#that way I can start on whatever prompt I fancy first

[filopay]

SAEL

unknown | he/him | 195 cm | Saelethir | from the Stars

Visions of you Make the vision of me seem So in touch only to see Call from the mountaintop What you desire from me You never need, you never needed anyone

— Temples

[ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Prompt from: @oc-tober2023 [ I am not following the same order ]

~ Home

It is strange.

To walk this earth, when it no longer resembles his memory. The brightness of his surroundings has stolen his sight, along with the absence of the moon and stars. He feels lost in a world that once was his home.

Those were the most drastic changes he noticed and felt everyday. The smaller ones only occurred to him with time. For one, they seem to favour community. The more people, the better. They prefer being around others and even crave their attention and approval. This concept of needing others has never occurred to him before.

Furthermore, they can see and yet they are blind to the many things that he saw as essential. That one took him a lot of studying and listening in and it was the most difficult to understand. He still wasn’t quite sure, he completely gets it.

They don't touch him to understand him emotionally or mentally, because whenever he reaches for them, there's no response. It seems that talking is their preferred method of communication. And they do talk. A lot.

“Sael!” He heard one of them shout the name they had given him, “What are you doing moping around in the corner on your own. You can help us.”

Sael only knew who the one speaking was, because while his surroundings remained invisible to him, he could see their essence. Each one had a different colour, a different light within them. It was alive, it told Sael of their feelings too, but some shone brighter than others and the one speaking, had a weak one. He was almost certain, he called himself Ralof and his essence was a mix of red and orange.

“Come on. There is a lot to do.” The one called Ralof said and as he moved closer, Sael could see him a little better. They liked to give people names, Sael had noticed them call each other by it to get another's attention. As they now did with him too. Which is why he needed a name, they said.

It took him some getting used to. He had never been called before, there had never been a need for it. When this place was still his home, there had been only him and the lost souls of the dead. They searched him out on purpose, for the moon and the stars were connected with Sael and he was able to guide them back to them. They needed him and thus came to him willingly. He never needed to get their attention and they didn’t need to get his.

Sometimes he wonders if that is the reason why these people killed the moon and stars. They didn’t want him to guide them back – they wanted to stay down here at all cost. Sael wasn’t sure he approved of their method though and why they kept him around if there is nothing he can do for them.

When he looked for the one called Ralof, he was already gone and off to somewhere else. Sael did not see where he went, his essence too small to track. They were all moving around a lot, Sael had listened them for a moment. Sometimes they speak to each other, other times they argue. They seemed busy and at the same time, he did not know with what exactly.

Sael’s attention was grabbed when one of the brighter ones passed him by, a shining blue, it sometimes reminded him of the light of the stars. As the only clearly visible thing to him, he followed him instead. When he stopped, Sael attempted to reach out, until he remembered, that as usual, it would be a one sided conversation on his part. So instead, he put to use his many hours of observation.

“Aegon.” He called him by his name. A shout for attention, something that should work. It was strange, hearing the sound of his own voice, foreign and clumsy to his ears.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t see you there.” Aegon’s essence flickered for a moment – he was happy to see him.

“You’re just in time to witness how marvelously I can tie a net.” Sael heard him struggle with something, then a tiny snap, “Ah, never mind, it snapped. I guess we will never know. To be honest, I don’t know why Elora has us set up decorations this early. It’s still a few weeks away and she always puts me on the most boring of tasks.

Why don’t we try something else. Something more fun. Let me see.” Aegon seems to be thinking, looking at something Sael couldn’t see.

Then suddenly, he grabbed his wrist and Sael instinctively read his feelings - there was excitement, mixed with a certain focus. He was thinking about thousands of different things at once, but all were bright and warm like his hands. At first Sael thought he liked sharing his positive emotions with others, because he was very tactile and seldom in a sour mood, but since they don’t do it to communicate with him, he wasn’t so certain why he did it at all.

Yet it wasn’t entirely unwanted, since it gave Sael a short glimpse of what they try to tell him with their many words and with Aegon, it was always a pleasant experience. Like now, he knew whatever Aegon had spotted, he was excited to share with him.

“We can choose the hanging decorations. Usually that’s what Elora does, she has a set plan for what goes where, but she always needs a ladder.” He chuckles as he pulls Sael after him, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Aegon was also the most talkative, which was helpful, because Sael hadn't figured out how the rules of talking to each other worked yet. He was told however, that there are very strict rules to follow. Yet no one had explained to him those rules, but he doesn’t blame them. Afterall, he hadn’t told them that he mostly communicates through touch either.

“I think I will take this one, I always wanted to hang it up." He snickers as Sael hears something shuffling about in front of them, "Elora never hangs it up because it reflects the light and 'it could distract someone', but I like it."

"I like bright things."

He sees Aegon’s essence swell, glowing even brighter. "You get me." He's happy.

Not knowing what was lying there in front of him, Sael used his hands to feel about. It was a strange act in itself. Inanimate objects don’t have feelings or thoughts and yet he is touching them.

“Take the one that speaks to you the most. Whichever it is, we hang it up.” Aegon explains, “If you want me to describe them to you, let me know.”

Some were with sharp edges others were of a more fragile material, it crumbled when he touched them. Then he found one that was solid and smooth. It was thin and boney. It felt familiar. It felt like home.

He still remembers the lost souls that came to him with sorrow and grief. Anger and desperation. Their lives had ended, but their struggles followed them regardless and tied them to the ground. Touching them, it felt like the decoration in front of him. Even if the item had no feelings to get rid of, no need for him to guide it to the stars. It was familiar enough that he liked it.

“Ah, yes, that’s a classic. Good choice.” Aegon praises and with a bit more confidence, Sael draws it closer to him, “Now let’s see where we can hang it up…”

Sael took the object with him as he followed Aegon, blessed to have found a piece of home, despite it no longer resembling his memories. It seems that home was never really gone and he wonders then, where else he could find similarities. 

It made the drastic changes to this world, a little less overwhelming. [ 1.447 words ]

Next Part ➜

[ceilidho]

hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top. 

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk. 

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar. 

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine. 

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here? 

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates. 

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny. 

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run. 

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in. 

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off. 

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed. 

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile. 

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane. 

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here. 

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt. 

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern. 

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder. 

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes. 

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe. 

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky. 

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries. 

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked. 

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut. 

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop. 

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck. 

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey. 

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.” 

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either. 

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price. 

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference. 

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery. 

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words. 

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes. 

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow? 

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house. 

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together. 

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow. 

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts. 

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels. 

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut. 

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point. 

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants. 

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale. 

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it. 

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop. 

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed. 

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot. 

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.  

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw. 

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick. 

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant. 

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming. 

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers. 

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold. 

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own. 

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied. 

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity. 

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him. 

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms. 

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle. 

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in. 

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that? 

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs. 

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his. 

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth. 

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain. 

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off. 

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves. 

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine. 

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping. 

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle. 

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after. 

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can���t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you. 

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh. 

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under. 

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted? 

You need it like air. 

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face. 

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead. 

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth. 

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him. 

Time blurs. You lose some of it. 

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out. 

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks. 

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.” 

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment. 

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around. 

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection. 

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that. 

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night. 

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before. 

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily. 

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this. 

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by. 

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar. 

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look. 

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch. 

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny. 

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be. 

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust. 

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it. 

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew. 

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [3]

during one of the final psych evals at Arkham right before he gets to be released, the whole thing wrapped up so tidy, just a little relapse which involved a robbery. Getting sent back to Arkham, but he got to stay at the asylum so long that he no longer has to serve a prison sentence, score!

But during that eval his overseeing psychiatrist recommended him to have a change of scenery, some fresh non polluted air.

Riddler was rather convinced the guy was making this recommendation to everyone in Arkham in their own weird way to convince them to just leave Gotham and become someone else's problem. should he notify Batman about it somehow? nah, it’ll be more interesting to see how this is gonna turn out in the long run.

But can he leave the state? Can he even leave the city? he never really bothered to look into it, at least not legally, up until now if he felt he needed to leave for one of his plans he just did it.

Turns out he can, it’s a whole hassle and a half though, first a judge and then a probation officer and he’s pretty sure both were like “what the hell is this psychiatrist guy thinking!?” but at the same time, shrink probably knows what he’s doing (WRONG) so he’s allowed to go visit out of state family or whatever.

he had to wear this nice ankle monitor though, Wayne Enterprises™ tech, not overly bulky but still very present. real fancy, and a fun extra challenge heh.

now as for a good reason to leave New Jersey he’s going to need distant relatives, and he finds some, great grandpa walker also has a son, who had a son who had a daughter Madeline, who married some guy Jack Fenton, and she lives somewhere out in the boonies Illinois. great he’ll visit her.

far enough away in all sense of the word that there is no way she knows anything about him. it would be best to call her first though, be polite about it.

“hello, you have reached Fenton works, this is Maddie speaking” 

“Riddle me this-” ah whoops, habit, oh whatever, “we don’t share parents, but certainly a part of your life, from laughter to strife. Who am I?”

there is a pause …  he’s going to be a bit disappointed if she hangs up if he’s honest.

“cousins~” comes the cheery reply.

