#pocket ball cushion

[gogogodzilla]

day 29, somnophilia

mike schmidt x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, free use (kinda), semi-established relationship, neighbor!reader, part 2, part 3 kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You and Mike came to a relatively simple agreement. You’d watch Abby while he worked nights and he’d repay you by fucking your brains out. He was hot and good in bed, plus Abby spent most of her time in her room. So, you didn’t mind your arrangement much. 

That was until Mike got so busy you hardly saw him enough to receive your payment.

“You know,” you said as you took a seat at your usual spot on his couch, “you still owe me from last week.” 

He sighed and leaned over you, placing a hand on each side of the back cushion, trapping you. 

He pressed a kiss to your lips, “I know. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.” 

You grinned, “I’ll leave the light on for you.” 

Mike surprised you that night when he came home late that night, and you had curled yourself up in his bed, fast asleep. You awoke with Mike pressing heated kisses along your neck and his hand between your thighs. He pressed his free hand against your mouth, muffling the desperate moans that fled past your lips. 

You’d stay tangled between his sheets until the early morning when you’d sneak back across the street to your own home. Ever since that night, you’d tell him that if you wanted him to wake you up like that. The light was on more often than not. 

When he started working nights, things became slightly more complicated. By the time he got back in the morning, it was time to wake Abby up for school and you had to get ready for the day. That was until you had the day off and an idea struck you. 

You were about to head out the door before you turned to Mike, “Leave the light on for me?” 

His eyebrows furrowed for a split second before the corners of his mouth quirked up. “Yeah, of course,” he nodded and you were out the door, grinning. 

You waited a few hours, performing menial tasks around your home before you decided it was time to put your plan into action. Abby was off to school and Mike was asleep soundly in his bed, headphones placed securely on his ears and nature sounds drifting out of them. You slowly crept further into Mike’s room and began to set up the camcorder at the foot of his bed, flinching at the slightest creak of the tripod. 

You knew Mike wouldn’t wake up, but it was more exciting if you made yourself believe there was a chance. You pressed record and giddiness filled you. You made a show of stripping for the camera. You slowly slid off your sweatpants and underwear in one swoop. 

You picked up the pair of jeans he had on the floor and held them up to the camera, doing your best game show girl impression. You picked up your underwear and tucked them in the front pocket, patting it in before setting them at the foot of his bed. Your shirt was the next to go. You faced the camera as you slowly tugged your shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath. 

You trailed your fingers up your torso and circled your fingers around your nipples, causing them to harden under your touch. You leaned your head back to give him a full view of your chest as you pinched one of your nipples between your fingers, gasping slightly. 

You turned and sauntered to his side of the bed where he was sleeping soundly. You ran your fingers gently over his forehead, brushing his hair out of the way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

He made your job easier by wearing a black t-shirt and briefs and by always sleeping on his back. You threw the blankets covering his form to the side and kneeled beside the bed. Your hands wandered over his thighs before palming him through his briefs. 

You crawled into bed next to him and your hands drifted past the waistband of his briefs. You stroked him, slowly, before freeing his cock from its confines. You pulled his briefs down and over his balls, just enough for you to access everything freely.

You threw a leg over his thigh and your hand wrapped around his cock once again. He had begun to harden in your grasp but you couldn’t quite get enough friction. You slid down his body and turned so the camera could get a clear view of what you were about to do. 

You held him in your hand and swiped your tongue across the head of his cock. You groaned at the taste of him and enveloped your lips fully around him. You swirled your tongue around the pink-hued tip and Mike’s breath caught slightly but he didn’t stir. 

You steadily bobbed your head, gradually taking more of him with every stroke. One hand stroked what you couldn’t reach while the other gently fondled his balls. You pressed your tongue against the underside of his shaft, and Mike’s cock twitched in your mouth. 

You pulled away and licked your lips when the ache between your thighs became too great. You carefully straddled his lap and ground against his cock, spreading your slick. A soft moan left you as the tip hit your clit just right. 

You brought your hand down to where your bodies met and aligned him with your entrance. The whine that escaped you as you lowered yourself onto him was loud and you slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle it. 

You missed his hands roaming your body as you rode him, but there was something so pleasurable about seeing the minute changes in his demeanor as you used him. You dipped down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of his neck. You clenched at the thought of covering him with hickeys to find later. You leaned down and explored his chest with your lips and tongue. 

You smiled as small red marks covered his neck and chest. You were confident that they’d blossom into the purple marks you desired once he awoke. You began to rock your hips faster against him as one hand drifted down to circle your clit. You used your free hand to knead your breast, pinching and dragging your fingertip across the bud of your nipple. Your legs were beginning to burn and tremble but the familiar heat pooling in your belly spurred you on. 

You leaned forward, and the new angle had you reaching your peak in no time. You spasmed around him as you continued to jut your hips against him, riding out your high. A satisfied moan escaped you as you felt Mike twitch within you and he filled you with his cum. 

You panted softly as you slid off of him. You kissed his lips softly before fixing his briefs and covering him back up. You stopped the recording and quickly got dressed. You tucked the camcorder and tripod under your arm before leaving Mike’s home. In a few hours, you’d bring him the lunch you made him, tucking the VHS tape inside the paper bag. 

You’d hold the door for him, and walk him out to his car, smiling the entire time. 

“I hope you enjoy your lunch,” you’d mention. He’d grin, a knowing glint in his eyes. You’d leave the light on for him for when he came home.

[livinginshambles]

No, you listen to me | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.

Notes: Not proofread. Mistakes. Once again because people keep forgetting, english is my third language, be kind. Themes of bullying, discrimination, very bad sister relationships. Regulus is like a BROTHER. James tries?

Masterlist Part one. Part three

_________________________

Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.

You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.

A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.

You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.

“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.

“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”

You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.

“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”

Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”

You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.

“What for?”

“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.

Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.

Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out hand. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”

“You absolute champ.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.

James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.

“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.

After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of, Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.

James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”

“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”

James mirrored Sirius' grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.

Two weeks flew by in a blur. You and Regulus had set up a Christmas tree inside your small apartment and had made a competition out of finding the most impressive gift for each other, with only 10 galleons.

You had found the most gorgeous black quill and enchanted ink set for him and were rather confident until Regulus had somehow shown up with what looked like emerald, antique and gorgeously over the top earrings. You had shot him a look and he had immediately provided a receipt to prove he had played fair.

“I just have great negotiating skills,” he’d said.

You had hummed skeptically in reply but had happily tried them on.

All in all, the holidays were a very welcome break for you. Which is why you were so very reluctant to pack your bags. The door to your room opened and Regulus stood in the entrance, leaning against the door frame.

“Get out,” you groaned in dismay at the interruption. Regulus shot you an unimpressed look.

“Not until I see you pack; we leave in less than an hour.”

You huffed in annoyance and threw a pillow at his head. “I’m not asking you again, Black.” You flopped back down on your bed dramatically in dismay at the prospect of going back to Hogwarts. Regulus elegantly tilted his head and let the pillow fly past him.

“One hour,” he enunciated, before walking off.

You threw another pillow his way and yelled, “Close the door when you leave, you twat!”

With a flick of his wand, your door closed.

Regulus waited for you with a bag in his hand.

“Where’s the rest of it,” you teased as you motioned to the small amount of luggage he held.

Regulus turned red but stuck his chin up. “Left them here for the summer,” he off-handedly replied. You laughed. “Great, so you can help carry this bag then,” you grinned and pushed your smaller bag into his hands while you marched out the door with your heavy luggage, dragged behind you.

When you entered the platform, and were handed the Hogwarts newspaper, you did not expect to find a picture of you and James at the Yule ball on the front page. ‘Who are you, Willow?’

You immediately folded the paper together and looked up in panic at Regulus. He looked around and found different students excitedly chittering to each other, all while pointing at the newspaper.

“That is so romantic,”

“I thought James was with Lily?”

“No, they’re just friends now.”

“I was wondering who he was dancing with.”

“She looks so pretty.”

“If I found out that my date was James Potter, I’d take off that mask immediately.”

“Well, she could just be shy.”

“So true, probably Hufflepuff, don’t you think?

“I really hope he finds her.”

You grimaced at everyone and all you wanted to do was disappear. “Relax, Y/N,” Regulus smoothly pulled you on board the Hogwarts Express. “No one will know it’s you.”

Despite knowing that he was absolutely right, you still faced the floor as you looked for an empty compartment. You didn’t realize that you were passing James, who had just come back from a train meeting with the other prefects. He had picked up on Regulus’ words and frowned. But before he could really stop to consider Regulus’ statement, Peter happily waved at him from the marauders’ compartment. “We’re over here!” he called out. James forgot about what he heard.

Remus held the newspaper up in the air when James finally took a seat. “Really?”

“It was Pad’s idea,” James immediately said.

Peter curiously grabbed the newspaper. “Any results?”

James shrugged. “It’s only the first day,” he tries to convince himself, but he was not very sure about this approach to find you.

“It’s going to work out, trust me,” Sirius said. “When she sees that you’re going to this extent to find her, you’ll definitely woo her for sure,” he claimed.

Remus pulled a face. “I mean, if she ran off cause you two were being pricks, again,” he gave both Sirius and James a sharp look. “And hasn’t answered any of your messages, I don’t think starting a witch-hunt of sorts is the way to find her,” he voiced out his opinion. ”She clearly doesn’t want to be found.”

“What are you calling my methods bad?” Sirius squinted his eyes at Remus in mock offense.

“I’m just saying they wouldn’t exactly woo me,” Remus dryly remarked.

“And yet-“

“Guys,” James interrupted. “I just want to find her and apologize. And ask her for another chance to prove that I’m more than what she saw.”

“Well,” Peter started. He turned red when all eyes were suddenly on him. “She will probably not reveal herself. But she’s still a student here. And she knows who you are. So maybe if you publicly show off kind acts, she’ll see how you can be?”

There was a beat of silence and for a moment, Peter wanted to change into a rat and crawl into a hole to hide. But suddenly he was patted on the back by James. “Peter, you absolute champ!”

James Potter was acting weird, and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. You huffed to yourself as you marched right past him while he held the door open for his friends and you, who trailed in right behind them.

Previously, James would have definitely let the door fall in your face, and you had anticipated so, thus smoothly switching your books to your left arm, putting your right hand in front of you in a bracing manner. And so it happened that you stood there frozen, hand flat against James' chest, because he had turned around fully to hold the door open for you.

You embarrassedly dropped your hand that still lingered against him, and a deep frown settled on your face.

“I’d take ten points from Slytherin for touching a student without their consent, but I suppose I’ll let it slide for today,” he arrogantly said. You wanted to beat him up. But you supposed you could let it slide for today. You scowled at him and fled past him towards your designated seat.

Something tugged inside James’ chest as he watched you turn your back towards him and hurry away. He walked to join the rest of the marauders, a ghost feeling of your palm against his chest.

It hadn’t just been you that he was more civilized with. You noticed when you found him volunteering in the library, putting away books back on the shelves manually. This bothered you, because he tended to specifically linger around the particular section in the back about Egyptian rites, your favorite. You knew he was there to hopefully spot any often-returning students.

You also noticed that less and less students were coming back to the common room, hexed. Aside from snide remarks, you hadn’t encountered much animosity from him anymore either.

Instead, you found yourself on assigned patrol with him, despite the fact that Regulus had kindly offered to jinx his broom during Quidditch practice so you wouldn’t have to.

“So,” James broke the silence. “How was your holiday?”

“Why do you want to know,” you immediately shot back before you could stop yourself. James raised his hands in surrender. “Woah, sorry, L/N, just making conversation here.”

You sighed and forced your shoulders to lose their tension. “It was fine.”

“Fine.” James repeated.

“Fine,” you confirmed.

That was the end of your conversation, in your opinion. James however, seemed to think differently.

“So did you get any nice presents?”

You shot him an annoyed look but ended up answering anyway. “Yes actually, Regulus got me these earrings,” you said, and you tilted your head to show him. James’ eyes lingered on your earrings. They looked good on you. The exaggerated gem made you stand out despite your sober attire.

“What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“Why, did your parents not buy you anything or what?”

You halted mid-step and stared up at James. He noticed that he had said something wrong, and when your sisters came to mind, he hurriedly tried to take his words back. You didn’t let him.

“I don’t go home for the holidays,” you settled on. “I’m not particularly welcome there. My parents are as big of a fan of me, as Alyssa and Marla are.” You laughed bitterly and continued walking. James followed behind you, he didn’t say a word, instead waited for you to continue.

“Well, I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist. They wouldn’t want to associate themselves with that, of course,” you sarcastically remarked.

James felt guilt slowly seep in. Your words resonated in his mind and his hands grasped the folded parchment in the pocket of his robes tightly. Those were his exact same words of that night at the Yule ball, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him, surprise evident in your eyes. “You’re sorry?” You asked him in disbelief.

James nodded. If he couldn’t say it to his mystery girl, at least he could say it to you, he figured.

James watched your eyes light up slightly and for a moment, he was lost in a trance. He snapped out of it when you returned the question. “So how was your holiday?”

He grinned at the olive branch that you were reaching out. “Mine was fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he teased. You fought the smile that threatened to tug on your lips.

Patrol ended without any incidents to report and when you wrote that down, James peered over your shoulder to catch your circled dot on the ‘i’ of “nothing to report.” A sense of déjà vu dawned on him, but the sheer unconscious refusal to even consider you a possibility kept your secret safe.

When you were in bed that night, you couldn’t help but think about how at ease you had felt for the remainder of the night with James, basking in the familiarity of the person behind the paper.

With every patrol, you two put another step forward in the direction of a friendship of some sorts.

James couldn't deny the fact that with each time, he started to look forward to the next time, almost the same giddy feeling fluttering in his stomach as each time he would unfold his parchment to find new kind words written there.

You and Willow would be friends, James thought, as he looked at you while you were casually explaining Transfiguration to him while you two strolled through the corridors, not without the occasional insult at his 'lack of competence'.

But for now, James enjoyed the privilege of calling you by your first name. A friend of some sorts, he liked to think.

Perhaps he was wrong about Slytherins. Sure, there were some rotten apples, but he supposed there were rotten apples in each house. And you weren't so bad after all.

For the first time in a long time, you enjoyed your days at Hogwarts. Truly enjoyed them. You would send Regulus to the library to get you your favourite books, and would patrol every Thursday with James unless he had Quidditch practice. Then you would patrol with Abrams. You’d come across James, who would nod with a kind smile at you as you two have come to be cautious friends and patrol-partners. You hadn’t really heard anything from your sisters either, which was absolute bliss as well.

But then one day, you were studying Transfiguration by yourself in the library, and you just so happened to need to go to the bathroom. When you returned, you noticed your book was missing and you pulled a sour face before requesting a new one from Professor McGonagall who had looked over her glasses at you.

But that hadn’t been the bad part. No, the bad part was that you had completely forgotten that you had put your enchanted parchment that connected yours to James’ inside that book.

