#oh and hollow ground

[me-asterisk]

silly little doodle dump while i slowly slowly work on other things.

me: simon has resting neutral expression and rarely emotes also me: simon makes the stupidest expressions imaginable at all times

[kidhellion]

im really excited to see their family dynamic in book 3

nikkis going to be extra angsty and irritable cause hes going through the worst breakup

[loud-whistling-yes]

Oh woah woah definition: a part of a crane wives song that has no meaningful words other than extended "oh woah woah"s to convey vibes

With that new definition, and now that beyond beyond beyond is finally announced, fellas....

[sidesteppostinghours]

(4.2 revelations spoilers under the cut)

I NEVER PLAYED THE NIGHTMARE SCENE IN THE 4.2 DEMO AND UAGHHHHHHHHH

OUGHHHHHHH

IM GOING TO LOSE IT!!!!!!IM GOING TO FUCKING LOSE IT. HOLLOW GROUNDDDD UEUQUEUEUEEUEUE

[just-a-tiny-goldfish]

Give me the fallen hero au where instead of becoming a villain sidestep starts job hoping city to city being a waitress/waiter and that’s how they meet Ortega at a cafe instead- bonus points of when Ortega is like “SIDESTEP” they just tap on their name tag like idk who that is but this is my name and you’re making a scene, I’m gunna have to ask you to leave

[currently-evil]

Rowan through the entire meeting with Hollow Ground absolutely not listening to the word the man is saying: How is his shirt so perfectly ironed?? Is he ironing it himself? Does he have people for that? Who are those people? Can I steal those people from him?

MASTERPOST

[maegalkarven]

Yo, do you think the reason Hollow Ground manipulates everyone into thinking they do not exist is due to the fact what telepaths are disappearing and dropping dead all around at the alarming rate?

Like not to redeem them or anything, but if someone was actively hunting my kind I too would brainwash everyone into thinking I do not exist.

[nonuggetshere]

Nah, Hollow gave his job to his sister Marissa, which is one hell of a career shift but in Hollow's defence they were desperate to not fall out of favour of butterfly monarchy and they don't know many people personally.

He'd care in that he's still shell-shocked and somewhat offended that they made an example out of him, but after he calms down a little he comes to the conclusion that he wouldn't want to work under them anyway

[foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland]

andddd i die in crystal mound bc i cant do the parkour WHILE BEING SHOT AT for the life of me

[girlwtdragontattoo]

Yandere Elf x Reader - Escape

Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru (thank you so much for making him, I owe you my soul)

Part 2

Word Count: 1000

The silky hair bellowed behind the tall, grinning elf, as he skipped back home. Having found wild strawberries and thyme in the forest, Silas was excited to bake a beautiful cake for his little treasure.

Oh, how they love my cakes with my special fondant! I can’t wait to see them!

The elf practically floated back to your shared home, wanting to see your cute little face when he burst through the door. Briskly strutting to the oak tree door, he grasped the handle, infusing it with magic, and opened it quickly.

“My sweet! I’m back! Look what I found in the woods!”, he called gingerly.

No answer. But this was normal.

“Daaaarling!”, he cooed with his hand next to his mouth, placing the basket on the dining table, after closing (and locking) the door behind him. Silas looked around, his tresses floating as if in water behind him. The home looked just like when he left it, with a few furniture items moved slightly. That was no cause for concern, either. His darling usually stacked items in his absence. Why, he did not truly know.  

Is this the game you like to play? Conceal and Find, was it?

Silas looked in closets, under the bed, under pillows, under rugs, in big kitchen pots, in every nook and cranny he usually found his sweetheart tucked away when he played your game. Still with a slight smile etched across his face, that flickered briefly, the elf placed his hands on his hips and looked around the living room once again.

“Oh, darling. You’ve got me. Come out now, it’s almost time for dinner!”

Silence, besides the brief rustling of his attire while he traced around the room, checking a few spots he had already looked at. A cold ripple slithered up his spine. He had usually found you by now with his keener senses.

Silas felt the kiss of a breeze on the back of his nape, turning his head to see the high window slightly ajar. Below it was a dining room chair. On the ground, three big boxes of his collection of human toys lay upside down or strangely tilted, a bit dented – like they had fallen down from somewhere.

Squinting his eyes slightly, he identified soft nail markings on the windowsill and foot scrapings on the wall. Even some of that gorgeous hair his beloved had, littered the frame of the narrow window.

His whole being thundered with horror. The, albeit slow, realization that … you had gotten out! Through the high window – a feat the elf had thought was impossible for such a short being.

Silas crashed through the door, whipping his hair back and forth in a frenzy.

“Darling!?!” he squealed. “It’s not safe out here! Come back to Mama!” His eyes darted to the ground, where he quickly discovered some deep footprints, even knee markings, in the wet soil. Thank the trees it had rained the night before. It seemed his precious had fallen from the window down into the soil. Oh no! Were you hurt????

