#man..... i............ i need to learn how to paint

[pompompourrite]

VERSO X VIRGIN READER HEADCANONS !!

pairing: painted!verso x gn!reader.

contents: nsfw/smut, hurt/comfort, fluff, a bit angsty if you squint, virginity loss, minors/ageless acounts do not interact!

a/n: y'all seemed to like the verso nsfw headcanons, so here you go! (edit: some sentences were very BADLY translated, so i changed a couple of things- ;;-;;)

Let's face it, this man is way too proud of himself for being the person to take your virginity.

His mind is like... "I'll be the only man they've ever made love to in their entire lives..."

And he's both a blushing mess and excited.

Also very stressed because, it's your first time, and he wants to look out for you. He wants everything so much to be perfect that he ends up looking at you without looking at you for long seconds, lost in his thoughts.

And it's you who ends up having to reassure him that no matter what, you're sure to have a great time.

This big baby needs to learn to stop putting pressure on himself.

Your consent and comfort is what's most important to him, asking you very often if you're sure and comfortable, if you're not in pain, if you'd prefer to go somewhere else...

Don't try to lie to him, we all know he's a pro at getting into people's heads and reading them.

And because he's a pro at lying too.

Expect him to cover every part of your body with kisses, both to put you at ease and to excite you a little more.

He's as soft and tender as ever, his fingers exploring your body from chest to hips, complimenting your curves at the same time.

He wants you to know that he likes you, that he likes your body.

Obviously, he'll suck your dick/eat your pussy, because he wants you to see what he's capable of. To see how good he can make you feel.

But he'll still ask for your consent first.

He doesn't want to rush things, he takes his time. Maybe a little too much.

And when he finally positions himself, ready to take your virginity, his eyes are on you, searching for the slightest doubt.

And when he slips inside you, he's gentle, slow, trying to hurt you as little as possible. Leaning in to bring his face right up to yours. Taking one of your hands in his, reassuring you. Telling you you're doing a good job.

When his cock finally disappears inside you, his balls against your skin, he gives you all the time you need to adjust to his size.

He fights against himself, holding back to keep still because the feel of your hole hugging him is too much for him.

If he hadn't been able to contain himself, he'd have made a mess of your virgin hole, which isn't so virgin anymore.

And when his hips move, his movements are gentle, slow, letting you fully feel the sensation of his cock thrusting inside you. And believe me, it's just as pleasurable for him as it is for you.

He would have asked you to keep your eyes open, to look at him. But seeing your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your lips gently parted to let out your soft moans and flushed cheeks...

He preferred to let you live the moment to the full, admiring the expression on your face, the expression he'd caused.

He'll let you hold on to his biceps or shoulders if you need to. He'll let you scratch him, or bite him.

His rhythm changes slowly, going faster little by little. Until it's hard for him to control himself.

All his weight crushed yours, his face buried in the hollow of your neck, one hand clasped in yours and his other hand lost on your body, not knowing in which part of your body he wanted to plant his fingertips.

So instead he put it on the ground, scratching the ground until he's digging his nails into the cold soil.

His movements, so gentle at first, become erratic as soon as pleasure takes over his self-control.

But even in this state, Verso still pays attention to you, listening to the moans that slip between your lips.

And believe me, the second he hears a hint of pain or sadness in your delicious song, he'll stop everything to make sure you're okay.

If he's too rough, he'll apologize and resume his gentle rhythms.

If you're sad because you were hoping for more kisses or cuddles from him, he won't waste a second to put his lips on yours and hug you as if his life depended on it.

He'll always ask you where you want him to cum. If you let him cum inside, he'll thrust deep so his seed stays inside you a little longer.

If you don't want to, he'll let you cum first and then pull back, stroking himself to cum on your belly. And yes, he'll clean the mess.

*scream* AFTERCARE!!!

He'll be extremely physical, cuddly... He'll caress every part of your body, ask you if you need a massage, if you need something to drink...

Prepare to be bombarded with questions. He wants to know if you had a good time or not, if you'd like to do it again, with him of course, if there's anything you'd like to try next time...

Kiss him to shut him up.

And also to reassure him.

Please reassure him, otherwise he might doubt himself and think that he wasn't a good fuck and that you regret giving him your virginity.

You'll sleep with him tonight, no arguments allowed.

If you're not ready

He won't force you, he won't try to reassure you that everything will be fine, no. If you're not ready, he'll respect that.

The simple fact that you want to lose your virginity to him is enough for him. And it'll happen when the time comes.

