#like at al loll

[daily-fantasy-ideas-personal]

Hi.

[rewritingcanon]

hermione is everything and ron’s just ken

[onelittlespiral]

FML:Relax

From the moment I arrived, I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had come on vacation to kick back for a few days and get some action, but the resort had nearly no women and was instead populated with almost all men. They seemed like nice guys when I talked to them, certainly my kind of guys with how jacked they were. Or at least I thought so.

“Hey cutie, wanna come spend some time with daddy?”

“A newbie! Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle and sweet with you.”

“You looking to top or bottom?”

I realized I must have come on the Gay Days, and the men there were not shy about coming on to me. I tried to politely excuse myself whenever they turned the topic to sex. I spent a lot of time at the pool trying to just relax and have a good time, but it was starting to tick me off.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you here before.”

A man came and sat next to me. He was a scruffy guy, tanned and huge like most of the rest of them. The scent of sunscreen and BO rolled off him. His arms were wrapped in some nerdy tattoos but their size clearly showed he worked out hard. If he wasn’t here this week I would assume him to be a good pick for a gym bud.

“Yeah, first time. Didn’t realize I booked…uh…this week. Not really my scene.”

Something in his demeanor changed. It was hard to describe, but I felt a lot more at ease. He leaned over and began whisper to me,

“If I’m being honest. It isn’t much for me either. But fuck these gay guys know how to party. They’ve got just about anything you could want to take, and basically just pass the shit around. You ever actually tried poppers? I was fucked up bro.”

Maybe it was finally meeting another straight guy but I began relaxing.

He continued, “I got some stashed if you want to swing by and try some shit out.”

Maybe this vacation wouldn’t be such a wash.

I stopped by his room later that afternoon. He greeted me at the door and invited me in as he promised to show off the goods. The room was trashed. The floor was strewn with dirty shirts, shorts, and jockstraps. Shot glasses and beers were stuck to the tables. The bed was drenched in sweat. I stepped in and took a seat on the couch, cautions to avoid the mess. He sat down next to me.

“So, what have you got?”

“You now babe,” he said, throwing his arm in the air.

“Whaaaa…haaa” I started before my brain was afloat.

I slowly leaned forward, drawn in by the thick musk that radiated from his pit. I tried to resist but soon my nose was pressed against it as his sweat filled my brain. I tried to pull back but he rested his arm against the back of my head, pinning me as my brain shut down on the fumes. It wasn’t long before my tongue lolled out of my mouth.

“There you go. Relax. Good boy.”

Good boy. It echoed in my brain, bouncing till it was the only thought left. I quivered in anticipation as I continued to drink in his scent and let his hair tickle my face.

“Yeah, lap it up big boy. This is right where you belong. It was designed just for you, to trap guys and help them fit in a bit more.”

What did he mean by that? But as he told me to lap it up, it was no longer good enough to just smell. I gave a hesitant lick. It only took one as his sweat swam across my mind. All functionality shut down as I worshipped that pit. As I did, I began to feel a change. Deep within an itch, a need developed. A need to be desired by this man… no. To be desired by men. Any who would have me. I felt a new power flow through me, a revitalized energy and strength. He pulled my dumbstruck face out of his pit and gave my hair a quick tousle. His hand glided down my cheek to my chin, and with a firm flick of his wrist pulled my lips to his. He pressed my face to his in a deep kiss as new memories filled my mind. Memories of long nights dancing and drinking at bars. Days working out getting shredded before hitting the sauna for some fun. Of pride parades and glitter in my beard. The longer he kissed me the more I felt myself grow completely comfortable in his arms. I belonged here, with all the hottest guys living it up for a week at the resort. I had been coming here for years to show off, party hard, and fuck into the early morning. My old self was being flushed away, leaking out of my cock, while the new personality filled in the gaps.

My body began to change where his hands brushed over my body. Arms swelled as biceps grew to mounds on my arms. Pecs hung heavy with muscle. Thighs and legs sent slow rips through my shorts until they had burst through, leaving my swelling cock to fight the jockstrap underneath. Feet inched across the floor as my toes curled from the strain. Every inch writhed beneath his touch. He pulled me back to inspect me.

“Damn you’re turning out well, some of my finest work.”

I mumbled in agreement, still stuck in a state of ecstasy as I felt new power surging through me. “Time to seal the deal.”

He slid his jock down, and the full force of his sweat and musk sent my brain swimming. I couldn’t resist as he slid his cock down my open throat, balls deep, and began face fucking me. As his bush filled my nostrils, pre slid down my throat in a steady stream. I felt warm all over, as a deep tan set in. I had come to this resort for years and loved sunbathing and showing off my muscles. The heat persisted, turning to a sweat, the sweat turning to a deep funk. It was the same smell invading my mind and body as he continued to thrust, deeper as my body adjusted to years of sucking men off. It felt like no surprise as a dusting of hair covered my pecs, then pushed down my stomach before my shaved down bush exploded. My pits filled in to better capture my own smell, and keep me just a little high on my own supply.

“Fuck yeah little bro, you’re gonna be so good out there.”

He slipped a hat over my head, and my mind filled with a new purpose. To kick back at this resort and fucking party. To feel pride in who I was and become one of the community. But, most importantly, to grow the tribe and bring more guys into the fold. I felt his cock tense in my mouth as my mind slowed down to accept my place as a gay god, to worship my bros and be worshiped. As thick ropes shot down my throat, I felt strong. I smelt rank. And I was fucking home.

The next day, a new guy showed up to the resort. Skinny, shy, out of place. I came over to talk with him.

“First time here, bro?”

“Yeah, not quite sure I belong.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. Throwing my arm behind my head. My musk caught his attention as his eyes began glazing over, “Why don’t I show you around?”

“Ye…yeah…yeah.”

“Don’t worry,” his face was soon resting in my pit, and I saw his muscles twitch with anticipation, “you’re gonna fit right in bro.”

[luveline]

bodyguard!james taking care of a sick girl who's just tired and in dire need of touch (not at all self-indulgent, love you angel!!)

“Is this part of the job description?” 

James can barely understand your mumbling. He helps you up another step, then the last, his arm behind your back to keep you steady. “Absolutely. If I let you walk up the stairs all by yourself you would have fallen.” He slows now you're on the landing, checking over your waxy face with concern. “Almost there, shortcake.” 

“M'not short.”

Whether you are or you aren't isn't the point. “You're short to me, and you're sweet. Hence, shortcake.” The hallway to your room is long and wide, a luxurious arrangement, but eventually it comes to and end, and the door to your suite beckons. “Okay, here we are. Good job, sweetheart, you made it all the way here.” 

“Don't patronise me.” 

He pretends he doesn't hear you. It isn't hard, you're barely talking, your face lolled to one side, the collar of your stiff shirt digging into your neck. 

James pretty much carries you to the small platform that houses your bed, pulling the sheets back and encouraging you to sit. You collapse immediately downward, missing all your pillows, your breath coming in shallow pants. Your stuffy nose is stressing you out and the stairs were hard for you. 

He kneels down by your legs where they hang over the edge and rubs your knee. “Alright,” he says gently. “I'll take your shoes off.” 

“Don't have to.” 

“Don't be silly. Can't have you sleeping in your clothes.”

“‘Cos you're such gentleman,” you whisper dazedly. 

He peeks up to find you've turned your face into your sheets. You draw lazy shapes with a trembling hand over the stretch of them, somewhere else. 

James unties your laces and pulls your shoes off. He kisses your knee, only stopping to think maybe he shouldn't have when he stands and your shuttered eyes have widened. He turns still as a statue, waiting for the reprimand, the (more than allowed) demand that he leave you be, but your eyes soften again and you smile at him like he's hung the moon in front of you. You're amazed. 

“Poor girl, you're very poorly, aren't you?” he asks. 

“I'm quite warm.” 

He offers his hand. When you nod, he presses the back of it to your forehead and feels downward. You're as warm as you say, not worryingly so but uncomfortably for sure. James turns his hand, holds his palm flat to your hairline. 

“If I leave you your pyjamas, can you change by yourself?” 

“No.” You fluster at your own answer. “I–I don't think so. But I can sleep fine, I'll just take off my trousers.” 

You can barely string a sentence together, words running together, syllables missing as your voice grows hoarse. James will figure something out, he decides, stroking near the edge of your forehead fondly. “No pyjamas, then. You'll be okay while I get you a cold flannel?” 

“M'fine.” 

James pushes his hands under you and manhandles you into a more regular position, a soft pillow firmly under your head, your princess sheets plump to the touch. “C'mere,” he says under his breath, moving to the collar of your shirt, “let me get that for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

He pops one button, a second, working his fingers under the collar to push it away from your throat. You're silent beside the struggle of breath, your nose whistling with each one. 

He's struck with wanting to be more. More than your guard, and more than your friend. He'd like to take care of you intimately, crawl into bed next to you and hold you, rub your back, just keep you company while you're in pain. But he can't do any of that, and as soon as you're comfortable, he'll be back at the door. Waiting for you, like he always is. 

“I'm sorry you're not feeling well,” he says. 

“I feel much better now, all your touching,” you assure him, your eyes closing of their own accord. “Just… tired…” 

James gives your cheek a quick hold. He straightens up, squares his stickying smile into a neutral expression, and goes to get that wet flannel for you. All your touching, he thinks, shaking his head. Maybe you'd like it if he crawled into bed with you after all.

[osachiyo]

˗ˏˋ✩ˎˊ˗ MEN WHO ! love to eat it from the back. Thumbs spreading your ass while he buries his face into you, lapping his skilled tongue on your slick cunt. His nose bumping your sensitive bits as you gush on his face. He groans while landing a swift smack to your rear, "aren't you just- ugh─fucking adorable?" His voice is muffled from the obscene slurping noises. You felt his thumb circle to your front to rub on your swollen clit, gurgling out moans at the extra stimulation. Your lover only hums in appreciation. God, he loved the sinful noises you made everytime he hit a certain spot.

He moaned into your pussy when you pushed back against him, grinding your drooling cunt on his greedy mouth. "I've got you, baby~" he sighed in content, if he were to die right now he'd have no regrets. He'd be happy to perish between your pretty legs, your arousal covering the entire lower portion of his beautiful face. He spread your pussy lips with his fingers, licking his slick covered lips at sight of webs of arousal clinging to your cunt. It's downright nasty how messy it was, but luckily that's exactly how he liked it. He wanted you to fall apart on his tongue and fingers and you did. Your jaw was slack, tongue lolling out from the sheer pleasure this man provided you with.

He'd also switch it up frequently. One moment he's pressing sweet, soft kisses to your clit and muttering praises, "my lovely girl, you're so good for me." The next moment he's slapping your cunt so meanly, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tells you how much of a slut you are for enjoying this, getting off to him spanking your sweet pussy.

"You seriously like this, naughty girl? I didn't know my lover was such a fuckin' slut..have you been hiding this from me all this time? Where'd my good girl go, hm?"

DAZAI, NIKOLAI, JOUNO, chuuya, ranpo, JING YUAN, SAMPO, KAEYA, CHILDE, al haitham, pantalone, dottore, AYATO, LYNEY, cyno, ASMODEUS, belphie, SOLOMON, DRAKEN, BAJI, sanzu, ran, NAHOYA, TOJITOJITOJI, geto, GOJO, choso & any of ur faves.

©ambrosiaa— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, likes and reblogs are very appreciated♡

[yourdoorisunlocked]

ᴄᴀʀɴᴀʟ | ɴꜱꜰᴡ

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

Am I ashamed of what I have done? Maybe.

Will I do this again? Absolutely.

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

Such behavior should be rewarded, should it not?

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

“Al’, p-please, be gentle..."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A-Alastor!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

. . .

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

[bboricha]

ᴍɪssɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ, ᴅᴏɢɢʏ, ᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴡɢɪʀʟ?