The tears stung his eyes and marked his ethereal, yet panic-stricken visage, as he bolted after the trail you had unwillingly left behind. Pummeling through the trees and thickets, a few branches scraped his wide chest and cheeks. He didn’t seem to notice or care. Loud whimpers escaped him, but these were dedicated to the potential loss of his love.

Silas bolted through the forest, looking erratically in every little corner his wet elven eyes could pear into, continuously squeaking the words “Darling” and “My love” into the distance. As he dashed into a small clearing, he saw the footprints once again, leading to a hollow tree trunk.

Sobbing loudly, he tilted his head, as he bent down, letting his golden locks collect on the grass. A pair of angry eyes met his.

“DARLING!”, he yelped, seeing your small frame crumbled against the wood holding a severely bruised knee. His face was completely soaked, with new tears cascading down relentlessly, in sweet relief that he had found you.

You stared at him weakly, but said nothing. Internally, you were screaming. Why had the window been so goddamn high? And why had it been so freaking tiny? If not for the stinging pain in your legs, you probably would’ve gotten away.

Silas forcefully pulled you out of the husk and squeezed you into his body, your face buried in his scratched up, enormous chest.

“YOU’RE HURT! MY POOR LITTLE ANGEL!”, the tears were dripping onto your head, drenching your scalp. The elf pulled you up to him, hands under your armpits and forced you to stare into his desperately weepy face. He sniffled disgustingly, looking down at the bloody knee: “Here, let me-“

As he tried to bring your wounded leg up to his lips, you recoiled hastily. Silas lost hold of your leg, but still maintained his grip on your back.

“Oh, my love. You must be in so much pain! You must’ve been scared to death out here!”, he croaked and slung his massive arms around them – despite the excessive wriggling. He put his thumb on your chin and yanked you into a deep caress. Feeling your soft lips made his tears dry slightly, as he sighed heavily into your face. No matter how much you tried to wince away, Silas hold was so robust, that no amount of struggle helped.

That damn saliva of his. You felt your body weaken even further, with a tingly sensation trailing through your lower half.

Finally releasing your lips, his eyes glittered as he gently stroked your face, ignoring the death glare.

“Come, let’s go home. I can treat your wounds better there.”

Carrying you in his arms and plastering kisses all over your face, Silas walked briskly towards your home.

“I found strawberries!” His mood was suddenly as chipper as a small child’s in the rain as he pranced through the forest. “I’ll bake you a cake after our bath!”

You let your head hang in defiance, but there was no point of fighting.

“Fine,” you murmured through gritted teeth.

What was it with this stupid elf?

[dark-moonlust]

Winter Ghoul’s Cοcksleeve Mate

Pairing: winter ghoul x f!reader

Summary: your mate decides to fυck you in the middle of your night stroll and uses you as his eager cocksleeve.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, outside seχ, οral (male and fem receiving), huge🍆 with tentacles, cοcksleeve, belly bulge, lots of 💦. Don’t like, don’t read please.

The full moon was high up in the sky, its bright shafts sneaking through the dense canopy of the trees. The sounds of night creatures fleeing echoed as you and your mate Vargan walked along the forest path. Everyone feared him and for good reason— Vargan was a winter ghoul. But to you, he was a hulking dominating beauty. A cutie, your mate.

The moonlight illuminated his towering figure as he walked behind you. Vargan towered over you at three times your height. He had a skeletal face with glowing hollow eyes, sharp teeth and massive antlers that cast intricate shadows on the ground. His senses were on high alert for potential dangers. But there was no danger. With him beside you, there was nothing to fear.

Unlike him, you were a human and the mate he had claimed on a fateful night some moons ago. He had mated you, showed you that your hearts and bodies were connected despite your differences. You’d accepted him because despite his monstrous appearance, you felt a deep bond between you that made your heart race. Ever since, you’ve been living together away from civilization in a magnificent cabin in the woods.

That night you were strolling the woods for some fresh air but your ghoul mate had different thoughts. His eyes glinted with a hunger that made your pussy wet. You shared the same naughty thoughts— you had wanted him for a while now. And he finally took action.

With a low growl, he pressed you down against a soft dry patch of moss. His tongue, long and sinuous crashed against yours as his hands slid down to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him. You hugged him close, your legs wrapping around his torso even if you were unable to close them.

“You tease me, little star,” Vargan drawled, his breath hot against your neck. “I can smell your arousal.”

“You took your time, my love,” you grinned. “I’ve been waiting to see when you’ll devour me.”

“If I devour you, I will do so as the beast I am. Are you sure?” he rumbled, his voice a deep, resonant growl that caused more juices trickle from your pussy.

“Yes, mate,” you breathed. “I want you to fuck me.”