Sirius had victoriously grinned at his funny prank idea. He would change some spells in your book so that you would mess up and become a toad in class. He tossed the book on a table in the common room and a piece of paper slid out.

Sirius had seen the piece of paper before, and his eyes grew as wide as saucers. He jumped up, ran towards his room, and rummaged through James’ nightstand before finding James' parchment under his pillow and wrote something on it. He walked back down the stairs with James’ paper, and he watched in disbelief as a messy ‘hello’ appeared on the paper that your sisters now held. “Merlin,” he breathed out, but your sisters had already stormed out of the room.

You entered the Great Hall and felt everyone staring at you and whispering. Even fellow Slytherin students looked at you in contempt. You gave Regulus a confused look when you walked to the free seat next to him. He quietly slid over the Hogwarts newspaper.

Front page again. ‘Mystery girl uncovered. Not a Willow, but a Hanging Tree.”

You didn’t need to read the rest; you tore your eyes away from the paper. Tears threatened to spill, but you tried to keep a cool front. You turned around to look for James and found him and his friends sitting right behind you.

Whoever thought that putting The Gryffindor table and Slytherin table next to each other should rot in the dungeons, you bitterly thought.

It was your sister who spoke up first. “I can’t believe someone like you would make themselves out to be a victim. ‘Oh no, my sisters bully me,’” she mocked you.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks and got up. She got up as well and you stood eye to eye with each other. “You’re pathetic,” She sneered. “You’re the real mistake here. So go do what you do best- run away.”

You wanted to say something. Anything. But you felt weak and small again. So you turned around and walked away. Whispers continued to fill the room as everyone seemed to have something to say about you.

“How embarrassing.”

“She should be ashamed”

“A Slytherin like her?”

“She definitely wasted James’ time.”

With every comment you heard, you bit harder on the inside of your cheek, and when that last comment dropped, you balled your fists. Why should you be the one to walk away?

You turned around furiously and marched back towards James, who had gotten up to follow you and reached out his hand. You recoiled.

“Y/N, listen-“

“No, you listen to me,” you spat at him. You looked him up and down with a pained look, holding back tears of frustration and while trying to convey as much disgust as you could.

“If you didn’t like what you found out, you could’ve kept it to yourself and thrown the damn paper away. You had no right to publicly try to humiliate me like this. All of your kindness in an attempt to be a good person only shows how wretched you really are when you stop pretending and act cruelly true to yourself.”

James' eyes flashed with hurt and he shook his head, words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to cover his ears; he didn’t want to hear you say this to him. This isn’t what he wanted at all. You were wrong. He didn’t even know it was you until he saw the newspaper this morning.

But you weren’t finished talking yet.

“Has it ever even occurred to any of you,” you looked at the people behind him. You stared your sisters dead in the eye. “That maybe your prejudice and thoughtless assumptions and insults about how awful or evil we Slytherins are, is the very thing that pushes us down that path?”

You turned your attention back to James, who had an unreadable expression on his face now. “Your cruel comments are part of the reason and you, James Potter, are especially cruel.”

Your tone was sharp, face hardened and the entire Great Hall had fallen silent. Not even the professors spoke up. James felt like you had hit him in the face, and you might as well have. He looked down in shame at your words.

You shakily let out your breath and lowered your voice again. This time, you sounded tired. Reality seemed to dawn upon you that everyone in the great hall was listening to you, and you shook your head to yourself, taking a step back. You scoffed softly.

“I suppose you are truly worthy of the Gryffindor name; overly proud and arrogant in the name of bravery with a tendency to prove yourself, disregarding others and their feelings.” Your venomous words cut through James' heart.

James watched you walk away again and everything around him seemed to fade. He was losing you again. How had he not seen this?

Your situation with your sisters. The way you ran away at the Yule ball when he made a crude remark about Slytherins. The sense of déjà vu every time you walked past him, back turned towards him. Your handwriting. The feeling of your hand pressed to his chest just as when you two danced. The way you were great at transfiguration and could have easily transfigured those glass slippers. The way Regulus was the only student to frequently visit your favourite book section in the library. The chills you had sent down his back when you had allowed him to call you by your first name, and in return had called him James.

‘I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist.’

‘No one will know it’s you.’

Everyone knows.

Preview if interested

Part three

Taglist:

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[swordsandholly]

Treat Me Gently (Because No One Else Will)

Ch 2: Johnny, Johnny, Johnny

Next | Masterlist | Ao3

Ghoap x Reader | MDNI 18+ | cw: low self image, oral (male & female receiving), fingering

“Merry Christmas, happy birthday.” You sigh, flopping your routine test results on your kotatsu table. It’s nearly time to get out the heating blanket - your favorite time of year. The leaves have just begun or change. A chill wind batters at your windows right on queue.

Simon sits spread out on your couch, practically covering the damn thing. His own results lay neatly beside yours for you to check. At this point you trust him enough that it’s more a formality than anything, but if you even thought about not looking Simon would put you on sex probation for sure.

He looks more tired than usual, you realize as you take him in. The circles under his eyes are darker than what he normally comes home with - more still-healing scratches and bruises litter his arms than you’re used to seeing.

“Fuckin’ beat.” He mutters, bending to give your papers a cursory glance. He reaches out after, grabbing onto the pocket of your hoodie to pull you into his lap.

“Poor thing.” You coo sympathetically, leaning to nip at his clipped ear. “How about I help with that?”

“’ave somethin’ in mind?” He murmurs - there’s a gravel in his voice that he only ever gets when he is truly exhausted. You slip down off his thigh and pull out one of the sitting cushions from under the table, kneeling on it between Simon’s spread legs. He cocks a brow, pretending not to know exactly what you’re doing despite the fact that you can already see him hardening in his sweatpants.

You run your open hands from his knees to hips, then back down, repeating the motion a few times. The material is soft under your palms. Warm, too, from Simon’s seemingly always extra heated skin. It’s always so lovely during the cool months to have a personal heater - it even comes with a nice cock. You have to stifle your snickering at the thought.

“Y’want somethin’?” Simon tilts his head, resting it on his hand with his elbow braced on the back of your rickety old couch.

You grin, attempting at a coy expression and achieving with absolutely no subtlety. Flirting was never your strong suit - you’re much better at jumping right in. You let your hands wander higher, over his hips, under his shirt to his waist. Coming back down, you hook your fingers in his waistband only to pause, glancing up at him for permission.

Simon nods, eyes alight but still obviously worn out. That’s okay, you don’t mind doing the work today. You take your time, running a hand over him through his pants while nudging at the waistband. Simon huffs in the way that tells you to get on with it. You hook both hands in, timing it with the lift of his hips to pull them halfway down his thighs. Really, you’d rather take them off entirely, but you know Simon’s limits. It’s easier said than done to pretend not to notice the large, ugly bruise on his hip.

You take his hardening length in your hand, giving it a few leisurely pumps. You like it better when he’s like this - pretty, untrimmed curls of blonde framing his equally pretty cock. Not that you’d tell him that. It’s his decision to do as he pleases.

You lick a long stripe from root to tip, earning a shuttering sigh as Simon’s eyes slip closed. You can’t help but hum happily as you take him into your mouth - that familiar, pleasant weight on your tongue. It’s impossible for you to take all of him, your hand working what you can’t fit in your mouth. That familiar mix of his musk and fresh scented soap hits your nose and your own eyes flutter shut as you take him.

Simon’s hand comes to rest on the back of your head. He doesn’t apply pressure, there’s no forcefulness, just a gentle hold. A steadiness that he somehow always manages to embody. His pants and quiet groans fuel you to take him as deep as you can. A low moan passes his lips when you lightly cup his balls, giving them a gentle tug. His hips begin to rock forward to meet your rhythm. Those desperate little sounds he makes pool in your core - each one their own reward.

“G-gonna-fuck-” Simon grunts a broken warning.

You take him as deep as possible as he cums down your throat. The hand on your head holds you in place as he works through it, hips twitching and brows furrowed. You lap at the tip, cleaning off the last beads of cum until he sucks in a harsh breath - the signal that it’s crossed into too much. Simon lazily pulls his bottoms back up. His shoulders relax finally, melting fully into the couch with his head still propped on his hand. You have a feeling that’s the only reason it’s still upright.

“Come up ‘ere.” He sighs, lids heavy and words slurred. The hand on your head relaxes, mimicking a lazy, petting motion over your hair.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

He frowns slightly. “Don’t want me t’return the favor?”

“I just wanted to welcome you back with something nice.” You smile. “Plus, you’re tired.”

“Who says I’m tired?”

“You. Literally, like, a few minutes ago.” You scoff, leaning your cheek on his thigh. Really, you’re perfectly content here - tracing light circles on his thigh and basking in the physical touch you’d been missing. Warm and comfortable. Your eyes slip shut, the hand stroking your hair eventually goes limp and falls to the wayside. A smile splits your lips at Simon’s light snoring.

He’s so predictable.

You grab your laptop, busying yourself with quietly typing and checking off a few emails while Simon snores away. He might have a little crick in his neck based on the way his head leans forward but you figure it’s better than waking him. You won’t be able to convince him to sleep twice. He’s probably slept in worse positions anyway.

There’s something that feels oddly right about moments like these - you, working at your little table between Simon’s legs while he naps on the couch. It’s where you’re supposed to be. Not always, both of you can come and go, and not necessarily directly touching, but within each others orbit. There’s something about knowing he’s there, even if you can’t see or feel him that makes you warm. Like a nice cup of tea during a heavy storm.

It’s safe here. It’s safe with Simon.

***

The groceries in your arms teeter, the buy one get one bottles of wine clink against each other in your reusable shopping back as you fight with your old deadbolt lock. You really should get your landlord to replace it, but he never answers his damn phone. At least he keeps the rent cheap in exchange for the shitty building quirks.

You check your voice mail - the physical one that you keep on hand only for Official Business - pressing the button on the answering machine as you begin putting away and organizing your groceries for the next couple weeks. You grabbed Simon some of those weird, rarely in stock, off-brand bon bons he loves. He says they have a better texture than the name brand. They just make your teeth hurt they’re so sweet. The voicemails filter through, nothing. Your agent wants to check up on your progress. Your water bill is due. You get a reminder for your appointment at the nail salon.

Your heart sinks when that honey-sweet voice of your lawyer drips through the phone.

“Hey, hun, so… unfortunately I have bad news.” Your blood curdles, back stiffening as you freeze in place. “It looks like we’re not gonna get the easy way out. Matthias officially contested - we’re going to have to go to court-“

You don’t catch the rest of her voicemail. It blurs into the background. Your ears ring, louder, louder, louder, louder.

Your hands shake around the bag of food still in them. If it weren’t already propped on the counter it would have fallen to the floor. It feels far away, as if there are miles between the things in front of you and yourself.

Your breath catches. It stings - every inhale and exhale more labored and shallow than the last. You’re choking on nothing. You can’t get any air - your vision turning to pinpricks. One hand braces you on the counter, the other resting on your throat as you lean, knees weak. You can’t see him. You can’t. The image of his face, dressed in one of his name brand suits, and his family glaring at you from the other side of the courtroom behind him twists in your mind. Hell beg you. He’ll beg and plead and promise things that won’t fix it - won’t fix you.

You’re hot, you’re suffocating. Each breath wheezes in and out.

In.

They hate you.

Out.

They have every right to hate you.

In.

You can’t see him.

In.

Them. Anyone. You can’t-

Please just breathe in!

Your phone dings - Simon’s assigned two toned chime.

S >> Dinner?

S >> I’ve got steak

The ringing in your ears clears to a low thrum. You take a long, deep breath finally. The numb tingling in your hands slowly dissipates. The shaking doesn’t. It takes far too long for you to get the texts written out.

>> I'll bring wine

You run your fingers through your hair, attempting to fix what doesn’t need fixing. You look the same as always, if not a little more hollow. It only feels like it needs to be fixed. You feel frazzled - thread bare. Too exposed and raw, standing out in the hallway that seems far too long in both directions.

Simon will fix it.

If he notices you’re more quiet than usual, he doesn’t say. He’s probably happy for the silence, if anything. Your chattering voice can’t be that pleasant - going on and on about absolutely nothing. Teasing and picking for no reason other than your own entertainment. How the hell does he put up with you?

The food helps. It fills you, makes you whole. The weight of it makes this moment real as you help Simon clean up. As usual, he washes and you dry. He laughs at some offhand joke you make - splashes you with water from the sink and you can’t help but shriek and laugh along with him. The wine makes your muscles lax and your mind slow. It’s good. This is good. This is fixing it. For now, at least.

That’s all you need: for now.

“How was Mexico?” You ask, sinking into your side of the couch. “Didn’t get to ask earlier…”

Simon sighs heavily. “Absolute shite… mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“’ad a good battle buddy.” He hums, staring out the window for a few beats, as if he forgot you were there. Those dark eyes soften as a gentle smile graces his lips - warm and molten.

You break out in an impish grin. “What’s that face?”

“What face?” Simon turns to meet your eye, returning to his usual stony neutrality.

You squint, eyes flicking between his, grin only growing wider. “Oh, you totally fucked.”

Simon splutters, stuttering over denials and dismissals - because that’s preposterous and completely out of character - before he finally submits. It never takes long, just an unending stare until he gets around to it. It’s not like you have room to judge.

You push your socked feet into the side of his thigh. “Sooooo, what’s their name?”

He looks off to the side, pretending to eye his wine glass. “Soap.”

You bark out a laugh, slapping your hand over your lips to stifle the sound. “Don’t tell me that’s their real name.”

“It’s Joh- I call him Johnny.” Simon twiddles his thumbs, shifting slightly. He’s mentioned a Johnny before, you think, albeit briefly. Said he was annoying but competent. There’s a new gleam in his eye, now. You see it. You’re not even sure if he knows yet, but you do. You’ve seen it time and time again.

You hum and swing a leg over his lap, settling your weight on his thighs. His hair is soft as you run your fingers over it - freshly buzzed and fuzzy.

“Tell me about your Johnny.”

“He’s not my Johnny.” Simon huffs.

You smile. He will be. There’s no one on this planet that can resist those big brown eyes and their pretty blonde lashes - even if nothing comes of it long term.

“Still. I’m curious.”

“‘e’s Scottish.” Simon shrugs. “‘e draws.”

“That’s all?”

“‘e’s funny.”

“With your sense of humor, I find that questionable.”

Simon chuckles, broad shoulders shaking slightly. He pulls gently on a piece of your hair, toying with it. “‘e ‘as pretty eyes…”

You cock your head like a bird observing some newly discovered, shiny treasure. This stage always interests you. The yearning, the fluttering. The crush of it all, so to speak. Sometimes you wish you had a way to quantify it - like a heart monitor or blood work or something. It looks good on Simon; the light flush of his cheeks and the slight quirk of his lips.

Matthias used to look at you like that. Your gut churns, throat constricting, and you swallow roughly.

“Good for you, Si.” You murmur.

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Shouldn’t be talkin’ about work so much. Makin’ me neglect the beautiful woman in my lap.”