✦ +18 ONLY, MDNI you will be blocked🚫 ✦ pairings (separately): dom!ayato, scaramouche, al haitham, childe, diluc, zhongli x afab sub!reader ✦ wc: ~1.1k ✦ cw: not proofread, dumbification (if u squint), dacryphilia (if you squint), degradation, edging, unprotected, creampie, marking, mention of safe word but not used, squirting, size kink, lmk if i've missed any!

ᴄᴏᴡɢɪʀʟ*:･ﾟ✧

ayato laying against the headboard, holding your hips still as you try to work against it and move on top of him. his grip is strong, and you’re getting more and more frustrated with the way he doesn’t allow you to pump his shaft into you. he just can’t help it, you know? the way you keep getting wetter and wetter, dripping your slick onto his cock and stomach, it’s irresistible. it’s not like you’ll be able to satisfy yourself anyways, not without his help at least and it’s adorable to see you try. he teases your entrance, keeping you still as the other reaches for your clit, rolling his finger against it to give just the tiniest bit of stimulation, but enough to snap the coil that’s been bubbling in your core. you whine, unable to hold yourself up for any longer, and fall against him as he catches you, gently patting your head as his hands return to your hips, ready to take over for the night has now begun.

scara leisurely watches you trying to pleasure yourself on top of him, the attempt futile as you struggle to do anything substantial, it’s almost as if you’re purposely edging yourself for no reason. sometimes he’d thrust up to watch your face with furrowed brows contort into one pleasure, or sometimes he’d opt out for a finger rubbing circles on your clit, giving you the release that you’ve been chasing for the entire night in just a minute or two, and it’s annoying! he should just help out at this point, shouldn’t he? doesn’t he want to feel good too? and so you would pout at him, and he ignores you, continuing to rub at your clit until it became too much and you squirt all over his abdomen. he laughs at the act, commenting about how you’re hopelessly gone as your eyes roll back from the overstimulation. you convulse profusely against his cock and tears begin to run down your face, the pleasure unable to satisfy the inch from inside. nothing feels better than this for him.

ᴅᴏɢɢʏ*:･ﾟ��

al haitham is nearly insatiable. this “feeble” scholar has the stamina of a rishboland tiger, relentlessly thrusting into you at an impossible pace all night. he’s made you cum from penetration alone—a new sensation—and multiple times prior to that as well. you can’t think anymore, your tongue lolls out of your mouth, a stream of drool drips down your swollen lips as you grab onto the headboard for some sort of grounding. it feels so good that it hurts and you try to push his hands away so that he’d let go and stop or at least pause, but he hasn’t heard you say the word yet, knowing that you’re fully capable of still speaking at the very least and taking more, so his hand lets go of your hip, his grip is sure to leave a bruise, and uses it to pin your’s behind your back. you moan out his name seeing nothing but stars as he suddenly stills, pulling you up with her back flush against his broad chest as he turns your head towards him and fervently begins to kiss you, losing himself in the way you fit so perfectly against his body and the way you wrap around his cock.

childe pulls your cheeks apart, admiring the way your cunt is convulsing around him after cumming just from his relentless teasing. his cock is only halfway in and it’s already kissing the tip of your cervix; you’ve already cum three times and yet you’re still clenching so tightly around him, it drives him insane. you unconsciously grip the sheets in a futile attempt to get away and rest, but childe yanks on your hips, bottoming out in you in one go making you gasp. you bury your head into the linen blankets that are filled with the sinful scent of sex and childe pulls out until just the tip remains inside. he keeps it there, one hand snaking around to toy with your clit while he edges himself just as he’s been doing for the entire night. he groans at the feeling of you tightening around his head and almost cums, any stimulation almost being too much to bear at this point, but he holds himself back. even though he loves watching the way your ass jiggles or the way your hips get red because of his hands, he loves the sight of your face being painted with his cum the most.

ᴍɪssᴏɴᴀʀʏ*:･ﾟ✧

diluc loves watching your face while he fucks you. the way tears roll down your beautifully flushed cheeks, the way your tits bounce from his hips slapping against your’s, everything about it is delicious, he almost never wants to stop. he loves being able to have quick access to your lips to kiss, your cheeks to kiss the tears away, your neck and clavicle to mark, your nipples to roll against his tongue, your clit to tease, he loves every inch of you and never stops his hands even as he thrusts into you. they’re no shallow thrusts either, his favorite way to make you cry is by pulling almost all the way out and shoving the entire length all the way back in every. single. time. diluc can’t get enough, especially when he lets you hug him—let’s your hands scratch at his back, your mouth to bite on his shoulder as you hold back a moan, the way your legs wrap around him and keep him inside—you’ve got him hooked and he intends on staying.

zhongli is… fuck, you don’t even know what you were about to say. you’re so fucking full that you can see the outline of his cock right underneath your belly button and zhongli is, well, he’s definitely eyeing it with a satisfied smirk. that’s why he took a whole hour to prepare you, just so you wouldn’t get hurt, and yet it wasn’t enough somehow. it was still a tight fit and it’s—it’s just so much. he pushes your legs further apart, bending down between them to get close to your face as he asks if he can move now. you feel him twitch and you look down, seeing the bulge again and a white ring already formed at the base of his cock. “my love,” he says, getting your attention again, and you oblige. the pace he sets is brutal, almost violent even, and you cum almost immediately. you’re seeing stars and his hands glide up from your thighs, your waist, your breasts, until they reach your hands. he grabs both, using one hand to pin your’s above your head so he can clearly watch your face become flushed with red, tears, spit, and everything else. it’s embarrassing, but with the way zhongli remains hard despite releasing inside of you, embarrassment will be the last of your worries.

[tiny-space-platypus]

Never really fit back in

Part 5 9:47 PM June 26 How much can you lose in a day?

Previous

11:00 PM June 25

Damian was infuriated and terrified. He wanted to keep his brother from the family at first. He had wanted to meet him on his own first. Damian wanted to ease him into the family unlike how he was but apparently his family had other ideas.

He could only watch from the cameras he had hacked into a while ago. There was no time to get the Masters Manor, there was no time to protect his brother. Though Damian knew his brother never needed protection, Danyal Al Gul was the stronger twin, the smarter twin, and the more protective twin. Danyal never let Damian be punished if he could help it, Danyal took the blame for any misdeed or mistake and when he couldn't he'd just switch places with Damian. They were practically identical after all and every time Danyal would return smiling. Happy to have protected him and Damian repaid that kindness by killing him.

He watched as his brother disappeared out of his father's grasp. Damian would need to explain his brother to his family as soon as they got back.

He'd need to tell that that Danyal was supposed to be dead. By his hands. That he had died when he were 7. How he melted away into the pit instead of coming back to them.

He needed to find his brother, to explain this misdeed. He had just gotten his brother back Damian couldn't lose him again.

Midnight June 26th

"I'm your son"

The bitter and hurt voice of his son rang in his ears as he made his way back to the Alley. That boy couldn't be his son. He would have been told if he had another-

Tim was in the cave, Bruce had sent him there with samples from Danny. Samples he wanted tested and the computers he wanted scrapped. When the test came back, it confirmed Danny was his son. He needed answers and the Fentons likely had them. They did raise the boy after all but first, he had to see his parents. Bruce doubted he'd be able to follow his normal routine for the day anyways. So he left the flowers at the sight of their death early on the oh so rainy anniversary of their death. He whispered to flowers as he placed them down. "I don't believe I'll be able to follow our tradition this year. I'm sorry"

... The Fentons weren't as helpful as Bruce had hoped.

They practically knew nothing of their son or daughter instead they kept rambling on about the dangers of ghosts and Phantom. In short they were insane..

Until Tim and Barbara checked their computers, till they called an all hands to show the Fentons cutting open and tearing apart a boy with white flowing hair and terrified green eyes. The boy had some sort of muzzle on to prevent him from speaking or screaming, all he could do was cry as the Fentons spoke of him like he was a monster. Tim skipped over most of the recording, showing the Fenton pulling organs and bones out of the poor boy as he fast-forwarded to after the Fentons had left, leaving the boy strapped down and still cut open on their metal table. A red headed girl came down the stairs to the lab and carefully removed his restraints. In a small flash of light the white haired boy was gone replaced with Danny. Green blood now an awful red as his head lolled again the girl. The girl then threw him through a green portal they had been off when they tore down the Fenton Lab.

They were quiet for a moment before Barbara played the next Video of Masters making closes of Danny and using said clones to attack the boy. Then it was Damian's turn to explain his brother's story. By the end of it Bruce had realized his mistake but as it always was with his children. He realized too late.

9:55 PM June 26

It was raining when Danyal finally made it to Gotham. Flying would normally help with his rage, help with the emotions he normally refused to let loose. He wanted to make sure this is what he wanted so he waited a full day before taking action. The emotions he hid as Danny and festered in as Phantom where now let loose as his core slowly turned the rainy summer night of Gotham into a snow storm. Danyal didn't care that the living below him weren't prepared for the sudden change of temperature and weather. He didn't care because the living shouldn't be his problem. The living weren't his problem anymore. At least the dead were consistent, they either feared him or loved him or both. They didn't cause havoc anymore only occasionally coming around for a friendly spar. His rogues were more of a family than his real one ever was.

Ｃｒａｃｋ

It's time to balance the scales. The living loved to take and take and take and now it was time to give.

Ｃ ｒ ａ ｃ ｋ

Danyal could feel Gotham mourning. Mourning a loss from decades earlier, the loss of Thomas and Martha Wayne as the city did every year for her knights. Danyal does feel a little bad for disturbing a sacred day for the city but if anyone had the right to do so it would be him.

Danny stood in Crime Alley looking down at the soaking wet and slowly freezing roses left of the ground some time before he got there. He frowned at the roses as he made 2 little ice vases to place the frozen flowers in. Danyal knew they were memorial flowers by the two spirits that hovered around them. He sat with the ghosts of his would-be grandparents, rage still radiating off of him.

He detransforms back into his human form except for the glowing green katana he summoned. Now he waits, holding a katana that felt both so right and so wrong in his hands. Danyal will grow used to it again.

The two ghosts fidgeted as Martha elbowed her husband wanting him to say something to their angry grandson. He cleared his throat and tried to speak softly. "He didn't know Phantom. None of them knew. None of them like speaking of death."

Danny scoffed, "yes I am very aware of how uncomfortable the living are with dying." He ran his fingers along the edge of his blade. "It's what I get for hoping for something better. Now everything is so much worse."

Martha cut in her voice soft as she placed a ghostly hand on the young lonely king. "He would love to have you once everything is explained"

Danny buried his face in his hands before looking up at the smog filled sky. "I-I don't think I want that anymore. They didn't even try to get to know me before trying to destroy my life." Danny paused as he looked back at the frozen flowers. "Maybe I should go find Mother, she loved me once, she cared once. Damian can stay here and I can take care of the league. Maybe that's my place"

10:15 PM June 26

It didn't take long to be found, Danyal knew it wouldn't. There is always at least one Bat around here, he was expecting Red Hood or Jason whichever pill boy liked to be called. But that's not who found him. Instead he was face to face with Batman, instead he was face to face with a father that was never his. A father who never loved him.

Ｃ ｒ ａ ｃ ｋ

If Danyal hadn't followed his father or had lived with Damian as a child, he probably would have found the constant scowl intimating but Danyal was King and possible heir to the league. 2 positions he never wanted but 2 positions he'd take anyways. "I'm not here for you Batman. I'm here for my brother."

————————

Bruce looked down at the boy in front of him. A boy he failed to recognize twice, but now he couldn't help but recognize him. A boy who was almost identical to Damian except for the icy blue eyes that were currently staring a hole through him. Just like how Damian did when he first arrived at the Manor. Would this child also come to the manor? Would he even want to join the family after all they've done? What he could do was try and ensure their decisions didn't ruin his sons' relationship. Bruce couldn't let his mistakes tear his sons apart again.