If giving up like this ever makes you sad, Verso will come and kiss you before you've even had time to apologize for ending it all when he looked so eager to make love with you.

He'll wrap his arms around you to hold you close, drawing reassuring little shapes in the small of your back.

He doesn't want to do anything until you're 100% sure of what you want.

He's always got his fingers and mouth to make you feel good, which he'd be delighted to use again if you gave him permission, until you're ready for more.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

aroace-spec lottie matthews x reader headcanons!

based on this request! I’ll write a fic for this probs too but I wanted to write down some ideas. disclaimer that I’m ace but not aro so if i fuck up lmk :) both lottie and reader are aspec in this.

★ so first of all I feel like date nights between you would be structured much differently than how allo ppl structure their dates. I’m not aro but I’m ace and I’ve always noticed how people’s dates are structured so heavily sometimes around sex, sexual attraction, physical attraction, setting the mood or whatever. I think date nights in a couple where both ppl are aroace to some degree, especially with lottie, would hold much less pressure and in general would be more chill. your dates wouldn’t be to try to force any sort of sexual or romantic themes, but rather favoring emotional and intellectual intimacy. you’re both busy with the wellness center so you want to hear about everything that lottie has been doing and working on — and in my head lottie is autistic and maybe adhd as well, so she’s more than happy to infodump about all that she has been learning about wellness and spirituality. you spend a lot of nights like that, getting closer by means of shared ideals and affection without the pressure of sexuality. it’s very soft, very stable. you like to talk about different life philosophies and theology together, culture and history and religion. and she wants to hear about whatever your interests are too, whether you show her a new hobby you’ve been learning or tell her about your job if you have one outside the wellness center.

★ you go out and do a lot of things, too, as in your dates are either very low-key or very filled with activities. you’ll go out for the day to the farmers market or learn a new hobby together. lottie would love taking random hobby classes or going to those wine and paint events — you’d do that tiktok challenge couples do where they paint each other or you paint your cats or your dogs and your work comes out really bad. you buy lots of craft kits at hobby stores like those bracelet making kits or omg if you crochet or knit she would want to learn and you’d go out yarn shopping together. idk man I just need to do a craft with this woman.

★ DOING EACH OTHERS NAILSSS ok going off the craft headcanon (sorry um my asexuality manifests in a love of crafts. I lied we’re not having sex put ur clothes back on we’re doing a craft), learning how to do nail art or something one day or just in general doing each others nails 🙂‍↕️ picking colors for her nails and she picks colors for yours, and if you don’t usually wear nail polish then lottie’s fine with it but you’d better do a rlly good job doing her nails to make up for it 🙄

★ also in general I think lottie always kind of knew she was ace or aro and kind of where she fit on the spectrum of it all (even if for a long time she didn’t have a name for what she felt). I think it took her longer actually to figure out that she was lesbian or bi or however you’d like to headcanon her than for her to figure out everything else, not because she assumed she was straight but just because she didn’t put all that much thought into it because romance and sex weren’t at the forefront of her mind. also not to get too specific but to me lottie gives strong greyromantic and demisexual vibes bc she doesn’t actively seek romance and she doesn’t experience it frequently but sometimes under some conditions she experiences romantic attraction, and then demisexual because i think she would only ever rlly want to have sex with people she’s very emotionally close to.

if you have any aroace-spec lottie x aroace-spec reader headcanons leave them in a comment / reblog, I would love to see them!!!

sexy yellowjackets taglist: @eatingouturmomrn @webism @chaithetics @ahauandthesun @szczurkanalowy @marleymarleymarleymarley @aphrodyk3 @ludasgf @pnsteblnme @il0veb0ttomsthem0vie @neighbourhoodspidey @dorotheareid @jackiessnackie

[fortunetellsrp]

jacob knows rationally the sheriff's just teasing, but something about the way he says it. like jake should do better for him. he can't even think of a quick reply, just bites into his lip. wanting to please the sheriff is not new, maybe something he learned from his father, but the intensity of it now is... a bit much. like the unruly cock in his pants.