“correct! the name is Edward Nygma, we are distantly related you and I and well-”

“oh you simply must come visit!” 

well this was rather easy, perhaps a little too easy, but she lives in the midwest so maybe just going with whatever some guy says over the phone is normal there? stranger danger not really a thing in a small town where everyone knows everyone?

things start to make a little more sense once he gets there and he’s starting to think some things might run in the family. like a preference for the colour green and weird hyperfixations and genius bordering on insanity. Though that remains to be seen, Jack does not seem like a very bright light after his very enthusiastic welcome.

their kids however are observant and sharp. young Jasmine is wasting no time trying to psychoanalyze him. and the boy, Danny, he had not really meant to and he swears he’s sticking with calling the kid Danny so he wouldn’t seem overly familiar, but he might have called him little bird a couple times now.

but that’s all whatever, he’s playing nice here. and he doesn’t even have to worry about his eccentricities tripping him up because this place is insane.

There actually is a local teen vigilante active but he seems about as loved as he’s disliked. and the ghost boy’s enemies are basically all his own kind, which another crazy thing to now know about. ghost. they are real actually, how is Gotham not completely overrun? and how do they even work? and where do they keep coming from?

Edward might be getting a little sidetracked here. He had fully intended to sneakily get his next big game plan underway all the way out here, ankle monitor be damned. but he hasn’t made any progress at all.

Instead he’s been listening to Madeline and Jack to maybe figure out what the deal is with these ectoplasmic entities, he has to know, at this point he might go crazier if he doesn’t. 

He’s making Jasmine promise him not to get her doctorate in Gotham, he’s going back and forth with space riddles with Danny.

so yeah the whole thing kinda just became a vacation, maybe the psychiatrist had the right idea after all? hmm nah, probably not. but this is fun. He’s thinking about recommending this place to some of the others.

It's different enough to get the vacation feel, but enough crazy shit happens to make it all feel like home.

it is not until Maddie wants to talk with him about potentially switching the position of godfather of Danny to him rather than some weird rich friend of theirs that Edward realizes he might have lost the plot somewhere

Apparently the little bird basically begged them with a powerpoint presentation on how he likes Edward so much more than that Vladimir guy. 

And honestly, the fellow sounds like a Dracula Lutho so even if it’s kinda sad Edward can understand why he’d be considered a better option. Even if the guy has more money and a huge company that makes him said money. And it’s not like the Fentons know about his Riddler activities.

Thinking it over, Edward does think that Danny would like Gotham and Wayne has that space program thing right? The kid is definitely smart enough for that (Nygma certified), and yeah Edward does quite like their space themed back and forth. So, fuck it, why not, what is the worst that could happen?

He doubts Maddie and Jack are gonna kick it any time soon anyway out here in the boonies, it’s just a title thing, a stamp of approval or something.

he should have known he was going to eat those words later… he had this whole beautifully elaborate trap set up for the whole Batclan, and he was just getting to the good part when his phone went off.

Had to put the whole thing on pause cause that particular contact wasn’t gonna get ignored. He did promise to be available.

If the whole thing he had planned now went tits up he could at the very least laugh later at the reactions of the bats as he told them to “hold up one second, I have to take this.” while they were all in various perilous positions. 

Sadly he did have to go, he had a very distressed godson to pick up.

[nkogneatho]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

ೀ kuroo x fem!reader ft. iwaizumi

—cw: exhibitionism, blowjob, webcam sex, male masturbating, pet names (kitten), cum swallowing, deepthroat.

—a/n: this was supposed to be a small blurb but oh well. Also this was supposed to be just kuroo but being the hajime whore i am i had to include him.

Tetsu made sure to give you all his time and attention. He was there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold you into and of course a dick to fuck you stupid when you were horny.

But today he had a meeting with Iwaizumi to discuss the financial aspects while funding and sponsoring the volleyball tournament the recently partner for. He wasn't close to Iwaizumi, more to the former captain of Seijoh, but Hajime and Tetsuro clicked during their first proper meeting. They even went out for a few beers and shared laughs. He told him about you so since then Iwaizumi would always ask how you are. You met him once during a party Kuroo organized and the man looked big. Bigger than Kuroo but you love your rooster head too much so you don't care about any other man.

You walked into the bedroom to find kuroo in his sweats. He had tight wine red tshirt on with black sweats and you peeked to find iwaizumi wearing a black compression shirt. It was obvious he was an athletic trainer the way his body flexes at ecah move. But your eyes were fixated on your man. Or rather his grey sweats. Shit. The fabric was loose but the way he sat, you could see his dickprint. Shit. shit. shit. You didn't know what plagued over you—maybe lust, maybe desperation, but you carefully drop to your knees and crawl to him. He doesn't notice you, his eyes fixated on the calculations he was writing on the desk, that until your freshly manicured nails trace his dickprint and his eyes shoot to you.

"wh—"

"Shhh." you gesture putting your pointer on your lips. "don't want him to find out baby," you grinned. Kuroo pushed his chair a little forward dragging the wheels from his weight. If he wanted to, he would've excused himself, turning off the camera and tell you that he'll let you do whatever you want later. But the man has always fancied adventures.

When you start stroking his boner, he lets out a heavy sigh, audible enough to catch the attention of the man on the other side of the screen.

"Is everything alright?" Hajime's processed computer voice pulls Kuroo's attention back to the meeting.

"Y-yeah yeah. Dude, I just had a pretty tiring day," he replies.

"It's 12 pm, man."

"Ah, right. I meant morning—fuck." He wasn't someone to lose his composure so easily but the last fuck was something he needed to moan because now your mouth was wetting his dick, taking him inside.

"We could've just resched—uhm...Kuroo," Hajime's tone shifted. Drenched in curiosity, drenched in something dark. "I can see her head."

You stopped. You literally stopped while he was still inside your mouth. You expected Kuroo to make up an excuse. He always handles these thing easily, right? Only now this man decided to drag the chair a little backwards so the man on this laptop screen had a clear view, a clearer angle to see what was happening. You peer up at him with a dumbfound expression.

"Don't look at me like that, kitten. You're the one who wanted to play games while I am working." His fingers wallowed in your hair, pulling you further close to his inner thighs. "Don't you dare run now." And you didn't. You obeyed him like a pet wanting to impress his master.

"Aw shucks. Would you mind turning sideways, Kuroo? So I can see her take that dick in clearly."

"I wouldn't mind," he shifted you to the side, turning his chair. "Enjoy the Show."

You started bobbing your head up and down. Even though his hands were in your hair, he didn't force you down his cock. Atleast, not yet. Your tongue tasted a hint of sourness, probably his precum. As you moved, your eyes prompted to the corner to find Iwaizumi's cock full on display as he stroked it with his big hands. Your cheeks burnt up immediately. Tetsuro caught the change in your expression and his pupils were fixated on you. He didn't know you enjoyed this so much.

"Iwa-chan."

"Don't call me—ugh that," he spoke in between moans.

"Aw c'mon. Why not? Shit, baby no teeth. You've seen my cock so I guess we're pretty close now."

"I am more focused on her. Ngh—look at her. Now I know why you call ker a kitten. fucking hell. lapping her tongue and all'at" Iwaizumi's balls were tightening. He was getting closer and closer. You knew because his gruntsbstarted getting heavier and louder. You were a few meters away from the laptop but it felt like he was right their, groaning in your ears.

"ah! fuck. yeah. Keep going, kitten. I am close. He is too—gorgeous fucking girl. yeah. fuck fuck. shit. ah! ah!" Now was the time when his hands started pushing you further down his cock till your nose bumped in his crotch. "fuck yeah. yeah. yeah 'm close. ah ah ngh—" tetsu's hand held your held in one place, forcing his dick until all his seed spilled down your throat. he knows you alwayd swallow it like a good girl. and you did. Noticing you gulping down his cum, gave Iwa the sweet release he was chasing.

"NGHH! Holy fuck," hajime cursed. You looked at the screen to find thick white ropes spilled all over his knuckles. Some even managed to shoot up to his black compression.

"Hmm," Kuroo chuckled. "Wanna say something to him pretty? Go ahead." You bit your bottom lip, still gazing at his softened cock. It looked big even when it was soft.

"Wish I could taste your cum too, Hajime." And his dick sprung up again. He didn't expect you to call him by his first name let alone say nasty things like that. That innocent image of you in his head was gone.

"Haha. See? Isn't she so cute?" Kuroo petted your head. "Aw look. Our meeting time is almost up." Hajime looked a little disappointed but Tetsu knew better. "How about we reschedule...in person?" And the smile at the end of a sentence confirmed that he was not going to discuss anything even remotely related to volleyball in the next meeting.

[boxofbonesfic]

omg i would love a dark!Peter or a Ransom prompt 👀 it can just be an idea, or a specific scene or scenario, whatever strikes your fancy 💖

Ok! Ransom x plus size reader: college au, fwb. Ransom doesn't want to be seen with her cause she's fat and she's cool with it cause she's literally just here for the d while she gets her degree right? Ransom's an ass but that dick is bomb and no feelings are involved so perfect. But then Ransom gets addicted to the p and wants her all to himself, still on the dl tho. His changing feelings don't come out till she meets someone and breaks it off with Ransom. Reader doesn't think anything of it but Ransom COMPLETELY loses his mind and starts stalking her, blowing up her phone, etc. Not caring if everyone knows now. Reader is CONFUSED and MIFFED!

Title: Breaking

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 5,374

Summary: Ransom wasn’t eager to stake any sort of claim on you—until someone else does it first.

Warnings: College AU, Stalking, Kidnapping, Darkfic, Plus Size Reader, Manipulation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, MINORS DNI!