"The attack wasn't Robin's idea. It was mine, I'm sorry." Bruce's gaze was soft and he was apologizing but it was all too little too late. "If I had known-"

Danyal stares at Bruce matching his gaze with a glare. He snapped at Bruce. "If you had known, you would have for tea? Played up that nice and goofy dad persona? I've played that game before too and I don't need to play it again."

Damian would soon drop down from the roof tops disobeying Bruce's grounding. Damian dressed as Robin with his katana stood facing a now different Danyal dressed in a league uniform. Danyal's eyes shifted a glowing green as his skin became as pale as Bruce and hair pure whispy white. He looked over at Bruce as his crown appeared over his head shifted between fire and ice as it floated above his head. A command rang out from the boy.

"Don't interfere"

Danyal then turned to Damian and held out his blade. Danyal's eyes were cold as he stared at his brother who also prepared himself to spare. He took a deep breath as he felt a little nostalgic this was just like how they'd spare when they were young except Danyal wasn't going to hold back this time.

Damian stared as his brother's cold glare, he wasn't used to it. His brother had always been the happy cheery and easy going brother. It was why grandfather didn't like him. It's why mother loved him. That glare however reminded him more of grandfather, a man he knew his brother hated.

"I once hoped we could be a family again Dami. I understand that was a foolish wish now"

Ｃｒａｃｋ

—————————

A small buzz came from Bruce Com, a small reminder he had built into it to remind him of the time every year at the time. 9:42 June 26th, 5 minutes til he's supposed to be in this alley watching over his parents Death sight. Yet again Bruce was powerless, unable to move to stop his sons from fighting. Unable to prevent another death in the family. The fight was quick, Danyal was the winner cutting down his brother as easily as he did to him so many years ago.

Bruce watched Damian fall and screamed as he tried desperately to move, to get to his son. He couldn't- not here, please not here. He watched as Danyal pulled out his sword allowing Damian to slump further.

Move MOVE MOVE 𝙈𝙊𝙑𝙀

But he couldn't, all he could do was watch as his son's face paled and breathing labored. Damian was dying and there wasn't a damned thing he could do... Again.

Danyal grabbed Damian by the hair pulling him up to the wounds through his chest was entirely visible and bleeding profusely.

"You're lucky I promised Mother I would always take care of you"

Danyal presses his green blade into Damian's chest allowing the living brother to take in the ectoplasm Blade to heal. The pit and ectoplasm were practically the same after all. Danyal then snapped his fingers after dropping Damian. Bruce Stumbled forward and grabbed Damian immediately then began to call for back up. As Bruce focused on his now unconscious son, Danyal disappeared into the shadows.

9:47 PM June 26th

[dilatorywriting]

Congrats on the milestone! It's always a delight to see your stuff pop up on my dash ^.^ I'd love to see prompt 19 from the dialog that makes your reader swoon with the guy of your choice (smut welcome). Hope the bot infestation takes a chill pill!

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 1.7k

Prompt 19: "If you don’t stop looking at my lips without doing anything about it, I will take you right here on this counter."

🌶️ Warning for Mild Spice

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

Vil was drunk.

Or well, Vil was as inebriated as he would most likely ever allow himself to be in any sort of public setting to speak of. Which was still above and beyond what you had ever seen of him up to that point. Which was of course to say that he was still walking effortlessly in his sky-high heels and maintaining every bit of the decorum with which he so usually prided himself. The only reason you could tell the difference at all was because you knew this stupid man better than the back of your own hand. And the loose-limbed ease about him combined with the lolling smirk on his lips was as telltale of a sign as any. Not that you could blame him. Winning any award was certainly an honor. Beating out Neige Leblanche of all people would probably have had him drunk on success even without the literal booze to help him along.

He rolled the half-empty flute of bubbling champagne between his fingers and tipped it towards you like an offering.

“Care to try some?”

You huffed, far too fond to be properly exasperated. “At least one of us needs to be able to drive home.”

And your tolerance was, unfortunately, not great. At least, not for the horrifically potent nonsense that this magic-infused world called ‘wine.’ The last time you’d drank during one of these events you’d wound up nearly beating a rude reporter with his own camera, but thankfully had only had the coordination to call the prying ass all sorts of colorful and very impolite things. (‘Secretly fucking Neige Leblanche’ indeed. Vil hadn’t even asked his PR team to spin that one. Just loudly demanded that your indignation should speak for itself and that any such inquiries into your private affairs would be handled personally in the future.)

Vil snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll be calling for a car either way.”

He tilted the glass again, and you were forever grateful that he wasn’t a sloppy drunk. You didn’t care if he spilled booze all down your front and stained the stupid, too-expensive outfit he’d all but sewed you into, but the fussing that would ensue would be torturous.

“Just a sip,” he coaxed. “I promise you’ll like it.”

You scrunched up your nose and sighed, plucking the flute from his hand. You went to take a small sip and one of those perfectly painted nails reached up to tap irritably at the rim.

“What?” you frowned.

He turned the glass until the other curved side sat at your lips and gave another pointed tap tap tap.

“From here.”

You went nearly cross-eyed trying to stare down at the rim, and with a bit of determination were able to finally pick out the traces of an imprint from the actor’s otherwise impeccably maintained lipstick.

“Are you serious?” you snorted a laugh.

Those perfectly lined lips of his pursed into something that you would dare to call a pout.

“If you’re not going to let me kiss you in public, then you can at least give me this,” he huffed.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, lips still twitching far too much in amusement. “That was your rule. ‘For my privacy,’ you said.”

He waved you off with a scoff. “Please. That was only when we were keeping entirely out of the public eye. I could hardly complain about it now.”

Now, he said. Like he hadn’t graduated from NRC less than a year ago. Like your introduction into his world of stage lights and red carpets hadn’t all been meticulously curated and released only a month or so prior. You blinked, a bit owlishly. And then decided to indulge his petulance and took a neat, slow slip from right where he’d tapped. Vil was always honest, brutally so. He had no compunctions about telling you what he wanted, when he wanted it, and how it was going to happen. So it wasn’t like the touch of alcohol swimming through his system was going to make him more truthful, just… perhaps more loose with it, it seemed. Less manicured, in his speech.

The model looked endlessly pleased and reached out to snatch the glass back. He lifted it back to his own lips—carefully placed, just as he’d demanded of you—and took a long drag.

“There,” he grinned, all smug satisfaction. Like tricking you into an indirect kiss was any sort of accomplishment to begin with. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You were going to burst out laughing, and someone was going to get it on camera, and Vil’s stupid assistant would never let you live it down.

“I guess not,” you hummed. “How much longer, do you think. Until we can go home?”

Vil took another sip, drinking down the last drops of the sparkling concoction. He deposited the empty glass on a passing server’s tray and turned on you with a sharp smirk that was far too wide and far too wine-warm.

“That anxious to get me alone, darling?”

Oh he was really gone.

You grabbed his hand and hauled him towards a more secluded alcove. Because he hadn’t exactly shouted that, but enough curious heads had turned your way that you weren’t going to chance it. ‘Exclusive after party,’ your ass. No reporters didn’t mean no wandering eyes and ears. And he may have been punch drunk enough not to give two shits, but his PA would certainly make the two of you ‘care’ come morning.

“We’re in public,” you hissed, cheeks dark and ears warm. “Don’t say things like that!”

“Oh?” he crooned, stopping in his tracks. You gave another tug but it was useless. Stupidly towering height aside, Vil was all lean muscle and stubborn determination. If you were moving him at all, it was only because he was humoring you enough to step to your demands. “But that’s what you are, isn’t it?” He leaned forward and you could smell the pop of alcohol off his tongue. “Or at least, you certainly act the part of ravenous lover well enough.”

“Really,” you snapped, hushed. “If you’re going to be like this, do you have to use those stupid lines on top of it?”

“Stupid?” Vil frowned, and his fuzzy gaze focused into something sharp. “Your reactions don’t normally imply that those ‘lines’ leave much to be desired.”

You could feel your ears going hot as coals. “Yeah. Well. In the moment is a lot different from—we’re not talking about this right now!” you squawked. “Your assistant is going to kill me if she finds out I let anyone hear you like this.”

Vil snorted and pulled you the rest of the way into the alcove. “She would never. And besides, it’s my prerogative to say whatever I wish,” he finished on something that was nearly a pout. His lips pressed into a firm line, determined. “Should I try again then? If you thought that one was so stupid.”

“Vil—” you hissed.

“Hmm,” he mused, deliberate. And then, “How about this one, then. All of the accolades in the world couldn’t compare to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

You squeaked and ducked your head against his shoulder, fingers digging into the too-expensive fabric of his suit.

“No?” he cooed, a bit of that familiar, mocking, edge curling over the word. And you were left to wonder if he was really that drunk after all. “Let me try another. As much as I enjoy those cries, I think I like the whispers even more—every part of you of that whispers temptation,” he recited, far, far too warm, “as if the Gods made you just to ruin me.”

“Would you please just—” you squawked, mortified and melting from head to toe. You were about to remind him again, plead nearly, that they were still very much in public. But then a thought shot off in your head like a lightbulb clicking to life. “You like this,” you hissed at him, accusatory.

“Like what?” he droned, crowding you against the wall. It was dark in the little corner, quiet, but not nearly enough to blot out the low hum of conversations and clinking of glassware just a couple dozen feet away.

Vil dug his fingers into the fabric over your hips.

“It does have its appeal, doesn’t it?” he hummed against your neck and you could feel your blood buzzing beneath his curling lips. “No one to see you, certainly. But everyone will surely know,” he drawled. “That’s the world of show business, I’m afraid. All subtle implications, people whispering about us under their breath.” His hands twisted, bunching up the edges of the crinkling satin. “I’m sure even Neige will hear, eventually.”

“Is that it?” you hissed, biting back a horribly, high pitched little squeak. “You’re still mad at what that reporter said?”

“Of course not,” Vil said, with all the cadence of a well-seasoned liar. “The gossip mongering of one, moronic pest is hardly a problem.” He leaned closer, pushing a leg forward to slot between your. “But I have eyes, darling. And I can see that little rat’s lingering far too long where they shouldn’t.”

You reached up to slap a hand over your mouth and bite into your palm to quiet whatever embarrassing nonsense you would have tried to reply with. Or, well, if you’d managed to reply at all.

“I know you’re anxious to get home, darling,” he droned against your collarbone. You could smell the fizzy remnants of champagne all in your nose. “But this is my party, after all. We’ll have to wait to call for a car for at least another hour,” he apologized, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “That said,” he continued, grinding harder, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips like that without doing anything about it, I might just have to take you right here against the wall.”

A pause, as he canted his head. A soft mess of pale bangs falling over his lidded eyes.

“And there is a very lovely private changing room with a lock just down the hall.”

“…okay,” you squeaked, and Vil grinned—pulling back to wrap an arm around your waist and lead you along. Gait steady and composed as always, and just the barest hint of the wine-warmed-boldness curling over his lips.

.

.

[destinationtrekk]

not there yet

Wesker doesn't realize he's in a love story until he's nearly too late.

1.3k, BSAA reader, RE5 Wesker, Ada Wong my love, whump, hurt/comfort, he gives you T-Virus because that's his love language, friends to enemies to ?????, he shoots you (out of love), he's probably ooc (don't care!)

a/n: all my fics are cross posted to my ao3

-> masterlist

-> not there yet on ao3

64.media.tumblr.com

You had not wanted to be in Africa, now or ever, but Chris had a certain way of pouting that made you agree to anything he asked. The sight of Wesker was not so much a surprise as it was a relief. Your team had been tracking him for ages, and to stumble upon him here of all places was a cruel gift.

Now, as his dark form stood above you, his pistol pointed at your head, you wanted to smile around the pain that tore through you. His long coat billowed around his legs, and you saw the glow of his eyes behind his glasses, one of the lenses cracked, and you wondered if he had even noticed it through all the commotion.

You smiled sadly at him, "W-Wait, Al..."