"not usually," he answers honestly, despite keeping quite a few of them he isn't fond of it. "you're worth a few though, sir." like the beer, like the feeling growing inside him.

his heart races. and it's normal, guys talk. the pack does, a lot really. and it's fun, sharing, teasing, discussing what feels good. talking about it with the sheriff though? jacob is tempted to pull himself out and stroke to his voice admitting that stuff. he chuckles. "yeah but not all men deserve that special attention, i think. and you going without..." he shakes his head, looks down at the sheriff's crotch and grins slowly. just a guy commiserating, right? except no, he wants to fix it. someone has to be good for him.

then the food is on the table, full plate in front of him and the sheriff is praising his cooking skills. "picked up here and there." muttered, halfway to the floor where he settled between his legs. all nerves and need and hard cock leaking into his pants just from the way he fits between his legs and how the sheriff's smell hits his nose, musky, arousal kicking in in-between the confusion.

he nods at his question, mouth dry, eyes hungry and pleading. he has been dancing around it since the man started talking with him, and now he's so close he's more drunk on it than the beer. "you told me to respect my elders." the touch sends shivers through him, forcing him to look into his eyes, naked hunger there for the sheriff to see. he is almost ashamed, but it feels too good to be on his knees for him for jacob to mind.

secrets... he almost grins, his good boy, jake's mind is stuck on that. a gasp, tongue wetting his lips and another nod. "yes sir. it'll be our secret." he's breathless as he says it, hands caressing the sheriff's thighs, "no one's gonna know." voice raspy and pleading, low and dirty. manly, in the same way drinking charlie's beer and discussing his wife felt. truthfully, the others might be able to smell charlie on him, but he can explain that easily enough. (besides, he wants to smell like him, a little.)

charlie's hips pull closer, and jacob's breath catches on his throat. he chokes on the smell of him, on the heavy pull of desire invading his veins. his eyes track calloused hands opening the jeans, pulling down old boxers, the smell thicker as the sheriff fishes out his cock like a treat for a starving man. jacob grunts, nice and obedient as every moment is registered into his memory, erotic like nothing he's ever seen. even half hard the sheriff is beautiful, nice and thick and manly. he hungers but does not move, the sheriff teases him with it. painting his lips with his taste, growing into his own authority. a man who deserves this, but has been neglected for too long.

jacob is already addicted to it. lips closing around the tip once given permission, sucking gently, tongue running across the glans while his eyes stay glued to the sheriff's.

he's sucked cock before, but never... it feels like quick, silly play at it now that he has a real man's cock in his mouth and not the ones from boys he grew up with. traded in quick nervous moments when just their hand won't do. this feels real, deep. charlie's bigger, better, older. his smell thick and powerful, manly in a way they can't emulate.

jacob's eyes struggle to remain open as he pulls more of him into his mouth, feels the weight of it on his tongue and the taste making his mouth water. he worries it might become too sloppy for the sheriff's tastes, but the feeling of his cock hardening inside his mouth fucks any thought straight out of his head.

this is his father's best friend, the man he's admired his whole life, bella's father. and that last part just makes him want to worship him more. charlie's quiet power, his manliness. the fatherly way he acts. and the man underneath... jacob needs.

he takes him all the way down his throat, and promptly chokes on it. coughing and gagging and pulling back to kiss the tip in apology as he wipes at tears with the back of his hand. then, he swallows him down once more, content to keep it going while the man finishes his meal, servicing him like a good wife should. the type of thing he didn't get.

he tries to do better, take less, give himself time. gently fish out his balls from his pants too so he can play with those as his tongue runs down from tip to root and back again and drowns in the taste and smell of charlie.

"y'gonna keep on saying you're sorry or are you going to start respecting your elders?" again, he's just joking around with jacob. he knows that the younger man has plenty of respect for him. that isn't something that he ever has to worry about. 

there's an understanding between billy and charlie. neither of them worry about jacob or bella if they're at one another's place. so he hopes that his friend knows his son is in good hands right now. “you always a big fan of keeping secrets?” he chuckles softly, not minding having to keep this between them. 

at first he just thinks that they're being guys. jake is old enough to talk about this sort of stuff and it's clear that the sheriff has needs. so he doesn't shy away from the topic and he nods in agreement. “i don't know any guy that wouldn't like someone getting down on their knees for them. that's just basic human condition or whatever the cool kids say nowadays.” 

he appreciates all of this, so he gives the other a soft nod and thank you as he sits down. the beer is placed only a couple of inches away from the plate and he makes himself comfortable. charlie's not the most formal person ever, so his butt is isn't pressed to the back of the chair. he's a little slouched if anything. more signs that he's casual and comfortable. this is just another regular day. 

until it isn't anymore. he takes a quick bite of the meat and moans a little bit. “it's finger licking good. billy taught you how to cook like this or is it something that you picked up on your own?” he thinks that the focus is going to be just that, the food. that any moment now jacob is going to serve himself a plate and sit across from him at the table. then the man gets down on his knees and finds a spot in between his legs. he can't say that he's ever had this full service before. has their earlier conversation sparked something in him? 