A/N: thank you so much for this lovely prompt! i really hope you enjoy this little ficlet. ❤️ divider by @firefly-graphics

Ransom had found it kind of funny at first, when you’d stopped responding to his rather crassly worded “U up?” texts. It wasn’t until the third text in half as many weeks had gone completely unanswered that he’d tried calling instead—and found you had blocked him completely. 

What?

That wasn’t like you. Not like Ransom had taken time to really know you, but ghosting just didn’t seem like it belonged in your playbook.

“The number you have dialed cannot be reached at this time. Please contact your service provider if you believe you have reached this message in error.”

It had taken a little finesse, Ransom laying the charm rather thickly on your friend in his business management class, the one whose name he could never remember. 

“She has a boyfriend,” she’d said, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger with a nervous giggle. “But I’m, um, single.”

Which brings him to now.

You weren’t the sort of girl he usually took out on dates, and, looking back on it, you’d picked it up rather quickly. Your requests to meet at parties or the bars his frat brothers regularly visited were answered with vague no’s. Or, more often than not, ignored outright until you stopped sending them. It wasn’t your fault—he had a reputation to think about. Though tonight, ironically, his reputation is the furthest thing from his mind. 

What is on his mind, is you. 

Ransom’s lip curls as he watches Isaac drape an arm across your shoulders, squeeing affectionately. He doesn’t know him well—they haven’t spoken much beyond the idle chit-chat around the keg. It turns his stomach, the thought that he’d finally realized just how much you meant to him, only to have this—this boy-scout steal you from right under his nose. Out from his fucking bed. 

Ransom isn’t used to coming in second place. It’s never happened before, losing something he actually wants. Isaac seems happy to be next to you, not embarrassed or hiding behind baseball caps and wide sunglasses. Not like Ransom. He’s angry—at you, a little, but mostly at himself. It’s not hard to recall how you felt underneath him, all soft skin, soft curves, and fuck. He hates himself for not savoring that last time more, for not knowing it was going to be the last time. 

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Ransom Drysdale didn’t get dumped—he was the one who did the dumping. And, he, thinks with no small amount of derision as he watches you from across the bar, I didn’t get dumped. We were never together. You can’t break up if you’re not together. The thought rings hollow even in his own head as he nurses his fifth beer of the night. It feels stupid-no, superficial, now; the way he’d only drop by your dorm-room after midnight, showing up without calling or texting and knowing full well that you would let him in. 

But not anymore. 

You’re too far away for him to hear it, but when you laugh, you tilt your head back, attempting to cover your wide grin with one hand. Pretty, he thins to himself, taking another long swallow from the bottle. Fuck how had he not noticed how pretty you are when you laugh, before? Had he just never seen it? Now that it occurs to him, Ransom’s hard pressed to find a memory that isn’t just sweaty skin, and hungry words growled into the curls at the nape of your neck.  

Fuck.  

Those were his favorite nights, the ones he spent digging his fingers into the softness of your hips while he sank in to the hilt—Ransom shudders. Even through the condoms you insisted he wear, the memory of your slick, tight heat is enough to send a hot, jealous pulse through his veins. 

“We’re not together,” you’d said, crossing your arms stoutly as you stared up at him. “Condom or nothing.”

Probably doesn’t make Isaac wear a fucking condom. He takes another bitter swallow. He doesn’t know what’s worse, the thought of you fucking that Leave it To Beaver reject, or you fucking him raw. Both make him see red. 

“Right, Ransom?” Someone claps him on the shoulder, and Ransom nods wordlessly. He isn’t paying attention, not to them, not with you here. You lean over to say something to your friend, the same mousy one who’d volunteered herself in your place. Ransom scoffs into his beer. 

“Three fucking weeks.” He mumbles, draining the bottle before placing it down almost too hard on the bar-top. “How’s it get serious in three fucking weeks?” He waves at the bartender, signaling for another. 

“Ran, we’re heading out.” Theo jerks his head towards the door. “There’s a party at Jude’s place. Hella girls.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Drunk ones.” 

Ransom shrugs bad-naturedly, grimacing. “I’m going to stay here,” he says evasively, casting another sour look at you as his lip curls. “I don’t feel like pulling your head out of the toilet tonight.” 

“Whatever, man.” Theo rolls his eyes, squaring his shoulders. He follows Ransom’s eye across the bar, and smirks. “Just because you’re not getting your dick wet with your porky little sidepiece anymore doesn’t mean the rest of us have to stay here and mope with you all weekend.” 

Maybe it’s the alcohol warming his gut, but Ransom’s up before he’s really got a chance to think about it, his hands on Theo’s shoulders as he shoves him backwards, hard. The other man stumbles backward, and Ransom squares his shoulders. 

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

“What, now you care, all of a sudden?” Theo scoffs. “Dude you wouldn’t even let her come in through the front door—” 

Ransom doesn’t know when exactly he grabbed a handful of Theo’s thin hair, holding his head still while he drives a frenzied fist into his former friend’s face as everyone watches. He comes to as he rears his fist back again, the sound of his name distant in his ears, like it was spoken through glass. 

“Ransom!” Your confused face in the crowd is all he can see—which is why Theo’s sucker punch catches him off guard. It makes his ears ring as stars explode in his right eye. The world tilts as Ransom stumbles, and the television static in his ears is replaced by yelling. The warm wet trickle from his nose is blood, staining the tips of his fingers red as he holds his face. Theo’s not doing much better, blood pouring from his nose, and an ugly, swollen bruise coming to bear on the right side of his face. 

“Fuck you,” Theo mumbles, drawing the back of his sleeve across his bloody lip. “Fucking asshole.” He storms out, a few of their frat brothers trailing behind him as he goes. 

“Are you fucking serious?” The bartender throws down the towel in his hands, before smacking them against the bar-top. “I’ve fucking told you guys about bringing that bullshit in here—”

“I was just leaving,” Ransom snaps, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hates that he can feel your eyes on him too; watchful, judging. Theo’s gone by the time Ransom makes his way outside. It’s almost winter break, and the icy night air feels good against the hot, painful throbbing in his cheek. 

“Ransom.” He turns, scowling at you over his shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” He shrugs miserably. 

“Nothing.” 

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

“What do you fucking care?” The venom on his tongue flows easily, likely aided by the liquid courage currently sloshing around in his gut. “You blocked me. You have a boyfriend.” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting from this confrontation, but your distinct lack of a reaction feels like more of a slap in the face than anything else. You blink at him, one eyebrow quirked as if in question. 

“Yeah, I did.” Why does it hurt? Ransom’s rejected hundreds of girls—some as he was fucking pulling out of them, so why does this feel like a fucking knife in his back? “I figured you wouldn’t care much, Ransom, considering.” He hates this, hates how he’s the angry one and you’re calm—the roles should be reversed. They would be, if not for that niggling, irritating feeling that you should be his, just his. He doesn’t want to admit that you’re right, that you’ve got him pegged dead to fucking rights.

“How would you know?”

“You don’t sneak girls you like in through the basement entrance.” You retort smoothly. You’ve had a lifetime of this, of learning to live in your body, of learning to weather other people’s reactions to it—it’s Ransom that’s unfamiliar with rejection, unsure of how to handle the fact that the “r-train” isn’t enough to keep you coming back for more despite his treatment. 

“But I do. I do like you.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be a thing. We can just, we can go back to how it was before.” This time, you do react, your face screwing up as you regard him first with disbelief and then anger. 

“Why would I give up being in a relationship with someone who actually likes me, who is willing to be seen with me in public places and with his friends— you know what? I don’t need this.” You mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is what I fucking get for trying to make sure you’re okay. Silly me. I thought we were mature, here.” You gesture between the two of you before another dry laugh bubbles out from between your lips. 

“Have a good night, Ransom.”

No, no, don’t leave! The desperate thought makes his throat tight. You can’t leave me. He stumbles exaggeratedly as you watch, falling against the bus stop with a groan. The plan lays itself out before him neatly like lines on a map. 

“God fucking dammit—Ransom!” You huff irritatedly. He leans against the pole, counting the seconds until you come over to check on him. You do, and he moans pitifully. “Can you walk?” 

“No,” he hiccoughs, swaying cartoonishly as you try to help him stand. “Ju-hic-just go. I’ll be fine.” You blow an exasperated breath out as you straighten him up. She doesn’t talk to her parents. He licks his lips as you pull out your phone, holding it up to your ear as you wait for someone to answer on the other end. She told me that when we were smoking, that one time. 

“I obviously can’t. How did you get here?” You say, holding your hand over the mouthpiece as you scowl up at him. 

“Theo d-drove.” The house is only a ten minute drive from here. Fifteen, tops.

“Yeah, I’m just going to head back to campus. No, I’m gonna take an uber. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, Isaac.” The little smile that curls at the corners of your lips makes him sick. “Yeah, you too.” Ransom leans on you heavily, and you don’t seem to notice when he presses his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo with relish. Fucking Isaac.

“I’ll get the uber,” he says, slurring the words deliberately as he fumbles with his own phone. “M’sorry, Princess.” He taps the screen clumsily, selecting Home instead of Dorm, before hastily stowing it back in his pocket.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap sharply. You try—and fail—to stand Ransom on his own two feet. Instead he hangs over you, draped over your shoulders with his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Why?” The question comes out petulantly. “You used to like it.” 

“Stop.” 

The familiar feel of your body pressed against his is sweet in a way Ransom hadn’t anticipated. The attic’s secure. Quiet. 

When the car pulls up, Ransom allows you to wrangle him into the back seat, where he sprawls across your lap when you sit down beside him. You don’t say anything to the driver beyond a mumbled hello, which suits him just fine. Ransom plays up the drunk act, asking the driver a nonsensical question that makes you whisper at him to be quite. 