“Beautiful?” You laugh, cheeks hot as you roll your eyes dramatically.

“Fit?”

“Meh.”

“Sexy?”

“Blah.”

“Stunnin’?”

You lightly smack his shoulder. “Shut up and fuck me, Riley.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grins. A strong arm wraps around your waist, kneading at your ass before drifting lower, pressing against your sex through your leggings and underwear.

The name Johnny rings in your mind as Simon’s arms envelop you. When did it happen? Where? Their living quarters? Out in some godforsaken tent in the middle of nowhere? That sounds more like Simon. All tense and wound up, heavy hands and low groans. It’s probably wrong to imagine a stranger like that. You wonder what he looks like. Could be anything, Simon isn’t exactly picky (he’s with you, after all). Does Johnny know how Simon feels? Does he feel the same? How would he know? You’ve never been sure how people figure that out. You’ve always just waited to be told and gone along with it - is that how it works for everyone? Surely not. That can’t be how it works for Simon. He’d never just go along - never let someone else just roll with it either. He demands enthusiasm, in his own way.

“Y’with me?” Simon rumbles in your ear. You hadn’t realized his hand stopped moving.

“O-oh, yeah. Just got a little lost in my head.” You murmur.

He hums. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, just… y’know how I get.”

“You’ve been spacey t’night.” So he did notice. Simon presses his cheek to yours. “Somethin’ goin’ on?”

You chew your lip. You’re a terrible liar - you can’t say no outright. You don’t need to dump on Simon, though. Your problems are minuscule compared to even his day to day ones. An inconvenience at most. Besides, that’s not what he has you here for. He’s not here to listen.

Instead you repeat, quieter but with a smile, “Just fuck me. Please.”

Simon moves slower now, as if you somehow became more fragile in a few mere seconds. He lays you back on the couch, kissing down your body while pushing your shirt up and out of the way. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your mind to stay in the moment. You’re in Simon’s apartment, on his couch, with his grounding weight above you. It’s the usual song and dance - gentle movements with breaks for permission. Sometimes you think the checks are more for him; for his own piece of mind in continuing. You still revel in the care behind them.

Simon eats pussy like he’s tasting some sort of delicacy - slow, deliberate, savoring. Long strokes of his tongue between your folds and light, sucking kisses on your clit. He wraps a strong arm around your thigh to hold you still as you begin to squirm, rolling your hips in search of more. Your body thrums with gentle warmth from the wine, letting you lay loose and easy for him to take as he pleases.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, back arching as his tongue pushes inside. You’re close already - emotions running high and pushing your desperation. If you can just cum - just reach that high and get it out of your system - it’ll all be okay.

Your hand grazes over Simon’s shorn hair as he circles your entrance with his fingers - coating them in your slick before slowly, slowly, slowly inching them inside. You whine in complaint, grinding down onto them and the tongue on your clit to get him moving - to get what you want.

“Please, Simon-“ You whine. He takes the hint, speeding up his movements to match your desperation.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum on my tongue.” Simon groans against you, voice low. “Let me taste you.”

You let yourself fall into it. It’s easy to listen with that deep accent lilting in your ears - oozing honey down your spine. It’s easy to follow instructions blindly. Simon works you through it, murmuring little praises and sweet nothings between pressing sucking kisses to your clit. He only stops when you press your palm against his forehead, whining in protest as the stimulation moves onto just that side of too much.

Simon grabs a condom from one of his many little stashes as you come down and hands it to you, as per usual. You flip it in your hands with half lidded eyes while he strips, not bothering with making any sort of show and just letting it all fall into a pile on the rug beside the couch. Not that you’re complaining. You wince internally at the litany of bruises and marks covering him. New scars forming and deep marks of blue, black and yellow.

He slides the condom on with ease, practiced hands making the usually fumbling task quick. He reaches over you to grab one of the throw pillows propped on the couch armrest and taps your hips for you to lift them.

“Ready f’me?” Simon asks, leaning forward to nip at your soft jawline.

“Yeah.” You gasp, turning your head to meet his lips as he presses inside. They’re slightly chapped from his time away.

“Fuckin’ soaked.” He groans into your mouth. “Always take me so well, yeah?”

You nod, breath catching in your throat as Simon grinds his hips against yours. The angle with the pillow presses him against that sensitive spot inside you with every movement. He keeps it slow - intimate - allowing you to feel all of him with each thrust.

Those dark eyes meet yours, pupils blown wide. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close - careful not to irritate any of his wounds. Simon tucks you against him, one arm around your upper back and the other hand holding the back of your head as he curls you into him. Your legs lock around his waist as you breathe him in - your moans mixing and bodies melding. This is what you needed. To be consumed, to disappear into the purely physical. Your mind doesn’t need to be active, on edge, as you roll your hips to meet his, as you press your fingers into his strong back and gasp when you cum. You only need to feel Simon’s teeth sink into your shoulder, just enough to muffle his own climax.

It’s safe here.

You both sink into the couch, breaths slowing and lids heavy as you come back to reality. The music that had been formerly drowned out comes back into focus. You shiver at the sudden chill of the room when your bodies part, fumbling for one of the random blankets strewn across his various furniture. Simon doesn’t say anything when you drape it across the both of you and lean your head on his shoulder.

You glance out of the corner of your eye as Simon’s phone vibrates on the coffee table. He has messages locked, but you see three consecutive notifications from “Johnny.” You smile and let your eyes slip shut as Simon’s arm wraps around your shoulders to pull you close.

banner by @the-aesthetics-shop

[comatosebunny09]

international | sylus

summary: sylus likes to play dangerous games. today, you happen to be his rook piece. warning(s): female anatomy described, explicit language, dirty talk, bodily fluids, exhibitionism, reader's attire is described, profanity, blue balls of the female persuasion, praise kink now playing: devil's advocate - the neighbourhood notes: something i threw in @muvaginger's inbox. i'm sorry for my mind. thank you for reading, lovebugs.

Sylus, but calling you when you’ve just gotten off work.

“Are you home?” he asks, all husky on the other end. He knows you aren’t if the telltale shadow cast by a crow circling overhead is anything to go by.

“Not yet.”

“Well, get there.” Amusement resides in his voice. You have half a mind to tell him off for bossing you around like that. Like you don’t secretly enjoy it.

“Yeah, yeah. On my way.”

You hang up and shove your phone into your pocket. Put your helmet on, throwing your leg over your bike’s seat and settling on the cushion. Start it, the engine purring to life beneath you. After waving goodbye to Tara, you peel off, zipping through the energetic streets of Linkon towards your home.

Inside the lobby, your phone buzzes again. You roll your eyes, shoving your earpiece into your ear as you trudge through the lobby.

“What!” you grate out.

“Moving a little too slow there, kitten.”

If only you could punch him through the phone. You tamp down your anger, switching tactics. “What’s this about, anyway?”

He chuckles low and throaty, the sound of it prickling your brain. “Patience is a virtue.”

You scoff. “You’re one to talk.” Asshole, you add inwardly.

You catch the elevator to the floor where your apartment resides. Slide your key in, easing through the door into your entryway. Barely have time to set your keys down before a sharp rapping snaps your attention to the door.

“Open it,” Sylus orders.

Hesitant, you pivot towards it. Fingers twitch near your hip where your gun’s holstered. Slowly, you reach for the handle, mindful of your steps.

A soft laugh rings in your ear.

“Easy, sweetheart. It’s not an ambush. If I wanted to off you, I would’ve done so by now.”

“I never know with you,” you clip back, turning the doorknob.

After mentally counting to three, you throw the door open and peek outside. Silence and an empty hallway greet you. You glance left and right. Up and down the hall until a large, crimson box catches in your peripheral, seated on your doormat. You fetch it, admiring the black ribbon intricately wrapped around it.

“What’s this?” you query, kicking your door shut once you’re back inside.

“A gift.”

“Another one?”

His tone swims with nonchalance. “What can I say? I enjoy spoiling you rotten.”

You test the weight of the box. Shake it, hearing tissue paper and something heavy stir inside.

“Open it.”

You oblige. Tear the ribbon and top off, eyes curiously raking over the box’s contents. Inside is a long, black trench coat. Beneath that rests a long-sleeved, silk blouse. Deeper still lies a simple miniskirt, and you test its material between your fingers. It all looks and feels incredibly expensive despite its simplicity.

“Put it on,” Sylus instructs through the stillness.  

“What? Why?”

“Because you have a train to catch in—” A brief pause. “One hour.”

“What the fuck? A train? An hour? Sylus—”

“Time is ticking, sweetie.”

The phone clicks with his exit.

You throw the clothes onto your couch, scrutinizing them over folded arms, chewing your lip. It’s 50 degrees out. Where the hell does he think you’re going dressed like this? Does he plan to use you as bait or something?

Your phone buzzes again on your coffee table. You fetch it to see a QR code for a train ticket sitting in your inbox.

“Shit,” you hiss, scrambling for your bathroom to shower. He’s serious. There really is no time to spare.

He’d better have a good reason for being so cryptic.

—

“The second to last car,” he husks in your ear. “Meet me there in five.”

Your lips contort into a scowl. You rip your earpiece out, wending through the train’s other passengers to pursue your goal.

In the corners of your vision, the scenery outside the windows eases by. Greenery nestled beneath the snow, somewhere remote. It’s beautiful. You take time to admire the sights before finding your way to the second to last car.

The door slides shut behind you. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rumble of the train upon the tracks. The passengers here are sparse. It’s a luxury cabin, decked with armchairs, faux plants, and an expensive carpet.

You survey the area, spotting an unmistakable thatch of white nestled in the rear seat. Try to mask your giddiness as you make your way towards the back. It’s been a few days since you’ve last seen him.

Wordlessly, he motions to the seat across from him when you venture to his side, wearing that customary smirk. You plop down, folding your arms. Bite back a smile of your own, favoring a frown.

“What’s this all about?”

Sylus leans back in an easy slouch, and the way he manspreads makes your mouth water. He peers down at you from his nose, draping a long arm over the headrest of his seat. His turtleneck and coat do little to disguise the power of his body. The tendons in his neck dance. Jaw flexes. He motions to your lap with a flick of his gaze.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps.

Your eyes grow comically wide. “Excuse me?!” you hiss, mindful of your volume. Look around to ensure no one’s the wiser to your conversation. No hello. No I’ve missed you. No preamble whatsoever.

His smug look doesn’t waver. “Don’t make me repeat myself, sweetheart.” There’s an underlying edge to his voice. One that doesn’t leave room for argument. Still, you contest him.

“Sylus, there are people here!”

That enraged whisper thing you do—it’s endearing.

Sylus’ eyes darken with something sinister. He hasn’t stopped watching you since the moment you sat down. Hasn’t stopped raking his eyes over your honeysuckle thighs, your hips.

“They can watch,” he drawls with an innocent shrug.

“Sylus!”

“Sweetie, I’m not asking.” Though he bears an expression of amusement, you can tell he means business. Consequences typically follow when you don’t heed him. Delicious consequences.

You swallow thickly. Sylus’ silhouette blurs as you survey the car over his shoulder. There are at least three other passengers here, all seated near the door you came through. More than enough distance between you. Your lover bleeds back into focus, his brow raised in challenge.

With a weighted sigh, you shift to make yourself more comfortable. Loosen the tie of your coat, drawing it open whilst easing your hips forward. Hesitantly spread your legs, feeling Sylus’ optics tuned to your every move. Something hot and sticky has already begun to gather in your panties, and your nipples tighten beneath the frail silk of your blouse.  

He cutely cocks his head to the side when you hesitate. Eyes narrow. “What’s wrong, sweetie,” he croons all low. You feel it coiling in your stomach. “Scared?”

You cut your eyes to him, mouth drawn into a tight line. Of course you are. You’ve never done anything like this. He’s introduced you to all kinds of things. Uncovered fantasies lurking deep in your mind. Discovered all the erogenous zones on your body you never knew you housed, but—

Exhibitionism is new. Dangerous. And somehow, the thought of it makes you wetter.

“Go on,” he soothes. Encourages, irises dipping into a mysterious shade of garnet.

Your body moves of its own volition, spellbound. Thighs part a little more, hands smoothing over plump flesh. You sigh out, leaning back as you drag your nails over the inner curve of your thighs, bunching your skirt up towards your hips. A little more enthusiastic now, teasing your swollen outer labia with the knuckles of your thumbs.

Sylus’ mouth parts slightly. His gaze flickers downward, entranced by the show and the soft hitch of your breath. He looks back into your eyes, clicking his tongue in discovery. Reaches out a sizable hand, leaning towards you with his elbows digging into the pockets of his knees.

“Panties. Take them off.”

Your tummy sparkles with heat. He quirks a brow. He’s serious. It’s not enough to touch yourself like this in public. He wants you bare and exposed, staining the armchair with your heat.

Without a word, you shimmy out of your underwear. Thin and frill as they slide down your calves, over your ankles to pool at your feet. You compliantly deposit them into his hand. A bitten-off growl brews in his chest. He falls back against his seat, stuffing your panties into his coat’s inner pocket for safekeeping. Signals for you to keep going, fully invested in this game.

You repeat the process from before. And it’s a new sensation now, the crisp air of the train car kissing your sticky pussy. You try to think of other things. Try to distract yourself from the smolder of his gaze and how it makes your body hum and your mind fill with smoke.

You think about his fingers instead of yours, stroking down the slit of your pussy. His fingers rubbing at the hood of your clitoris, drawing it back to stroke your pretty, swollen clit. His thumbs sliding over your nipples, causing your back to arch, his tongue laving at the space behind your ear…

Your hips stutter. You stifle a moan. Sylus slides in and out of focus, your vision fogging around the corners. He chuckles amorously, shifting in his seat. “Don’t stop,” he nurtures, eyes burning like a feverish flame. His dick sits heavy in his slacks, slowly hardening and twitching.

You salivate. Knowing that he’s enjoying this as much as you gradually are—fuck. You bite your lip, propping your leg on the chair’s arm. Spread nice and wide for him, your pussy on full display.

You rut against your fingers, your face screwed up in rapture. Legs quiver each time the pads of your fingers bump your messy clit. You construct a rhythm that’s maddeningly slow and torturous. Feel that sparkling rush lazily pooling between your thighs, but it’s not enough. Wanna be filled and stuffed to the brim with cum.

His cum.

A glimpse at Sylus reveals something that makes you throb. He’s touching himself. Humping into the palm of his hand, hot and weighted through the thick layers of his clothes. Fuck. You pulse.

“Syl,” you sob quietly, wetly, wantonly. “Syl, please—”

“Use your fingers,” he breathes all ragged. “Inside.” Angles his head back until it thumps against the headrest. Doesn’t look away, still rucking his hips up into the heel of his palm like the slow undulation of a wave.

You indulge, circling the pucker of your pussy with your fingers. Steadily work one inside, and you sigh, tossing your head back. Caress your tits with your free hand, plucking your nipples to their peaks as you drive your finger in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds you make as you torture yourself causes your walls to clench down.

Sylus’ voice crackles, pouring through the fizzy haze that’s settled over you.

