it’s something you can’t share.”

The blanching of your face tells him everything he needs to know, and that sickening admission almost overshadows the fact that he knows. He undeniably knows, now; maybe not the specifics, but enough to know that you had woken up sticky and gasping after a sinful dream. Maybe he even knows it was about him. 

You’ve given up on trying to understand the otherworldly elements of Eren; the way he seems to appear at inopportune moments and know what you’re thinking at every turn, but this is too much. You quickly realize that while you’re not sober, you’re certainly not drunk enough to deal with him, and you finish your glass of champagne in a single gulp.

“You’re one to talk about sharing,” you hiss at him, trying to will away the goosebumps prickling your arms as his fingers inch higher, skating along soft skin. Eren’s demeanor falters, if only for a moment– he looks frustrated.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Eren leans into you, brows furrowing. “I don’t share just anything, and especially not just because ‘Min wants a taste.”

“Am I yours to share?” That heavy swig of champagne has gone straight to your head it seems, as you turn your face up to him defiantly, finally saying the quiet part out loud. The weight falls off your shoulders like a head, and you can almost feel the itch of the guillotine at your neck as the words leave your mouth. Eren, ever the gentle executioner, only lets the calm fascination return to his face, brings his fingers further up your thigh.

“Tell me about your dream, hm? They’re not listening, it’s just you and me.”

He’s only inches away from where you’re already beginning to grow hot and wet– he hasn’t even done anything, and you want to chastise yourself over the undeniable need beginning to bubble inside you. Eren’s smiling so sweetly, as if he’s lulling you into a sense of complacency, and your tongue hangs heavy in your mouth, eager to spill your secrets.

“I…I’m scared.”

Eren’s eyebrows raise and his smile grows a bit toothier, disbelief written plain on his face. “Of me?”

“Sometimes,” you say, small and honest as the grave, “it’s like you aren’t real.”

“I’m very real,” Eren insists, two fingers pressing against the damp silk of your panties, his eyes lighting up when you stifle a gasp, “doesn’t that feel real?”

“Wait–”

“The dream,” Eren says again, increasing the pressure of his fingers, “were you scared of me there, too?”

“Yes,” you whisper, ashamed and painfully cognizant of the feel of him between your legs, “I was in a forest, running after the little lights, they– I’ve seen them for a long time.”

“Since you were a child,” Eren repeats your confession from the other night. He’s reading you, you realize, not like a book, but like a poem. You couldn’t put the difference into words if you had to, but there’s a certain melody to the flickering of his gaze over your hot face.

“They’ve never led me anywhere before,” your words hitch in your throat, stopped dead when Eren’s fingers start rubbing circles over your swollen clit. The silk is thin and soaked, and his fingers slide over you in a way that feels god-given. Your jaw hangs ever-so-slightly, the butlers coming to change the course. You wait for Eren to slip his hand out from under your dress, fearful of the staff watching as he toys with you, but he only nods encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

“Um,” you stammer, swallowing thickly and glancing at the plate of bleeding, rare filet in front of you, “they took me to a clearing in the forest. There were creatures, ones I’ve never seen before.”

“Did they hurt you? Any of them?” A furrow appears between his eyebrows, deep and concerned. Some small part of your brain, muted since Eren’s hand slid beneath your dress, worries itself with why Eren seems so disquieted with your dream– it’s not like you actually could have been hurt, it was only a dream. Wasn’t it?

“No, they stayed away. They just made a lot of noise, but they all got quiet when…”

A knowing smirk. “When?”

“When I saw you.”

Eren pats your thighs gently, urging them apart; he looks relieved, exhilarated, unreal. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his eyes were glowing in the candlelight. Armin, Historia, and Sasha’s clamor across the table grows louder with each passing second, but as soon as you begin to wonder if you should be doing a better job of hiding what’s very clearly happening under the slit of your dress, Eren’s fingers have wiggled their way beneath the fabric of your silk thong. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, eyes widening.

“I was glad to see you,” Eren says quietly, “in the dream, I mean.”

“You said you’d been waiting for me,” you whisper, keeping your voice low to hide the whine scratching at the back of your throat, “that you’d been waiting a long time.”