“Sorry. Just trying to get him home.” You reply, pushing uselessly at his head as he settles into your lap. Soft. He can’t help but run a reverent hand across your jean clad thigh. Love how soft she is.

You’re so distracted trying to keep him from getting comfortable that you don’t notice the cab is heading away from the dorm until the driver turns down the private road. 

“Wait—wait, I think you made a wrong turn somewhere,” you say, leaning forward to talk to the driver. He shakes his head enthusiastically, and points at his phone’s GPS. 

“No, I followed the directions,” he protests, and Ransom hides his snicker in a groan. “This is the address.” 

You lean back with a dissatisfied sigh, and look down at Ransom. 

“Let me see your phone.” He unlocks it and hands it over, his face a mask of innocence. You notice the mistake immediately, leaning forward again. “Could you turn around and take us back to Harvard campus, please—”

“This trip was already way out of my route,” the driver grouses, frowning at the two of you in the mirror. “And I don’t think he’ll make another trip. Looks like he’s about to puke any second.” 

“He’s fine.” 

Ransom retches, and watches as the cabby’s face twists angrily. 

“He’s not! I’m sorry, I’m done for the night. Maybe someone else will be able to pick you up.”

The finality in his voice makes Ransom giddy, and he clutches his stomach, gagging. He’s never thrown up—he’s not a fucking freshman lightweight, he’s a fucking Sigma for chrissakes—but he’s willing to let the two of you believe he might. You bite your lip, teeth sinking into its pillow softness as you try to undo what Ransom’s done. 

“M’sorry. Didn’ mean to put in the wrong hic place.”

You nod stiffly. “I know. I guess… Well, this place has plenty of couches, right?” There’s little humor in your joke, but Ransom makes sure to laugh a little anyway, nodding. 

“My grandfather won’t mind if you sleep in one of the guest rooms. Promise, Princess.” 

“Ransom, don’t—”

“We’re here.” The driver cuts in as the car pulls to a stop in front of the house. “Sounds like you guys have it all figured out.” 

—

As expected, the only people home are his grandfather, along with a few odd members of the staff. They’re easy enough to convince, Fran and Marta ferrying him upstairs to his room while he mumbles incoherently. You help too, tugging the blanket up over him after pulling off his shoes with a grunt. It feels nice, having you care for him like this, your soft hands on his face. 

It feels right. 

“I’ll get the guest room set up for you upstairs,” Fran says on her way out. “I’ve got a t-shirt around here somewhere.” Ransom doesn’t catch your answer, but that doesn’t matter much, not when he knows where you’ll be. It’s strange, how he’s impatient now, here at the home stretch, but he is. The smell of you, the taste, the feel, it’s all he can think about now that he’s so close.

It won’t be easy keeping you, he knows that, but nothing good comes without a challenge, right? And with the right motivation, Ransom knows he can make you fall in line. The house quiets around him, and distantly, he hears the sound of first Fran’s car, and then Marta’s. He forces himself to wait a few minutes more, and when he emerges out into the still air of the hallway, he smiles. 

The door to the guest room is ever so slightly ajar, and Ransom slides inside. You sit up sharply, and for a moment only sound between you is the quiet settling of the house. 

“What are you doing?”

“I came to check on you.” He can’t see your face in the dark, but he can see the shape of you, silhouetted in the pale beam of light streaming in from the tiny window above the bed. 

“I’m fine.” The words are stiff. “You should go to bed.” 

He doesn’t. Instead, Ransom turns and closes the door securely behind him, slipping the key into his pocket. The sound is deafening in the quiet, and he knows you hear it too. 

“Have you texted Isaac, yet?” He asks, cocking his head. The room is small, shaped oddly by the sloping roof, and Ransom himself takes up the bulk of it standing in front of the door. You seem to shrink a little in response, and your hesitation answers the question truthfully, before you’ve even spoken. 

“Y-yes. You should go to—” The way your hand strays under the pillow to feel for your phone tells him the opposite. Ransom licks his lips. 

“Have you fucked him yet, Princess?”

Your gasp is audible. 

“Don’t—don’t call me that. Ransom go to bed. You’re drunk.”

“Have you fucked him?” He repeats it, dropping to his knees on the bed.

“Get out!” You make for the door too late, and Ransom grabs you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist as he breathes a relieved sigh into your bare shoulder. Your frustrated struggle turns panicked at the sound of metal clacking against metal. “No, Ransom no—” The handcuffs he produces from his pocket aren’t the padded ones he’s used with you before—these are the real deal, and he clamps them tightly around your left wrist, looping it around the bed-frame before capturing your right. You’re writhing and fighting, but it’s easy to ignore the pain as he locks his arms tight, waiting for you to tire yourself out. 

You’re wearing just a t-shirt, and Ransom palms the heavy weight of your tits through the soft cotton with a soft groan.

“So you haven’t fucked him.” 

You open your mouth to scream, and Ransom laughs. 

“Nearest person is two floors down, Princess,” he breathes, a low,  satisfied hum rumbling in his chest as he draws his fingers through your messy hair, before tangling his fingers in it to tug your head back. His teeth scrape at your throat. “You can scream if you want to,” he mumbles against your pulse. “You know I like it when you’re loud.” 

“Ransom, stop. You’re—”

“Drunk?” He answers smartly, before shaking his head. He cups your face with one sure hand, stroking your lip with the pad of his thumb. “I know you feel bad, Princess. You let me fuck that juicy cunt so quick, you thought you needed to make him work for it.” This close he can see your face, can see the guilt you quickly try to bury because he’s right. The answer is there, written in the way you turn your head away from him, trying to hide your face in shadow. Ransom doesn’t let you, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers as he forces you to stay still, to look him in the eye. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You spit hoarsely, and Ransom laughs. “You’re fucking drunk and-and—get off me!” You shrill, bucking against him uselessly. If he’s drunk, that’s what he’s drunk on; the heady sensation of knowing the truth with absolute certainty. 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” He sneers, pressing you down into the mattress. The smell of your skin is intoxicating, like orange blossoms and fucking sunshine. “Fuck, Princess, I missed this.” It’s almost reverent, the way he slides his hands down over your hips, slowly working a knee between your stubborn thighs. Your borrowed t-shirt rolls up as Ransom spreads your legs, grinning at the sight of white lace between them.

He draws a finger over the curve of your cunt before cupping it. 

“Why’d you block me, Sweetheart?” He asks, tracing the shape of your puffy lips through the cotton. 

“You didn’t want me!” You hiss through clenched teeth. Ransom clucks his tongue at you, shaking his head, before delivering a stinging slap to your cunt. You feel it through the cotton, of course, whining and writhing underneath him as you cry out. “You’re fucking crazy—” The palm of his hand cracks sharply against you again, and it cuts your complaint short as the words disappear in a pained gasp. 

“Be honest with me, Princess.” He says, grinning as you try to wriggle away from him.

“You wouldn’t even be seen with me!” Your voice cracks. “It’s not fair, Ransom!”

“You want me to stake a claim, Sweetheart? I can do that,” Ransom breathes, pushing the shirt up over your breasts, groaning at the sight of your puffy nipples. He draws his thumb across one, watching, enraptured, as the flesh pebbles underneath his touch. He trails sloppy, heated kisses up the side of your throat, nipping at the skin until you whimper. He mouths at your skin, sucking at the purpling bruise until he pulls away, satisfied. 

“We can think of a more permanent solution later.” He leans back with a satisfied sigh. It feels good to mark you, to watch the bruises spread like ink on your pretty skin. 

“Please, Ransom, just go!” You sob, the chain rattling against the bed-frame as you try unsuccessfully to loose yourself from your restraints. “We-we’ll just pretend it never happened!” You nod at him, like you’re trying to encourage him to do the same, your wide eyes fever bright. “It’ll be just like before—”

“Why would I want that?” He asks, reaching down to tug your panties tight, pulling the fabric tautly through the lips of your pussy like dental floss. “I don’t think you’re really grasping the situation, Princess, so let me spell it out for you.” Ransom spreads your legs wider as you stare up at him with fearful eyes. 

“I don’t want things how they were before.” He snarls. “Things are different now, Sweetheart. You made them different.” Ransom slips his fingers underneath the elastic of your panties, and begins tugging them own your thighs, ignoring your whimpered pleas to wait and stop. You kick at him, a frenzied wail working its way out of your throat. True to his word, he ignores it, sliding down your body until he’s faced with the slick patch between your thighs. 

“Ransom—” His name is a hoarse wail as he attaches his lips to your cunt, his tongue seeking out your traitorously swelling clit. He grins against you, dragging his tongue noisily through your folds, moaning. This is perfection, he muses dimly, lapping at you as you whine. You can’t deny how good it feels, not when he can see the evidence glistening on your quaking thighs, taste it on his tongue. You’re gasping, those precious little choking noises filling his ears as you try to swallow down the sound of your pleasure.  

“Can’t fucking get over how good you taste, Princess,” he mumbles, reveling in your yelp as he sucks harshly on your swollen bud, spreading you wide with his fingers. You shake, your body jackknifing as you murmur nonsensically. He’s always loved that flavor—like fresh peaches, why do you taste like fucking peaches—

“F-Fuck you!” He doesn’t let you cum, though, pulling away to flick softly at your clit with his thumb. He draws the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the evidence of your body’s betrayal with a sly smile. A hoarse little whimper escapes you, and Ransom clucks his tongue, before reaching down to palm himself through his sweats. His cock his hard, so hard it almost hurts, thick drops of precum gathering at the reddened tip. He reaches for his phone with the other hand, the shutter noise clicking as he snaps a few pictures of your tear-stained face. 