a million thoughts are going through charlie's head in that moment to the point where he can't think straight. maybe that's the point. the irony isn't lost on him. when he looks down at jacob, initially he's going to say no. yet he sees how good the man looks on his knees and how strong he looks. damn, where did all of those muscles come from? the sheriff sucks in a warm breath as he feel his own cock stir underneath his pants, already sporting a half chub. “you're taking this whole being a good boy thing to the next level, aren't you?” he knows he shouldn't go through with this, but damn he can't remember the last time someone has gotten him off. he leans down, closer to jacob, and grabs the man's chin to lift his head up some more. “billy and bella can't know anything about this. that's a part of you being my good boy, right?” against his better judgement, charlie leans back on the chair and unbuttons and unzips his jeans. he pulls them down along with his boxers and fishes his half hard shaft out. he grabs it at the base and runs the tip against jake's lips. “show me how good you are then.”

[08-47]

i refuse to touch the ground so have a v2

[mijucats]

step out of the spotlight

[mossybeebone]

My autism event is continuing, the old man yaoi is just too strong (or like middle aged man yaoi)

[kulliare]

tagged by @shrips for 9 books you'd like to read in the new year! ty for the tag-- i tag @halfagod @albatrossisland @eponine119 @tru-lyly

[novadragoness]

A builder who totally understands where X is coming from, collecting all those shinies for Coco, because she also likes shiny things, and has been secretly leaving pretty rocks on Unsuur's porch for weeks now.

[buddietastic]

fem!buddie i drew for a friend a while ago

[jaredthebc2]

Painting again for the first time in like close to two years forgot how freeing yet annoying it is lmao

[faetealights]

i constnstlu make decisions now w my innerchild and all that gay whacky shit in mind n its . theres a discomfort in looking at some of tje thibgs ive done and experienced and . knowing theres versions of me thatd break experiencing everyrhing like hhhhhhh

[nuapriori]

hi! i have a lot of thoughts about this actually. i think this kind of take flattens kim into a binary, like he had to be either a righteous nerd or a politically-minded punk, when the reality is that both things can exist at once-- and not just coexist, but actively inform each other.

let’s say kim was never adopted and got pushed out of the orphanage at 18. that gives us a two-year gap where he's essentially alone. no safety net, no clear path forward. he's angry, disenfranchised, trying to find meaning in a collapsing world. in that space, punk isn’t rebellion for rebellion’s sake. it’s a shape his grief and mistrust can take in a post-collapse world under foreign regime, and when that energy cools -- when he pivots toward the rcm -- it’s not a contradiction. it’s a continuity.

his morality is his resistance. his restraint (his choice not to drink or use) isn’t judgment. it’s an expression of control, dignity, and refusal to give in to the same entropy that made him. that doesn’t make him above others, it just makes him someone who’s scared of losing grip on the only thing he has left: himself.

people like to imagine younger kim as some kind of politically correct punk but canonically he was a moralist who then joined the rcm. 20yr old kim wasn't a coolguy rebel he was, most likely, a righteous nerd

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[heavenbarnes]

anyways, as i was saying about older bf!simon and his willingness to please learn

pt 2 to this

“you ever heard of a nut video with sound on?”

obviously, he hasn’t- far as he’s concerned, if you haven’t told him about it then it doesn’t exist to him.

no skin off your nose, you’d spend the rest of your life teaching him about the ‘latest trends’ if it meant he kept sending those filthy fucking videos to your phone.

(your favourites on tiktok were purely filled with ideas)

he’s holed up in a remote location, killing time till he can be home and actually do something to you rather than send you a bloody video about it.

your instructions come through clear and concise, just how he likes:

“it’s what’s written on the can, si- you can pick the setup but i just want to see you cum and, most importantly, i want to hear it”

you’re lucky simon is such a practical guy and maybe you could thank price one day for making him so good at following orders.

when he’s got his alone time he’s setting his phone up to record on the edge of the window sill, moonlight fighting through the curtain to illuminate him.

he’s lost the bulkiest of his gear, down to his tactical trousers and a compression t-shirt. the images in his tattoo sleeve almost move when the light catches them right.

balaclava on (the one that just shows his eyes above the painted image of a skull) and he’s standing up to undo his belt (that you think looks like an airplane seatbelt).

you can hear his boots against the floorboard as he steps back to give you the full view of him undoing his trousers, taking his sweet time because he knows it drives you fucking batty.

he’s so big that the phone is working overtime to get all of him in the frame but you see exactly what you need to- thick thighs at your eye line and massive hands drawing down his fly.

on (you assume) the other side of the globe, you’re at home in your shared bed and you’re propped up right in the middle with the smell of simon engulfing you as you watch the video play out before you.