With a snarl of approval, he tore your clothes away with the tips of his fingers, exposing your soft skin to the cool night air. But you weren’t cold, anything but that. His eyes, dark and predatory roamed over your every curve, heating you up. Vargan dragged his tongue along your neck, your plump breasts, his fingers pinching the taut peaks of your nipples, careful not to hurt you with his sharp claws. He continued his journey downward, licking along your stomach and your inner hips.

“Hmnnn… more!” You clutched his furry shoulders and tugged.

Vargan growled and slapped your bum lightly. “First I feast, mate, then you suck, and then we fuck.”

He gave you no chance to answer because he dove down and buried his face in the glistening wetness between your legs. Whining obscenely, you arched your back while his hands clutched your ankles, spreading them wide apart, offering everything to him. His tongue, cold and textured, explored every inch of your plump folds, slurping at your arousal. It flicked over your clit mercilessly, causing you to grasp his antlers and ride against the slimy appendage.

He devoured you with a hunger like no other, each stroke of his tongue bringing you to one orgasm after the other.

It was too much, too good.

“Oh… oh Gods, mate… hnn…. you’re so good. So good…” you gasped minutes later, your face flushed from the pleasure he’d drawn from you. “Want to suck the big guy now.”

With a grin, you dragged at his cape, the only piece of clothing he wore. Then you reached down, your small fingers finding his monstrous cock. Usually, it aaa hidden in a protective slit alongside his sac but he was so aroused that the thick girth had jutted up proudly. Your hands couldn’t wrap around him. His shaft was thick, long and as hard as a pole, throbbing and covered in ridges. The cockhead was broad and had little tentacles that once deep inside you, they fondled and latched to your cervix.

“Sit back, mate,” you instructed sweetly. “It’s my turn to feast now.”

Vargan sat on his haunches, his furiously aroused cock bulging up toward his belly. You lowered yourself to your knees before him— his huge form dwarfing you. You grasped his cock with both hands and let your tongue tease the tentacles wiggling on the head. Smiling, you pumped his length and trailed your tongue along the ridges then down to his round swollen balls. He was so endowed, the feel and size of him otherworldly. He also had so much cum to fill you up because his sacs were swollen full.

“Have I told you how much I love your cock?” you mumbled as you wrapped your lips around the head. Your tongue brushed with the little tentacles, giving them some love.

“Hmmm…” his voice was a low vibration. “You remind me every time I reduce you to a cute, blabbering, fucked-up mess.”

Grinning, you tried to fill your mouth with more of his dick but couldn’t take but one third of his length. Vargan growled, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through the forest and turned you on more. You bobbed your head, taking him a little deeper and gagged slightly but continued. He watched you, his hand cradling your head and guiding you to swallow his cock.

Your tongue swirled around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum that dripped from the head.

“That’s it…” he sighed pleasurably. “Getting me so wet with this little mouth of yours. Such a good mate.”

When he could no longer take it, he lifted you against him, his hands gripping you from under your thighs. Your breasts squeezed against his bony chest, your legs spread wide open. His cock, now slick with your saliva, pressed against your drenched entrance. The thick head manipulated your folds and you gasped as it began to push inside, his immense size invading you inch by inch.

Slowly, Vargan lowered you down on his cock, stretching you to your limits until he was fully embedded within you. The tip kissed your cervix, the wiggling tentacles fondling all around. You cried out and clutched at him as he began to thrust with powerful upward strokes. He invaded you again and again, your belly swelling each time he buried himself inside. Setting a primal pace, he pounded hard, squelching sounds and your cries echoing through the forest, mingling with his guttural groans.

“Fuck, you feel so good, mate,” he snarled, his grip on your hips tightening. “So tight, so wet around me.”

“Ahhhn… I—I’m clo-close!” you whimpered, nails digging into his hairy forearms as you held on for dear life, your tits shaking with the force of his thrusts.

“I can feel that,” Vargan said, his tongue seeking your mouth and driving inside.

His tail joined the sensual game, coming to rest between your legs and circling your clit. The appendage stimulated you, eventually pushing you over the edge. You came with a scream, your walls clamping down on his cock, your toes curling in the air. Vargan roared in response, his pace becoming even more frantic until with a final, deep thrust, he spilled inside you, hot seed filling you to the brim. Your belly rounded with his cum and you came with little aftershocks at the little tentacles caressing your insides.

But he wasn’t done with you yet.

With a satisfied growl, he kept you there, speared on his cock, your pussy leaking your combined juices. He began to move, walking leisurely toward your cabin. He held you close against him, his fur and cloak shielding you from the cold. With every massive step of his, he filled you over and over, your body rocking in rhythm with his movements.

“Mine,” he growled, licking into your mouth. “My perfect little cocksleeve.”

“Yours. Only ever yours,” you moaned as another orgasm washed over you.