“N-no, no—!” You voice your displeasure with a whine as Ransom pans the camera down your body, like he’s trying to map it out for posterity’s sake. “No pictures, please, please!” Your wild, watery eyes are frantic as you plead with him. “Please don’t, Ran, please don’t send those—” A hot pulse shoots through his body at your desperation, and his cock throbs. 

“A minute ago you were just telling me to go fuck myself.” He quirks an eyebrow at you over the top of the phone. “So which is it?”

“Please don’t send those.” You swallow thickly, the sound audible. “Please.”

He has no intention of sending them anywhere—except maybe to Isaac with your face cropped out, of course. But he smiles lasciviously anyway, blue eyes narrowing. Ransom runs his tongue across his lips, still tasting you on them.

“Let’s make a little deal, then.” He tugs his sweats down, and the fat, veiny length of his cock springs out. Ransom hisses softly as he spreads a sticky drop of precum across his tip with his thumb. “You’re going to end it with Isaac.” You open your mouth to complain, but Ransom forges ahead, ignoring you. “We’ll be exclusive, you and me, Princess.” He forces your thighs open a little wider. “Just like you want.” Ransom’s practically giddy with the thrill of it as your full lips begin to tremble and fresh tears track down your cheeks.

“I—I don’t want you!” You gasp, your attempts to buck him off only succeeding in wedging him further between your frantically kicking legs. Ransom clucks his tongue at you. 

“I don’t know about that, Princess,” he says, slapping a hand against your swollen cunt, cupping it roughly. You squeal as he draws a finger through your slick, still throbbing folds. 

“Not sure if you’ve ever been wetter.” Ransom presses your thighs to your chest. He asks, licking his lips. “It’s all up to you, of course.” Ransom lies so easily it doesn’t even really occur to him that he’s doing it. 

“You tell me to go, I’ll go. But I can’t say what’ll happen to that footage.” He shrugs. He’s got no intention of leaving this room, not really, but he doesn’t mind pretending. “But if you were my girl, I might be able to swing deleting it. After all, what would I need it for? Got the real thing all to myself.” He dips the tip of a thick finger into your entrance. “Get it, Princess? No more scholarship. No more shitty dorm-room. I’ll take care of you.”

You’re so easy to read like this, your guard down and your desperation front and center. He can see you weighing the options, trying to parse out the best win for yourself in this devil’s bargain. He can see you testing the weight of your future against the events of this evening, and coming up far short. Ransom’s not stupid—and neither are you. You know what happens to girls like you when these things make their way into campus chatrooms and local reddit pages. 

“You’ll really delete them?” You ask meekly, your mouth trembling. “You won’t… you won’t show these to anyone?” Ransom grins wider, drawing an X across his heart with the tip of his index finger. 

“Cross my heart.” Ransom steadies one hand against your hip, his fingers sinking into the soft curve of it as he aligns himself with your entrance. His eyes roll as the head of his cock meets your cunt with a lewd, wet squelch. He’s getting impatient—after all, it’s been more than two weeks since the last time he’s been inside you, and his cock twitches hard against you at the thought. 

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry Princess, you’ll need to speak up.” Ransom leans down over you, his hard eyes locked on yours. “Again.” 

“I said fine!” Your quiet voice is strained. “Fine. I’ll—I’ll break up with Isaac—”  Ransom kisses you, swallowing the rest of your words eagerly. He gorges himself on your mouth, sucking your tongue fiercely before pulling away to worry at your lower lip with his teeth until it’s swollen and red. 

“Oh Princess.” He breathes. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.”  He watches with dark glee when your eyes go wide as he begins to press into you, the head of his cock forcing you open. “No condom this time, but that’s alright, isn’t it?”

“Ransom!”

“M’right here,” he breathes, his hips jerking as your slick, puffy cunt sucks at his tip. “Fuck.” Ransom watches your eyes roll as you sink your teeth into your lower lip.  “I know you missed it too, Sweetheart,” Ransom grits the words out through his teeth as he sinks in, his toes curling as your wet heat envelops him inch by precious inch. “You can admit it.” 

The warm euphoria that spreads down his spine as he bottoms out draws another curse from his lips. You feel like fucking slick velvet inside, your walls clamping down on the girth of his cock like a wet fist. It’s hypnotic, pulling out only to thrust home again, his ears barely registering the groan of the bed-frame beneath you. The space between his temples is buzzing—your compliance, the feel of you around him, the knowledge that he’d won—Ransom’s delirious with it. 

What’s even better is he can see it, plain on your face how much you’re enjoying it—how much you hate yourself for it. It makes every mumbled curse, every moan he wrenches from your unwilling throat all the sweeter. Ransom clucks his tongue at you as he leans down to capture your lips again. They’re pillow soft and swollen from his teeth. 

“It’s my fault.” Ransom drives his cock into you, groaning. “I was stupid, Princess, I know. But I know what I need, now,” he says, hooking an arm beneath your thigh, lifting it so he can sink in even deeper. “Just you.” The shameful little wail that escapes your throat as you clamp down around him is almost enough to make him cum with you, cursing and crying as you do. He hangs on by the last fraying thread of his self control. 

“Shit, shit, shit—”

“See?” He laughs, rolling his hips into yours with heavy strokes. “You need me, too.” 

God, he loves seeing you like this, loves being the one to break you apart—loves knowing he’ll be the only one. It’s that thought that does it, aided by the miserable way you mewl his name as you cum again. His hands are tight on your hips, sinking into the heavy curve of them as he growls your name roughly in your ear. For a moment he’s lost in it; his forehead resting against yours as you milk him. 

He stays inside you for a few luxurious minutes, basking in the feel of your cunt before pulling out. Ransom slaps his still hard cock against your oversensitive clit and you whine, your hips jerking. He can’t help but admire the mess he’s made, dragging his tip through your slick, sticky folds. 

You watch him with red-rimmed eyes, your brows furrowing as he rises from the bed, pulling his sweats back up over his hips. He doesn’t reach for the keys, but instead slides his hand underneath your pillow to remove your phone. 

“Ransom let me out, now.” Your voice is high, panicked. “You promised—”

“To delete the pictures.” He finishes, nodding. As you sputter, he removes his own phone from his pocket, and faces the screen towards you as he selects the pictures and videos from the photo album, and there’s a swooshing sound from the phone’s speakers as they disappear. “And I’ve deleted them.” Frantically, you rattle the handcuff chains against the bed-frame, trying desperately to dislodge them as Ransom sighs. 

“You’re just going to hurt yourself.” You keep trying anyway, ignoring him your terrified sobs grow louder. 

“Let me go! You fucking promised, Ransom, don’t leave me here—”

He cocks his head at you. 

“Why would I leave you?” He asks, slipping both your phones into his pocket as he stands, stretching. “Winter break’s just starting,” Ransom says with a smile. “And I can’t think of a better way to spend it.” 

the end

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[marthawrites]

Hey Martha, I have a request. I'll keep it short.

Aemond, mirror and "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."

I LOVE this prompt! I hope it tickles your fancy!

After The Study Session

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Can be read as a one shot but reads best as part 2 to After The Closing Shift

Word count: 4k+

About: Through the chaos of college and work, yours and Aemond's friendship continues to shift in a new direction. Jason can't seem to accept he's lost you. You and Aemond take matters into your hands to make sure he knows it.

Includes: Plot with lots of porn featuring Aemond and reader being cheeky, mirror kink, vaginal fingering, Aemond being possessive, phone kink, exhibitionism, mild degradation, and unprotected protected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! You all loved the phone so much in After The Closing Shift I had to bring it back bigger and better! This is filthy. I hope you enjoy it. Mwah!

-

The days following what happened after that closing shift were a blur. On top of studying for finals, you picked up a few extra shifts at the restaurant to help pay for your car’s repairs. It wasn’t even that old! But it seemed as soon as one thing started acting up, a hydra effect followed and three more things went wrong. A weird rattle, some obscene squeaking, and a smell that definitely wasn’t normal. And, as if to make matters worse, it turned out the tires were in need of replacement. Great. Just great! 

Aemond picked you up a couple more times from work, too. While things never escalated as quickly as the first time, innocence still flew out the window once inside the privacy of his black Mercedes. 

Things were different between you two, now. Not in any bad way. Just, different. After the stormy car sex he indeed took you back to his place for the night. Still heated and bold, he joined you and fucked you again against the shower wall. Hot water washed away the mess of sex in a haze of humidity. 

Aemond still lived at home, and the Targaryen estate was lavish enough that he had his own wing: bedroom, bathroom, and study. Helaena was off at college, and Aegon was off doing whatever he did during the middle of the night, so you two didn’t have to worry about untimely sibling interruption. 

As promised, he gave you one of his t-shirts to sleep in. Soft, worn, and cozy; you joined him in his bed and sleep had come quickly.

Over the span of the next two weeks that was, unknowingly, the last moment of peace.

-

Finals were right around the corner. You and Aemond had different majors, but electives granted some overlap. You both had the same ancient civilization class and second year sign language. His major was for library science with the goal of becoming either a library director or archivist – perhaps both, if he could swing it right. 

Aemond had a wicked sharp mind and he happily led study sessions for your shared classes in the university's library. You never knew him to be easily distracted. With how things were different between you now, however… On more than one occasion his hand slipped down the front of your bottoms, or bunched them down around your thighs, while he covered your mouth as he brought you to peak on his fingers. If both his hands were otherwise occupied, you buried your face in his neck to silence your pleasure. He always made sure to reserve tucked away tables.