“I bet I was,” Eren hums thoughtfully, grinning viciously when he sinks a finger into you, clearly relishing the way your fingernails tighten into his wrist. “I never lie.”

“Even in a dream?” You feel fuzzy and warm, blinking moony, worried eyes up at him. Eren shakes his head in confirmation, curling his finger and making your thighs clench. “You put me in your lap, and–and, you had a crown. It was nighttime, I think, and the moon was really bright. You were inside me.”

Eren slides another finger in to match the first, and you’re hardly able to stifle a moan when it comes fluttering through your teeth, a breeze of a sound compared to what you’re struggling to keep captive in your chest. Eren’s other hand reaches forward to grab a small piece of the carved steak, brings the meat up to your mouth and brushes it over your lips.

“Eat,” Eren instructs, smiling placidly as you mindlessly obey, biting into the red meat, “but keep telling me.”

He waits patiently for you to chew around the bite of steak he’s offered you, eyes searching you for something– what it is, you can’t be sure. Your mind is wobbling around the flashes of memory of your dream, distracted every few steps by an overwhelming rush of pleasure from between your legs, Eren’s fingers curling incessantly against your walls. You swallow, never taking your eyes off of him.

“You fucked me.” The confession is breathless when it leaves you, and even through the haze of what you pray isn’t a rapidly-approaching orgasm, you don’t miss the way Eren’s shoulders stiffen, the way his eyes flash. 

“Did I fuck you, or did you fuck me?” Eren murmurs back to you, mischief in his eyes and a tense gravel to his voice. “You said you were in my lap, after all.”

“I—oh, god—I don’t know,” you’re barely able to keep your voice low, a little whimper interrupting you, “Eren–”

“Keep going, it’s okay,” Eren’s fingers don’t slow– in fact, they begin to move more harshly, “you’re safe with me, you know that. I showed you in the forest, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You can’t stop your forehead from falling onto his shoulder, teeth digging into your lip so hard you aren’t sure if that coppery taste is from the steak, or your own blood. The conversation in the room, despite being made by only three people, feels like a deafening rush in your ears. 

The realization hits home that Eren’s going to make you cum all over his fingers in front of your friends, the staff, and your dinner, and he’s going to wrench it out of you in a matter of seconds, if the tightening of your gut is anything to go by.

“What else?” Eren practically growls in your ear, low and hoarse. “Is there anything else?”

“You asked me– fuck, you asked me something.” Your hips are canting forward into his palm, your face tacky and warm thinking about the couture fabric under you, now drenched in your cum and sweat. “Eren, you have to slow down, please–”

He’s merciless, pumping his fingers into you ceaselessly, rendering you a lost cause. “What did I ask you?”

“You asked—oh, my god—asked if I, if I would stay with you forever.”

“What was your answer?”

You can’t respond, not with the way you’ve stopped breathing to swallow down the debauched moan bubbling in your chest. Your entire body tenses, strung tight as a bow around Eren’s fingers as the knot in your stomach unravels, cool, inevitable release finally crashing over you. Eren works you through it, murmuring little hushes into your hairline, and placing a comforting hand over your fingers that are digging into his wrist, smiling against your forehead as you slide your hips back and forth over his hand.

You manage to pull the whole thing off impressively subdued, no more than a tinny whimper leaving your lips, only to be absorbed by the sleeve of Eren’s dinner jacket. When you dare to sit up, to meet Eren’s eyes, he’s still looking at you expectantly, as if that wasn’t enough.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” you whisper, waiting for Historia to chastise you, or Armin to make a lewd comment. The three of them are still arguing, Sasha stealing bites from Armin’s plate each time he turns to snap at Historia, who’s now sitting amongst a crowd of empty crystal glasses.

“What was your answer?” Eren says again, pulling his fingers from you and smirking at the glisten that stretches down into his palm.

“I woke up,” you say with shaky conviction, trying to glare at him.

“Are you still scared of me?” Eren asks innocently, picking up a piece of his steak with his hand and feeding it to you again. Your cum mixes in with the flavor of the steak, gives it a certain tang and salinity that makes your heart beat faster, even though you’ve just floated back down to consciousness.