“One more. You can take one more, can’t you, sweetie?”

You moan at how his voice oozes like warm milk and honey. You’re obedient, gradually adding another, pumping in and out. A thick ring of cream collects around your knuckles. It’s still not enough. Never enough.

“That’s my girl,” he lauds, relief in his timbre. “So good for me. So, so good.”

“Sylus,” you sob, fucking yourself a little faster. Wish it were him instead, filling you up and pumping you with the briny edge of his cum. There’s a warm fluid trickling down your leg. Heat spooling in your tummy.

He greedily ingests the sight of you fucking yourself, groaning hoarsely. You’re so close to spilling over the edge, so close to losing yourself to an orgasm. And you would—

If not for the sound of footfalls nearing your position.

“Shit!” you hiss, snapping your legs shut. Work your skirt into some semblance of neatness, throwing your coat over your legs. Your cheeks and neck are aflame, pulse pounding in your throat, pussy throbbing.

You don’t make eye contact as the gentleman passes, too busy looking at your fingers in your lap. He’s none the wiser to the goings on in your section—or, at least, he acts like he isn’t—as he bows with a small smile, slipping through the door behind. Sylus tracks his every move, and if looks could kill…

Your heart thrums heavily in your ears. You caution a glance at your boyfriend, taking in his flushed cheeks, his heaving chest. He’d thrown his coat over his lap to disguise the monster pressing against the seam of his trousers.

You lock eyes. His lips pull into a scowl as he sits up, pitching himself forward. Cants his head to one side, voice abrasive and low.

“Did I tell you to close your fucking legs?”

A thrill racks through you. It’s rare that he curses, only sullying his tongue when he’s upset or too far gone. It turns your stomach to a primordial ooze. Without warning, Sylus gathers himself up, snatching your wrist along with him.

You stumble like a baby fawn to your feet, gazing into those eyes that dwindle like liquid spilled over burning coals.

“We aren’t done here, sweetheart,” he promises with a tense jaw. Tugs you from your seat and down the aisle, all the while fishing for something in his pocket. A quick glance reveals a barcode, and a number printed in bold letters on a bit of plastic. A keycard. The sneaky little…

He peers at you over his shoulder as you both maneuver through the throng of passengers in the remaining cars, back towards the front. Your features warm with a smile. Legs tingle.

You weren’t aware that this train had sleeper cars, but you’re grateful to know it does. Your body buzzes with the prospect of what’s to come. He’s not done with you, indeed.  

hair down | masterlist | nuisance

[s-4pphics]

gift basket (e.w.)

kinda cont. to this :3 meep

wc;cw: 1.6k, return of pothead!ellie and her pothead gf, weed duh, parties, mention of psychs but no actual psychs lol, fluff… UNHEARD OF, flirting and a lil sexual tension, something quick bc i miss her fr

“you tryna do acid?” you call from ellie’s small dining table, rolling up for the two of you. ellie’s attention is yanked from her device, gawking from where she sits on the couch, decked in her usual party attire: all black everything from head to toe. “the fuck did you just say?” 

“you tryna do acid?” you repeat, sealing the blunt. ellie’s eyes flick around the living room, jolting down to the blunt in your hand before they lock with yours. 

“. . . why the fuck would i do that before a party?” ellie snorts, removing and tossing her reading glasses on the coffee table before returning back to some annoying show about a blue cat with bunny for a sister. neither of you are high yet and she’s already in hysterics, wildly cackling and shoveling parmesan goldfish in her mouth.

ellie.  .  . oh, ellie. 

why won’t she fucking touch you? 

after your intense smoke session on pothead christmas, your relationship has gotten strange. not strange in a bad way; she never hesitates to invite you over to spark up, pick you up for late night drives, have study sessions (where she watches you study with eyes tinted pink). everything is exactly the same, but you don’t want it to be. 

it’s been a month since she smoked you out and rambled about her sex life, since you asked — begged her to kiss you. at this point, you would accept a fucking peck, for sucks sake! but she brushes you off every time, pushes you right back into that best friend box after every hot box. you’ve given her every sign to put it down on you, and she’s receptive. the stares she gives you, the lingering touches, the seemingly doting affection that shines beneath her pupils. it’s all there and. . . not at the same time. 

but here you are again. igniting her fucking bud before you roll out to another frat house. being high and horny simultaneously is your greatest weakness. . . especially when your little crush looks this fucking good. 

“you’re so far away.” ellie lures gently from the cushions, “c’meeere, i’m cold.” 

“. . . it’s almost june.” you note flatly. she rolls her eyes and blows a raspberry, climbing over the back of the couch and sliding in next to you, eyes glued to your working hands. she pinches the blunt between her thumb and index finger. “it’s fat as fuck, jesus christ.” she mumbles in amazement. fucking geek. 

“it’s yours. say thank you.” ellie gasps in delight and throws her arms around your neck, bending down to smack kisses on your cheek, mumbling thank you, thank you, thank you! you can’t hide your smile when you throw hers in your little baggie before shoving it in her front pocket. you pat it for good luck. “don’t crush them like you did last time. i’m gonna be hot,” you scold lightly and ellie smirks against your cheek. 

“i dunno. you’re pretty hot already.” she purrs against your face. you push her away and she giggles, jogging to get her shoes on. you follow in her lead and lace up, praying to god that she doesn’t sit on the fucking bag in the uber. 

ellie can’t stop staring at this fucking lava lamp. 

it’s gorgeous, really. . . the bright colors, the holographic glitter, the fucking. . . clay balls. are they clay? they look like stress toys floating around in uncooked egg whites that've been injected with fairy vomit—

“ellie!” 

she feels like she’s underwater, but not in a drowning, i’m-gonna-die way. she feels like a mermaid as she searches the room at your call, tunnel vision centering on every drunk face until she finds yours. you're actually right in front of where she sits on the love seat. . . right in front of someone else. . . who’s directly behind you. . . who the fuck is that? 

your brows are pulled down in concern as you shout over the blaring music, asking her if she feels okay, if she wants to leave, but she’s not focused on none of that. . . her high is about to go left in a second if this bitch doesn’t stop squeezing your ass. ellie sends you an affirming look even though her blood is sizzling beneath her skin and you nod in acknowledgement, returning your attention back to whoever you’re throwing it on. 

. . . would it be fucked up if she busted this lava lamp over this broad’s head? she doesn’t think so. 

she barely registers it. the small display in front of her is nauseating. ellie’s known you forever, and never once have you accepted a rip from somebody you didn’t know. . . so why the fuck are you ripping from a bitch you don’t know? the end of the blunt sparks a bright orange with your heavy puff, the carbon you didn’t inhale ghosting in front of your mouth. smoke leaves through your nose as you giggle, the fucking. . . bum whispering something in your ear with a tight squeeze on your waist. 

you’re shaking your head like you like it, like you’re approving of this fuckery and ellie almost vomits. she stands too quickly for her legs because she plops back down like an utter buffoon, the world spinning like a pinball. her arms extend as she searches for balance while sitting and—

whatever the fuck she was going to say vanishes when your hands come down on her shoulders, comfortingly squeezing them through her sweaty shirt. softly. ellie turns to mush as she tries to read your lips. . . maybe she shouldn’t do that; it looks like you’re saying don’t be gay. . . but ellie is gay and so are you so how the fuck would that work?

she’s being scooped up by you and. . . yeah, she’s very faded. ellie’s always prided herself in having a high tolerance to the dirty green, but she’s on one tonight. what the fuck did you put in that shit? is this why you asked her to do acid earlier? because you laced her shit? she can feel her palms getting clammy as you walk her down a dark ass hallway. . . if she had that lava lamp, maybe she could see—

a door slams shut and a lock clicks. it’s suddenly bright. ellie’s convinced she made it to heaven. . . especially when her vision focuses and she’s met with the angel that you are, eyes sparkly and twinkling like fairies in a meadow. god let her in the pearly gates. . . 

“you okay, baby? needa throw up?” your hand is on her cheek, thumb gently massaging the skin. her heart’s singing. ellie’s entranced by you and her skin heats. . . her pussy also skips a beat. a little one-two. 

“. . . baby’s okay.” she mumbles. why is her tongue so heavy? you coo at her, “wanna go home?”

ellie nods, “fuck that bitch you were grindin’ on. hope she breaks her neck. . . or somethin’ crazy, i dunno.” you choke on laughter and pull her in for a gentle hug. ellie’s heavy arms enclose around your waist. tightly. selfishly. 

“you mad i wasn’t grinding on you?” 

“duh! the fuck. . .” she slurs. “i should be grabbing ass, ‘s my. . . s’mine, fuck you.” you’re giggling into her neck and she shoves a hand in your back pocket. 

“you needa bed.” you shake your head. 

“yeah, so i can dig you out in it— “

“ELLIE— “

her laughter is uncontrollable, “yeeeah, you’re fucking mine. no more hoes for you.” 

you’re burning hot when your eyes open. . . because there’s a fucking body on top of you!

you and ellie are slung across the couch cushions, party clothes still on. ellie must’ve been awake for a minute because she sighs, breath hitting your tummy, “did you try to kill me yesterday? be honest.” 

“. . . bitch. . .”

“i’ve never been that high . . . well, that’s not true— “

“exactly.” you snicker, “how long you been up?” 

she holds up her wrist to check her imaginary stopwatch, “approximately. . . three minutes and thirty-fi— six seconds— “

“i fuckin’ hate you. get the fuck off me.” 

“hmm. . . nah, i’m good right here.” 

ellie’s head shifts on your stomach and you know she’s staring up at you, “i needa fucking shower— “

“me, too. with me?” you hear the smile in her tone. you finally gawk down at her. “you’re never hitting my shit again. what’s up with you?” 

her eyes crystallize when she shrugs, “had another dream about giving you head and now i gotta do it. follow your dreams, or whatever they say.” 

your jaw is on the floor and your stomach is in knots. “ellie—“ you gasp. 

“no, i’m not still high, and no i don’t wanna just fuck. kinda obsessed with you if last night wasn’t obvious.” she speaks so casually and it’s giving you whiplash. “i almost committed murder. that’s how pissed i was.” 

“a-at me?” 

ellie’s eyes roll, “oh my god, no. at whoever that freak was from last night. . . i don’t wanna talk about that shit anymore. i have trauma.” 

her tongue rolls over her lips and she eyes you like a vulture to a carcass, “i dunno if you ever used that shower head when you sleep over but. . .  it goes crazy.” her proposal makes you squirm and she smirks, planting a kiss on the skin of your belly. followed by another. . . and another a little lower. 

“you my girl?” she whispers against your skin, staring up at you, tongue poking out just barely to swipe on the plush area. 

“. . . maybe.” you mumble shyly, and ellie’s teeth beam. she sits up to stand and pulls you with her, guiding you out of the living room and down the hallway, into the bathroom. she snags her lighter off the counter and ignites her favorite cinnamon candle, the wick nearly gone. “for ambiance.” she whispers with a grin. 

you unbuckle the belt looped in your jeans, “pulling out the big words, huh?”

“call me thesaurus the way i make that pussy talk.” she expects you to laugh, but you don’t. you almost grab your shit and leave. . . but her laughter sounds like wedding bells. 

“just take your clothes off.” you say dryly. 

-

-

-

SIKKKEEE COCKBLOCK SEASON MERRY NEW YEAR OR WHATEVER HAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAA

[dyeher]

“Gentlemen,” Mikey says.

His voice doesn’t rise above its regular volume but the single word is enough to quiet the room of executives settled around the conference table.

He's standing at one end, a hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other tapping a random rhythm into the mahogany surface of the table as he regards his...what did you say these men were to him?

They're your friends Mikey.

His friends. Right.

He eyes Ran Haitani who balances on the back legs of the chair he's sitting on precariously. His loafer-clad feet crossed at the ankles on the table. Next to him, his brother sighs deeply, his thumb and forefinger massaging circles into the bridge of his nose.

Opposite them, Kokonoi and Kakucho appear deceptively calm. Kokonoi is chewing diligently on a piece of gum. His attempt at quitting cigarettes. Kakucho has one arm slung along the back of Koko's chair, his legs spread as he slouches in his chair. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the headrest. If Mikey didn't know better he'd think Kakucho was recovering from a night out drinking.

Of course, the truth is much wilder than Kakucho spending a night on the town.

Takeomi is absent. Naturally. Sanzu is sprawled in his own chair at the other end of the table. His guns are on the table as he shines his katana.

Mikey considers everything he's been through with the men in this room.

If you can let me in, then you can let them in.

He shudders as your words wash through him. You're like his fucking conscience. It's simultaneously the most unnerving and wonderful experience he's ever had. A voice of reason that isn't being paid in his blood money. He glances at Kakucho again quickly.

If you think these men have stuck around because you're paying them then you're dumber than I thought, Mikey.

Sanzu gently places his katana on the table and shakes out the little cloth he was using to shine it. He gives Mikey his full attention. the action seems to stir the others who also turn to him. Kakucho lifts a single brow at him in question.

And the action sets of something akin to...gratitude in Mikey. It's a wildly unfamiliar sensation and he has to quell the urge to rub his chest.

They would die for you, Mikey.

Yes, they would. He catches a glimpse of a cut running along Rindou Haitani's chest as the man shifts in his chair. The skin is shiny and puckered from healing and a pang goes off in his chest that almost knocks him on his ass.

These men would die for him.

A sudden clarity comes over him and he has to blink several times to reorient himself. It feels almost like someone has ripped whatever ill-fitting glasses he was wearing before off and he can see clearly now. Jesus Christ, these men would die for him.

He sinks heavily into his own chair. The weight of his previous oversight anchors him to the cushion.

"I have news," he blurts.

The words suck the air out of the room. Silence ensues for a handful of seconds and then...

"Oh my God, you knocked her up!"

Rindou reaches Ran before Mikey can react to his exclaimed words and slaps his brother in the back of the head.

"I-" Mikey starts, blinking in confusion. What?

"Jesus Christ Ran, so what if he has?" Rindou interrupts, glaring at his brother.

"I di-" Mikey tries again, his brows furrowed.

"That actually...that makes sense," Kokonoi says slowly, nodding. "I saw her eat half a cake by herself the other night."

Kakcuho is gaping at Mikey. But there's a twinkle in his eye that makes Mikey nervous.

"Wait a min-"

"I thought you'd never notice," Sanzu laughs from the other end of the table and Mikey's skin chills.

What?

"What?" He zones out. Something in his voice must get the others attention because the room goes quiet.

"That's not...the news?" Ran squints at him, his chair making a thudding sound as he settles onto all four legs.

Mikey swallows around a ball of spit that seems to be stuck in the back of his throat. Pregnant.

No- she can't be- she- but- but the crying...and the sensitive breasts. the cravings.

"I was going to say I'm getting married," he says, hollowly.

"Oh shit," Sanzu breathes.

"Fuck, Mikey."

"I thought it was obvi-" Kokonoi shrugs.