It was incredibly distracting. 

Yet, still, an even larger distraction clouded your mind. Jason Lannister.

Despite your repeated assurance that you were done with Jason, he persisted. Relentlessly. The fact he overheard you riding Aemond to and through orgasm seemed to matter little. Later, when things finally calmed down from the passionate storm, curiosity made you check your calls: Jason, incoming, over three minutes. He heard everything. You wondered how much of the hushed dirty talk he overheard. ("Listen, okay, I deserved that after all the shit I've put you through," he had said during one of your later arguments.)

Anytime you were with your best friend you made sure to have your phone either on silent or vibrate. 

-

Tonight, vibrate mode.

You and Aemond finished a marathon study session in his wing and were praising all the God's that you were done. It was Friday night, you actually had the night off, and one of the obscure streaming apps just dropped a new anthology series in the same vein as Love Death + Robots. DoorDash dropped dinner off so you didn't even have to get dressed to go out. Nope. Tonight it was you, Aemond, a new show, your favorite food, and some much earned relaxation. 

Sometime during the second episode, Aemond, as he liked to do, used your lap as a pillow and you idly ran your fingers through his hair. You tucked your phone beneath the opposite thigh he rested on. It'd been relatively quiet all afternoon and evening, but now it buzzed with two missed calls. "Do you need to get that, bunny?" He asked, peering up at you from the cushion of your thighs.

"Uhm… no, probably not. It can go to voicemail," you answered with more nerves than you intended.

It was enough to pique Aemond's attention. He looked at you suspiciously. "Who is it?"

"It doesn't matter. Whoa! Look! I think this guy is gonna be offered on that stone slab we saw earlier. He's being led to it by those forest freaks!" You prayed distraction would work. This episode was extremely interesting and Aemond hardly blinked until your phone started going off.

He didn't buy it. "Is it still Jason?"

Half a dozen emotions played across your face all at once before you flinched, shrugged, and answered, "yes?"

Aemond's expression, somehow, remained neutral. Though, you saw restrained emotion in the fine muscles of his face; irritation. "Still? Please tell me you're not thinking about getting back with him."

"No! No no no no. I really meant it when I said I'm done. He just keeps trying, ya know? Ugh. No matter how many times I tell him to stop he keeps coming back!" You groaned, frustrated. "And are you kidding, Aems? I haven't been able to think about him or anyone else since the storm in your car…,” you said with pinkened cheeks. “And all the times in the library?” You admitted further, cheeks much more red.

Any trace of anger shifted into pure mischief. “Mm... I was hoping you’d say that.”

“I mean it,” you replied. As engrossed in the episode as you had been, it no longer held your attention while Aemond looked at you like that. “I feel like we’ve hardly got a break since the storm. With work, prepping for finals, homework… and that fucking essay! Agh I swear it’s gonna haunt my dreams for the next week.”

“Hm…,” he hummed, eye sly. “You did very well on it. If I were your professor I’d give you a perfect score. Maybe a couple extra points if you wore these leggings into class when you turned it in.” As he spoke he rolled onto his belly with one arm folded beneath him for support. The fingers of the other played across one of your thighs in annunciation. He eyed his motion appreciatively before turning his gaze back up to you. On the tv someone was definitely screaming, and there was definitely chanting with one of the creepiest film scores you’d heard. Yet, neither of you paid the climax of the episode any mind.

“Aemond…,” his name left your mouth in a whisper. “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to be normal about it.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to be normal about it.”

Your belly flipped and flopped; anticipation and excitement made your breath shudder. This side of your best friend was straight up sinful. The more you two stole these moments away together, the more you wondered how you were able to live without them. And, even moreso, how you were able to stay with Jason when this was right here all along. Two years of on-again off-again happiness, turmoil, and every emotion between. It all seemed such a waste, now, knowing you could have spent those two years with Aemond; not only as best friends, but as his. “You’re such an asshole…,” you said a little too endearingly. 

He grinned. Playful.

Reaching, you touched over the left side of his face. He had such a lovely face. Angled, sharp, sleek. As much as he’d roll his eye anytime you mentioned it, he truly looked like a marble statue of ancient antiquity. You traced over the lower portion of his scar that marred from cheek to forehead, mindful to not bother the patch he wore to cover his damaged eye. A terrible childhood accident left it completely dead; colorless, like that of a blind man. Instead of removing it for a prosthetic, he kept it and covered it with an eyepatch. You’d seen him many times without it but it was habitual for him to keep it on. Because, unfortunately, even after all these years, it still made him self-conscious. 

He leaned into your touch. "Mm… tell me again how you can't think of anyone else." Turning his head he kissed the inside of your hand, eye an impish sliver of brilliant blue.

"No one else," you answered. "Only you."

"Such a good girl. My good, sweet girl."

At the same time, Aemond leaned up, and you leaned down, mouths colliding in a searing kiss. His lips were soft and warm, yet somehow yours were softer and warmer against his. He stood and urged you up, too, guiding you from the couch to his bed. There, he gently pushed you back onto it. The thread count was higher than anything you owned and it smelled a little like clean laundry and a little like him. With him atop you – your kiss growing heavier and needier by the second – and one of his hands roaming over you, your core ached.

How easily he made you need him.

"You should have told me Jason hasn't been leaving you alone," he said, squinting down at you with a small dark grin. One of his hands wrapped around both of your wrists as he held them above your head. "I could have made him stop by now." He leaned down to kiss you again, taking the time to nip at your bottom lip and kiss along your jaw; slowly, and with meaning.

"Can we stop talking about him?" Your question edged on a whimper when he bit at your neck and gently sucked the skin between his teeth. “I literally don’t give a shit about him and he just won’t stop calling and texting. I thought he might have caught on to the hint by now…” Beneath him, your thighs spilled open enough to accommodate his trim hips. Your knees pushed into his slender waist as you pulled him closer into you. Even his fucking sweats were softer than anything you owned – Targaryens and their insane money. His arousal strained against the material. Your own concealed excitement radiated between your thighs. It was impossible to tell who was hotter – him, or you – when he ground himself against your cunt through your leggings.

He groaned softly by your ear at the sensation, nipping your lobe. “Next time he calls, I’m answering it.” 

Heat flooded to your core as goosebumps erupted upon your entire body. In your mind you saw your call log. Incoming, Jason, three minutes. Aemond told you he hung up but he never did. Now, he meant to do it again. Deliberately. With the full intention of telling Jason Lannister to fuck off one more time. Young, and hot blooded, and full to the brim with testosterone, he’d make his point clear.

Aemond’s bunny. 

Releasing your wrists from his hold, he leaned up and you did too, watching as he moved across the room. He walked to where your phone lay on the floor and picked it up, putting it in his pocket. You both knew Jason would be calling again soon. Despite the breakup being his fault, he was having a hard time accepting it. Dumbass. A pretty, handsome, smooth-talking dumbass. If his heart was filled with the old-money gold of his family’s name, he’d be a proper himbo. But, alas, it definitely was not.

Wearing a new smirk, now, Aemond held his hand out to you. A wave of butterflies filled your belly as you stood from his bed and walked over to him. Immediately he discarded his shirt before pulling yours off, too. Stepping behind you, he unclasped your bra with a quick flick of his fingers and pushed you in the opposite direction; a line of clothing in your wake. The wall to the side of his closet was lined with mirrors, and that’s the direction he led you. An idea sprung to mind and a second wave of butterflies filled your belly. “Aems, what’re you…?”

“Shh…,” he interrupted, running one hand up your exposed belly, up between your bare breasts, until his fingers delicately wrapped around your neck. Your bodies pressed together and he made the softest, most delicious noise behind you as his rigid cock pressed against the small of your back. He held your phone in his free hand, and with a swipe of his thumb the camera clicked on. “A little secret, a little surprise… what do you think, bunny?” He asked low by your ear.

Through the mirror you watched him watch you; his single eye keen on the subtlety of your growing arousal. He loomed above you, the difference of your height on full display through the mirror’s face. Your neck fit so perfectly in his grasp. You nodded, breathless and dreamy, and as soon as you said “okay” you heard the quiet click of your camera's shutter.

“Good girl…,” he purred, taking photo after photo of differing angles and poses. “Let’s see what Lannister has to say about these, hm? God, we should have done this a long time ago.”

You ached with need. Never before had you taken photos like this with someone else. You had no idea it would be such a turn on. “I know, but we’ve been so busy,” you managed to croak out, the connection between your mouth and brain already beginning to shut off.

“I’m never too busy for you.” He slipped your phone back into his pocket. Using both hands, now, he traced down the slope of your sides until he met the band of your bottoms. He began tugging them down. The natural shimmy of your hips unintentionally (or perhaps wholly intentionally) ground your backside against his hardness. He groaned somewhere deep in his throat, chuckling, as he looked at you through the mirror. “Such a little tease.” He snapped a few more photos before working your underwear down. Once you were out of them he pocketed them greedily.

You reached around and grabbed his cock through his sweats, squeezing and working your hand over it. The choked sound he made had you giggling behind a bitten lip. “Aems, please. Fuck… you’re so hard. I need to have you inside me again.”

It took everything he had to push your hands away. “Not yet, baby girl. I wanna play with your pretty pussy for a little bit first. Make you all whiney and squirmy.”

As if you weren’t already whiney and squirmy enough.