You spent the night being a good cocksleeve for you mate and by the time you arrived to your cabin, you were a spent, well-fucked mess.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! I hope you liked this! Let me know if you want me to write more 😉

[peachesofteal]

ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / prev here

‘C’mon, you never want to go out.” 

You rub your temples, eyes closed in exasperation. “I’m broke, Case.” 

“I’ll spot you. Come on, it’s Friday. I’ll get us into The Rook.” She pleads and pushes, tugging away your excuses and defenses until you’re backed into a corner with nowhere to run. Finally, you opt for a different tactic, lamely. 

“Doesn’t that place have a waiting list?”   

“Oh yeah, miles long. But the owner likes me.” The owner. How does she even know the owner of The Rook? 

“I don’t know…” you linger, still bent over your tiny kitchen table, back bowed and tired, “isn’t it like, dangerous?” 

“The Rook is neutral ground or something, I don’t know. It’s perfectly fine, I’ve been dozens of times.” A litany of stories exists about the speakeasy, from its origins to the current clientele, each as unbelievable as the next, and you’ve always imagined it to be this dark den of sin and debauchery, filled to brim with hitmen and lawlessness. “You have to do something other than work and sleep; you know. You’re missing out on your whole life.” She chides, attempting to launch into the same speech she repeats over and over every few weeks. 

“Alright, alright,” you look down at your torn up cuticles and sigh, “I’ll go.” 

You weren’t wrong about The Rook being dark. 

It’s hollowed out under a club, nooks and crannies and little hallways splitting off in every direction, dim lamps and flickering candlelight casting shadows to the ceiling, bartenders dressed in all black working behind a massive, burnished wood bar along the back wall. Velvet couches, high top tables, overstuff armchairs flow in the space, and Case tells you there are more rooms if you’re keen to explore, explaining in hushed tones how there’s usually a band in one, a card game of sorts in another, a pool table somewhere, all with various styles of seating, and even another bar. It's elegant, decadent, sinful. Most of the people are startlingly beautiful, high heels and skintight dresses, perfectly made-up faces, polished onyx cuff links gleaming against expensive navy suits. 

Even the drinks are licentious. 

You decidedly do not belong here. Perched on a stool next to Case, you occasionally rub your wrists, casually wondering if it would have been acceptable to wear your braces, your carpal tunnel flaring into a swell of agony. 

Wouldn’t that be a sight. 

The bartender slides her two generous neat pours of… something, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“On the house, from the boss.” He says with a wink, and she tips her head to ceiling with a bubble of a laughter, before pressing one of the tumblers into your hand. 

“What is it?” 

“Probably bourbon.” 

“Oh, no thanks, I don’t-“ 

“Just shoot it.” She throws it back with ease, showing her teeth afterwards, a hyena leering in the lamplight. 

Fuck it. Maybe it will the throbbing in your wrists will quiet down. 

It’s thick, syrupy, hot in your throat. Burns all the way down and settles like lava in your stomach, uncomfortable until the sting ebbs into warmth, moving through your bones. 

“Not bad.” You rasp, and she smiles. 

There are more free drinks. They stick to your insides like tar, slicking you in a heavy cotton, weighing your limbs down, loosening the tension in your neck and shoulders, peeling away your layers of discomfort one by one. 

You’re surprised by how at home Case seems in this place, how comfortable she is, smiling and waving to the occasional person, making small talk here and there. She practically floats in her seat, black dress taut against every dimple and dip on her body, hair artfully twisted into something that could be considered modern art. She’s a gazelle. A heron. Something graceful and gorgeous, fine feathered and fabulous.

And you’re… a tired girl in a tired dress, counting her lucky stars that there seem to be so many generous patrons buying drinks tonight. 

“Having fun?” She whispers, nudging you with her shoulder. 

“How often do you come here?” Her eyes wander, flicking past you and then back, wistful caution etched across her brow. 

“Often enough,” She sips her drink and then folds her hands together on the bar top, looking over shoulder, “Most of these people in here… are connected to organized crime somehow.” The information doesn’t surprise you, but hearing it confirmed, knowing it’s not just some story made up, some fairytale about boogeymen, makes you shiver. 

 “Like, the mafia?” 

“The mafia is Italian, but they have a presence in the city.” She shrugs, like it’s all common knowledge. Like you’re out of the loop. “The Rook belongs to Kyle Garrick.” You shake your head, unfamiliar. “Of The 141?” your mouth goes dry. 

The 141. 

The 141 were a notorious organized crime group who ran half, if not more, of the city. You knew they owned clubs, bars, restaurants, and hotels, but you were never clear on the details of their illegitimate work, and you didn’t want to know. 

You knew, for sure: they were men to be feared. Men capable of terrible things. Destruction. Death. 

Their ongoing war with The Shadows was the reason the city was soaked in blood. 