"She agreed to marry you?" Ran interjects. "Without-" he pauses to glance around the room quickly and then lowers his voice as he finishes his question "-putting up a fight?"

That gets the rooms attention.

"What the fuck kinda question is that?" Kakucho frowns. "She's in love with him."

That seems to throw Ran for a loop. His eyes narrow on Mikey who's still stupified by the realization that he might become a father and husband in the same breath.

"Maybe there is hope for me," Ran says.

Sanzu snaps at him. "Are you implying Mikey doesn't deserve her?"

Ran splutters. "What? No- Why the fuck would I-"

"Just be quiet," Rindou sighs.

"You really think she's pregnant?" Mikey asks, interrupting their squabble.

"Yes," Koko nods.

"Absolutely,” Rindou agrees.

"Half a fucking cake Mikey...in a single sitting."

Mikey blanches. “She’s pregnant.”

Koko chuckles.

“She’s fucking pregnant,” he repeats. There’s a note of distress in his tone. “With a baby. A child!?”

Kakucho gives him a knowing look. “Congratulations, Manjiro.”

Sanzu, who has been uncharacteristically quiet stands. “This means she can’t say no to a protection detail anymore.”

Mikey’s brain stutters. Protection. Because shes pregnant with your child and about to become your wife. She’s singlehandedly the most important person to Bonten. And to him.

“Oh fuck.”

Rindou shakes his head. “We need to start personally vetting Bonten members now.”

“Why did it take a child and a marriage to convince you of that and not the two times we’ve been double crossed?” Kakucho questions.

“Do you want to deal with a Mikey whose wife and child are hurt or murdered?”

The room falls quiet as all eyes fall to Kokonoi. A heavy tension settles on Mikey’s shoulders. He’s having a child. Maybe. And getting married. Definitely.

And he runs one of the most dangerous organizations in the world. With over a hundred thousand employees worldwide. And stakes in every major and even some minor pies, in every industry.

He’s not sure of much except his own success and frankly, inhuman work ethic. But as the realization that his life is changing. Developing into something better, something more. He’s sure that if anything ever happens to you or his unborn child…he would unravel.

“Can we circle back to her wanting to marry him?” Ran asks, breaking the tension. “Without being coerced?”

[4ngels0uls]

My enemy - Matt sturniolo

Dont like? Don’t read.

Summary: Matt sturniolo and y/n have hate each other for basically forever. Nick and Chris hate their bickering, they think y/n and Matt should just date. Y/n and Matt think that’s disgusting till….

Paring: fem!reader + dom!Matt

Warnings: use of y/n, SMUT, cursing, fingering, blowjob, handjob, p in v, a little dirty talk, rough sex, pet names kinda (like.. good girl, and I don’t know SO LOOK FOR YOURSELF.)

A/N: I broke my fucken phone like 2 weeks ago and just got it fixed yesterday 🙈

————————————————————

Y/ns pov

I’m sleeping over at the triplets house today, cause…..why not? I miss Chris and nick. Definitely not Matt. He’s a total asshole to me, but all sweet and charming in their YouTube videos. Pathetic. I open my phone and text nick. “Hey can I come for a little sleep over today?” I text. Almost immediately I get a text back. “Yeah sure. Just don’t be so fucking annoying with Matt.” He texts with an attitude. I think he’s pissed off.. I text back. “okay, I’ll be there in an hour.” I text. All I get is to be left on opened. Alright…

I grab all my shit for a sleepover. I get in my car and drive to their house. I get to their house but I’m not a fuck ass person to just walk in so I knock. Guess who opens the door. Matthew fucking sturniolo. “great.” He says. Asshole. He walks upstairs just leaving the door open for me to come in. I walk inside and take my shoes off and go and put all my shit in nicks room.

I walk into nicks room. Nobody.. what the fuck? I question. I put all my shit down and walk over to the couch where Matt is sitting. “where’s nick and Chris?” I ask. He looks up at me and sighs. “They’re out getting a bunch of shit for the store for a YouTube video.” he answers. “How long have they been gone?” I ask, considering nicks phone is right by Matt. “Like 2 hours, an hour ago?” He tells. huh? I texted nick 30 minutes ago and they have been gone for apparently 2 hours? Weird.

I sit on the couch, about 2 cushions away from him. “what the fuck are you watching?” I ask while confused. “Some random ass documentary, I’m not even watching it. What’s with all the questions?” He asks with an attitude. “I was just asking.” I tell. He gives me and weird look then goes back to his phone. I lay down and curl into a ball on the couch.

He glares at me and looks at me confused. “Why are you laying like that?” He asks me. “I don’t know, I’m comfortable..”I answer. He gives me a shrug and goes back to his phone. I pull my phone out of my pocket and go on it. I go thru my camera roll and find a sex tape of me for a while back, with my 2nd ever boyfriend. I forget my phone is on full volume. I click on the video and it blasts moans, the sound of me and his body’s slapping together.

My eyes go wide and I turn my phone off and Matt looks at me with wide eyes. “what the fuck were you watching…?” He questions. “nothing…” I say out of embarrassment.

End of y/ns pov

————————————————————

Matt’s pov

I hear y/ns phone blasting a sex tape of… sounds like her…? “what the fuck were you watching…?” I ask her. “Nothing.” She says almost immediately with a hint of embarrassment in her voice. We go quiet for a while, while I have a big ass tint in my pants from my dick… it’s bad from the last couple times this has happened. I let out a slight groan for only me to be able to hear.

God this fucking hurts. But I can do it here or get up cause she’ll think I’m fucking disgusting. Which it is…. She rolls over and looks down and sees my bulge thru my pants…

End of Matt’s pov

————————————————————

Y/ns pov

I look down at Matt’s pants and see he has the biggest boner ever.. “fuck… I’m sorry y/n. Im really fucking sorr-“ I shut him up by smashing my lips into his. I climb onto his lap, feeling his boner on my legs. He pulls away. “Please y/n..” he groans out. I know exactly what he wants. “Please what?” I tease him. “Use your mouth or anything..” he continues. I get off him and get on my knees in front of him.

I undo his belt and slide his pants down along with his underwear. His dick springs out, slapping his stomach. I grab his dick and kitty lick his tip. He groans to the feeling. I go down and start bobbing my head. He’s a moaning mess at this point. “F-fuck y/n..” he groans out. I let out a little groan to him moaning my name, sending waves of pleasure through his body.

“P-please..” he begs me for more. I look up at him and smirk. He makes a makeshift ponytail with his hands for my hair. Matt pushes my head down a bit, making me gag a little. “Oh fuck y/n..” he groans again. I start pushing my head a bit more down, making me gag more.

“Fuck! I’m going to cum!…” he moans but also yells out. I bob my head on e last time and he shoots his warm load down my throat. “g-good girl…” he whimpers. I smile at the nickname. He grabs me and picks me up and walks to his room to continue. He lays me down on his bed and closes and locks the door even though no one’s home.

He crawls up towards me. He hovers above me. He kisses me all around my neck. I lift my head up for him to be able to kiss my neck more. He kisses all over till he finds my sweet spot. He sucks and licks my pure skin. He leaves a big purple hickey that’s very noticeable. No one will know.. right? He slides his fingers down to my aching core. Sliding my pants down along with my underwear. He starts pulling my shirt up revealing my purple lace bra. He smirks when he sees my bra. “Cute bra…” he smiles. I blush from his compliment. He slides his fingers along my curves.

He gets down to my core, slowly rubbing my clit. I let out a very soft moan. I kiss his soft lips as he fingers my core. He shoves his two fingers, the middle and ring, right into my core, I let out a moan making him groan. I kiss him deeply as he kisses me back.

He pumps his fingers in and out of me making me whimper every time he pumps his fingers. F-fuck Matt…” I moan. I bury my face into his neck. He pumps fingers in and out of me faster making me and whimpering and moaning mess.

“Sh-shittt” I moan. “M’ close!” I yell out. He pumps his fingers about three more times, hitting my g spot each time. “Fuck! Please! Matt!” I scream out. I release all over his two fingers. He pulls out his fingers. He licks off all of my release off his fingers. “mm you taste good.” He tells me while smirking.

He gets on top of me again. He kisses me on my neck. “All fours, ass up.” Matt says with a controlling tone. “Hmugh please…” I moan out. He lines himself up between my wet folds. “P-please don’t tease Matt.” I whimper out. “Be patient.” He tells. I nod my head and he slides him self in. I let out a moan as he burys his length into my core.

“so tight.” He whispers out. He thrusts his hips at a fast pace, his hips smacking into mine making an echo in the room. “Fuck…” he groans. “Mhughm fuck! Matt!” I moan loudly. He groans from me moaning his name. He pounds into me like theirs no tomorrow. I make a little noise every time his skin slaps mine. “are my good girl!?” He yells out at me. “Y-yes!” I yell back. He shoves himself deeper. I moan louder, my eyes going to the back of my head. He smacks my ass, making an echo sound around the room. I bury my face into the pillow. F-fuck..y/n.” he groans softly.

He pounds me till I yell out “fuck I need… fuck! I need to cum!” I yell out. “just wait.” He dominants. “W-what?..” i whimper. “just wait.” He says. He pounds me a couple for times till the point where now I’m feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated. “M-Matt please!” I yell. “be a good girl and cum all on my dick.”

He finally tells me. I feel the knot snap in my stomach. I release all over his dick. I feel his dick twitch inside of me. “F-fuckk!!..y/n!” He moans loudly. Digging his nails into my hips while shooting his hot load into my cunt. Painting my spongey walls white.

He pulls out and claps beside me. “damn.. didn’t think you were that good.” He tells. “Me either..” I agree with him. We hear the front door open and hear yelling. “Matt! Wer- what the..? Y/n!?” Chris yells from the front door. I look at Matt. He looks back at me. He starts getting up but kisses my lips. He finishes putting his clothes on. He winks and leaves and closes the door behind him. I just had sex with my enemy.

————————————————————

IM DYING.

idk I’m bored now🙂

NOW I HAVE TO GO WRITE MORE😔

BYE.

[vicsy]

maxiel; mutual post-Hungary jack-off session. 1.5k.

we cope how we can and this is my humble offering.

Max is panting into his neck wetly, his arm sandwiched between their chests. Daniel’s got a mouthful of Max sweat-slick hair sticking to his lips, his tongue, half of his weight pressing Daniel into the stiff couch cushions. He stares at the low ceiling, the light fixture there, running his fingers up and down Max’s spine, his naked skin almost sparking a match beneath Daniel’s fingertips. He feels boneless but on edge; anger but an afterthought but present nonetheless.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck,” Max echoes.

Daniel shuts his eyes, a nervous giggle bubbling in his chest, making Max's head bounce a little. What a fucking mess.

He knocked on the door of Max’s motorhome half expecting to be told to fuck off. Max looked wild and Daniel recognized the glint in his eyes too well to let those expectations fly. He got gripped by the collar of his race suit and unceremoniously yanked inside, well against the odds continuously stacking not in his favor. Max locked the door before he paced to the small kitchen and then turned back, watching Daniel like he had been another ghost of their shared past.

“Daniel,” he raked his eyes up and down his form, pausing at his lips. Max’s race suit was partially off and his shoulders were squared, either for the fight or for surrender. The latter he chose rarely but desperate time, matching measures.

“No time,” Daniel said hurriedly, pouncing, but Max had been waiting for him, almost with open arms.

He didn’t give too much thought to navigating whatever he and Max have rekindled after years of drought. They’ve been glued together for the past two weeks, practically living in each other’s pockets, so falling back into the embrace of old habits felt like an inevitability that Daniel welcomed. No harm, no foul.

There was no finesse to their lips crashing, teeth clanking, Max’s hands fumbling with the zipper of Daniel’s race suit. He had beelined straight to Max’s motorhome without changing, riled up to the point where his vision had tunnelled and had shown him the way. Daniel slipped his palms under the hem of Max’s fireproofs, up his waist, tugging the tight material off and away. He missed the reek of champagne soaked fabric clinging to Max and it only made Daniel push forward harder, tongue slipping past Max’s familiar lips, one hand gripping the back of his neck.

No chances — they never made it to the adjacent bedroom because Max’s race went almost as shitty as Daniel’s and Max always gives as good as he gets.

Stumbling over the coffee table and a suitcase, Daniel parked himself on the uncomfortable couch and Max finally dealt with his race suit, all but ripping the top half of it down, burying his face into the crook of his armpit. Throwing one leg over Daniel’s thigh, Max inhaled audibly and moaned.

Daniel was woozy with desperation. His hand made it to its destination, fingers bumping against the outline of Max’s half-hard dick. His hips jerked, rubbing against Daniel’s clothed thigh, too much of an impediment but he couldn’t stand the idea of going through a costume change, not when Max kissed up his neck and cupped him through the thick material of the race suit.

Shimmying up, Daniel tried to make it easier for Max but it’s was too much work, too messy, so he opted to take the initiative and tug Max’s fully hard dick out, moving the elastic of his fireproofs behind his balls. It could not have been ideal, downright uncomfortable, but Daniel knew Max — his mouth dropped open, a whine tumbling off his lips at the slight discomfort, breath tickling Daniel’s chin. His dick twitched in Daniel’s palm. He grinned, arching an eyebrow at Max and got squeezed hard in return under his fiery gaze.

Max managed to get an easier access to his dick, half sitting in Daniel’s lap, one arm thrown around his neck for balance, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Daniel’s neck. He gave an experimental tug and Max reciprocated without missing a beat. Pleasure shot up Daniel’s spine and his hunger came alive with vengeance. He bit into Max’s lower lip, palming his waist with a free hand. It felt like a boxing match, Max pumping him fast and sloppy; Daniel holding on to the razor’s edge of unbridled desire, taking as much as he can. The void opening in his chest called for more. And more.

He had shit to do and it was an atrocity on its own, not having the freedom to take Max all the way, sink into his body like it could be another homecoming after years of aimless roaming.

Instead, Daniel drew back and looked down at Max’s cock drooling precome over the rose tattoo on his hand. He felt a bit sick with it, with the open road of possibilities ahead, so he twisted his wrist and Max rocked forward, sunk his teeth into his jaw harder, groaning. Daniel did it again and Max’s hold on his spasmed, his hips jutting back and forth, seeking release.

Daniel couldn’t breathe in the lack of space between their bodies, between the way Max matched his speed when Daniel jacked him faster and faster, the slide almost too dry to really feel good but nothing about the day they both had had screamed for something soft or tender.

With a hitch in his breath, Max came first. It was somewhat fitting for him to cross the finish line before Daniel but he was just behind, on Max’s tail, shooting once, twice, three times. His come painted Max’s bare chest, flushed with a lovely pink blush, and a couple of pearly-white droplets landed on his puffy nipples. Daniel got a sudden urge to lick it off but he couldn’t be arsed to move, let alone let go of Max. He peppered kisses over Max’s cheek, the side of his jaw, wherever he could reach. Daniel feeling stickiness cling to his skin where Max’s release soaked through his fireproofs and it was probably the highlight of the day.