He kicked your feet apart to spread your legs more. “Watch,” he said. Angling your bodies, he stood so you could both see his hand move between your thighs. He dragged his fingers up through your folds, testing your wetness, and rubbed the slick around your already swollen clit. “You’re so fucking wet already. I bet you could take three fingers right now without even working up to it.” Without wasting another moment he slipped one long slender digit into your body. You both gasped. He swirled it around and your pussy squelched with the movement. 

A blush crept into your cheeks at the realization of just how wet you were, and he laughed darkly, lowly, behind you. He added a second. All of those beautiful nerve endings along your walls sang with his touch. When he brushed against that roughened spongy spot inside of you, one of your hands flew to the mirror to brace yourself upon your arm. “Holy shit…! Right there, fuck! Please– don’t stop.”

He didn’t. “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else,” he said as he stayed there, right there, fingering you until your pretty eyes were rolled up behind your eyelids. He feathered your clit with his thumb, his forearm flexing with the intensity of his motions. If he looked down he could see what he was doing. If he looked in the mirror he could see what he was doing. And same for you, too – all with his cock still pressed into your back. He had ruined you for anyone else. Ever since the storm in his car, no one else even drifted through your thoughts.

“Oh my god, yes…!” You tensed against him, muscles shaking with the exertion of your building orgasm. The combination of his soft, low, praising voice by your ear, and the unrelenting force of his wrist, had you cresting in the next instant. Bliss washed over you in a lovely wave of brilliance and warmth. You melted back into him, the tightened walls of your body easing and relaxing around his fingers. 

“Can you give me one more?” He asked, grinning at you when you turned your face to meet his.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah, Aems, I can.”

He worked you up again. A little easier this time, however, so he wouldn’t completely overstimulate your senses before he could bury himself inside of you. You were so good and he only wanted to make you feel good. Amidst the finger fucking – you were grinding back against his hand, head tilted back and moaning so prettily – your phone began ringing its vibrating pattern. “I told you earlier I was gonna answer it and I meant it,” he crooned at you, showing you the screen with Jason’s name on it. He clicked the speakerphone on.

“Why the fuck would you send those to me? I’ve been trying to call you for–”

“ –and yet here you are, calling again. Seriously, Lannister, how many times does she have to tell you she’s done before you get it through your head?” Aemond asked, holding the phone in front of both of you so the speaker would catch any noise, large and small alike. “We’re a little busy. Tell him what you told me earlier, baby. He needs to hear it,” he said as he shoved a third finger into you.

You cried out, already nearly blissed out, gasping as he rammed you with the full force of three digits. “Oh my fucking god, yes, Aemond, yes yes yes,” you panted, totally and completely uncaring of how scandalous the scenario was. Despite the filth of it (or perhaps in spite of the filth), you loved it. “Fuck off, Jason. Stop calling me and leave me alone,” you said through a building orgasm. “Aemond’s ruined me for anyone else. Especially you. You cheating piece–,” before you could finish, climax ripped through your body for a second time and any words you were prepared to say were drowned by sounds of release. 

Between your peak, and Aemond’s rumbling praises, Jason ended the call. 

After catching your breath, you laughed. You couldn’t stop yourself. “Can’t believe that just happened!”

Aemond nuzzled into your neck and pulled you back to his bed where he fell atop it with you. “That should shut him up,” he said with way too much satisfaction; not at all regretting anything.

You looked up at him, bold and daring and mischievous. “I don’t think it will… I think he needs one more good solid reminder. To make sure he really knows he’s lost me.”

“What’re you thinking, bunny?”

You tugged his sweats down with zero hesitation. You tugged his briefs down with even less hesitation. His cock slapped up against his pelvis and you clenched around nothing at the sight of it, at the memory of riding him until you were silly with pleasure. You needed to feel him again. Needed to have his cum dripping from you again. He was the perfect size to stretch your body in the most delicious ways, and as much as you loved his fingers and mouth on you, you craved for more. “Let’s call him again. No speaker phone this time though. Let’s video call him,” your said with bright eyes; excited at the perversion of it.

“You naughty little thing,” Aemond growled down at you, his own eye mirroring yours. You were already facing the mirrored wall, and he flipped you onto your belly and propped your ass up. “Keep those knees under you and keep that ass up. Fuck, baby, you’re so sexy like this.” 

You gladly followed his instructions and wiggled your hips in anticipation. “C’mon Aemond, ruin me,” you teased, looking at him from over your shoulder. He didn’t need to be told twice. He lined up with your dripping cunt and sunk into you with enough force to push the air out of your lungs. 

Lean, sharp hips slammed against the soft flesh of your upturned asscheeks. “Taking me so well, baby girl. Fuck. Your pussy is so pretty stretched around me like this," he said, big hands spreading your ass apart so he could watch himself stroke in and out of you. Each time he pulled out, his cock glistened with your arousal. It sent his balls aching.

You, somehow, managed to call Jason and he actually answered. When he picked up you saw he was assumedly alone in his bedroom. "Hello? Oh Jesus Christ, you guys. Seriously?"

You had the back camera on and pointed at the mirror so Jason was able to see everything through the reflection. Your face was partially covered from the phone, and Aemond kept his attention downcast to where he thrust into you, the sound of skin on skin slapping through the phone's speakers. "Wanted you to see, Jason," you said through moans, pressing further against Aemond. "Didn't know if you believed the last call. I wanted you to see."

Behind you, Aemond picked up his pace and pressure, slamming into you with renewed vigor. "Just know how well I'm treating her now. And she's getting her pussy ate. Perhaps we'll call and show you that one of these times, too. I always knew you were worthless. Yet you still had the audacity to cheat on her. Fucking scumbag."

Still, Aemond fucked you harder. He wasn't holding back and neither were you. He pulled you up harshly, one arm wrapping around the front of your shoulders while the hand of the other gripped onto one of your hips, squeezing as he held you in place. The angle of the camera gave a new view; your bouncing tits almost as distracting as Aemond ramming in and out of you. There were entire categories on porn sites dedicated to stuff like this, and here Jason was getting it for free.

You didn't know or care about his feelings or reaction. All you cared about was how fucking good Aemond felt inside you.

"I get it. Piss off, both of you," Jason said before he hung up.

Your ex's words barely registered in your brain as Aemond chased his high, pushing you higher and higher all the while. A third orgasm rippled through you with an intensity that had you weightless. Perfectly numb, and light, and satisfied to your bones. He wasn't far behind; your flexing walls sent his cock twitching and unloading his spend against the deepest part of your body. As he pulled out, slowly and carefully and hesitantly, his cum dribbled from your cunt. 

"My perfect girl," he rumbled; emptied and sated. "Was that too much?" He asked as he leaned back on his bed with you, scooping you against him in post-climax bliss. 

You rested your head on the space below his shoulder, fingertips trailing languidly over the patch of hair at the center of his chest. You hummed. Musing. "No, I don't think so," you finally said. "I think it's exactly what he needed and deserved." Tilting your head, you kissed the underside of his jaw. "I'm all yours, Aems."

"All mine." 

Comfortable silence followed. You listened to the steady drum of his heart; fingertips tracing from the hair on his chest to the fine hair below his navel, and all back again. Looking up at him, you said, “I think we should start telling people we’re together.”

“Let’s. I don’t think it’ll be much of a surprise to everyone, bunny,” he said, shifting to look down at you, too. “I can’t wait to see Lannister’s face next time we see him.”

You tried your best to not giggle. “Think he’ll tell others about it?”

“I don't give a shit. Long as he and everyone else know you're mine."

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @bloodwyrmcaraxes @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @vhagar-burns-for-him @aemondsgirlfriend @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista @avidreader73 @snh96

[voidwizardwholikestheshadows]

How The JJK Boys Apologize

Warning: None but slightly angst

Includes; Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna and Inumaki

=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•

Gojo: With Gojo, he’s super sweet but also sly about it. He would attempt to sweep you off your feet just like he did when you first met and started dating. He’s also pretty confident with his words. He wouldn’t ever want you actually mad at him so he would do everything within his power to make sure that you can forgive him. He doesn’t often slip up but there are times where he comes him and he still acts like Gojo aka The Strongest and not Satoru, your loving boyfriend. He can be pretty stubborn at times which can lead to arguments but you both apologize rather quickly to each other because Satoru is super clingy and needs you to need him. He always gives you your space and let’s you come back to him but that doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking about you and wanting to send you like a million messages saying sorry.

Geto: Geto is a hard one to figure out sometimes. He always feels bad whenever you get into arguments and it leaves one or both of you frustrated but he always tries his best to make it up to you in any way he can. Whether you just want to hang out inside and watch movies or go out for a fancy date, he’ll be there for you. Or if you just want to be left alone, he’ll respect that as well but will leave you a little note and slip it under your door. He always feels much worse if he can hear you crying in your room. He prefers to talk things out and try to understand your point of view so arguments aren’t a regular occurrence. He definitely cares so so much about you and like I said before is willing to do whatever you want to do for the day.

Nanami: Do you really think you’re getting into arguments with this man? He’s like the most respectful and understanding- oh alright, I’ll do it for the sake of it. Nanami is probably the sweetest out of everyone on this list when it comes to recognizing how you feel and if something he might say will make you upset. He’s good at what he does, I’ll just say that. Nanami is also super understanding when it comes to you trying to explain your side of things or your feelings after an argument. Much like Geto, he’s very willing to do whatever you want to do for the day if he feels he’s made a big enough mistake to hurt your feelings. Good with his words but prefers actions to words because he feels that they speak louder.