“Don’t worry,” she rushes out, hand on your arm, “like I said, It’s neutral here. Nothing happens in The Rook.” You nod meekly, head swimming. You’re more than drunk now, stuck in a sloshing ship, floor tilting beneath your feet. The urge to get away, to disappear slams into you like a truck, and you slip off the stool. 

“Which way is the bathroom?” She points to one of those dark hallways, and you stumble through the throngs of people like a fresh born fawn, unsteady and teetering on the edge, approaching a hallway that splits into two. 

Which way? 

You pick one, sure you’ll run into someone who can point you in the right direction, but when it zigs and zags up to a polished wooden door, you stop short, confused. The alcohol has rendered you fuzzy, and your vision spins, trying to look for a recognizable placard. 

Is this the bathroom? 

It must be. 

The first thing you realize when you push the door open, is a chorus of men’s voices, stopping on a dime. You hear them, before you see them, and immediately try to backpedal, tugging the door handle towards you, trying to close it. You’re wayward, with heavy, tired feet, and the movement is slow, slow enough that an opposing force pulls on the other side and then- 

rips. 

You fly forward into the room, dragged by your grip on the handle, spilling onto your knees with a shocked gasp, and someone curses in the background, another voice barking out a name. 

Then, the room goes Sunday church service silent. 

You gape at the table of men, transfixed in horror on the two familiar faces staring back at you, the unforgettable Scot and his marble etched partner, who was just in the shop only two days ago. They’re frozen, half risen from their seats, a cigarette burning away in an ash tray filling the air with smoke. 

There’s a nickel-plated flash, and your blood curdles. 

He has a gun. 

“I…” you croak, still on your knees, unable to categorize or rationalize why you’re seeing them here, why one of them has a gun, why any of this is happening. “I’m sorry, I was lo-looking for the bathroom.” There are many men in this room, you realize. More than just the two you’re acquainted with, and your stomach rolls, nausea creeping forward, trying to bring the too many drinks you’ve consumed up through your mouth. “I’m sorry.” You say again, more clearly. 

Obviously, you’re interrupting something. 

“These aren’t the toilets, little girl.” A Russian voice booms over your head. “Unless you’re going to piss on the floor for us?” 

“Nikolai.” The blonde cuts, Manchester accent rougher than sandpaper, and you shake your head frantically. 

“N-no, I just got turned around, that’s all.” Your brain screams at you to get up, but your body is immobile, and you look away in fear. 

A warm hand takes yours, tanned skin soft and sweet, gentle touch urging your face back up. 

“It’s alright, doe. Ye’re alright.” It’s the Scot, crooning in your ear, wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you to your feet. “Let’s get ye to the bathroom then, aye?” You lean against him, breathing in cypress and ocean spray, letting him guide you out of the room, his partner right at your back. 

“We’re not finished.” Someone calls out, and the bigger man clips out a response. 

“We are now.” 

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

it’s always simon choking reader this, simon choking reader that. what about READER choking simon!

simon is always the one pressing the weight of his fingers around your throat and it makes you cum hard every single time. you think it would be terribly selfish of you to not give simon the same experience.

especially when you have him just where you want him. sprawled out onto your bed, head thrown back, trying to keep pace on top of him while he grabs your hips to ground himself.

you lean forward to lick a bead of sweat that rolls down the middle of his pecs, tongue sticking out to follow the contour of his chest until you reach the corner of his mouth, licking at the scar above his top lip. you can tell he’s close by his ragged breath and wandering hands.

carefully, but quickly you smooth a hand up his chest and rest it against the hollow of his throat tightening your hand around the column of his throat. simon sits up at the pressure, tangling a fist in your hair while his other arm wraps around you cementing you in his lap. with a low and guttural “oh fuck” he comes. hard. he swears he blacks out until he feels you press a kiss to his cheek bringing him back down.

“was that good?” you ask, as if you just hadn’t fucked his brains out. simon runs a hand down your spine soothingly.

“ye kidding me? never came so hard in my fuckin life, pretty thing. think my ears are still bloody ringin.” he says with a sincere expression.

“simon!” you say sheepishly, while swatting his chest feeling your cheeks heat up. simon smiles knowing his girl is just as filthy as him.

[sidesteppostinghours]

made cynthia threaded by hollowground and it might just be the thing that kills me

[cinnudelx]

You Ready for Me? 🎀

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: literally just porn w/o plot for my needy readers <3

warnings: MINORS DNI! cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, missionary sex, cream pie, explicit language, tit!obsessed steve.

w.c: 1k

a.n: it’s been 2 days since i’ve flown out and i miss my bf sm guys help. also my request box is open if you’d like me to write a fic of your choice x

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

"oh—steve!" you moaned loudly, head thrown back, eyes rolling to the back of your head as steve buried his face between your thighs. his arms were hooked around your thighs, keeping them spread apart as he sucked and kissed your needy bud. your hands reached up, squeezing your tits as he abused your clit. his tongue worked expertly, flicking and lapping. "mmmh, baby, you're so good—oh!  you gasped as you felt him poke his finger at your hole.