“I– I don’t think so, but…” you trail off, looking down at the plate. Eren brings another piece to your lips, letting you bite half and giving the rest to himself, not missing the opportunity to suck on the tips of his fingers. Your thighs press together when his eyes flutter shut, knowing what he’s tasting and watching him revel in it.

“But what?”

“I don’t think I understand you,” you confess breathlessly, “I think that’s what scares me. I spend all day looking at you, and I never feel closer to understanding you, to really touching you. It’s like you’re not…” you trail off in search of the right word.

“Real?” Eren cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Human,” you say without entirely meaning to, widening your eyes at him in apology. “I’m sorry, not in a bad way necessarily, but– you feel…like you’re above me. In a sense.”

“Above you?” Eren frowns, forgetting his dinner entirely and looking straight at you with rejection written all over his face, wrinkles you want to smoothe over with your thumb.

“I just…” you sigh, finding it harder to meet his gaze by the second, “I don’t understand what you want with me.”

“Still?” Eren tilts his head. “Even after that?”

“The dream?” You nearly chuckle in exasperation. “It was just a dream, that’s all.”

Eren frowns a little, reaches for your glass of champagne– oh, god, when had that been refilled?– and hands it to you. He watches you take one sip, and then another, that concentrated pull of his eyebrows never ceasing until you reach a shaky hand out for your fork, beginning to feed yourself small bites of steak. His perplexed expression ripples out into one of contentedness, smiling gently as he watches you take care of yourself.

“All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show me thee,” Eren finally says, looking at you very much like you’re supposed to be parsing something out from his quote.

“On to the sonnets now, are we?” You cock a playful eyebrow at him, despite your tired, slouching posture and your repeated attempts to keep your guard up. Eren grins mischievously, leaning in as if he means to press the tip of his nose to yours.

“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say–”

“If it be love indeed, tell me how much?” You’re quicker than him on this one, a vicious little smirk cutting across your face when you manage to cut him off. Eren’s eyebrows raise, impressed, but you don’t keep him down for long.

“There’s beggary in love that can be reckoned,” Eren finally says, twirling the ring on your pinky absentmindedly. You don’t even remember when he laid his hand atop yours, but it feels heavy and comforting, and so you let it lie there, just for the time being.

Your post-orgasm exhaustion hits you like a train, the temptation to slump against Eren’s shoulder winning out over your propriety. You’ll sit back up by the fourth course, you tell yourself, nibbling on a large piece of parsley that had come as a garnish on your plate. Eren doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your fuzzy head nodded into the cotton of his shoulder; in fact, he seems to adjust himself so you can nuzzle closer, eyes blinking owlishly as you reach for your glass of bubbles. You’re teetering dangerously close to the edge of unconsciousness, and you almost wouldn’t care, until something catches your eye.

Over the rim of your glass, Historia is staring at you. It’s not a look of admonishment, but more…caution? Concern? Pity? All you can discern for certain is that Historia must have seen everything Eren did to you, everything he’s still doing to you, taking a caviar bump off the back of his hand and laughing at Armin, shoulder shaking under your cheek. Historia’s brows furrow at you, her bottom lip wavering slightly.

You sit up suddenly, ignoring the way the room spins with the speed of your action. Eren turns his head to you, surprised, only to follow your gaze across the table to Historia. You’re trying to keep from looking at him, but you can’t help yourself, watching his expression crumple into something stern and disparaging.

Historia withers for only a moment, before narrowing her eyes at him threateningly. Eren squeezes his hand around yours. Sasha shoves Historia admonishingly for not listening to her joke. Armin’s eyes focus in on where your fingers grip your champagne flute hard enough to turn white.

You think you see a few pairs of familiar, glowing eyes in the bushes outside, peering in on the scene at the table. You think you need to go to bed.

[theladybarnes]

“.. I’m sort of annoyed with all of you.” “Aw, you’re breaking my heart, Princess. I think I’m gonna go home and cry about it.”

a mood board for the stanger verse series. 