He scowled as you used his silly nickname, one only you could get away with, a sickly sweet melody to his ears. You looked down at your abdomen, your hand doing a poor job of stemming the blood flowing out of a stab wound on your hip. You were starting to feel sick - despite your job, you never did get used to seeing that much blood.

He grit out a quiet, "What is it?" between his teeth, and you turned your head back toward him. You smiled again, feeling blood begin to drip down your forehead. "Do you remember the night we got drunk in your office? and you had to drive me home because I could barely stand," You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound turning into a violent cough and blood splattering across your lap.

He looked disgusted for a moment, and then his expression froze. He clenched his jaw, and you took a moment to memorize his face. He shook his head like it would clear his memories and looked at you darkly. "This isn't a love story, dearheart."

You smirked, head falling back against the rubble you were splayed across. "Yeah it is, Wes'," You murmured weakly, starting to gag against the blood climbing your throat, "We just haven't got there yet."

He looked heartbroken for half a second, and then his hand tightened on the trigger. You prepared for a mercy shot, but in a split second, his arm shifted and you felt excruciating pain ripping through your thigh. You never got used to the bullet wounds, either. You couldn't scream, short on air, but you felt the muscle spasm, warm liquid beginning to pool under your leg, joining the rest of the bloody mess.

The room began to swim as he turned to walk away, his shoulders hunched and steps slow. "Couldn't even make the kill, could you?" You taunted after him, playful even in death. Your vision started to go, spots flickering, and your last sight was his pause to turn his head and give you one last, devastated glance over his shoulder

-

Low voices voices roused you awake, or to some nauseating semblance of it. Immediately next was rippling pain across your stomach and legs, a steady ache building behind your eyes. It took a few seconds, and nearly all your energy, but you cracked your eyes open and groaned. Cold, wet arms were holding you against a firm chest, and your head lolled around as you tried to get a look around. You made out a long, dim hallway through your blurred vision, and a slim woman walking ahead, a familiar red dress practically painted on her.

 You managed to roll your head around to look at who was holding you, and your lips twitched into a weak smile. Wesker, his face covered in blood and dirt and his glasses missing, had you in his arms. The acrid tang of blood was coating his clothes, and you felt the sticky warmth of it against your cheek as you collapsed your head against his chest. You felt more than heard his sharp inhale, and coughed out some semblance of a laugh before you whined in pain. "Told you," You slurred, voice weak and thick with pain. You started to drift off again when you heard his low voice, sounding much more urgent than before, and then you were gone again.

-

Their voices were much louder when you came around this time, and the pain had subsided considerably. All you felt now were dull aches pulsating through your abdomen, and a weak throb in your leg where his bullet had ripped through. You felt odd, like you were seeing, or rather hearing, the world in high definition for the first time.

"She should be awake by now," a low, rumbling voice on the left, followed by a much lighter tone. "You nearly beat her to death, Albert. These things take time."

You tried to swallow, but it turned into a rough choke as you felt thick blood coating your throat, dried into a sickly coalescence now. The voices picked up in urgency, metal clanging together around you before you attempted a deep breathing, realizing something was shoved down your throat. You choked again, eyes snapping open, as you reached up, desperately clawing at your neck like you could tear though and clear the airway yourself.

Nearly immediately, the oxygen tube was out of your mouth and you began to cough roughly. Warm hands pulled your fingers away from your neck and held them still while you took deep, trembling breaths. Wesker was standing above you, sans glasses with his glowing eyes narrowed in... concern? You couldn't tell, too busy trying to breathe through the shock. Ada Wong was looking at you as well, her expression much more worried than his. You laughed without humor and looked at both of them blearily, letting your head fall back against the table with a dull thud. "Knew it," You managed to whisper, voice hoarse and quiet. "Couldn't let me go."

Wesker growled a warning sound and looked at Ada, who promptly left the room. His hands were still on your wrist, holding your arm still against the cold metal table. "Shut up," he grit between his teeth. "This changes nothing. I could hardly leave you to die when you could be so useful to me."

You rolled your eyes and flinched at the sharp flare it sent your head. His grip tightened on you, before he let go all together, your skin cold where his warm hands had been. "You nearly did it though - beat me to death, I mean." You rasped, throat too sore for much else.

He reached behind him, grabbing a water bottle. He quickly opened it and helped you take a few sips, a scowl still staining his face. "Not so much a love story now, is it?"

You grinned and coughed wetly, turning away from him until you caught your breath. "Told you we weren't there yet, didn't I?"

You didn't so much care about what came next, only that you were here, with him. His hair was ruffled, likely from running his hands through it in worry, as he was apt to do. Your eyes roamed his torso, noting his bruised collarbones, exposed by the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. When you met his gaze again, he looked something near shameful.

"It'll take a few more days for the virus to do its work, but you'll be fine." He murmured, uncharacteristically soft. You frowned at him, and then noted the syringe in his lap like he had dropped it mindlessly. Your expression fell, and you slowly locked eyes on him again.

"I'm not sorry." A twinge of remorse coated his lie. "I need you alive, because - you're useful. That's it."

You raised your head enough to find his hand again, weakly intertwining your bloody fingers with his. A myriad of confusing emotions swelled in your chest, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his palm, dried blood flaking off your skin onto his. "Then I'll be useful. Hated the BSAA anyway."

The look he gave you then was raw, his eyes wide as he searched your face. All you could do was smile tiredly, and close your eyes again. His other hand wrapped around where your fingers were twisted together, and you heard him finally let out a sigh of relief.

[maliciouslove]

𝕊ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕀ℕ𝔾

NSFW, aged up characters (21+) || minors, ageless and empty blogs DO NOT INTERACT!!

pairing // Mikey x reader x Draken

word count //  582

tags // degradation (reader called 'whore' once), slight breath play, size kink if you squint, tummy bulge, creampie, slightly unhinged Mikey, a bit of Mikey x Draken action at the end

AN // this was based on a short lived dream that was disturbed by my pesky alarm, hence why it is so smol. mayhaps one day i will expand.

Every once in a while, Mikey feels rather generous and allows his right hand man—his best friend—to fuck you. He would sit nearby commanding you, whispering in your ear while Draken was in your gut, his fat cock stretching you out, leaky tip abusing your cervix.

“Look at you, all fucked out like this on someone else’s cock. Filthy whore.” Mikey’s fingers are now wrapping around your throat, probably a bit tighter than they’re supposed to. There is a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Your eyes dart between Mikey’s and Draken’s, unspoken pleads spilling out just like the tears streaming down your cheeks. You could barely hang on, thighs violently shaking around Ken’s waist, and you could feel him all the way in your throat, his big cock relentlessly drilling into you, kissing all the good spots that made you cry out in pleasure.

Your walls flutter around his girth, squeezing him for all he’s worth and making his head spin with thoughts he wasn’t supposed to have. Thoughts about having you all to himself.

You looked even prettier than usual pinned under his large body—soft skin under his fingers, tits bouncing with every thrust, small bulge visible on your belly, and eyes rolled at the back of your head. Draken wished he could see you like this more often, as so far it was his favourite view.

And Mikey didn’t mind the view either—he didn’t miss the way your tiny hands clutched around Ken’s neck, how your tongue was lolled out and you were loud. And so fucking gorgeous. And he knew you like the back of his hand so he was already aware you were close to cumming—the way your eyebrows pinched together and your muscles tensed.

“M-Mik-ey.. please.. p-please, I need to.. I want to.. ” you were a babbling mess, all you could really manage to say was ‘please’ yet he knew exactly what you meant.

“Aw, wanna cum, princess?” he cooes, his lips wrapping around your perky nipple and sucking it hard, teeth grazing over it. All you could give in response was a nod, begging again, saying how it’s driving you crazy. So Mikey took pity on you. “Go on then, show Kenchin how good you feel creaming around his cock.”

And you didnt need to be told twice, fingers craded through Ken’s hair, tugging on it, your whole body went rigid, the coil in your belly finally snapping. All at once, your orgasm is washing over you with the force of a tsunami, leaving you a trembling mess.

“Fuck, f-FUCK” Draken was now struggling, hips stuttering against yours. You were impossibly tight already, but with your pussy clamping down on him and sucking him in greedily, he could barely contain himself. He was going to cum.

“Shit, cummin” his hands were bruising your hips with the force he was holding you with. And through the haze of your orgasm you could feel his—balls pressed to the curvature of your ass, emptying themselves deep inside you. Hot spurts of thick cum were filling you up and it was the most euphoric feeling ever. Until you heard Mikey speak again.

“I gave her permission to cum, I don’t fucking remember giving you permission, Kenchin.” He has a hand wrapped around Ken’s throat now, eyes looking even more dangerous than before, completely clouded by lust. And before you realise what'a happening, Mikey is pulling Draken in for a kiss and you realise.. you’re in for a really long night.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.

[hunterbunter3000]

This is so random but I need to know what type of girl sweetheart is when she stubs her toe or something like that dose I feel like she might be the type of person to say 50 different curses in under 30 seconds or would she moan (guilty of being this type of person😔) ORRR would she just mummble shit under her breath and sounds like she curesing someone I NEED TO KNOW-🪼

LOLL THIS IS RANDOM I LOVE IT

I feel like she would totally mumble under her breath when she stubs her toe, but if the pain is severe, then it sounds like Babayaga cursing you to eternal damnation 💀💀

141Sweetheart, stubs toe on chair: ow! sonovabitchstupidasschair--

141Sweetheart, knocks her elbow on the door: AAAOWW QUE SE JODAN TUS BISABUELOS Y TUS ANCESTROS AL INFIERNO

Alejandro:

Alejandro, picking out his suit for their wedding: she can speak spanish, too? F u c k

And also you moan when you get hurt?? 🤨📸📸

[bitethedevil]

WIP - Raphael as the "dad who didn't want a dog"-meme

(This is just a silly little WIP for something that happens much later in my fic More Than Our Fathers (Raphael x Demigoddess!Reader). I just had a weird urge for Raphael to become a dog-dad)

While Raphael was talking to someone, you wandered around a bit. It was all a lot to take in. There were so many miserable soldiers of the Blood War. The conditions on the ground were awful and the camps were, of course, sectioned after hierarchy. The further you walked, the worse the conditions became.

You stopped in your tracks when you heard the hollow sound of what sounded like a tiny bark behind you. You turned around and looked down on the ground. Your eyes softened immediately as you saw the small fiery creature on the ground in front of you.

It looked like a hellhound, but it was much more dog-like than the huge beasts you had seen walking around. It was just a puppy. It had red glowing eyes that were looking up at you. It was clear that it would grow up to be huge from the big floppy ears it had and big paws. Its fur was a rusty reddish color. It was absolutely adorable.

“Hello, you,” you said to it in a baby-voice.

Its tongue lolled out of its mouth and its little tail started wagging. It barked at you and a puff of smoke came out of its mouth. It was the cutest thing you had ever seen during your time in the Hells.

You cast a spell that made you immune to fire. You cast another to make your hand numb, in case it would bite you with those already strong jaws. You knelt down and let it sniff your hand. Its tiny nose sniffed you with curiosity and it let you pet it.

“Oh, aren’t you precious,” you cooed and smiled.

Your smile faltered slightly when you remembered where you were and the fact that this pup would most likely grow up to be fodder for the front lines.

Animals had always been your biggest weakness. You weren’t too fussed about people, but the thought of animals being hurt tugged at your heartstrings.

Raphael had just left the tent where he had talked with the lieutenants, when he found you outside waiting for him. He looked at the puppy in your arms and then at your pleading eyes.

“No,” he said firmly. “Perish the thought.”

“But—”

“No,” he said again. “No pets. Let it go.”

“’It’ is a she,” you said. “She could be a working dog, a guard dog!”

“Sibylla,” he said tiredly.

“You wouldn’t let me get a cat either,” you said. “I’ll take care of her. She won’t go in the furniture, and she’d be well-trained and everything. I’ve owned lots of dogs before.”