"wan' me to stretch you out, hm?" he placed a hand over your abdomen, keeping you pressed down on the mattress as his mouth never left your pussy for even a second, feverishly sucking and flicking his tongue at your clit. "c'mon, baby. tell me how much you need it."

your moans were uncontrollable at this point, thankful for his hand keeping you down on your abdomen, otherwise you'd be squirming and writhing around. "f-fuck... god, yes. please—"

he smirked against your pussy, guiding two fingers into your hole at once. you fisted the sheets, throwing your head back again. he growled against your folds, continuing to lap at your clit while pumping his fingers in and out of you.

your thighs trembled around him, signalling your orgasm is near. "b-baby—oh fuck! i'm gonna cum—i'm gonna cum!" your fingers tangled in his hair as he quickened his movements, slamming his fingers into you as he hollowed his cheeks, sucking and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue with fervour.

you finally came around his fingers with a loud, shaky moan, squirting into his mouth as soon as he pulled his digits away. he groaned deeply, slurping up your juices as the spilled out. whenever you squirted for him, he could swear he could just cum from the sight. you panted hard, your chest rising and falling before he kissed your fluttering folds.

he crawled up your body, meeting your lips in a hungry yet tender kiss. "god, i fucking love when you do that."

you moaned into his mouth, wrapping your legs around him as he ground his painfully hard cock against your pelvis. after a couple moments, he pulled away, getting off the bed and standing by the foot of the bed, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you to him.

biting your lip with a smirk, you trailed your foot down his abs (the gif above). he smirked back, grabbing your calf gently and placing your legs over his shoulders and placing kisses along your skin all whilst reaching down with his free hand, rubbing his thumb on your clit in circular motions.

he then pulled his hand away from your clit, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it teasingly. he hissed at the contact, looking into your eyes before probing your entrance with the tip. "you're so hot, baby..." he murmured as he slowly pushed himself inside you, earning a gasp from both of you, followed by a moan.

"mmh... steve..." you bit your lip again, your brows tenting upwards with a desperate moan as he held your thighs against him. his own brows knitted together as he groaned, watching his cock bottom out into your aching hole, his heavy, full balls pressing against your ass.

"you ready f'me, hm?" he asked, biting back another groan as he circled your clit with his thumb again. you moaned under his touch, nodding before replacing his thumb with your fingers as you circled your bud. his lips parted as he pulled out slightly, leaving just the tip in before slamming right into you. he watched as your tits bounced at the movement, his grip on your thighs getting tighter as he started to move at an even pace with a groan that followed your own desperate and whiny moans.

he fucked into you nice and slow at first, rolling his hips into at a teasingly even pace. he hovered over you, hooking one thigh over his arm as his hips continued to slam into you. your moans escalated by the second as he grunted into your ear. the headboard of the bed slammed against the wall loudly, harmonising with your noises and the squelches of his cock drilling into your wetness.

"fuck, y/n..." he groaned, leaning his head down and taking one of your tits into his mouth, only adding to the pleasure that was already building. "squeezing my cock so good—gonna make me cum so fucking hard." he grunted, your nipple trapped between his teeth.

the sounds that came out of your mouth only increased, gasping and moaning uncontrollably as his pace increased the minute he buried his face in the crook of your neck, your thigh still wrapped over his arm.

"baby—baby, i'm so close, oh my god!" you breathed out shakily, moaning in between words as you threw your head back.

"fuck yeah... shit..." he grunted and groaned against your neck, biting at your skin. "gonna fill you up so good. cum for me baby—nghh—give it to me." he continued at an animalistic pace, his hips bruisingly slamming into yours.

your orgasm hit you like a freight train, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let out a guttural moan, followed by your whole body shaking and your pussy clenching around him. steve's brows knitted together, doubling over you with a loud groan as he let go. he grunted as his cock twitched inside you, spilling all of his cum.

as the two of your panted, he kissed your neck softly before kissing you. his lips moved against yours softly and passionately before he pulled away, sitting back on his heels and watching as he slipped his cock out. he let out a growl at the way his cum dribbled out of your cunt and staining the bedsheets. he wasted no time, using his thumb to push his seed back into your hole. "so good..." he sighed contently, still panting as he caught his breath.

you smirked, your index finger caught between your teeth. he noticed your expression, a smirk growing on his face, "you liked that, didn't you?"

nodding, your smirk widened.

he chuckled deeply, hovering over you again to pepper kisses all over your face. "guess i'm not pulling out anymore."