[bakubunny]

act one: the hands of a hero

kinktober 2023

pairing: midoriya izuku x fem!reader

wc: 0.9k

tags: aged up characters; switch!izuku; switch!reader; hand holding; edging; creampie; fingering (f receiving); praise kink; lots of pet names: baby, princess, angel, sweetheart, good boy, good girl; d/s undertones; established relationship; soft!izuku; riding; missionary; pinned down; multiple rounds; izuku cleans himself up after (sort of); begging if you squint a little

Some days it felt as though you could never stop staring at those beautiful, scarred hands. The ones that had saved the lives of many. The ones that reached out to help others in need. The ones that so many had come to know and love as a bright green current traced over his skin.

Those were the same strong hands you were lucky enough to hold every day. They cupped and stroked your face gently, ran over your body with reverence and love, held you down and gripped you hard enough to bruise, trembled in yours when you kissed him just right, made you shake and see stars in his arms. They were large and warm. They were scarred and rough and perfect.

Today, his hands were clasped tightly in yours as you straddled his. His thick cock slowly slid in and out of your pussy with a lewd, wet sound, your hips grinding into him as deep as you could get. It made your brain fuzzy just feeling him twitch and throb inside you as you moaned.

Izuku’s breath was shaky, whimpering pleas stumbling out of his mouth. “Please can I cum, princess? Please?”

“Not yet, baby, I need you still. Can you take it for me?” you said.

A guttural moan left his chest as he squeezed your hands tighter. “Fuck, yes,” he said.

“‘S my good boy. You’re doing so well.” It was incredible to see the way this big, strong hero grew tense and panted when you spoke.

His brow was sweating, his head spinning just hearing those words, his name on your lips. You moved Izuku’s hands to your breasts and he cursed, gently groping and playing as his cock throbbed. You leaned forward a little, rising and falling as your pace increased again. Your hips smacked into his as your head fell back and you moaned. The pressure against your cunt sent pleasure shooting through your body as Izuku stuttered and whined.

“B-baby please, ‘s too much, I can’t, f-fuck, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. C’mon, you can take it for me. Hold on just a little longer,” you said. Your legs began to shake as you hit a deep, tender spot just right. You were teetering on the edge of climax just like him, groaning as your hips slowed to a near stop.

Izuku bucked into you with a high pitched moan, desperate as his body trembled. “Please, princess.”

He looked so gorgeous with his cheeks flushed, eyes wide and needy, bits of hair stuck to his forehead. It was almost too much. You leaned down and kissed him with heavy, shaky breaths. Izuku’s hands traveled to your waist, grinding your hips into him harder, still pleading quietly.

“Cum for me, ‘Zuku. Cum for me. I need it,” you said softly, his face in your hands.

Izuku’s eyes fluttered as he stared up at you. His hands gripped tightly onto your hips as he came with a groan, fucking into you as you clenched down hard on his cock. You were barely able to push your orgasm off as you felt him throb and the heat of his cum filled your cunt.

You laid together for a moment with his arms around your waist before a low, quiet groan filled your ear. “You did such a good job for me, angel. ‘M so proud of you,” he said.

A whimper escaped your lips as you ached and tightened around his softening cock.

Izuku continued praising you softly as he ran his fingers through your hair. “You’re such a good girl, letting me fill you up like that. Waiting so patiently until I’m ready to make cum.”

At this point, the heat of his breath and the gentle sound of his voice had you trembling. “‘Zuku, please.”

“Hmm? Use your words,” he said.

“Please make me cum,” you replied.

Izuku kissed you on the head. “That’s my girl. Lay on your back for me.”

You squeezed tightly as you pulled off of his cock and felt his cum start to leak out as you laid next to him, nestled into his shoulder. He pulled one of your legs over his thighs and slowly ran his hand up as he leaned and kissed you. Two thick fingers slid into your cunt and you whimpered under his touch, heat rolling down your body as he slowly pumped in and out.

“Deeper, please baby,” you said between kisses.

Your eyes rolled and you moaned as his gentle strokes changed to deep thrusts, his palm grinding against your clit.