“It is not a dog,” he said.

“She,” you corrected.

“Fine. She is not a dog,” he said and pointed at the puppy in your arms. “Not entirely at least. Her mother might have been from the looks of it, but ‘she’ is a hellhound. I am not taking that half-breed into my home.”

You looked at him in outrage and lowered your voice.

“So, what if she’s a ‘half-breed’? So are we, if you want to be technical about it,” you said defensively and held the pup closer to you. “No need to be rude about it.”

“I grew up around those beasts,” he said with disdain as he looked at the pup. “My father has a fondness for them. I am not budging. Let it go.”

“What will happen to if I do?” you said. “Will it survive? Be honest.”

Raphael sighed and gritted his teeth.

“It will not,” he said. “It is the product of a hellhound breeding with a simple dog. The mother never survives, and hence the pups rarely do for long either. It is the way of nature. Now, let it go.”

Your heart broke and you held the pup closer. You felt its warm little nose nuzzle into your neck as you held it, and tears were threatening to fall down your cheeks.

“Don’t,” Raphael warned at seeing your tears. “Not here.”

He looked around to see if anyone was looking in your direction. You started sniffling when the dog licked your cheek.

Raphael groaned in frustration.

“Fine. Keep the damn mutt,” he groaned. “But it will need to be trained and if it ruins any furniture or makes any trouble at all, we are getting rid of it. Understand?”

“Yes, yes,” you said relieved and nodded. “Thank you.”

Raphael looked at the pup with clear disdain. It was staring excitedly at him with its tongue out of its mouth.

“Such an ugly little thing,” he said.

The puppy yipped at him, and smoke and sparks came out of its mouth. Raphael was quick to take a step back. Was he scared of hellhounds? You weren’t going to press him on it now that he had finally said yes.

“I think I’ll name you Asha,” you cooed to the pup. “Do you like that?”

Raphael mumbled something that sounded like ‘spare me’ and rolled his eyes.

Mephistopheles suddenly turned his attention to Asha who had been sitting beside you like a statue for the entirety of the impromptu meeting from your father in law. She was the size of a big grown up dog now, and she was still growing. He looked at her with a toothy smile that could have been interpreted as fond, if you did not know that he was just as much of a performer as his son was.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” he said in that smooth breathy voice of his. “Impressive. Especially considering that you do not speak Infernal.”

You looked down at Asha. Her red eyes were following Mephistopheles’ movements intently.

“She understands common just fine it seems,” you said. “I have had her since she was a pup.”

“They are quite intelligent creatures,” he said.

“Indeed,” you said. “I understand you have an interest for hellhounds as well.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “I have been breeding my own race of them. It has been a little pet-project of mine for quite some time. They are tougher, meaner, and larger than even the largest of the Nessian warhounds. Of course, they are purebreds, and not mutts like your attentive little girl there.”

You smiled politely, though the smile was strained.

“I’ve always found that mutts have their own charm,” you said.

“Certainly,” Mephistopheles said and turned his attention to you with a charming smile. “Though they are, of course, completely unpredictable. You never know if the pups will grow up to take after their simple dog mothers or their hellhound fathers. No matter what, the blood is diluted, and you often end up with a hound that is of little use. A half-breed pup does not stand a chance in a pack of purebred hellhounds, and they more often than not end up as dinner…”

He might have still been smiling, but you could easily tell in his pale eyes that you were not talking about dogs anymore. His smile widened even more when he heard the familiar ‘poof’ or Raphael appearing behind him. Raphael looked from you to him with a look of surprise and then annoyance.

“Mephistopheles,” Raphael greeted his father with a cold tone. “My apologies. I did not expect a meeting.”

Mephistopheles did not even look back at him but kept his eyes on you.

“I was not here to meet with you, dear son,” he drawled and walked up the steps to where you were sitting. “A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, Sibylla.”

He kissed your hand while still making eye contact. You pressed back against your seat as he did. Despite yourself, he did terrify you.

He looked down at Asha and smiled. He reached out to pet her. Had he not moved his hand away fast enough, she would have bitten him. The snap of her strong jaws echoed through the throne room. Mephistopheles’ eyes widened for a second, but he quickly brushed it off with a chuckle. Asha growled at him.

“Apologies,” you said to him. “As you said yourself…half-breeds and their unpredictability.”

He smirked at you with just a hint of admiration in his eyes before disappearing in a flash of smoke and embers.

You sighed in relief and the tension in your body disappeared the second your father-in-law did. Asha quickly returned to her cheerful self and started wiggling her entire body in joy as she went to greet Raphael. For once, he leaned down to scratch her behind her ear and her tail started wagging even more.

“Such a good girl,” he praised and petted her. “Yes, you are, darling.”

“Don’t teach her it’s fine to bite guests,” you said to him.

“She is a smart girl,” Raphael said and rubbed Asha’s belly. “She is allowed when the guest in question is my father.”

You rolled your eyes at him but could not help but smile.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 4

Noah Sebastian X Reader

Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Warnings: Blow job, drug use, swearing, angst, noah getting humbled

Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

________

“Fuck,” Noah whispered. “Just like that.”

Noah couldn’t remember who was sucking his dick. He could barely remember how he got upstairs. He thought her name might begin with an S? Maybe? But her mouth was so warm and inviting. And wet. And when she hummed, it vibrated.

His head lolled to the side. Had the couch always been this soft?

She pulled off him with a “pop” and stroked his shaft a few times.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, letting out a soft giggle and allowing his lids to close.

He’d have to ask Jolly what that pill was. He wanted to feel like this all the time.

“You like that?” the girl asked. What the fuck was her name? Sarah? No… Savannah? Something like that. She looked up at him and he didn’t think he’d ever seen a face more vibrant or beautiful than hers.

Except for maybe yours. But he didn’t want to think about that, because it was bringing down his vibe, and he had someone right in front of him who was so, so beautiful, and whose mouth was the warmest mouth he’d ever felt in his life.

“Yeah,” he said, marveling at the tingling sensation in his fingertips as he rubbed them together, paying special attention to the calluses on his fingers. She squeezed his dick again and his focus was brought back to her. “Do it again please?”

She enveloped the head of his dick in her mouth once more. He didn’t think she could get a tighter seal around him. His eyes rolled back. Noah was certain if she kept up at this rate, she’d rid him of whatever negative energy dwelled in his body, and he’d walk away an enlightened man.

“You’re so fuckin’ warm,” he muttered, noticing for the first time that his own voice carried many layers to it. He hummed out a note, feeling his vocal folds vibrate with such a pleasant intensity that he forgot all about the woman whose mouth he was currently in and began practicing his vocal warmups. He could hear his voice getting better in real time.

“They’re right,” he giggled between warmups.. “I should do my vocal exercises more. These are great.”

The woman said something that Noah didn’t catch, but his awareness was once again brought to his dick, and this time, his focus was locked in. All the sudden, he was on a sensation train that was approaching its crescendo. When it did, Noah’s body blasted into a liminal space, where he was met with a wave of warm, glowing light.

Was he crying? He thought he might have been crying, but he didn’t know what about. Surely it was nothing sad, because no sadness could exist here. He was wrapped in pure love and light.

“It’s like heaven,” he slurred.

And then his body slipped away and he was nothing more than divine consciousness, floating in the ether.

_____________

“Noah!”

Someone was shooting off fireworks in the hallway.

No, that wouldn’t make sense.

Someone was knocking on the door. His eyelids were too heavy for him to lift.

“Noah, wake up, man.”

He vaguely registered the sound of the door opening. “Aw, gross! Get your pasty ass off Jolly’s couch.”

Noah groaned, feeling for the waistband of his boxers, realizing they were still pulled down around his ankles.

“What happened?” he rasped out. His throat was beyond dry. His head pounded with every pulse.

“You tell me. Last thing I remember is you disappearing with that Tiffany chick.”

Noah’s eyes flew open. “Tiffany?” He scrubbed a palm over his face. That girl had been after him for months. Showed up to every party and clung to him like a barnacle on the side of a boat. Always interjected herself into conversations and has cockblocked him on more than one occasion. Despite actively ignoring her when she’s around, she never took the hint to leave him alone.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Why did you let me go upstairs with her?” he asked, finally looking up to see Ruffilo standing above him with his hands on his hips, looking very much like a disappointed mother.

“It’s not my job to babysit you, dude. Plus, you insisted it was fine.”

Noah rolled over and clenched his throat to stop himself from hurling.

“How much did I drink?” he rasped out.

“I don’t know. But whatever you took clearly didn’t mix well with it.”

“No shit,” he said, rolling off the couch. His knees smacked against the hardwood floor, the impact ricocheting up to his head, forcing him into a wince.

“Can you please put some pants on?” his friend said, rolling his eyes as he turned his back toward Noah.

With great effort, Noah hoisted himself off the floor and into a semi-standing position so he could pull his boxers and jeans back up.

“My eyes are killing me,” he croaked.

“Yeah, no shit dude. You still have those weird-ass things in.”

Noah stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, the acrid feeling of bile crawled its way up his chest, intensifying the closer he got. He threw the toilet lid and seat back, knees hitting tile as he curled over the lip of the bowl to vomit the remainder of last night’s drinks. 

His head pounded, every heave forcing blood up into his face, the vessels in his eyes straining under the pressure.

“Help me get these out,” he sputtered between heaving breaths, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He rolled over to lean his back against the vanity unit, hands falling into his lap as he worked to catch his breath.

“Let me see,” Ruffilo sighed cupping his chin with one hand to tilt it back into the light. He took care to wash his hands before he made any attempt to touch the massive black contacts that spanned the entirety of his friend’s eyes.

“Ow, fuck!” Noah shouted, causing his head to ache with his own volume. “Don’t use your nail, asshole!”

“Sorry dude,” his friend said, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone. “This shit’s hard to do. Hold still.”

With careful precision, Nick maneuvered the large disc around until he found purchase on it.  Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger,  he gently peeled  it out to reveal Noah’s bloodshot eyes.. After doing the same with the second, he tossed both in the trash, then stood to wash his hands once more. “Damn,” said Noah. “I liked those. I wanted to use them for more shows.”

“We’ll get you new ones,” said Nick. He grabbed an empty Solo cup on the sink counter, rinsing it out before filling it with cool tap water. He handed it to Noah before lowering himself to the ground, sighing as he leaned against the opposite wall. “Sip slowly, or you’ll throw up again.” Gingerly, Noah raised the cup to his lips.

Ruffilo was not easily affected by the actions of others. In fact, he had a calming disposition that set many at ease. But at that moment, Noah could feel his friend’s gaze burning a hole into him. He stared at the rim of his cup, the acrid feeling returning as he did everything to avoid looking at Nick.

“You okay, man?” The pity in his friend’s tone sat like a brick in Noah’s gut.“I’ve never seen you get that fucked up before. What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can’t be doing that shit,” Nick said, crossing his arms over his chest and clicking his tongue against his teeth.. “Do you even know what you took?”

Noah paused for a moment. Scenes from the previous night flashed through his memory: the red lump on your cheekbone, the slight gasp that left your lungs when he parted your legs, the absence of your warmth after you left.

“No,” Noah rasped out, leaning his head back against the counter and closing his eyes.

“That’s not like you, man.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on,” he sighed, grabbing Noah under the arm to lift him off the floor. “Let’s get you home and in bed.”

“Thanks,” said Noah. He brought his hand up to comb his fingers through his hair and found the demon horns still on his head. A bitter taste coated his tongue and he ripped them off, chucking them in the trash.

It took a monumental effort for Noah to stagger the six blocks to his house. The sun was far too bright and the traffic was much too loud. Even with Ruffilo helping him, he struggled to keep his balance and had to pause halfway through to vomit into a set of bushes lining the street.

He didn't know when he fell asleep. One moment, he was collapsing onto his bed, and the next, he woke to the sound of something hitting his nightstand. On a tray sat a mug of coffee, scrambled eggs and toast, with two painkillers on a napkin. Ruffilo was already on his way out the door when Noah spoke.