[neiptune]

jjk characters x how to know they're in love

cw: mentions of alcohol, i wanted something quick and fun to write, as always this is nothing but my personal interpretation of characters i happen to love very much! i really hope these will warm you up on cold december nights :)

it's common knowledge that yuuji is affection & warmth incarnated therefore the question is, how can you tell that someone like him has fallen for you and is not simply being his usual self? well, he had to learn the hard way that extra efforts are needed to convey what he feels for that special someone. they aren't going to assume, they won't guess, so what's left to do if not being absolutely adamant about his feelings? you will know yuuji is in love because he will tell you. yuuji, in turn, will know he's in love because his heart will disclose the feeling to him immediately, as soon as he starts thinking that a good day is not so good if you're not around and certainly never good enough if he can't tell you about it. his love resides in his eyes and nestles between his eyelashes, it's the one thing he's jealous of and selfishly hopes no one else will ever look at you and see just how brightly you shine. he makes the process of falling for him exceptionally gentle, too: you never once have to brace yourself for the landing because he would never allow you to crash to the ground anyway.

megumi knows the second he starts noticing all the times you're not there, which means he will stop taking for granted the mornings when you utter soft greetings or show up with an extra coffee for him. he knows when the fact that you have his order memorized feels special enough to make him want to investigate & find out what your order is, an entire afternoon spent racking his brain & asking himself if you enjoy milk or cream or nothing at all, exasperation forcing him to sternly interrogate mutual friends until a conclusion is reached at last. you will know megumi is in love when he stops hiding away from your touch, pretty blush coating his cheeks as the pads of your fingers explore his features, travel along the bridge of his nose or run through his strands. his love is strong, explodes in a chest that feels exceptionally hollow when you're not pressed against it at night. megumi thinks being in love is scary and something he may not be entirely built for and yet he welcomes the feeling bravely, never shying away from a challenge with himself.

it would take nobara some time to get accustomed to the idea of having fallen for you: she doesn't let people in easily and the fact that you have managed to reserve such a unique seat for the messy spectacle that is her life takes her breath away for quite some time. she knows she's in love as she rejects the idea right away, to protect herself and to protect you. what does she have to offer, really? why would you want to take whatever she has to give? still, nobara can't help but constantly bring the thought of you with her. she's shopping, busy paying for a cute sweater and oh, would you look at that? you'd love that shirt, so she gets it. she's at the movies with yuuji and a particularly disgusting scene comes up: he's in awe and, with a grimace, she knows you'd find that splatter mess cool too. so she has to snap a picture and send it, heart nearly bursting at the little "seen" that blinks at her just a few seconds after the message is sent. nobara's love is on her lips, as they tremble when she's at her most vulnerable, when they trace your jaw and explore your throat. you know she is in love way before she stops resisting it, way before she even realizes herself.

oh man satoru will know he's in love the literal second he feels the urge to talk to you. i know the man never shuts the fuck up but he'll want to really talk to you: he can't bear the thought of his reputation, fame, or whatever you want to call it, shaping the idea you have of him. he knows he's in love because he cares about what you actually think, he worries that his smart mouth has annoyed you beyond repair, for once he is desperate to sculpt his true identity himself and engrave it in your mind. you know satoru is in love when he speaks of what he doesn't mention to anyone else: his walls are not particularly high but he calls the shots on who gets to climb over them and he wants to welcome you on the true side of his persona so badly it keeps him awake at night. satoru's love lives in his hands, pale, lithe fingers that always have to be on you somehow. he touches you to make sure you're listening, to check if you're actually in his kitchen putting breakfast together. he touches you to memorize the spaces between your ribs, to wonder if between all the muscular layers and the neurovascular bundle there is room for him to take root in the body of the very first person he truly wants to stay alive for.

suguru is already all too familiar with love and its many facets: affection, devotion, loyalty, obedience. he's received a great deal of what he recognizes as love but hasn't really ever been in the position of reciprocating the feeling in its most raw, helpless form. yet, that is exactly what you reduce him to. he'll know he's in love when all he wants is truly, actually listen to you. learn all there is to learn, explore all there is to discover. you know suguru is in love when he stares at you so intently as you speak, not even interrupting the string of sentences to warn you about the tea he has prepared going cold, his own cup turned icy long ago. you know suguru is in love because he makes no secret of how avidly he craves your presence in his life, of the way for the very first time he prays it doesn't come with any deal breakers: is it okay that he has two young daughters? will the blood on his hands scare you off? the feeling of being in love conquers his entire being, selfish tenderness blossoming in his lungs, flowing relentlessly in blood vessels and vertebral arteries. you take over. you soothe his mind. you're all he feels, you're everything he'll ever want to have. tell him, tell him, tell him and then tell him some more: he'll be there to take you in every chance he gets.