“That’s my good girl. Let go for me, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful,” Izuku said softly.

Red sparks shot through your body as he fingered your leaking cunt, cum running down your ass and onto the bed. His hot, wet kisses grazed your ear and ran down into your neck as your legs shook.

He groaned into your skin. “That’s it, princess, go ahead. Give it to me. Cum. Let me have it.”

Your back arched and you cried out as pleasure crashed down over your body over and over as Izuku fingered you through your orgasm. You clung to him, panting as it came to an end. He pulled himself from you and took his fingers in his mouth to lick them clean. Izuku shifted once more and straddled you with a grin, grabbing your hands in his.

You let out a soft laugh. “What?”

He pinned your hands above your head with mischief in his eyes. “Open your legs. It’s time for round two.”

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day one: daddy kink

>>> welcome to the start of kinktober 2023 with ya girl, kylee. i'm so excited to participate this year, with the following that i have, the friends i've made, and the stories we've all worked on so far. i'm so proud of every writer putting in that work this month!

>>> starring: kento nanami x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: daddy kink-obviously-breeding kink, choking, clit stimulation, marking/ biting mention. creampie, nanami is such a whipped man it's borderline concerning, luv him 5ever >>>wc: 1.6k >>> event masterlist

the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, making you gasp out and struggle for breath. or it was due to the thick hand wrapped around your neck, strong and steady against your jumping pulse. he wasn’t like this often, so pent up with need and frustration that kento can’t help but rut into you like he was told he’d never get the chance to again.  his tanned chest heaves with breath, beads of sweat running in and out of the divots of his body. he looks so stunning like this, the honey blond tresses that you love to tug on so much sprawl in every direction, brown eyes zeroed in on every tick of your brow or ‘o’ of your mouth. his gaze was intense, and even if you wanted to look away, you couldn’t. not with his hand on your throat and every ounce of passion in his body driving into your cunt as hard as he can slam in. 

“you take me so well, darling.” he coos, pulling his hand from your neck in favor of pushing your thighs to your chest. he wanted to get a better angle, smiling to himself with a genuine pride as he watches your pretty pink hole swallow his fat cock, silken walls squeezing down on his lengthy shaft everytime it kisses your womb. he can’t help but draw well-timed circles across your clit, relishing the sweet gasps and moans you cry out with. your hands claw at his shoulders to demand him closer to you, and he hisses pleasantly at the sensation. 

“it’s ‘cause you’re made for me, daddy.” you whimper sweetly in his ear, and he’s almost embarrassed at how your saccharine whisper makes his dick jump, his brutal strokes stuttering a bit. your nails dig into his skin and your pussy clenches down on him again as you say it, and he kicks his pace up impossibly faster. his cock is perfect, hitting every spot just right, his girth stretching you every time, usually abusing your cervix like it is now. 

it was no secret he loved that name. loved it to such an extent that you called him that more often than his real name or any other pet name one would traditionally use for their husband–and it started way before you tied the knot. kento nanami hadn’t ever particularly felt special before in his entire life. not even amongst sorcerers. he thought his cursed technique was decent at best, and hated seeing talented sorcerers like satoru gojo walk around without a care in the world. nanami never felt like he had a role in life, settling to just live and work his life away. he would go home and watch shows or cook or maybe get into music–something mindless and low effort. maybe one day he would meet some average lady, probably at a market or bookstore if he had to say. then he would marry that girl and be happy enough. maybe even have a couple of kids while he works at that same job and does his best to stay out of trouble no matter the part of his rebel soul that desires to be known, to be important–necessary. 

so when he met you, the very personification of trouble, by happenstance, he knew his worldview had changed. you were a light he had never seen before, exquisite beauty paired with a bewitching personality and dangerous wit, he was in love with you before he had gotten your name. it was so utterly unlike him, such a logician and pessimist. he didn’t even know how you had wandered in, this location was veiled to non-sorcerers, but kento knew by the looks of you that you weren’t supposed to be there. so he’s surprised when he finds himself protecting you, knowing such a little thing like yourself had somehow bypassed the veil had him worried about you, and as much as he tried to tell himself he would be this concerned for any regular citizen that had wandered into a cursed trap, he knows it’s because he wants to be your hero, and he wants to matter in your story, maybe even become part of it himself. and you’re sweet. so darling he can’t even comprehend how quickly he’s become entranced by you. you talk to him through the entire mission, unable to see the cursed spirits yourself, you can only follow the tall man’s instructions, and clap whenever he waved you back to his side and straightened his patterned tie. 