(if you’d thought about it you should’ve cast it to the bedroom tv, hoping the neighbours didn’t mind)

simon sits back down with his legs spread wide, one hand gripping his thigh as the other rubs himself over his boxers. his eye contact with the camera was fucking intense, like you’d hoped, just like when he’s on top of you.

he’s dressed in all black and the moonlight is obscured but you can still see him firming up in his pants. his eyes flutter, an infinitesimal amount but you’ve been tuned into his every move since you met him.

your thumb leans hard on the volume up button and you can hear the diegetic sound of the building expanding and that usual technical hum that comes with a video. but at this pitch, you could hear him.

his breathing was chopped, chest expanding visibly as he pulled his cock out into clear view. jeeeeesus christ, it was never something you just got used to.

long, reasonably straight, fucking thick. even his hand struggled to make it look smaller as he wrapped around it, giving one dry tug.

as he closed his palm over the tip, you saw him make a swipe before he brought his hand back down considerably smoother than before. you’d had your hands down his pants enough times, man leaked like a fucking faucet.

simon’s head tipped back as he started to pull himself off, balaclava raising just enough to expose some of his throat. if you were there you would be perched in his lap, letting him do the work but running your tongue under the lip of the fabric.

one of the best things about the videos simon sent was, he didn’t really understand how sexy he was. he didn’t think any of the videos particularly watchable so he’d just send them on first take. if you liked them, you liked them- yours was the only opinion that mattered.

what that meant was, you never got b-roll. everything he sent you was unbridled perfection. captured exactly as it happens with no faffing about.

always whatever you’ve asked for, whenever you ask.

(simon’s nothing if not inexplicably obedient)

he brings his hand under his chin to spit into the wide span of his palm, wrapping back around his cock and tugging. his foreskin moved over the head, rolling back down and thick veins bulging under his grasp.

you’d almost forgotten the conditions of your request, totally fucking enamoured by the sight in front of you when it caught you off guard.

a guttural moan ripped out of simon’s chest as he twisted his wrist.

his free hand moved to cup his balls, big and heavy, he rolled them in his palm as another groan sounded out of him. what you wouldn’t give to be knelt between his thighs with the whole lot in your mouth.

you knew how much of an ask this was, you really had to work him up to making noise when it was just you two in bed. these days? you couldn’t shut the man up when he was balls deep and his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

but this was another step, this was him on his own with his crew just through the walls. he’d be a plain liar if he said there wasn’t that rumbling trepidation in his chest. he’d put it to bed though.

all he had to think of was you, one hand gripping your phone and the other between your thighs as you watched him through with a hazy smile- that kept him going.

with the thought still heavy on his mind, you didn’t have to strain to hear your name drift off his lips. his hips bucked into his hand as he did, speeding up the motion of his strokes.

you were going to black out, his tattoos flexing and his chest expanding with every stuttered breath. simon looked like a god among men and he fucking sounded like one too.

“fuck, sweetheart- you’re so fucking filthy giving me orders like this”

your cheeks were burning, he wasn’t wrong but you weren’t expecting him to call you out quite like this.

“what does that make me? always so fucking eager to do what you say? make a dirty old man, yeah?”

wheeeeeew that’ll do it, your thighs snapped together around your hand as your eyes nearly rolled back in your head. whenever you thought you couldn’t take any more, he was always there to do you one better.

“only for you, pet- you can always get whatever you fucking want from me”

and you knew he was serious, that’s what made it all the more debilitating. simon was unshakeable, you’d seen him go out of his way to defy orders if he didn’t think the person worth his time.

when it came to you? you could tell him to kill and he would.