to me shoko's approach to love is very analytical, she doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. she'll know she's in love because you prompt all the usual reactions: racing heart and occasional sweaty palms, happiness, the so-called butterflies in her tummy. but unfortunately she also knows the scientific details about what's really going on, which makes everything far less romantic. noradrenaline, dopamine, phenylethylamine. love isn't but a fairly complex chemical reaction, the feeling given by attraction doesn't differ much from what stems from indulging in a couple bottles of wine. and yet alcohol doesn't smile the way you do, the thought of it doesn't make her stop in the middle of a medical examination and it certainly doesn't make her want to go out of her way to change. shoko will know she's in love as the feeling plants itself in her altered brain chemistry and convinces her that her personality should follow suit. because you'd never want someone who seems so distant, always calm and rational and so... boring. right? you'll know shoko is in love because she makes the effort and she'll know you're the right match the moment you murmur that you'd never want her to change, to be anything but the powerful, familiar grounding force that makes her so graciously human.

nanami writes more when he's in love. he's always been a reader, never has enough time to explore all the books he keeps adding to his never ending list really, but he's also always been a writer: short stories, haikus, poems, single sentences that are nothing but timid attempts at encapsulating days, moments, feelings, nights spent thinking or reminiscing. you start to become part of those stories, of those messily scribbled poems and thoughts. this will sound very cheesy but i'm confident nanami's love settles over his heart like a warm blanket. he knows he's in love when everything he reads, writes, does, leads back to you. what good are his cooking skills if he can't make you your favorite dinner? why should he buy that book he's been waiting forever to start, if there's this other novel you can't stop excitedly telling him about? did his writings ever hold any value before he could go through the pages of one of his leather bound notebooks, you comfortably settled in his arms, back pressed to his chest on the couch he only bought because you jokingly said it could accommodate you both? you know he's in love because softness settles in the corners of his eyes whenever you utter his name, an elegant fountain pen frozen mid air at the sound of your voice, the simple word kento suddenly earning a whole new meaning, always pronounced with an inflection so special it's now more than just his name.

yuuta feels a lot and he feels it deeply: fear, courage, affection. his feelings clutch his stomach and make him feel as if his insides are being squeezed. he doesn't appreciate newness, he's perfectly content with the people who are part of his life and a routine that doesn't make him wonder what the new day will bring. but then you happen and the boy who thought he knew everything is left to learn something new about himself: how he navigates a love that is real, pulsing with life, threatening to overturn his carefully built balance. he welcomes it tentatively, willing to learn, accepting the chance that he might have to confront it. but love doesn't turn out to be a challenge for him. yuuta knows he's in love because it's the first thing that feels easy in his life, to love you is the one thing that comes naturally. you know he's in love because he doesn't attempt to hide it and, hell, he doesn't even care if love makes him weird. he wants you there always, wants to ask about your day and hopes you'll also going to be interested in his. yuuta wants to pose silly questions because you're the first real person he needs to learn everything about. have you ever slow danced? how often do you experience food poisoning? what's your favorite song to sing in the shower? it's okay if you don't love him back too (as if lmfao), you have already given him everything by allowing him to find out that he can feel this way.

as a heavily stubborn & independent person, maki would understand right away that you're dangerous. a threat, even. she'd interally panic about it lol too bad you're equally strong-willed and determined to break through that standoffish facade. you succeed earlier than expected but maki won't let you know until months later, the first christmas holidays spent together, yuuta's house warming party the perfect excuse to indulge in a little too much mulled wine. you find out that maki's love is all in her voice, sincere affection vibrates along the entire story of your first encounter recounted to a table filled with your mutual friends in great, borderline obsessive detail. she remembers your hair, the outfit you were wearing, that cute tote bag filled with groceries. her voice is warm and tender when no one else can hear it, on the frosty mornings she orders to forget about cooking breakfast to keep you in bed a few minutes more, in secret moments she gets to hold you close and murmur sweet nothings in the curve of your neck, pauses between words and stifled giggles sounding suspiciously similar to i love you, i love you, i love you.

inumaki's love lives in his throat, torments him day and night because there's nothing he would rather speak of. you, you, you. he was always worried he'd fail to express how he truly feels but you happen to get it just right. not just because he makes significant exceptions for you (sorry but the man will speak and his dumbass sense of humor will cause a sore throat endless times) (yes he has used his cursed technique to ask you to stand still while in compromising positions or to give him a kiss after a stupid argument -> you'll do so and then smack his arm as he sticks his tongue out) but most importantly because the limited communication inumaki has been used to ever since forever also forced him to learn how to get the message across differently. and so you know he's in love because he makes sure you have your cup of tea ready in the morning, because he texts you pictures of stray cats or memes he doesn't really understand with a demanding '???' underneath them. you know inumaki is in love because his friends seem to know a whole lot about you and it's only the first time you're meeting most of them. he knows he's in love when you fall asleep next to him and his pointer finger delicately traces the echo of those three words along your spine over and over and over again.