It felt gratifying, in a way — he and Max were practically in the same boat. Fucked over by the team, bristling with anger they had no opportunity to let out to the fullest. Only exception was Max’s boat had some points in it. Daniel has been left adrift with nothing.

He let himself slide flat onto the couch and Max followed, tethered. The dead weight on Daniel felt grounding almost as much as it was crushing his ribcage as he tried to catch his breath. He would not have changed it, though. In the sea of fluctuations, Daniel knew all but one place to anchor himself to.

The circumstance of today catches up to Daniel as he's fighting off a wave of bone-deep exhaustion. He's lost the track of time. Max places a small kiss to his throat, his hand squeezing over Daniel's shoulder.

“I still gotta go to debrief. Fuck,” Daniel groans, tired and wrung out. The remaining sparks of pleasure fizzle out, leaving him running on empty.

Max hums and then makes an effort to unstick himself from Daniel, not without staring at him from above, all heady, his lips kiss-slick and so wonderfully tantalising. It's a sight Daniel missed. He wipes the come off his palm against the couch, rather inconspicuously, and steadily gets up to his feet. This feels awfully normal, like he never even left.

“You can come after the debrief if you want,” Max says, more like throws at him, picking up the discarded piece of fireproofs off the floor.

Daniel adjust himself to look somewhat presentable and partially succeeds at the job. He gives himself a once-over in the full-length mirror by the door and stops abruptly, as if cut off. Thinks again, turning the implication around in his head, then catches Max moving in his peripheral, almost like a shark circling him.

“Aren’t you flying out tonight?”

Max looks at him, long, then shrugs, sitting back in the couch to get his racing boots off. He makes a face, nose scrunched.

“I of course can leave tonight, Daniel,” he says, measured. Daniel tracks his movements, remembering; and memorizing anew. “Jet is ready to go anyway. No point to stay longer, honestly. Fucking shame of a race.”

Daniel’s been fighting an uphill battle — on track, in the car, in the briefing room — and losing out on those fine margins. His hands are tied most of the time. He’s being nice, a real team player, someone who chooses the high road even if he gets trampled along the way. Daniel should just leave for the debrief, get an earful of meaningless words and then catch a flight he has booked. Meet Max in a week for his home race like nothing happened. Onwards and upwards. Or whatever.

But maybe being nice has run its course. Maybe Daniel is ought to be selfish again.

“Hey, so,” he gets Max’s undivided attention back onto himself, grinning, and leans on the door, not yet leaving but grasping the handle in a slippery grip just in case. “That jet of yours. Got an extra seat for little ol’ me?”

Max smiles, derisive as ever, and this time around Daniel cashes in on a win.

[wroteclassicaly]

Gator definitely gets off on eating your pussy. Not only lapping up what you give him, but the praises as well.

He’s eager and enthusiastic, a quick learner with your guidance. Mostly your hands tugging that coiffed mane into caramel colored disarray - slick and greasy between your fingers from the gel he layers on top. He ruts his slender hips into the floor, which you permit the poor and pathetic boy to do. He’s uncaring that you don’t shave at times, eagerly inhaling the creamy curls like a wildly starved creature, his nose buried in them, nudging your clit. Learning not to jackhammer your walls with his thick fingers, now that had been a task and a half.

Letting him know that what he’s seen and heard, just because he’s a guy — it doesn’t mean he knows jack shit. And he’s gotten better, to his credit. It’s never reached that point you’d wanted, not until much later.

He was humping himself into your couch cushions, panting and licking at you like he hadn’t eaten in days. His fingers were moving, searching, but when he’d ventured a little farther in, pushed up to scale that thick trigger finger — you’d shot up into an arch that scared his dumbass half to death.

“What?! What the fuck did I do?” Stubble clad face shining with your essence, brown eyes blown to hell, mossy shards laying about in the abyss of the midnight black pupils, he stared, chest heaving in the simple black, tight t-shirt. His uniform attire discarded, with the exception of his pants, boots, and top.

Your answer was to shove his head back down, tugging at the roots, nails clawing at his scalp. Words followed momentarily. “Your finger. Don’t you dare move it, Tillman! Add the other one and curl —“

“Curl? Am I spelling something out, I don’t get it —“ His hand had started to reach for the vape on his tighter fitting pocket, spare set of digits attempting to adjust.

“If you reach for that disgusting ass vape, I swear I will leave you with balls so blue that you’ll lose all ability to function for the rest of the day!” You cut in.

When he’s not occupied with your pussy, of course the idiot wants that gross ass thing. He quickly calmed himself and did as told.

You weren’t aware that he possessed it within him to make your thighs shake or your eyes roll back this much. And as you began to hear the wetness increase between your legs drastically, you smirked and used one hand to drag his spare to your breast, your thighs tightening to hold him and that mouth in place. “I’m gonna fucking soak you.” Was all you got out before one more stretching drag of his fingers over that spot and swipe of his tongue against your clit brought your over the edge, and the translucent liquid spurted from your cunt.

His brown eyes had widened comically, but he regained, following your quick direction not to stop. And that’s when he did something unexpected… by far. He opened his mouth in the direction of your squirt, fucking his hips into the bed in a sloppier, messier direction, hand slapping and squeezing your tit in alternation, fingers not slowing down until you couldn’t take it anymore and you became spent. He came moments later, whining, biting into the meat of your inner thigh, ruining another pair of those Wal-Mart camouflage khakis.

“I thought that only happened in porn? Like a pussy party trick or something.” He’d said, marveling in the after math, blowing a cloud of that acidic fruit in your direction.

You rolled your eyes at his terminology. You didn’t want to let him know you hadn’t ever been able to do it before. After all, he’s still your student.

Yeah, you’re a damn good teacher…

[frannyzooey]

In The Dark: One Shot

Series Masterlist

Ezra x m!reader

Rating: E (filth and yearning, my friends)

Summary: Six weeks after Birdie has left, a glimpse into how Ezra tries to forget.

A/N: all the thanks to my bestie in crime, @the-scandalorian who said “when will this freak be in MY sheets” and she was so real for that ❤️

--

It’s been over a month, and the wound is still raw. 

He’s tried to keep busy in so many ways: driving further for deliveries, taking on harder jobs that tire him out, seeking out his friends for a few drinks or a movie or dinner. Anything to keep him from reaching for his phone to text you or call you. 

Distractions, which is what he needs tonight. 

The itch to grab his phone is strong, so he grabs his keys instead. Stuffs his wallet in his back pocket, some condoms in the front. Steps out into the dusk and with a quick, restless stride, makes his way towards the nearest station. The train is crowded, not unusual for a Friday night and so are the streets when he gets off: streams of pairs, of groups, of single people like him all headed their way somewhere. 

A thought pops into his mind, the way you used to wonder aloud where everyone was going. You used to watch them from your window, the steam from the tea clutched in your hands curling into the air, and for a brief, painful moment, he sees it. Your profile, your cheeks stretched with a grin, your hand patting the cushion next to you, beckoning him closer. In nothing but a tank top and your underwear, you’re a vision – a literal one that he shakes free as he opens the door to the bar.

It’s loud, but that’s good. 

It doesn’t take him long to find someone. He’s never one to be shy about looking at someone with blatant want, and it takes only a few minutes before the man approaches him. It’s only been men since you left. He can’t bear the touch of another woman, with all their softness and sweetness and curves. He needs a hardness that matches his own: rough kisses, harsh grips. 

Ezra orders the man a beer to match the one he’s finishing off, and they talk for a while, leaning on the bar. He’s a drummer in a band, here to see his friend play. He’s got intricate tattoos that run the length of his arms, molding to the sinewy muscles. He’s got eyes so rich with depth that Ezra finds himself drawn in the longer they talk, empty bottles being replaced with fresh, full ones. 

He’s not you, and that’s perfect. 

A bundle of cash is thrown down on the countertop, and Ezra follows the man out of the bar, letting him guide him back to his place, just around the corner. The apartment is sparse in the way men’s often are. A couch, a coffee table, a couple of pieces of art on otherwise bare walls. Not as many books as Ezra would like to see, but that’s okay. He’s not here for intellectually stimulating conversation. 

He’s here to fuck. 

He’s here to forget the fact that he would rather be in someone else’s apartment, surrounded by their stacks of books, among other things that made it feel so cozy and lived in. So warm, just like the cloud of your bed, or the cradle of your thighs or – 

“You want a drink?” the man offers, standing next to his open fridge. 

Ezra shakes his head, coming closer. He reaches out, gently pushing the door shut. 

“No,” he replies. “Just you.”

—

The man’s bed is nothing like yours, but that’s okay. 

The sheets aren’t as soft and it doesn’t smell as sweet, but it does have a willing body with a tight hole and that’s all that matters right now. Something to turn his brain off for the night, to numb the deep ache that’s settled between his ribs. 

He aches now, but in a different way. A sweet, heavy ache deep in his balls as he tries not to come in the tight, wet fist of this man’s ass. The stranger is on his hands and knees, his back arched to take every one of Ezra’s rough thrusts, rocking back to meet every snap of his hips. His groans are deep and loud, his hands clenched in the plain sheets stretched over his mattress and Ezra runs a hand down his spine, his fingers splayed over his lower back. 

Tattoos extend all the way up to his shoulders and wrap around his ribcage. His body is gorgeous – all lean muscles and smooth skin; Ezra’s touch fits between his ribs along his sides as he bends forward to tug the man up. 

The stranger molds his back to Ezra’s front, and Ezra keeps a hand cradled at the base of his throat and fucks him harder, letting out his low, labored grunts into the nape of his sweat damp neck. His body is hard against Ezra’s, nothing like yours. When Ezra’s arm wraps around his front, he feels firm, flat planes instead of lush, weighted breasts. When his hand smoothes down the man’s torso, he feels a flat belly covered in scattered hair instead of plush, rounded softness. When Ezra’s hand dips lower, it wraps around a thick, stiff cock instead of finding a seam of wet, slick warmth. 

The man’s hand joins Ezra’s, the two of them pumping his cock in time with the beat of Ezra’s hips. Ezra wants something slicker, something to make the drag better, and he lets go, bringing his hand up to the man’s mouth. The man opens, sucking Ezra’s fingers in down to the knuckle, and they groan together, Ezra’s cock jerking inside. Ezra can feel the vibration of his hum around the thick digits and pulls them out of his mouth, bringing them back down to the man’s cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans when Ezra wraps him with a firm, slick hold, jerking him root to tip. He adds a slight twist to the motion, something he loves to do to himself, and when the man’s broad frames melt against Ezra’s, he grins. He pumps his fist faster, feeling the man clench around his cock, and when the man’s groans start to get louder, Ezra’s pace picks up. 

Sweat beads along his neck, and Ezra licks it up with a flat lave of his tongue. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Ezra croons in his ear. 

When the man doesn’t answer, Ezra scrapes his teeth along the corded muscle, biting down. 

“Yes! Yes, fuck yes, it feels good. Jesus Christ. Fuck me.” 

The man is near babbling, his cock thickening in Ezra’s hold, beads of pre-come leaking steadily from the thick, rounded tip and Ezra swipes through the pearly mess, bringing his hand to his mouth. He sucks the sticky slick off the pad of his fingers, and lets out a lewd, deep groan into the man’s ear. The man whimpers, letting his head tip back against Ezra’s shoulder. 

Ezra’s got him cradled on his lap, his hand back on the man’s cock to finish him off, and when he starts to come with a shout and a steady stream of thick cum seeping through Ezra’s fingers, he digs his fingers into Ezra’s thighs, forcing himself down on Ezra’s lap to bury him as deep as he’ll get. 

Ezra’s chest is heaving, his body aching with the need to come, every muscle strung as tight as the hold he has on the man’s hair. He’s rough with him: pushing him forward on his hands and knees, digging into his hips with a harsh grip, pounding into the curve of his ass hard enough to bruise. His fingers dig into the crown of the man’s hair with a tug, and Ezra closes his eyes, teetering on the edge of his own release. 

The curve of your plush ass, the dig of your tiny fingers, the weight of your smaller frame enveloped by his. Your softer moans, the scent of your shampoo and your skin and the touch of your hair when he buries his face in it and the slick, tight warmth of your cunt or your ass as his hips jerk upwards – 

And then he comes, burying himself deep. 

He drops forward, catching his breath for a moment, resting his hands on the bed as his cheek rests on the man’s shoulder, and when he eases himself out, he feels slightly smug at the hiss he hears him let out.

“That was…a lot. Fuck, man,” the stranger laughs, breathless and sated. He drops down onto the bed, splaying out. His fingers dance along his tattooed stomach while he watches appreciatively as Ezra stands, tugging the condom off and knotting it. 

“The bathroom is over there.” The man waves his hand in the direction of the hallway.

In the tiny room, Ezra washes his hands and stares at himself in the mirror. He looks tired, even with his cheeks flushed with heat. 

His balls are empty, but so is everything else. 

He doesn’t stay long after that. A quick press to the man’s lips at his front door, a half-hearted promise to see him again sometime. He knows he probably won’t. 

He feels tired on his walk back home, his limbs drained of their restless energy, which is what he wanted – so he isn’t sure why he feels so..unsatisfied. Like he didn’t just fuck someone until they both finished. He wonders briefly if you’ve fucked anyone since you’ve been gone, and he immediately rebels against the thought…even though he knows he doesn’t have any right to. 

He just did, didn’t he? 

He wonders if you miss him like he misses you. If your world is tinted in Ezra-colored glasses like his is tinted in yours. If you also lay awake at night, staring at your face-down phone on your night stand, willing it to light with a text. 

He said he would give you time and space and he meant that. Christ, he did. He wouldn’t even be mad if you went out and had fun and fucked someone because that’s what he wants for you – to be young, to embrace this opportunity, to have those experiences. 

He just wishes it was still with him. 

Letting himself in the front door, he heads straight for the shower. Stripping his clothes, he stands under the steaming pressure, dropping his head between his shoulders. He lets the steady stream beat down on his back, washing the sweat of someone else off his skin. 

He sees a flash of your open mouth moaning in pleasure, your skin sliding against the shower tiles, and frustrated, he slams the water off. His cock comes to life, half hard between his thighs, and he ignores it, toweling off. 

Pulling on sweats, he should be tired enough to sleep after a fuck like that, but he heads in the direction of the living room instead, grabbing a beer on the way there. Slumping into the couch, he clicks the TV on. He pulls up his phone, swiping open the weather app. 

LONDON: 46F / 7C, 3AM 

The bright light of the TV illuminates his profile, and he sighs, setting the phone down. 

Are you in your bed? In someone else’s?

Hoping you’re safe, he slouches into the cushions and settles in for a sleepless night.

[ricciardosheart]

A Yachting Romance

summary - Charles surprises her in their shared home in Monaco and takes her for a special date on a Yacht they have their favorite meal together watch a movie and lie down in the glistening sun, the story should be set on the afternoon in the french riviera

pairing - Charles Leclerc X f reader

warnings - fluff fluff and only fluff

authors note - I cried like balled my eyes out when I wrote this I was in the ovulation phase, women you can understand, please read at your own discretion, not proofread, thi

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the Mediterranean with strokes of gold and crimson. Inside their Monaco home, (Y/N) lounged on a plush sofa, the gentle breeze carrying the scent of sea salt through open windows. Lost in the pages of a novel, she was oblivious to the soft footsteps approaching her.