(he probably had)

simon’s hips were twitching, back arching in a way he’d rather die than have anyone else know about. his mouth was hanging open beneath the balaclava, your name and a string of expletives falling off his tongue.

so quick you nearly missed it, the hand that was cradling his balls moved to grip the fabric of his shirt and push it up his toned front. you couldn’t call his abs cut and defined, there was aged layer to them, but they were undeniably there.

you’d rested your head on them, pressed your palms against them, even ridden them enough times to know they were there. regardless, he looked fucking perfect under the moon glow as he stroked himself hard and long.

eyes locked onto the camera, broken moans on his lips, you saw his hips lift one last time as thick spurts of cum began to paint his stomach and chest.

scars illuminated under the night sky, mirrored by shiny patches of hot cum splattered across the same stretch of skin. the hairs on his chest were matted with sweat and were now being splashed with how far he was shooting.

you could only watch with your mouth hung open as he tugged himself through his orgasm. soon it was only the sound of his laboured breathing, chest rising and falling as he tucked his soft cock back into his pants.

just when you thought that was it, you found one of his hands lifting up the edge of his balaclava till his lips were exposed. two fingers of his other hand swiped up some of his spend before he lay them on his tongue.

knuckles in your mouth, biting down to suppress a scream, simon readjusted his clothes as he stood and took a heavy step towards the camera.

one hand braced on the window sill, the other gently gripping himself through his trousers- his voice was so fucking gravely it could’ve reverberated round your room.

“what’s next sweet’art? you name it, it’s yours”

[cherryredstarz]

Little Dove

A/n: Sylus is such a girl dad 🥺🥺I tried to mirror this similarly to Little Apple for consistency, lemme know if I should do this for the other lads boys

Cw: pregnancy, cute baby, fluffy dad Sylus

You’re pregnant.

Your periods a month late, and you were worried how you’d tell Sylus; not that you didn’t want to have a baby—his baby no less, but it wasn’t exactly planned.

The twenty eight year old was absolutely thrilled when you showed him three positive pregnancy tests (he’d been determined to knock his girl up). Sylus will take care of your every need and desire, leaving no room for wish or want in your heart—cooking healthy meals for you and the baby, flying in foreign snacks you’re craving, and many, many back massages.

You’d never seen the stoic leader of Onychinus so happy. He was going to be a daddy. And when you went to your ultrasound appointment and learned you were having a little baby girl, Sylus was over the damn moon. A mini-you. A tiny little girl with your eyes and hair, your nose, your smile, everything.

Sylus had everything prepared for the nursery—he’d painted the walls a soothing blue himself, contrary to his usual red, as you painted little stars and flowers on the walls to imitate wallpaper. He’d ordered traditional wooden furniture, and you watched from the couch as he put it all together instead of having it premade. He’d take you shopping for baby clothes and baby toys, giving you his black card and telling you to go wild. After all, your baby deserved to be spoiled.

He’s had a hospital bag packed and ready to go the month you shared your pregnancy—not that you’d be going to a hospital; he’d flown in a team of highly certified and competent physicians (he’d kill them all if anything happened to you or your baby) for the last month of your pregnancy.

As soon as you go into labor, Sylus will call in the physicians and make you as comfortable as possible. Surprisingly, you have a very easy birth. Don’t get it wrong—it still hurt, but you had no tearing or complications. When the head physician gently placed your tiny girl on your chest—only seven pounds, you began to cry. Sylus was worried at first, until he realized they were happy tears, and relaxed.

It was your baby—you and the love of your life just had a baby together. Your tiny family was utterly perfect.

Sylus is a doting father and husband—constantly taking care of your little one so you can fully rest and recover. He’ll stay up with you during feedings in the middle of the night (man has no sleep schedule), rubbing your back and whispering sweet words of encouragement. He’ll feed your little one breast milk from bottles during the day as you nap or take time to yourself, finding that sparkle in yourself again.

His tiny girl, his Little Dove, is just dozing against his chest. Her tiny eyes are squeezed shut, her little lips in a firm pout. Funnily enough, she came out looking just like him: little white fluff (albeit curly like your own), and red doe eyes. It was almost as if your genes didn’t even try to compete—but she has your nose and eyebrow shape. A perfect mixture of both him and you.

His Little Dove coos softly, her tiny hands trying to clench on his shirt, her little feet kicking a little. Sylus will soothingly stroke her tiny back, and gently kiss her tiny forehead.

His Little Dove.

[sbcdh]

Dad wasn’t a nice guy. I don’t think I need to tell you that. But don’t believe the media. I don’t think he was evil. People give him a bad rap, or, they gave him a bad rap for the wrong reasons.  They didn’t know the man like I did. 

Tell me more about that.

He loved Emmett more. Told me himself, straight as whiskey. Emmett was tall, went to Harvard business school. Helped dad out in the oil fields. Well, helped in the oil fields at first anyway. He was clever. Had a melon like a jackknife and a nose like a bloodhound for finding tar sands. I never really knew how he did it. And well, look at me. I definitely took more after dad. Short fat and bad tempered. Ha! I really took after dad. I went to Harvard too, of course. But I went for geology. Fuckin’ geology. Yeah I knew dad better than any other man on earth.