he thought it was adorable, and even though you had no idea what he was doing, quite literally watching him slash through air with nothing but the foreboding sense of evil confirming the things the man named kento nanami told you about citizens and sorcerers and cursed energy and spirits. you praised him after, thanking him for keeping you safe. you bat your eyelashes at him, the affection in your eyes hard to miss. it was as if you thought the world of him, and it put a paralyzing grip on his heart. he had to see you again, and luckily you tucked your phone into the palm of his hand and smiled that same sun-moon-and-stars smile at him before he summoned the courage to ask for it himself. he programs his contact into your phone, but just the number. he hands it back to you, still on the contact page. you giggle and under the guise of flirtatious joking, put him in as ‘baby daddy.’ 

yeah, you were certainly a bundle of trouble. but kento took pleasure in undoing you layer by layer, getting to know you and growing his love for you day by day. the ‘joke’ of calling him daddy became a very real theme inside and outside the bedroom–only paused when in public. he finally had a role in life, the way you shower him in affection and lull that name off your lips is enough to make him feel whole, like every transgression he had experienced up to this point was a destination on the journey to be your perfect man, someone you put all your trust and love into. he felt like the most important man in the world, being by your side was the greatest reward a man like him could ask for. he had more than he had hoped for, but there was still a few goals left on his list, like seeing himself become your real baby daddy. 

with the way your tits bounce as he fucks into you, cunt squelching and leaking all over the sheets, he thinks this is the perfect time to really try. your sultry babblings of his name prickle goosebumps into his flesh–either that or it’s from your nails raking over his chest to pinch his overly sensitive nipples. his cock twitches against your spongy spot again, and a loud moan tears from your throat. he doesn’t repress the grunt that comes in response, nodding his head to the words that had been on repeat since you said them. “it’s ‘cause you’re made for me, daddy.” 

“that’s my girl, are you ready to be my little baby mama? tell daddy what you want, angel.” he says, withdrawing from your gripping walls  and slamming back in so hard your vision danced with colored orbs, mouth unable to form the words you so desperately wanted to say to him. you nod, feeling trails of saliva slide down your chin, drooling as he brutalizes your cunt. “use your words, darling, daddy needs to hear what you need.” 

“i’m ready daddy, please–god, wanna make you a daddy for real, i’ll give you the prettiest family, i swear!” you cry, the rate at which you spasm around him and claw at his chest tells him that you’re gonna cum again, for maybe the fifth time tonight. you’re so lewd; the sounds you make and the pretty white ring being smeared around by your pussy lips swallowing the adornement back up again and the way your doll-like hands fondle your tits all combining perilously to tip him over the edge.

“i know you are, love. i know, i’ll make sure of it, you know daddy’s got you.” he coos, planting his lips along your neck, going back over dark bruises and teeth marks from the night of passion. then  his balls tighten and his release spurts into you in long bursts, and he feels your pussy throbs and let a stream of cum spray from your cunt, coating his abs in more of your essence then he had ever had the pleasure of before. his smile is wolf-like, his cock still plugging you full. he wants to take you up on it, breeding you to be your baby daddy once and for all. you’re fucked out of your mind, legs twitching with pleasure as you continue to whine and catch your breath. he watches you, everything about your post-orgasm glow making his heart swell as always. you were effortlessly perfect, it was maddening. 

he keeps your hole stopped up until his dick softens, and even then he’s pulling your panties back up, kissing your clit over the bundle. he quickly cleans his stomach up and changes the sheets around you, picking you up when need be. he’s still grinning ear to ear from making you cum like that, so many times and so violently. you’re absolute mush, and because he’s such a good daddy, he’ll spend the rest of the night taking care of his baby girl.