"Hey there, beautiful," a familiar voice whispered, causing her to look up. Charles stood before her, a bouquet of vibrant flowers in his hand and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Charles!" (Y/N) exclaimed, setting her book aside with a smile as she accepted the flowers. "What's all this?"

"Just a little surprise," he replied, his grin widening. "How about a special date on a yacht?"

Her eyes widened with excitement. "A yacht? Seriously?"

Charles nodded eagerly. "I thought we could spend the day cruising along the French Riviera, just you and me."

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat. "That sounds incredible!"

The scene shifted to the harbor, where a sleek yacht awaited them, its polished exterior shimmering in the afternoon sun. The captain greeted them warmly as they stepped aboard, the sound of seagulls mingling with the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.

As the yacht set sail, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves surrounded by the endless expanse of the Mediterranean. The wind tousled their hair as they stood on the deck, breathing in the salty sea air and marveling at the beauty of their surroundings.

"This is amazing, Charles," (Y/N) exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight.

"I'm glad you think so," he replied, a smile playing on his lips. "But the best is yet to come."

As the yacht glided across the azure waters, Charles led (Y/N) to a table set up on the deck. The setting was nothing short of spectacular, with crisp linens, sparkling silverware, and a panoramic view of the sea.

A private chef emerged from the galley, bearing a culinary masterpiece. Platters of fresh seafood, succulent lobster tails, and delicate sushi adorned the table, accompanied by chilled champagne and decadent desserts.

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in amazement as she took in the spread before her. "Charles, this is incredible!"

He grinned, his eyes alight with excitement. "Only the best for you, my love."

They dined in blissful contentment, savoring each bite as they gazed out at the endless expanse of the sea.

As the day waned and the sun dipped towards the horizon, Charles and (Y/N) retreated to the deck, where plush lounge chairs awaited them. They wrapped themselves in blankets, the cool breeze tinged with the warmth of the setting sun.

"I can't remember the last time I felt this relaxed," (Y/N) remarked, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.

"It's the perfect way to unwind," Charles agreed, reaching for her hand and intertwining their fingers.

As they watched the sun sink below the horizon, painting the sky in a riot of colors, Charles produced a tablet from his pocket. "I thought we could watch a movie," he suggested, a playful glint in his eyes.

(Y/N) grinned. "I'd love that."

They settled in to watch their favorite film, the sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop as they lost themselves in the story unfolding on screen.

As the movie came to an end, Charles suggested a change of scenery. "How about lying down and stargazing?" he proposed, pointing to a cozy corner of the deck where cushions had been arranged.

(Y/N) nodded eagerly, and they made themselves comfortable, lying side by side and gazing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over their faces as they pointed out constellations and shared childhood memories.

"This is perfect," (Y/N) murmured, snuggling closer to Charles.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Just like you."

As they lay there, bathed in the light of the stars and the warmth of each other's embrace, Charles and (Y/N) felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over them. In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of the French Riviera, they knew that this day would be etched in their memories forever.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stand shivering in a towel. The door is open to the damp chill, a grey sky peeking in. He appears again, marching through with a worn canvas knapsack. He drops it on the rug and goes back to shut the door. You hear the gears whirring as it locks on its own. 

He’s all in black again. At least his clothes are clean. The turtleneck has a hole in the elbow and the cargo pants are missing a flap along one pocket, but they don’t smell like iron and mud. His blond hair is still sleek with moisture and droops down his forehead. 

You wrap your arms around yourself and watch him. He lifts the bag over the couch and drops it on the cushions. He points and looks at you. You nod and go where he wants. 

You tuck in the top of the towel. You pull back the zipper. A bundle of clothing pushes the bag wide as it bulges through. You pull out a plaid flannel shirt. It’s thick. You peek up at him and hold it up. He jams his finger towards you. 

“These are for me?” You ask. He lowers his arms and tilts his head. “Thank you.” You look down and lay out the flannel on the next cushion.  

You pull out two pairs of rolled jeans, some tee shirts, and a pullover sweater. Each piece is plain and practical. None of it matches. You won’t complain. Only the last piece is less than utilitarian. 

You drag out the dress and it flows free. The yellow is speckled with green vines and white flowers. You grimace as you note the red splotch on the bodice and the way the trim on the neckline is separated along one side. 

He grunts. You wince and look him in the eye. You blink nervously and turn the dress around for him to see. He frowns and snatches it from you. He touches the bloody stain and exhales deeply. He balls it up. He stares at you again. 

You pick up a tee shirt and give it a sniff. It’s a bit dingy. You can manage. 

“Maybe I’ll do some laundry? You can show me where?” You suggest. 

His eyes narrow. 

“I’ll do yours too. I don’t mind. I’d like to have something to do,” you offer. You’re trying to fill the silence as much as you’re begging to distract yourself from the dread. “If that’s okay with you.” 

His eyes drift. He puts his chin down and examines the dress again. He rents it in two and stomps away. 

You pull the tee shirt on over the towel then slip into the jeans. You loose the towel and button up the flannel. It’s better. 

The door clatters open again. You go to hang the wet towel from the bar in the bathroom and as you return, he carries in a pile of white birch logs. He kicks the door shut and takes them to the fireplace. He lets them roll over the floor. He grabs one and splits it in half with his fingers. You gape. 

“Can I help?” You stay a few feet back as you watch his shoulders. “Are you hungry?” 

He clacks several pieces onto the embers and stokes the fire until it roars. He stacks the rest before he gets up. He faces you and stalks over. You shuffle back frightfully. He points to your stomach then makes a fist. 

“Not all of it makes me sick. I was asking you though.” 

His brows furrow and he snarls. He shakes his head. He’s frustrated but you don’t know why. 

You warily move back to the couch and fold up the leftover clothing. He strides into the kitchen as you place the knapsack and clothes aside. He comes back in with a large metal bucket with handles on the wide brim and a scrubbing board. You only ever saw those in museums. He drops it and it clanges as the board bounces to the other side. 

“Thank you,” you say to conceal your fear. You feel his temper mounting. You want to keep him calm as long as you can. “Will you sit down?” You ask gently. “I wish I could make you some tea. It’s the perfect weather for it.” 

He inclines his head and watches you. His cheek ticks and his eyes flick up as if trying to remember something. He moves towards you and you lurch but don’t back away. He brings his hands to the sides of your face. His thumbs stroke your cheeks and he holds you for just a second before he releases you. 

He brushes close and moves to the couch. He sits with a groan. He doesn’t show the pain but you saw the splotched bruises and the slice along his knee. 

“I’m going to boil some water,” you explain. “Is there a drying rack for me to hang the clothes?” 

He sniffs and stands.  

“You can point and I’ll find it,” you say. “I saw a closet near the kitchen?” 

He blinks and flicks his finger in that direction as he sits back down. You turn and flit towards the door you were too afraid to open. You look inside at the broom; that would have been useful before. 

You drag out a rusting folding rack and bring it to the front room. You put it in front of the fireplace. 

“Is that okay?” You turn to him. 

He waves his hand indifferently. 

You nod and go back to your task. It’s not as terrifying when you have little steps to follow. You find a pot in the cupboard and fill it with water. You put it on to boil then retreat into the bathroom. You gather up his clothes and add them to the heap of the others. 

You take the bar of laundry soap from the bottom of the tub and set it aside. As you wait for the water to boil, you find a cloth and wet it. You wipe the front of his body arm. Black and red mingle on the linen. 

You glance over at him. His eyes are closed. The fire crackles and its glow flickers over him. You put your head down and continue your work. There’s an eeriness to the sudden peace of the cabin. You only then notice how the storm has quieted too. 

[livinginshambles]

Preview: No, you listen to me | James Potter x Fem!Reader

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.

Note: Not proofread, grammar mistakes, probably. I feel bad for making you guys wait so long, but uh, full fic will take me a moment.

Masterlist Part one. Part three

----------------------------------

Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.

You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.

A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.

You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.

“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.

“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”

You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.

“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”

Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”

You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.

“What for?”

“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud, the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.

Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”

“How convenient for us.”

“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.

Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out had. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”

“You absolute champ.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.

James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.

“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.

After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of. Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.

James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”

“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”

James mirrored Sirius grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.

Full fic.

[unfriedough]

Hi super sorry if your request aren’t open.

I had this thought about Zuko x waterbending reader and maybe they could be related to Hama (like a grandma or something) and r basically it’s difficult to explain but Zuko and reader started dating after the war and he tries really hard to get Hamas approval because he’s from the fire nation and Hama ends up sorta accepting him but is still hella weary about him

‘Dinner’- Zuko x female!reader

An: HIYA! So as to not be annoying I’m leaving my lil disappearance explanation at the bottom, enjoy 🫶

(As usual, thank you for your request and patience it means a lot 💕)

Warnings: fighting/agression but it’s brief dw (this is also a very short piece)

You smiled as a candle flickered in your room, kicking your feet as you read a letter your boyfriend, Zuko, wrote to you. He detailed in it his most recent endeavours as a fire lord, as well as affirmed that he could in fact come for a visit. You had been planning to move to his palace soon, as per his request, but he was afraid your grandmother, Hama, a ruthless fire nation hating blood bender who might just hate Zuko, would not be on board. You decided the easiest way was to have them both over for food, and you’d prepared a huge feast of different delicacies of both nations. Zuko was meant to arrive in about an hour, and Hama was already down stairs washing up. She vaguely knew you were going to introduce her to someone, just not entirely aware of who. You shoved the scroll into another backpack you packed for your move, which was supposed to take place a week from now if all goes well.

You walked over to the window sill and sat on a cushion you placed on the protruding wooden part, sighing. You wandered in an endless maze of thoughts, until a face appeared in front of you. You squeaked, almost falling backwards but you caught yourself. Shaking your head, you unlocked the window and pulled zuko in.

“Dude?” You questioned, pulling him in for a hug.

He smelled like the sea, you noted, originally expecting the smell of a certain beast on him.

“Sorry- I got nervous,” you giggled, pinching his pouty cheeks.

He grinned, dipping you into a passionate kiss that screamed ‘I miss you’ in every language. His hand trailed to your back, and yours his hair. Just as things began to escalate, the door swung open.

“YN!”

Immediately, you pushed him away, and he stumbled backwards. Both your eyes landed on your grandma, who was as pale as a ghost.

“I can explain!”

“What kind of nonsense is this?”

Zuko was frozen, from the long list of things that could've gone wrong, this did not even make the top one hundred list.

“Grandma, this is Zuko,” you calmed down, “My boyfriend,”

He snapped out of his trance and extended an arm to shake with her. She walked out, leaving a small stone to prevent the door from closing again.

“Sorry about her,” you groaned, embarrassed that she left him hanging.

He retreated his arm, shoving it into his pocket, “She already thinks I suck. It’s over.”

“It’s okay she’s easy to win over,” you smiled sweetly, contrasting the lies that currently fled your lips.

Stiff, awkward, weird… all of the above.

You couldn’t relax for this dinner, things were so tense after what just happened. He didn’t even get to say hello before she saw his tongue down your throat and now she probably is a hair away from blood bending him into a ball. And he could tell she hated him- when he asked you to pass him a spoon she threw it at him. She missed…

“So, why don’t you tell her about yourself Zuko,” you broke the silence.

His eyes widened, suddenly being put on the spot, “Well I-uh-um-“ he coughed.

“He helped the avatar end a hundred year war,” you chimed in.

“Yeah so he can start a 200 year war all on his own,” she remarked, glaring at him. “All fire folks are the same,”

“Gram, give him a chance, he’s trying his best,” you held his hand over the table, rubbing your thumb in comforting circles.

Suddenly, a fork came hurling at you, and when you both dodged your hands away, you found it embedded in the table.

“Right…” you breathed out.

She stood up abruptly, folding her arms, “Yn, come outside, now,”

“Yes ma’am,” you replied, looking back at Zuko with a worried expression.

You shut the creaky wooden door behind you and adjusted your garments as you stood by here on the patio.

“A fire nation boy?”

“He’s different… he’s not what you think he is,”

“That’s what they all say Yn, he’s bad news.”

“What about him is bad news?”

“Everything. Especially the fact that he’s a ticking time bomb.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Are you forgetting his past? He attacked the avatar!” Your eyes widened, “That’s right, I did my research… I know every little thing he did and so help me if you dare leave this house with him I will make sure that’s the last time either of you see each other.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Who’s gonna stop me?”

Your eyes brimmed with tears- it was one thing to ban you from seeing him, but a completely other thing to treat you like a child. You were old enough to make these decisions on your own. You huffed, storming back inside and waltzing into your bedroom, slamming the door with a lot of force.

Hama sat back down at the table, smiling before she flipped it onto Zuko. He gasped, standing up quickly to avoid being crushed. She stomped around the table and got up in his face, grabbing the collar of his shirt. She was surprisingly strong for her ancient age.

“What do you want from her?”

“To be with her,”

“Why?”

“Because I love her,”

“WHY?”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?”

She pushed him onto the ground, lifting her arm as if about to bloodbend him. He’d heard the tales of what she was capable of from his friends, and he felt his heart drop.

Zuko froze, waiting, shielding himself and closing his eyes.

“Aren’t you gonna firebend?” She asked, a bitter sounding tone.

“No.”

Just then, you exited your room, finally having collected your bearings. There, you found Zuko almost curled up on himself, and Hama glaring at him. He breathed heavily, and she looked as if a blood vessel was about to pop. You immediately rushed to his side, helping him up to his feet and checking him for wounds. He was fine of course.

Your hand brushed against his cheek and he closed his eyes, humming, “I’m fine,”

“What did you do?” You yelled, looking at the old lady.

“I tested him.”

You laughed sarcastically, “And did he pass,”

“With flying colours,” 2 out of 3 pairs of eyebrows flew upwards, you and Zuko exchanged glances. “For now,”

After a bit of cleaning up, you finished the night with Zuko in your bedroom, sitting at your desk.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, leaning against the table.

“If she doesn’t even want me near you, how on Earth are you going to move in with me?”

“That’s… that’s a great question.”

An: OKAY SO idek where to start I basically obv got back to school and I had exams and then even MORE EXAMS coming up (send help) BUUUT I mainly just lost my spark and interest in writing but it feels wrong to continue to ignore my inbox so I’m gonna try my best to clear it soon. If you have requested I’m genuinely so so sorry it’s taken this long I’m sure you’re mad at me but hopefully not too mad don’t hate me okay bye love you 🩷

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 4 (smexy times ahead)

Three baskets of onion rings later, Kara feels a pleasant buzz humming through her body. She lets Lena climb the steps back up to street level first, only to find herself having to studiously avoid staring at the woman’s ass. They walk a little ways down the block in comfortable silence. Kara feels confident that they’ve managed to salvage the date– the conversation had recovered relatively well following her tragic backstory. 