“Thanks man,” He managed to mutter. “I owe you one.”

“This is done on the condition that we talk about it when you’re ready.”

Noah sighed, jaw clenching. “I know. Just not today.”

________

Halfway through Noah’s day-long hangover nap, he was woken up by another knocking. This time, when he opened his eyes, he found none other than the drummer of his band looking like the cat that caught the canary.

Nick sidled past him, inviting himself into Noah’s room, tossing a wad of cash down onto Noah’s bed before turning to face him.

“Here you go, killer. You earned it.”

“What are you talking about?” Noah muttered, consciousness slowly growing clearer as he struggled to wake up. His head felt like it was in a vise.

“I saw you and the virgin Mary go into your studio last night. When she came back out, she looked absolutely wrecked,” he said, snickering to himself. He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know how you did it, but damn. I never thought that chick would put out. Her friend was a pretty good consolation prize though, I have to say.”

Noah grabbed the wad of cash and threw it violently back at his friend.

“Whoa,” Nick said, head pulling back defensively. “What was that for?”

“Man, fuck off. I told you I wasn’t part of that.”

“You still won,” said Nick with a shrug. “I’m a man of my word. Should have tried a little harder with her last night, but her friend was practically beggin’ for it the whole time.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Noah was aware that he should exit this conversation. But in the moment, his stomach rolled with a heavy mixture of shame and anger that he couldn’t digest, so he spat it at Nick.

“You’re a fucking bottom feeder, man.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Nick bit back, unflinching as if he’d been waiting. “Don’t sit there on your high fuckin’ horse, acting like you’re better than everyone when you did the same thing to Tiffany, knowing how down bad she is for you. Grow a spine and reject the girl so she can move on.” 

Noah squeezed his eyes together and rubbed his temples.

He knew he’d run out of defenses, and hated that Nick was right, but his brain had only just started thawing out from the onslaught of chemicals he’d fed it, and the last thing he needed was a lecture.

“Man, just get out. I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“Clearly, since you’re fucking being a little bitch today.” His eyebrows and jaw were hard set, but when Noah finally locked on to his stare, Nick must have seen the defeat in his eyes, because he began to soften.

“Get some sleep, man. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Thanks.”

__________________

Normally, Noah didn’t mind his job at the factory too much. It was repetitive, which was boring, but also regulating. It allowed him to move on autopilot while he wrote music in his head.

Today though, as the remnants of his headache clung to his periphery - he was Sisyphus, and the lathe was his boulder.

Worse though, whatever he had taken at the party had dumped all the serotonin and dopamine from his system, and there was nothing left to get him through the day.

“This,” he muttered to himself, barely audible over the whirring of the machines surrounding him, “this is why I don’t do drugs.”

He’d known this would happen even before he took them, but at the time he didn’t care. He was focused on escaping from the reality of his situation. It worked for the night, until that reality came back with a vengeance.

His confidence was shaken. He’d been so sure that you wanted him in that moment. He’d have bet all the cash Nick had tried to throw at him that you wanted him. But when you were an inch away, just barely in his grasp, you shot him down and left. And here he was, tearing his hair out because he could not, for the life of him, figure out why.

Maybe you just couldn't accept his feelings about religion. Your beliefs were so important to you, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was something you just couldn’t get past. Like you’d mentioned earlier that night, the whole evening was out of your comfort zone, you were overwhelmed by it all. Perhaps you just weren’t ready.

But maybe he was overthinking everything. Maybe inviting you into his world was a bad decision.

No God. No religion. 

Just bad, bad decisions. 

He scrawled the words into the margins of  the notebook used to write down measurements for whatever the fuck parts he had to check for inaccuracies. For the rest of the day, the words ran through his head over and over again like a mantra, following the rhythmic clunk of the factory machines. He fished the silver ring out of his pocket and fidgeted with it for the hundredth time since you left the studio. It barely fit past the first knuckle on his pinky finger, but every time he touched it, it felt a little easier to breathe.

______________

“So, I feel like I owe you an apology,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Several apologies, actually.”

“Okay,” Tiffany said, sitting across from him at the small bistro table in the corner of the local coffee shop Noah frequented.

His stomach clenched. He’d been nervous for the last few days leading up to this conversation, but it was time for him to stop being a coward and settle the matter.

Tiffany was not an unattractive woman. She had long blonde hair that she wore in loose waves. She was on the thicker side, which Noah liked. He could see himself being attracted to her if their personalities meshed.

Tiffany’s fatal flaw was that she tried too hard. Noah preferred to do the chasing. And he probably wouldn’t have ended up chasing after her regardless, and so he understood that she felt the need to chase after him if she liked him, but he had no inkling of feelings for her.

“First, I wanted to apologize for last Saturday. I wasn’t in the best state of mind, and I shouldn’t have invited you upstairs.”

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her. “That became clear when you started doing vocal warmups mid-blowjob.”

Noah snorted into his coffee. He forgot about that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to bite back his grin.

Her tough façade cracked into a smile. “No worries. In hindsight, it’s pretty funny.”

“Okay, so question then,” He shifted in his seat, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table. “If you knew I wasn’t sober, why did you continue?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “As soon as I realized you weren’t right, I stopped.”

Noah looked at her, taken aback. “You left?”

She nodded.

“You mean I didn’t…I could have swore…,” he trailed off.

“Don’t get me wrong. I was excited about the idea of hooking up with you, but not like that.”

Noah looked at Tiffany with a newfound respect. Perhaps he had misjudged her.

“Secondly,” he continued, “I wanted to apologize for never making my intentions clear. I feel like I led you on and allowed you to have hope because I was afraid of confrontation. That wasn’t cool of me. I should have told you from the beginning that I wasn’t interested.”

“Ouch,” she said, wincing slightly, “but thanks.”

He shook his head. “Why are you thanking me?”

“I don’t know,” she said, drumming her fingers on the table.. “You probably don’t deserve it, but honestly I’d rather you be straightforward with me so I can actually move on. It takes a lot of energy to walk away from something you want if you still think there might be a little hope. I probably would have wasted a lot of time.”

His stomach began to feel the weight of his actions. Tiffany’s only crime was not deciphering the vague signals he’d given her, and yet he’d treated her like a pariah, going so far as to badmouth her to his bandmates. And for what? Because she refused to give up hope until she received a solid answer?

He’d been an even bigger asshole than he’d realized.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Tiffany looked at Noah with a face that hinted at pity. Perhaps she saw the inner battle he was having with himself.

“Why did you take me upstairs?” she asked.

Noah felt like he owed her the truth. He didn’t have romantic feelings for Tiffany, but he did like her. And there was something about her that made him want to trust her. Perhaps it was how she’d prioritized his consent, despite her feelings for him. Or maybe the way she’d responded to him when he told her he wasn’t interested took the edge off his nervous system. He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed that feeling.

Noah launched into the story, telling Tiffany about how you’d met, your differences in beliefs, how you’d wound up at that party, what happened during the set, and how it had played out in the studio afterwards.

Once he finished his retelling, Tiffany narrowed her eyes at him.

“Do you always react so poorly when you get rejected?”

“What do you mean?” asked Noah.

“Like, after a girl rejects you, do you binge drink and take unknown drugs and hook up with other people? Is that how you handle it every time?”

Noah shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Wait. Is this your first time being rejected?” she asked in disbelief.

He took another sip of his coffee, ran his tongue along the top row of his teeth, and then gave the tiniest of nods.

Without hesitation, Tiffany burst out laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed to clarify, holding her hands in front of her as if to pause the conversation. “This is so inappropriate and I shouldn’t be laughing. Forgive me.”

She didn’t stop laughing despite her apology.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wait,” Noah said, snark creeping into his voice.

“This feels really great to hear, honestly. I know it sucks for you, but I’m absolutely loving it.”

“Can you not rub it in my face, please?” he asked.

Tiffany did her best to calm her laughter and then smiled genuinely across the table at him.

“Noah, being rejected is not the worst thing that can happen. Trust me. I’ve been rejected many times. It builds character and toughens you up. Plus, I think your ego could use it. You’re totally full of yourself.”

“How so?” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know. Didn’t you say you were going to fight god a few weekends ago during your set?”

Noah chewed on his lip. “That was performative.”

“It comes from somewhere.”

“Not necessarily true.”

“Noah, come on,” she said, fixing him with an imploring stare. “Be for real right now. You got rejected one time and you completely lost your shit. Total self-sabotage. Do you know how many girls you’ve rejected? A lot. And we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep fighting the good fight, because shit happens.”

Noah, mid-humbling, stayed quiet and let her continue. As uncomfortable as it was to acknowledge his shortcomings, it was also refreshing to hear. He’d never experienced a lecture from a loving mother, but he imagined this was what it felt like.

“Plus,” Tiffany continued, “it sounds like she didn’t even reject you. She just wasn’t ready to fuck you in that moment. And why would she? Considering how you’d treated her.”

“How did I treat her?” he asked. He thought he’d been kind. Certainly more attentive than he’d been to other women in his life.

“I mean, do you even like her?”

“Of course!”

“Really? Because it doesn’t sound like it. You sent her into a mosh pit totally unprepared and let her get hit in the face.”

Noah winced. He did do that. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to mention it to you.

“You didn’t warn her about the content of your music and allowed yourself to get peer-pressured into playing a song that deliberately shits on everything important to her,” she continued. “And what? You’re surprised she doesn’t want to give up her virginity after a month of knowing you?”

Noah had to sit back after what felt like a massive blow to the center of his chest.

“I put more effort in with her than I have with anyone else,” he said, feebly trying to defend himself, though he knew he had no defense to stand on.

“Are you honestly telling me that was the best you could do?”

Noah didn’t answer, reluctant to say the words out loud, and Tiffany sighed. 

“Look. If you really like the girl, go earn her.”

Noah fidgeted with the sleeve on the paper to-go cup. The concept of earning someone’s affection was new to him. He’d always been on the receiving end.

“How do I do that?”

Tiffany blinked back at him. “I mean, it’s not really my job to figure that out for you. I’m already giving you more emotional labor than I owe. But if you’re asking me, I’d start by figuring out why her faith is so important to her, rather than focusing on how you can get her to abandon it so you can sleep with her.”

“Ouch. I mean you’re right, but do you have to be so mean about it?”

“Trust me Noah, I’m doing you a kindness.”

He exhaled heavily through his nostrils, realizing that the magic pill to fix his problems was indeed, the toughest to swallow.

“Thank you,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “I appreciate you saying this to me.”

Tiffany nodded. “You’re welcome.”

“Can we be friends?” he asked. He meant it. Tiffany was clearly a positive influence in his life, and even if he didn’t want to be with her romantically, he still wanted her around in some way.

“No,” she said flatly. Noah’s face fell. “At least… not right now. This conversation helped, but I still need to lick my wounds. It isn’t fun being rejected, after all.”

“You can say that again,” he said.

“We can be friendly, though. I’ll still come to your shows because despite all your shortcomings, I unfortunately like your music.”

He chuckled, finding Tiffany’s candor refreshing. “You’re really enjoying the opportunity to insult me, aren’t you?”

“I really am,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. He saw a glimpse of the beauty he’d been so focused on in his drug-induced state. She truly was prettier than he’d given her credit for.

“I hope you find someone better than me,” he said. “I want you to be happy. You deserve a good guy.”

“Thank you,” she said, softer than before and he could tell she believed him.

Noah paid for both their coffees. It was the least he could do. They parted with a warm handshake that Noah had the urge to turn into a hug, but he could tell from her body language she wouldn’t want it.

For the first time since the party, he felt a little lighter in his chest. He fished around in his pocket for the silver ring, hooking it onto his pinky finger and rubbing his thumb along the “true love waits” inscription he’d memorized earlier. __________

Waking up on Sunday was an ordeal. You hadn’t even been drinking, but it still felt as if you’d had a stimulation hangover. Your ears rang from all the noise, and there was a deep pressure behind your eyes from all the crying you’d done.