Why do you say that?

Theres a way of knowing that only happens when you need someone to notice you. You need that like the air you breathe. You know everything about them. Learn the things they like, when their moods swing round, what they want and fear and dream about. Emmett didn’t have to care about stuff like that. Emmett was a golden boy. 

He was quite skilled at finding oil wells.

You know he damn well was. Never did figure out how he did that. You know doc, now that you got me on the couch, you got me wonderin’. You reckon it was somethin’ hypno-economical? It always did seem like he could sniff out tar sands from over the damn horizon.

It is possible. I would like to talk more about you, and your relationship with your father. 

Bet you do. Emmett was the key to everything. Dad made a lot of money early on. Said he was real good at cards. Said he made money cheating loggers at table games up in Canada. Who the hell knows? Point is by the time I was born he was already speculating in land. WWI was a great time for that shit…You know… You know that reminds me. You know what my earliest memory of dad was? It was him, covered in fuckin crude from a new well. Painted head to toe like…like a doll. One of those old ones you only see in antique shops these days. He was smilin wide with big bright teeth and big bright eyes. He was shoutin to Gert about something and they were both real excited. 

That would be Gertrude Jager, your m-

Emmett’s mom. 

Yes, of course. Apologies. Please continue. 

We were outside. It was early in the morning and I could feel the sun on my back. I had this blanket Gert made me and I was holdin’ it in my little fist. Just like this. Hey doc what are you writin’ there?

Notes on our conversation. Was there any sign of his…

Ascension to the throne of the god-pharaoh? Ha. I was wondering when you’d bring that up. You know, I think it was Emmett.

Emmett?

Yeah. Well, it wasn’t nothin’ Emmett did per se. He just. Well, its a big family, lotta big personalities you know? Dad wasn’t the best about keepin a lid on his temper, but Emmett. He was a bit funny. He’d work for hours on end. I seen him spend eight whole hours out in the fields, writing in some little notebook, come home to the house, and then spend eight more hours writing at the dinner table while the help brought him hotdogs. It was the same thing every time. Hot dogs, shredded cabbage, and beer. He’d eat nothin’ but that for days on end. Then he’d get all quiet. Lock himself in his room, drink himself to sleep. 

You weren’t concerned? 

I was 15. And the family’s got a lotta big personalities. 

What changed?

It was the Wolf Basin lode. You gotta think about that for a second. One million barrels of oil, right when uncle sam is at his thirstiest. Daddy had always hobnobbed with politicians, but they were practically lining up outside the door. They were buyin’ him dinner, and he would up and tell em to take a hike! Imagine that! He would come home late at night, I never seen him happier. He tell me about all the things he said to those men. Made him happier than a pig in shit. 

The success is what changed him? 

Maybe. It weren’t just the money. It was the power. The letters he got. Official United States letterhead. Comin’ in from the governor and senators and once or twice even president Truman. Sometimes I’d see him at his desk just starin at em, not opened or nothin’. He just looked at em. That’s when he started readin’ about Egypt and whatnot. Told me he wanted to know about the old kings. Wanted to rule his domain properly. Read all sorts of things about the middle kingdom and Ptolemy and Ramses II. He’d ramble for hours if you let him. Then one day, he comes back from the Rio Grande in a homemade Nemes. 

Nemes? 

Thats the crown of the Pharaohs. He told us that. I think he made his outta old flour sacks. Said he was chosen by Aten to build a new kingdom-o-the-dead right here in Plano. 

That seems quite sudden. 

It was. It was sudden. Well- Well it was kinda sudden. I think it had somethin’ to do with Emmett. This was around when his funny moods were gettin’ bad. Real bad. He was workin’ himself to string. He weren’t eatin’ or sleepin’. Dad had politicians comin over every damn day to look at the oil fields and Emmett was like a ghost. He couldn’t work! I think dad was scared, because he knew Emmett was the key and none of it would work without him. He started wearin the Nemes more. Wore it round the house with a collar and a robe and whatnot. Started carryin’ a scepter. All that. The politicians and the media thought it was a hoot. They thought he was just bein funny. Or like it was some freemason thing. He could get a laugh back then. They just thought he was bein’ funny. 

You don’t seem to share the sentiment.