She reflects on how Lena hadn’t lingered on the trauma, had neither asked questions nor offered unneeded sympathies. She’d simply let Kara drive the conversation, and followed when Kara had moved on to stories from the academy. Lena hadn’t shared much of herself, but Kara was content with her laughter and effusive smiles.

When they pause at the curb, Kara hesitates. She isn’t nearly ready for the night to end, but she doesn’t want to come on too strong. Now, it’s Lena’s turn to drive–

“So,” Lena says, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “How drunk do I need to be to go home with you?”

Kara jolts, not expecting the forthright question. She barks a laugh. “As drunk as you wanna be,” she says, taking a step closer. “But ideally not so drunk you won’t remember in the morning.”

Kara crooks her arm, and Lena threads her arm through it. She only saw Lena with the one drink, but that doesn’t keep her from continuing to tease. 

“Will I have to take a sobriety test?” she asks puckishly.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

It’s a short walk to Kara’s building. She leads Lena up to her third floor walk up, and unlocks the door to admit them both. Kara enters first, passing a critical glance across the first room as if she hasn’t already power cleaned expressly in anticipation of this possibility. Lena trails in after her, stripping off her leather jacket and as she casts a look around. Her gaze is less judgemental and more curious, to Kara’s eye, as though it might tell her more about Kara.

When she catches Kara observing her, she touches a finger to her nose. “Do I pass, Sergeant?”

Kara shakes her head with a huff. “Shut up,” she mutters. She steps smoothly into Lena’s space, gently pushing her back by the shoulders until she hits the wall. Only then do their lips meet in a collision of heated breath and quiet fervor.

The ball of tension that has been slowly building in her belly since meeting Lena on the scene releases when Lena moans into her mouth. Her hands slowly drift from Lena’s shoulders, to down her ribs– letting her thumbs give a deliberate brush of Lena’s breasts along the way. It elicits a sharp inhale from Lena, and an answering nip on Kara’s bottom lip.

“Jesus,” Kara murmurs. “You are so…”

“So…?” Lena prods. Her eyes are dark and heady, her swelling lips curling into a smirk.

Kara grins back. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning–”

Lena captures her lips again, and this time Lena’s tongue gently quests forward, barely tasting Kara’s lips before Kara opens her mouth to receive her. But barely a moment later, Lena grunts and pulls back again.

“Couch?” she suggests.

Kara nods enthusiastically. “Yeah– yeah, of course.”

She takes a moment to peel off her own jacket and pull up a playlist on her phone, filling the room with a low, sensual beat. She meets Lena at the couch, and gamely sits when Lena pushes her onto the cushions. 

With a grin, Lena plants a knee on either side of Kara’s lap. She pulls her loose muscle tank up and over her head, exposing a toned, muscled midriff under her crop top. Kara’s breath catches in her chest. She’s been with beautiful women before. She’s been with fit, muscular women before. But none of them have captured Kara the way Lena has. 

Catching her staring, Lena reaches down to lift Kara’s hand to rest against her torso. Her skin is warm, and firm, and soft. “Better than a calendar, no?”

Kara swallows the sudden excess of saliva pooling in her mouth. “Oh, hell yeah.”

Lena bends, keeping Kara’s hand on her skin, and kisses her soundly. Kara moans, letting herself be pressed into the cushions. Lena’s free hand slips under her shirt, and soon Kara moves her own hand up to cup Lena’s breast. She lets her fingers play across Lena’s ribs, then tugs Lena closer, until the seat of her ass sits firmly in Kara’s lap.

“You are so fucking hot,” Lena utters, her voice a velvety purr. “So. Fucking. Hot.”

Heat rushes from Kara’s belly and flows directly to her crotch. Her underwear dampens, but she can’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed. She has Lena fucking Reilly in her lap. She is officially the luckiest woman in National City tonight.

“I want you so bad,” Kara returns. “I want to lick your clit until you come so hard you see stars.”

Lena’s eyes glint. “I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.”

In an instant, Kara has them flipped. She kisses Lena deeply, then makes her way down to the waistband of her jeans. When she pops the button she kisses a trail down the triangle of fabric that greets her. She’s pleased to find that the crotch of the fabric is as damp as hers, filling Kara’s senses with a sweet, musky scent. 

“Glad I’m not the only one who’s fucking drenched.” 

Kara’s voice pulls Lena gaze downwards, a dark brow arching. Kara gives a lascivious smile. “Drenched,” she emphasizes.

Plump lips curl in a satisfied smile. “I look forward to doing something about that. But first...”

Kara hooks a finger around the damp lace and pulls it aside, laving her tongue along the lips of Lena’s entrance. When she dips her tongue into the cleft between, without quite plunging inside, Lena gives a strangled whimper. In an instant, Kara decides that tonight isn’t a night for games. Perhaps another night, should she be lucky enough for another night, she could explore the limits of Lena’s patience. But tonight, Kara simply wants to make good on her promise.

She gets to work. 

Starting with a single finger, she curls up and Lena into. She finds a good spot almost immediately, confirmed by the snap of Lena’s thighs against her ears. Almost immediately, her knees fall open again.

“Sorry,” Lena huffs with a breathless chuckle. “Wasn’t expecting you to get there so soon.”

Kara glances up at her with a puckish grin. “What can I say? I guess I’m just that good.” 

“Show me,” Lena dares. “Show me how good you are.”

Kara obeys, dipping her back down. She adds another finger to Lena’s slick folds, then seals her lips around Lena’s clit. Lena squirms when Kara strokes slowly over the stiff, swollen bud, and gives a low moan that rumbles through her body. Warm fluid coats Kara’s fingers, dripping down through her fist.

Then, Lena’s hand brushes Kara’s head so tenderly, it almost makes Kara come on the spot. Long fingers drift down past her ear, until they cup the edge of Kara’s jaw. The touch is so gentle, affection in a sea of libido.

Kara’s eyes prickle unexpectedly. She blinks the sensation away, then begins in earnest. Stroking and thrusting in tandem, its not long before Lena’s gasping high and sharp ion every breath. Kara feels the way Lena’s thighs strain and tremble with tension, the way her walls clench and grab at her fingers with each stroke. It won’t be long now–

Lena crests with a cry. Another gush of arousal floods Kara’s briefs, and she increases her pace, intending to draw out Lena’s orgasm for as long as possible. Only when Lena’s moans turn to whimpers does she ease off. Kara leaves her fingers slack inside Lena, but removes her lips with a final steadying lick before pressing a sloppy kiss to the inside of Lena’s shaking thigh.

“You were so amazing,” she murmurs, panting.

Lena’s eyes blink blearily open, focusing on Kara with a delayed smile. 

“You okay?” Kara checks in.

Lena nods. She reaches down to withdraw Kara’s fingers and pull her back up onto the couch. Kara flops down beside where Lena slumps, taking a moment to wipe her chin. Still clasping Kara’s hand, Lena lifts Kara’s sticky fingers to her mouth and gives them a slow gentle lick before rolling to kiss Kara on the lips. 

“Stars accomplished,” she murmurs.

Kara grins goofily. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lena giggles. 

“Good.” Kara gives Lena another kiss.

They sit for a long moment to reclaim their breath. Lena lets her head rest on Kara’s shoulder, and Kara rests her head on Lena’s. Their fingers remain laced together, until Lena finally lifts her head with a cheshire smile. 

“What do you like?” she asks plainly. 

Kara deflects. “Oh, I don’t need–”

“We don’t have to,” Lena affirms, “but I want to. I want to make you feel good.”

Kara chews her lip for a long moment, then cranes her neck to meet Lena’s gaze. “I have some toys in the bedroom…?”

Lena’s eyes spark with excitement.

“Excellent.”

—

Later, when they’re both sprawled on Kara’s bed, naked and exhausted with Kara’s favorite strap on discarded on the floor, Kara gazes at Lena’s sinuous form in the darkness. In the pale light of the street lamps outside, Kara can see the shadow of the tattoo she’d glimpsed when Lena had stripped earlier, the tally marks grouped in stacks of ten. She counts thirteen tallies.

“Hey, Kara?”

Kara hums. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question? About what you told me at the bar?” Lena shifts, turning her head to look at Kara. “I think I already know the answer, but…”

“Of course,” Kara returns. As she’d said before, she’s comfortable with talking about it, including answering the questions that many people have when they find out. Even if she wasn’t, with Lena she would be. “You can ask me anything.”

Lena inhales softly. “Do you still talk to Kenny?”

Oh. That isn’t a question she’s been asked before. 

“Yeah,” she responds quietly. “I do.”

She tries to visit at least once a month, but Kenny always forgives her when she can’t quite make it happen. It had taken a while, to get to a point where she was able to talk to him about something that wasn’t about the why and the why and the why… But Cat’s compassion that day in the hall had remained persistent in her memory, driving her back to the penitentiary again and again. Now, it almost feels like they’re back to the way they were before.

Kara sees Lena’s nod, but her bedmate doesn’t say anything. 

“Is that the answer you expected?”

A glimmer of light answers her as Lena flashes a brief, sweet smile. 

“Yeah,” Lena confirms. “It is.”

She squirms closer to Kara, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of her mouth before snuggling into Kara’s shoulder. Kara curls her pinned arm around Lena’s shoulders, rolling until their bodies are flush. They’ll likely overheat soon and separate, but sleep pulls at Kara’s eyelids. 

It’s been a long time since Kara has been afraid of anything. There’d been moments of fight or flight, adrenaline surges galore, but not fear. But there in that room with Lena, she can’t remember a time she’s ever felt so safe.

[fredwkong]

Lotto Ticket Wish

You had been on a bit of a dry spell when I appeared before you. Your small town didn’t have a lot of dating options for a pretty average young gay guy like you—basic white boys are a dime a dozen. You had gone out with every guy you liked on Tinder, been catcalled more than you could count on Grindr, and Scruff wasn’t even in the cards as long as you couldn’t grow a beard. You were bumming around the bowling alley—it was the only place in town open after 8—when you spotted me.

For you, I took the form of an arcade lotto machine. Insert a coin, receive a random ticket with a prize printed on it. You were confused, since you’d never seen me before, but you were bored and horny and nothing interested was happening. You inserted your coin, and I printed out your prize:

FAME. GLORY. PLEASURE. SPEAK YOUR WISH NOW AND SEE IT GRANTED. SATISFACTION GUARANTEED.

You chuckled. Typical arcade shit, you thought. “I wish I was a hunk!” you said aloud, and laughed to yourself again. Well, maybe it was worth the coin for the laugh. You pocketed your ticket and headed home.

That night, while you slept, your wish came true. First, a dark spot appeared on your fingertip where you had held your wish ticket. The darkened skin raced over your hand, leaving your small pale hand larger, thicker, and dark, a rich brown shade. Thick, black hairs grew on the back of your hand and fingers. The change continued up your arm, which began to bulge with muscle and veins. You flexed your hand in your sleep, and new strong tendons shifted under brown, hairy skin as your bicep peaked into a mound like a baseball.

Your shoulder rounded out into a thick, capped delt, and a forest of thick hair grew in your armpit. You wrinkled your nose at the musky, spicy scent that started to emerge, but your sleep quickly calmed into a sexy dream of sniffing a musky, dark-skinned armpit. Meanwhile, your chest thickened into a set of huge, rounded pecs with dark, pert nipples. Dark, curly hairs grew in and immediately became soaked with sweat, adding to the spicy stench in the air. The transformation proceeded down your other arm, until it was the perfect match. You shifted in your sleep, sending your nose into your other rank armpit.

As the skin of your belly darkened, fat evaporated away and six thick abs swelled out of your midsection. Your whole torso thickened with sturdy back muscles. All this extra mass made you sweat even more in your sleep.

A thick treasure trail grew from your belly down to your pubes, which darkened and thickened, as the skin tautened and turned black. Your balls swelled, causing you to shift your legs in your sleep and let your new bulging sac rest lower. Your cock thickened and grew, quickly slipping out of your boxers to reach down toward your knee. As your cockflesh darkened, you grew a thick, well-stretched foreskin, which released a cheesy smell into the air as you dreamed of tongue-washing an Indian hunk’s balls.

Your ass grew as well, rounding out as a thick, muscular cushion rather than a flat pad. Your boxers became so tight they might as well be briefs, the fabric stretched thin enough that the thick hairs swirling over your ass became visible. As the transformation continued down your legs, quads, hamstrings and calves grew, darkened, and became covered in sweaty hair. Your feet stretched and the soles thickened.

Finally, the transformation proceeded up your neck. Your neck and Adam’s apple thickened, causing you to release a deep grunt in your sleep. Your hair darkened to shiny black and became wavy, falling perfectly into a slick, masculine style. Your skin cleared and became brown, and your brows thickened and lowered, giving your now dark eyes a hooded, mysterious look. Finally, your nose widened slightly as your jawline sharpened, becoming coated in dark stubble that would grow back in minutes if you ever shaved.

The musky smell of your new Indian body swirled around your bedroom, subtly changing the space. In place of your desk appeared a set of adjustable weights. Your bookshelf became a full length mirror. A Hindi self-help poster appeared over your now-simple, masculine bed. Your closet filled with gym gear, with some formal kurta for when you visited your family in Chandigarh.

You woke at sunrise and wrinkled your nose at the smell permeating your nose. “Bro, what the fuck,” you muttered, in a deep, Hindi-accented voice. You made to hop out of bed, but as soon as your thick legs moved apart, your overstretched boxers tore at the groin, letting your oversized cock and balls spill out.

For a moment, you gaped at your thick new uncut cock and swollen, churning balls, then you jumped to your feet. Using your new strong hands you ripped the tattered boxers off and caught a glimpse of your magnificent body in the mirror.

You had certainly become a hunk! The sight of your bulging muscles and Indian good looks brought your cock to full attention, and you instinctively started to jerk off. The smell of your unwashed, weeping cock mixed with the spicy musk your body gave off, and before long you were close. You watched in the mirror as you bounced your sweaty, hirsute muscles and licked your musky armpit. Finally, you exploded, coating the mirror with a huge load.

In an instant, you felt a burst of knowledge flood into your head. You suddenly began to think in Hindi, and translating your thoughts into English became more difficult. You realised that you were the hottest stud in town, especially with your hunky Indian looks and deep, Hindi-accented voice. You knew how to make a perfect homemade Indian meal, and also how to totally dominate any white boy you wanted. You were about to be king of the town.

You grabbed some of the clothes scattered on the floor. A jock, gym shorts, and yesterday’s tank top should be fine. You gave yourself a quick sniff test: the perfect level of unadulterated sweaty musk for a morning gym session. After all, there would probably be some jockboy there who couldn’t wait to get a taste of Raj, the musky Indian stud, and the hottest commodity in town.

Just as you were about to leave your room, you noticed your wish ticket lying on the floor. You picked it up, and wondered if the wish-granting lotto machine was still at the bowling alley…

Idea with assistance from the genie-bot by @mystrangetfs.