You wiped away the crust from your eyelids and were immediately met with tenderness at your temple.

Oh, yeah. You’d been elbowed in the face last night.

Crawling down from your bed, you made your way over to the mirror above your desk to see just how bad it was. An ugly, angry red lump with purpled edges glared back at you.

The rest of your face hadn’t fared much better. Your makeup was smudged all around your eyes and your lipstick smeared down your chin.

You’d slept in your clothes, having been too exhausted to change into anything else when you got back around at around two in the morning.

The alarm on your phone rang, signaling it was time to get ready for church.

You sank down into your desk chair, having no motivation for anything.

You never skipped church unless you were sick. One of the things you prided yourself most on was your regular attendance. Plus, church was where you did all your socializing. All of your friends went. It wasn’t just church you liked, it was going out to lunch afterwards with everyone. It was treating yourself to a luxurious coffee drink beforehand. It was dressing up in your favorite outfits and performing on stage. And it was the satisfaction of knowing God was pleased with you.

Was God still pleased with you?

You stared at the lump on your head.

You’d resisted temptation. That didn’t count for nothing. You’d also allowed the situation to go much further than you should have, but you still listened to your gut when it told you to get out of there. That was enough of a success in your book.

Your thoughts drifted to Noah.

He’d been so forward last night, truly put himself out there, and had looked so dejected when you’d pulled away. But then again, hadn’t he said a few weeks ago that it was important to risk rejection? He seemed aware of what the stakes were.

You didn’t know exactly why you pulled away at that moment. Something told you it wasn’t the right time, but part of you worried that you wouldn’t get another opportunity like the one you’d had, and that perhaps you ruined your chances with him.

Maybe you did? Was that the worst thing?

Perhaps this was God’s way of telling you that Noah was not the right person for you. And if that was the case, you would need to get over the idea of him so you could continue to interact with him at community service without getting hurt.

You kicked your foot up on the desk in front of you and leaned your chair back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to find the central point of balance.

It was 10:30. If you were going to make it to church, you’d have to get up now and start getting ready. You’d have to leave no later than 10:45 to make it to the 11:00 service on time.

You continued to balance on the back legs of your chair, seeing if you could get it to balance on its own for five seconds.

10:45 came and went, and you did not leave your chair. You couldn’t make it to five seconds without it tipping, but you made it to four and a half before you gave up and went back to bed.

__________

You were awoken by a rapt knocking at your door. It definitely wasn’t your roommate, Stevie. She went home every weekend and didn’t come back until late in the evening.

You rolled out of bed and looked at the clock - 1:00 PM. Yawning off the remaining sleep, you opened the door. The first thing your eyes landed on was the white, deep v-neck that gave a peek to a tanned chest.

“Isaac? What are you doing here?” you asked. Isaac had walked you to your dorm before on nights when practice ended late and he insisted it was inappropriate to allow you to walk home alone, but he had never visited you before.

“I wanted to check on you. Can I come in?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, hesitantly moving aside to let him through. Once inside, he leaned against your desk, crossing his arms as he observed you.

“So…,” you trailed off, sitting on your bed cross-legged.

“You weren’t in church today.” It was not an observation, but an accusation, and it immediately set your nerves on guard.

“Yeah,” you said, keeping your tone even. “I didn’t feel great.”

“Are you hungover?”

“No. I didn’t drink.”

He fixed you with a stare that let you know he didn’t believe you. You met his eyes, unwilling to back down.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, likely figuring he wouldn’t get more out of you.

“Do you know where Ava is?” he asked. “She didn’t come either.”

“She didn’t?” This was news to you. You’d looked for her briefly after you’d left but had been unsuccessful in finding her and assumed she’d gone home.

“What happened last night? You look like you’ve been through it.” He stepped closer, eyes scanning up and down your face.

Instinctively, your hand went up to touch the bruise and Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

“It was just a mosh pit,” you said.

“Yeah?” he asked, tone laced with suspicion. “Is that why your purity ring is gone?”

You checked your hand to see it was, indeed, gone. Left in Noah’s back pocket. You sighed and tipped over sideways onto the bed.

“I lost it. But not like that,” you said.

“Sure,” he said, absolutely not believing you. You’d never been seen without the ring, and it was unlikely that it slipped off.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said.

“What is ‘anything’ to you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, look. I don’t owe you this information and it is in no way your job to make sure I’m pure, but I didn’t even kiss anyone last night. I seriously just lost the ring.”

Isaac’s eyebrow lifted up and he pursed his lips, staring you down to see if he could detect any signs of falsehood and when he found none, he deflated.

“Alright,” he said. “But in the future, could you not stay out so late? It was hard to carry the praise and worship service without you and Ava.”

“Sorry,” you said. “I’ll be there next week.”

“Promise?” he asked.

“Promise.”

“So how was the party?” he asked.

“Honestly?” you asked. He nodded. “Not great. Definitely not my scene. I got full-on elbowed in the face. Plus, everyone there was drunk and I couldn’t relate to anyone.”

You could tell Isaac was enjoying hearing your confession, the look in his eye now sporting a condescending glint. But, to his credit, he refrained from giving you any sort of ‘I told you so’ kind of lecture. After a beat of silence though, he started to chuckle at your misfortune.

“Does this feel good to hear?” you asked. He smiled in return and it was genuine.

Isaac wasn’t terrible. He seemed to truly care about you, and though he could be intrusive and overbearing at times, his heart was in the right place.

“Alright. I think I’m gonna let you get some more sleep,” he said after several minutes of catching up, tapping a knuckle on your desk to punctuate his visit. “I’d like to meet sometime this week to go over this Christmas showcase. Thursday night good for you?”

You nodded. “Thanks Isaac.”

You puffed out a mouthful of air as soon as you heard the door close, feeling like you’d just been the subject of an interrogation. It was clear now that your actions were being watched. Anything out-of-character could easily be reported back to your father, and while Isaac let you off the hook easily this time, you couldn’t be so sure he would continue if your behavior turned into a pattern.

You’d have to tread much more carefully if you wanted to fly under the radar.

_______________

The week passed quickly. Ava hadn’t returned any of your texts and you grew worried, but figured she would talk to you whenever she was ready. You wondered if something had happened at the party. Was she upset with you? Was she avoiding you?

Thursday’s meeting went well enough. Isaac had a lot of good ideas about the songs he wanted to perform and how to get the word out about it. The two of you worked closely together and you were starting to wonder if perhaps you’d judged Isaac too harshly for his actions the other week.

It was possible that Noah was just a distraction after all. Someone that helped you shake some of your delusions about Isaac so you could see him as an actual person instead of putting him on such a pedestal—because now that you interacted with each other as equals, he wasn’t all that bad. He was actually easy to get along with.

He didn’t give you that warm pooling sensation in your lower abdomen that Noah gave you, but connecting with him was enjoyable. You could see yourself working well as partners together.

“So you’re going to have to take the solo for Mary Did You Know, as well as O Holy Night,” he said. “You’re our top soprano.”

“Got it,” you said with a curt nod. “Are you going to do O Come O Come Emmanuel?”

“You know it,” he said, grinning proudly. His voice had a great timbre for that one and he knew it.

“Is Ava going to be participating?” you asked.

Isaac sighed. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

“Me either. I’m starting to get concerned.”

“If she doesn’t show up at church again on Sunday, maybe we should visit her,” he suggested.

“I think that would make me feel better,” you agreed.

As it turned out, however, you didn’t have to wait for Sunday. Ava was waiting outside your dorm when you got back from your meeting with Isaac.

“Hey,” she said, sitting with her knees curled up in front of her. She wore baggy sweatpants and an oversize hoodie.

“Hey,” you said. “Stevie’s home. If you want to talk privately, we should probably go for a walk or something.”

Nodding, she stood up.

You had walked out your dorm hall and halfway down the block before she got the nerve to speak.

“Sorry for being MIA,” she said, hands pushed deep in the pockets of her hoodie.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

“I think,” she replied. “I just needed some time to sort my feelings out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked. She nodded.

“What happened on Saturday? I couldn’t find you anywhere.” You tried to keep any judgment out of your tone.

“I had more to drink than I meant to,” she began. “I didn’t know my tolerance.”

“That’s an easy mistake to make, especially for your first time drinking,” you said.

“Yeah, but that’s not all that happened.”

The two of you had reached the edge of campus. A left turn would lead you past the party house. A right turn would lead you to the church grounds.

You let Ava take the lead, patiently waiting while she weighed her options.

She turned left. You nodded and continued walking with her.

“I want you to know that I don’t regret any of my decisions,” she prefaced. “I just had some complicated feelings about it.”

“Of course,” you said.

“Nick and I hooked up on Saturday night.”

Your footsteps faltered, but you recovered quickly. “How far did you go?”

“We had sex.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you stopped walking. “What?!” Your voice came out as a shout. 

Ava inhaled slowly through her nostrils, nervously looking around. “I need you to make less of a deal about it than you’re making right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, tone hushed as you leaned closer to her. “But that’s a whole consent issue. If you’d been drinking…,” you trailed off.

“I was drunk when we were making out,” she said, “but I had sobered up by the time we went back to his place.” 

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.” She confirmed, with an earnest look in her eye.

“Okay,” you said, calming down a bit. You’d been about to find Nick and strangle him. “So you really don’t regret it?”

“I don’t,” she said. “But… I feel awful about not regretting it. I feel like I should, like it makes me a bad person for not. Like, we were always told that if we made a mistake like this, we’d feel terrible about it. And I don’t feel terrible. I liked it, even. And I want to do it again, if I can.”

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say. Growing up, you and Ava had always been on the same page about sex, frequently discussing what it might be like on your wedding night. Ava had always been a bit on the wild side, but you had no idea her opinions had changed quite this much.

“But I feel like I’m not allowed to feel this way and continue being involved in the church.”

You understood where she was coming from. Even after you and Noah barely touched each other, you felt weird about going to church the next morning. It was actually quite refreshing to hear that you weren’t alone in questioning the validity of your chastity pledge. You thought you were alone in that.

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you confessed. “It feels like there’s an expectation there that if you attend, you have to feel the way they think you should feel. Like if you have sex or something like that, and don’t immediately regret it afterwards, you’re not good enough.”

“Right? Yes!” she said, more lively than you’d seen her all evening. “And I just feel so disconnected with that message.”

“You’re not wrong for feeling the way you feel,” you reassured. “Honestly, I’m also learning that faith is a lot more complicated than they’d have you believe. Noah might be a good person to talk to about it.”

“You mean Nick’s friend?”

“Yeah. He’s helped me see a lot of blind spots that I’d had before regarding religion and sexuality.”

“Did you guys…?”

You shook your head. “No. But we’ve been talking a lot about some of the problems in the church, especially around sexuality. How did you feel immediately afterwards?”

“Well, I went to the bathroom and cried about it, because I initially was hit with a lot of guilt. But after I processed that, I felt kind of happy? Like I was finally living the life I wanted to live for once.”

“I’m glad you got that experience,” you admitted. “I’m sorry that you felt so guilty.”

“To be honest, I thought you would handle this information way worse.”

You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty closed-minded.”

“I think we all started that way.”

“I’m glad you told me,” you said. “I was really worried about you.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” she admitted. “I was afraid of what you’d think. You’re one of the most important people in my life. I didn’t want you to hate me. And I didn’t want to have to pretend to feel guilty about it to you, or lie about the fact that it even happened.”

You paused the walk to look at her. “I know I haven’t always been the most accepting person. I’m working on that. But I could never hate you. Ever.”

Ava looked back, eyes glassy. The two of you embraced in a lingering hug, of which the significance was not lost on either of you.

When you pulled back, you realized you weren’t too far away from the party house. It was Ava that continued walking towards it.