No ma’am. He’d go into these rages. They were kinda like Emmett’s but, I dunno. Different, but the same. Ranting and raving about the english language “defiling” sacred hieroglyphics, navigatin du’at, securin himself a place in the field of reeds. He even made the help carry around palm fronds to fan him with. Even bought that purple Rolls Royce so he could travel around like Cleopatra did. Said it was the color of empire. It was around then. Yeah. He wanted to tear down the western guest house, and rebuild it on the north side of the property, so he could build a temple to Aten on the western side of the property. He and Emmett got into one hell of a fight. They’d gone at it before but not like that. It did somethin’ to Emmett. He locked himself in his room, wouldn’t eat or sleep. Sure as hell couldn’t work. A month turned into two, then six. There’d be a day when it seemed like Emmett was his normal self then, well then he’d fall right back down into his mood. Then, well. 

What happened?

Some doctor said we oughta try lobotomy. You know, to fix Emmetts moods. Get him back to work. Dad jumped at it. With Emmett out of the fields he wasn’t making money half as fast as he used to. Practically dragged him to the doctors himself. Couldn’t get the pick behind his eyes fast enough the bastard. It broke him doc. Broke him ways I didn’t know a man could break. He- 

Take your time.

He wouldn’t touch the table when he ate. Thought it would shock him like the doctors shocked him. He would break down crying and screaming if you asked him any sort of question. Ask him what he wanted for dinner and he wouldn’t know, and that would scare him, and it would scare him so bad he would tear out his own hair. Sometimes he’d just go quiet. Sometimes he’d just wander around the house. Then there were the nurses. 

Nurses?

Yes Ma’am. See, dad got Emmett right back to work. But Emmett uh. Lord. He couldn’t focus. You couldn’t leave him alone for two minutes without him abusin’ himself in front of everyone. Hands down his pants, primin’ the pumps. So dad hired a bunch of fancy whores to follow him around dressed as nurses. If we had good company over, and Emmett started to get the itch, they’d just pull him into the next room like he was havin’ some kinda medical episode. 

I- really?

Hand to God doc. Tell ya the truth its nice to tell someone about it. This psychotherapy shit is pretty nice. God. I remember one day. Drivin out to the basin in dads big stupid purple Rolls. He brought me along just to take notes. I was shotgun with all the papers, dad in the drivers seat in his Nemes, Emmett in the back seat playin’ hell with the whores. We got out, miles and miles from any other living souls. I remember gettin’ to check one of the dericks. Big ol mean dinosaur lookin’ thing, high heat middle of summer. It was dad and I glarin’ up at it. I was trying to actually check the damn pumps, dad was sermonating loud n’ proud about the rays of Aten while one of the whores was tryin’ to suck off Emmett. And its like I didn’t even care. I didn’t care one bit doc. I was just tryin’ to check the sediment. 

I- Well, you’ve done very well for yourself despite everything. 

Nah. Dad was fallin’ apart. I was just there to pick up the pieces. He couldn’t handle what happened to Emmett. Its like someone cut off dad’s own legs. It unhitched him from the world. 

How so?

Well, he got convinced the Jews did it. Somehow, he got it into his head that the Jews were poisoning all the food in texas, and that uh -Jew poison- was makin’ Emmett like that. It was dad’s thought that the lobotomy woulda worked if it weren’t for the international bolsheviks. He would only ever eat food he grew on the family farm. Even turned a bit of the chemistry division of the business into that vitamin company. 

Yes, its in my notes. Vitazon. 

Vitazon! That’s the one! Said every pill had a bit o’gold in it, straight from the rays of Atem. Said it- Oh what the hell was it. Said it only worked if you… There was some funny little jingle he wrote for it. Ah hell. The point was the pills only “worked” if you ate em every meal, and that meant subscribing to the company. A whole month’s supply of Vitazon, that was all you needed to purge the Judeo-Bolshevism from your body. Buncha nonsense. Made good money though. 

I see. Did you and your father ever reconcile before he passed?

Nah. He kicked the bucket before I got my big deal with the Saudis. Good riddance. You know what the last thing he said to me was? He called me while I was on a fishing trip up in big bear. I pick up the phone, and he starts rambling about how he wanted to be mummified. He wanted a full new-kingdom funeral. He said catholics weren’t allowed because they were a “semitic people.” I had him cremated, the bastard. But Emmett technically owns the estate. I think his ashes are kept in the temple of Aten, in one of those funny jars with the animal heads. 

What about Emmett?

You know doc, I don’t really like thinkin’ about Emmett. He’s living at the old house. But he’s got proper doctors to take care of him now. I saw to that. They send me letters every few months. Apparently he’s better than he used to be. Calmer. They say he just shuffles around the house wearin’ dads old Nemes. I think it makes him happy.