As the two of you approached, you heard music blasting from the house. You were one or two houses away when you heard Noah’s singing voice.

“I think they’re having band practice,” you said, and sure enough, when you got to the front of the house, you could see inside the basement windows. The light was on and the band members faced away from you. All of them played with intensity—though less intensity than they had done the previous Saturday, when they had the crowd’s energy to feed on.

Noah wore a cutoff black shirt and you could see that his tattoos extended across his back—what looked like flowers on each shoulder and vines connecting them. You couldn’t see anything else, but it piqued your curiosity.

At some point, someone in the band made a mistake and they stopped the song halfway through. Noah turned around to face the drummer and you only had just enough time to dash out of sight before you caught his eyes flick up to the window, squint, and then redirect to the guitarist.

“So how was it?” you asked Ava, resuming your walk.

“Honestly?” she began. “It was incredible. Like, definitely awkward, but also one of the coolest experiences of my life.”

“What happened?”

Ava launched into a (very detailed) retelling of how Nick made sure she was coherent and could give enthusiastic consent, and then how he didn’t judge her for how new she was. He walked her through it every step of the way, made sure she had a great time, and even allowed her to crash at his place afterwards, going as far as to cook her breakfast the next morning.

“He wasn’t the best cook, mind you,” she said. “But the gesture was very sweet.”

“Huh,” you said. “I might like Nick a little more now.”

“That’s their house, by the way,” she said, pointing across the street to a tan single-story home with an unkempt front porch and an overgrown lawn. Beer bottles littered the side of the porch. You could see the blinds were broken in some areas. And yet, you couldn’t help the warmth and affection from growing in the pit of your stomach imagining all the good times that had been shared between the men that lived here.

It was evident from the way they interacted with each other at the party that all of the band members were close with one another. For a moment, you had felt welcomed into that world. At least until you had a panic attack.

“Want to turn around?” you asked.

“Sure,” she agreed.

“So what do you think of their music?”

Ava laughed out loud. “I appreciate Nick’s passion, but I don’t think I ever want to be in a crowd like that again.”

“Same,” you agreed, linking your arm with Ava’s.

This time, when you passed the party house, the lights were off. For a brief second, you wondered what Noah was doing, but then brushed the thought away easily, because it didn’t really matter. You were more than happy simply spending quality time with Ava. Taglist: @reyadawn @sundamariis @noahsebastions @cyber-tiny @livingdeceasedgirl @just-randomm-stuff @xxkittenkissesxx @treacheryinblue @flowerynerds @1toreyouapart @badomensls

Click here to be added to the taglist! As always, I would love to hear your feedback! I eat it up, so pls feed me.

[miam0re]

A Rich Man's Slut | Pantalone, Childe, Al Haitham, Ayato

Warning: Pantalone- name calling(slut), clothes ripping; Childe- name calling(whore), collaring, slight choking; Haitham- car sex, fingering, public sex, exhibitionism if you squint; Ayato- food??play (wine), nipple play. more stuff I probably missed

Pairing: Pantalone, Childe, Al Haitham, Ayato X Fem!Reader (separate)

Summary: He's a rich man and you're his sweet little girlfriend for him to use as he pleases

Mia's Notes: I wanna be a rich man's slut smh. Also the grammar and tenses are messed up so lol sorry bout that

Being the businessman he is, you’d think he’d have some care for the thousands of dollars he spends on things he likes. Things such as his sweet little darling, buying her all the prettiest dresses to wear to gatherings. You’re a trophy for your lover to flaunt and he doesn’t hold back in decorating you with the finest silk and velvet cocktail dresses. But he’s so careless, oh so careless. 

“Hah! Pantalone! No!” You squeal when his hands scrunch the back of your blue satin dress with an animalistic grip. The fabric rips to shreds and loosened from your shoulder, revealing your skin to the chilling air. “That was one of my… nghhh… my favourite dresses.” Your face burns red, body grinding on his cock as it claimed your plush cunt. 

He rolls his eyes and seizes the cleavage of your gown, splitting the dress from the front. Your lace-clad breasts waited for his bites and hickies, acts of when he lost his composure because of the intoxicating feeling your pussy provided him. The lace panties you wore were pushed aside to make space for his dick to impale your struggling cunt.

“Ugh, my dress.” You pout and whimper as his mouth suckled your skin. His lithe fingers danced over your breasts and neck, applying the tiniest pressure to remind you of the punishments brats get before he parted your soft lips with his thumb. 

He slid a thin plastic card into your mouth, making you bite on the edge of his platinum debit card. You make a move to pull it out, but a sharp thrust rubbing against your clit made your jaw clench with a muffled cry. 

“I bought one, I can buy a thousand, and it’s my choice if I want to see the dress on you or on the floor. Now be a good little slut and try to not bite my card too hard if you want to purchase more clothes of your liking.”

He’s got the money. He knows it and he makes sure everyone else knows it too. He’s driving the best cards, he’s living in the best penthouse in the city. And he has the best little girlfriend whose the perfect little whore for him. And what better way to show off his relationship with you than to adorn your neck with the most expensive jewellery money could buy. 

In the privacy of your chambers, he’ll have you strip bare without a single touch to your burning skin. Your clothes are falling one at a time, leaving you in nothing but your diamond collar reflecting the dim red lights in the room. And that’s when you see a feral side of Childe. 

“Sir! P-please!” Your mind is fogging, words garbling out your lips into the pillows your face was shoved into as Tartaglia ploughed into your pussy from behind, smacking his balls against your thigh with every plunge of his hips into yours. “Babe, I can barely make out a word you’re saying.” He laughed, skimming his fingers up your shaking spine, curling his pointed finger around your collar and pulling, bringing you up with his actions. 

There was no doubt about the high quality collar, it was able to withstand the kinky nights you shared with your lover. He tugged and pulled until you were on your knees, your back flush against his chest with his dick twitching and hitting a new angle inside you, you could see a visible protrusion on your tummy. The way you gagged and lolled your tongue out at the pressure of the collar on your neck, Childe could have burst and cummed then and there, seeing your hazy eyes begging him to support your weight.

“Are you such a whore that you’d like the way I choke you with this collar and use you as I please? You’re so adorable. Only a whore like you is fit to wear this collar. A diamond collar for my gem of a girl."

He’s always getting invited to some or the other event, being the hotshot of the Akademiya. Everyone knows him for the academic breakthroughs he has made, for the amount of money he’s earned, and for the eye catching girlfriend who accompanies him to all the events. No exaggeration that he drags you to all the boring ‘parties’, but he always makes up for it.

His fingers are squelching so loudly, you’re embarrassed. But he lust flooding your veins overpowers every rational thought in you head. Your sitting on his lap, dress hiked up to your waist and legs spread for him to touch and prod at your sensitive hole. Your head hangs back against his shoulder, mouth agape with silent gasps being the only sounds, apart from the sucking of his lips on your neck as the sloppy sounds of Haitham finding your g-spot.

The car hits a speed breaker, making you bounce and his fingers slip out your cunt. Haitham grumbles under his breath before pinching you clit and inserting two fingers back into your hot sex. Your slick is dripping down his knuckles, soaking the cuffs of his shirt, and whatever part of your juices that dripped down were smeared across the sleek leather seats. “Haitham…slow…” you panted at how his speed increased when the car turned a corner, not too far from your destination. “Shhh, you’re doing so well. Think I can make you cum before we reach?” He hummed, knowing full well that he was capable of making your orgasm at command. 

You clawed the leather seats, squeezing your legs tight as Haitham dragged his fingers into the deepest part of your cunt, making you see stars and cum all over his lap, making a mess of his fingers as he continued his thrusting till you calmed from your high. 

Leaving the car to head to the party after your little, episode, he handed the driver a generous roll of cash.

“Hopefully this can pay for car wash services. And your silence.”

A fine man with fine taste. Be it in the ages old wine he drinks or the company he keeps. And in the moments he shares with you, why not have fine wine with fine company? Only, he never really is in need of wine glasses when he’s with you.

“Stay still, Dearest. This wine costs a fortune, wouldn’t want to waste a single drop, now would we?” His giggles are light, hinted with the slightest bit of intoxication from the sips of wine he’s been taking. You shiver when the cold liquid pours into your navel, Ayato’s thirst mouth latching to your naked skin and slurping the liquid with loud gulps. He doesn’t stop licking and biting your skin, even when he’s cleaned the wine off your body; he can’t help but stay for the flavour of you. 

He’s finding it hard to hold back much, deciding to grab your chin and pry your mouth open and pour a small amount of the bitter liquid right on your tongue, ordering you to hold it in your mouth. His cheeks are dusted pink as he sits back and calls you on his lap, asking you to give him the wine. Directly. 

Unable to disobey, you climb on his lap and tilt his head up, connecting your lips and pouring the cool liquid into his mouth through the steamy kiss. Stray drops of wine trickle down his chin, his Adams apple and slowing on his chest. He can feel how messy you’re being, shaking so much that the wine escaped the kiss, so he squeezed your nipples between his fingers in warning. Once he was satisfied with the taste of the wine (and of you) he pulled away, looking down at the mess on his chest. He sighed with mock disappointment, fingers still firmly grasping your sensitive breasts. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made. Didn’t I tell you the worth of this wine? You should clean it up, or is some punishment required?”

tagging: @aijlin

[ragingbookdragon]

u ask alejandro??? oh my oh my! what about ale with exhausted reader who keeps pushing herself to her limit?

I ask all the Alejandro <3

***

Alejandro was happy Laswell had sent one of her best information specialists to help the fight against the cartel, but he’d quickly come to realize that as endearing and earnest as she was, she overworked herself far too much.

Everyone seemed to know it before Alejandro even did, that he’d fallen in love with her. Always treated her a little more special than everyone else, even Rudy agreed that Alejandro doted on her more than he did him—and all the Vaqueros knew Alejandro was soft when it came to Rudy.

But God, if she wasn’t loved by them all. Kind, sweet, smart as whip, couldn’t fight to save her life of course, her best self-defense was yelling “STRANGER DANGER!” and waving a hot-pink taser. Alejandro thinks that’s how his love for her began to grow, actually teaching her to defend herself.

He knocks on her door, a bouquet of roses in his hand, black tie undone from his black shirt and suit, he wonders if maybe she’d forgotten about their date.

There’s no answer and he knocks again before trying the door handle, it twists and he steps inside, toeing quietly into the room to see her room dimly lit, there she sit at her desk, slumped over a laptop with a screen-saver shifting around, a bundle of folders and papers all over the wood.

Alejandro sighs almost fondly, seeing the same exact image that Rudy had found him in so often. He sets the flowers down on her dresser, gently tapping the pad of the laptop to wake it up. It’s the CIA documents, but she’s already been logged out after so much time inactive. He exits the documents, saves her works, and shuts it off before gathering the documents around her desk.

El Sin Nombre—The Nameless/He With No Name—Former Special Forces Valeria Garza. Released after the mandatory twenty-four hours, gone into hiding, no record or sighting of her in Las Almas. Intelligence from CIA and the Mexican Government are reporting that she’s taking up shop outside in surrounding cities miles away while still controlling the cartel forces remaining in Las Almas.

There are so many documents with scribbles all around, How can I get Alejandro more information on the cartel without endangering anyone? His family resides in Oaxaca. Can’t let cartel forces know. CIA wants to move them again for safety. Somewhere to the US. Laswell is already looking into new cities for his family.

It makes his heart ache that she’s taking such a stress for him. For his family, for the ones he loves. Alejandro realizes he’s so deeply in love with her that it’s not even funny.

He gently lifts her from her desk, pulls her into his arms and holds her close as he carries her to her bed. She stirs, lolling her head against his shoulder; but doesn’t wake like he’s worried she will. When he lays her down, she curls into her covers, already going back to sleep, and Alejandro sighs fondly as he brushes the hair from her head and leans down, second guessing himself for a solid second before he presses his lips to her head.

Que sueñes con los angelitos, mi alma.