Toji: Toji is something else. First of all, he rarely thinks things are his fault and will rarely apologize or admit to making any mistakes. On the other hand, if he ever made you cry because of an argument, he’ll be there to consul you. Even without words, he’ll pull you close and just hug you for a while. He wasn’t raised to be able to openly express his emotions or even cry without his father calling him weak so he isn’t good with his words. He’ll cuddle with you and hold you close and if you decide to lock yourself in your room, he’ll even go out and buy you a gift, magic, right? In all seriousness, he cares about you quite a lot and while he isn’t great with words, he can show his care in other ways.

Sukuna: You think Sukuna would ever apologize or say something was his fault? He would much rather gaslight you into believing that you are actually at fault but for the sake of the prompt, I’ll try my best. Sukuna, just like Toji, isn’t the best at words. Nor is he good at comforting actions. In his defense, he is a curse now, his human days are long behind him and he definitely isn’t what he used to be. Not that he was nice in his past either. He’s definitely the type to buy you something and leave it in your room so he doesn’t have to confront you or explain his actions to you. He would rather you just take the gift and be grateful. He may never openly apologize or admit anything, but he’ll try to stay around you more which definitely counts for something.

Inumaki: You and Inumaki rarely have arguments over anything. You both are typically able to sort things out pretty easily. However, the biggest argument you two had was when he missed two movie nights because he was busy playing his stupid video games. You excused it the first time but after it happened the second time in a row, you were a little upset, to say the least. You tried to talk to him about it but it just ended in an argument that left you both feeling incredibly frustrated. Inumaki’s way of apologizing is more quiet than anything. He would get you gifts and try to hang out with you more. He did know how to phrase what he really wanted to say into words so he showed it in his actions. He truly loved and cared about you and hated seeing you upset, especially if it was because of him. He would make sure to make it up to you in the best way that he possibly can.

[yagirljosieohyeah]

Hi! Can I request a demon slayer modern day AU where the hashiras S/O gets them into skincare or makes them do skincare with them?

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I THOUGHT I HIT POST AND ONLY REALIZED I WASN’T GETTING ANY NOTIFICATIONS

Of course no problem for this one I’m just gonna do headcannons I hope that’s all right

GIYŪ TOMIOKA

He would be excited but he wouldn’t make it clear he is

he would be confused about what everything

but your the expert so he just lets you do your thing and he kinda sits there

will close his eyes and relax into your hands

I think he would like the facial rollers the best

KYŌJURŌ RENGOKU

Is a bit unsure at first but he is willing to support whatever you feel like doing

Will talk the entire time about the most random things

has no idea what your doing but goes with it

Would want to try it on you

his favorite thing is lotion cause it makes your skin all soft

TENGEN UZUI

His wives would totally join in and all of you would be trying to convince him to do it

he of course would give in once you all started asking

You would be getting little kisses from Suma the whole time

Hinatsuru xould be so stubborn honestly

Maiko would be pretty quiet during it

freaking Tenzen would be the one to yell that it’s cold when you do anything

his favorite thing is the cucumbers on the eyes because even though it does nothing he likes to eat them at the end

MITSURI KANROJI

She would be so excited

would do yours too

would want to either cuddle and go to bed or put on makeup after and go out

she would have lots of skincare too

Will tell you random stories she makes up while you do it on her

her favorite thing is the headbands and her favorite headband is the pink bunny one

SHINOBU KOCHŌ

I’m sorry did you think you would be the one prompting the skincare…

no it’s her al the way

she’s got all the fancy creams and she knows what they all do

she will tell you not to waste your money on certain things

she would love skincare dates

her favorite thing is sheet masks

MUICHIRŌ TOKITŌ

Definitely not excited (he is)

would sit quietly and let you do your thing

literally glared into your eyes

Will hold your hand even though it makes it more difficult for you

his favorite thing is… soap (he’s boring)

GYŌMEI HIMEJIME

Is so happy to do whatever you want

will smile as you do your thing

gives you a kiss every now and then

Will try different products on you

his favorite thing is gua shaw (I just get those vibes)

OBANAI IGURO

Rolls his eyes when you ask to do skincare

will say no the first 100 times

Grumbles curses under his breath the whole time

Hates anything sticky

will not do sheet masks

however his favorite thing is probably clay masks.

SANEMI SHINZUGAWA

says yes violently

Will curse anytime he thinks it’s too cold

such an asshole the entire time

if you put something to help with his scar he will be happy but won’t say anything

his favorite thing is under eye pads (I RAN OUT OF SKINCARE OKAY)

[hehkshew]

I have this prompt idea:

Vox, having been around Valentino and Velvette, insists he’s fine and is not going to catch whatever cold ridden illness that they have. But by the end of the week, he’s now showing symptoms just as much as they were. Valentino smirks as Vox finally admits defeat. The three of them, Vel and Val now recovering slowly, resign themselves to a week together, each one blaming the other for starting it.

[Out Of Service] (H/azbin H/otel) V/ox, V/elvette, and V/alentino [1300 Words]

This week, it felt as if everything had been going wrong. The entire past few days had been fully manic. Even more so than the way it typically was. There were employees around every corner, worrying as they tried to keep up with the increased work load and requests.

Why they were all suddenly so panicked? Because it just so happened that two of three were bored. And when they were bored, shit got tense fast.

There was a lot to do and a lot to manage and to keep up with it, there was no time to get distracted. 

Which was why if Vox had half a mind he would’ve turned around, at the first sounds of a hacking cough. But he didn’t. 

Valentino laid sprawled across out on the couch, sunglasses hazardously laying dropped on the floor in the path of any unfortunate unfocused sinner who’d undoubtedly step on them. He looked pathetic, no trace of cocky appearance he usually displayed.

Other side of the couch Velvette looking pissed and utterly wrecked as she tiredly scrolled through her phone. Eyes half lidded, groaning quietly. 

He should’ve probably assumed that after hearing the sound of coughing ongoing randomly the past two hours.

They looked exhausted.

Val’s eyes drifted tiredly, widening a little as he pushed himself up with a smirk. Sniffling as he purred, voice a little too rough than normal.

“Amorcito!” He called low, grin widening as he blinked slow. The eye bags were practically visible from here, “I didn’t think you’d come, Baby.” He mused, Velvette glancing up from her phone before glancing away, sinking deeper into the blankets. “I feel awful.”

Vox narrowed his eyes slightly, eyebrows creasing as he breathed out, “Oh please, Val. You can handle a little cold.”

Valentino dramatically groaning as if he’d been betrayed, back of his hand to his forehead, which was noticeably sweating. “Ugh, heartless, Voxxy. Absolutely heartless.”

Velvett made a noise of annoyance, sniffling as she sunk deeper into her blankets, snapping her head down as she stifled a harsh sneeze into the blankets.

“Oh for Hell’s sake,” Vox groaned, making the gesture of pinching his screen, “Don’t tell me you’re sick too.”

Velvette only sniffled, shooting daggers as she spoke. Voice sounding more broken then Valentinos, grabbing a tissue box. One in one of those stupidly fancy cases as she chucked it at Valentino’s head, the moth making a pained “Oww..” whine.

“It’s his fault, I feel like shit.”

Val barking out a laugh, one that dissolved into a coughing fit, the sound rattling in his chest. “Doll, you did not get this from me. You were coughing before I was”

“This is totally all his fault, fucking infected everyone and now hes gonna make you miserable too.” She snapped, only half serious. rolling her eyes as she slumped deeper into the couch.

Vox scoffed somewhat amusedly at the two.

“I at least have a decent antivirus system.” That’s something he pointed out a lot, his excuse to work through things, something the two couch ridden overlords tried not to groan at, Vox shooting a glare back. “Unlike you two, I don’t get sick.”

Valentino coughed, sitting up as he hit at his chest, clearing his voice as he sniffed sharply, humming with almost a look of challenge. “We didn’t expect to get sick either Mi amado.”

“I’m not gross.” Vox challenged, ducking as Velvette threw the nearest object near her towards Vox’s head. “And I’m more efficient, I’m built to handle this.” He snapped.

The two weren’t convinced, Vox groaning as he stormed out and left. A look towards each other as if they knew.

“I don’t get sick.” He muttered. Something he continued to tell himself.

It was nearing the end of the week, and it was safe to say that something had changed.

Vox wasn’t uncaring, he’d been there. For them! Bringing them stuff every hour or so, a routine most likely used in a prison more than a caring nurse sort of way, but he was there every hour for a check in. To make sure they hadn’t died, or whatever.

They were still sick of course, but it wasn’t as bad now. That was… An improvement, and it was good!

And everything was fine…! And maybe he might’ve felt a little sluggish, and even when it was dead silent he could hear the sound of buzzing in his ears. But those were just quirks! Definite normal stuff he always had.

Computer shit!  

He tensed, screen flickering as he faltered. Lowering the clipboard he’d been holding, head snapping down harshly as he sneezed. Spark of electricity shooting as it zapped, wincing as the lights in the penthouse went out for just a moment. 

That was the downside about all of this, everytime that happened. It tended to affect anything electronic, and Much to Valentino and Velvette’s misery, their devices were no exception.

Inhaling sharply again as a second one overcame him. 

 “Hhh-HHK̴̬͉̬̮̗̝̓̑̕ͅS̴̜̥̞̰̟̈́̿̊̎̋͒̃̄̽ͅͅͅZ̶̮͓̬̗̣̝͗̃̀Z̴̧̠̫͙͔̬̲̦͕̣̋͘͜T̴̩̠̀͆̀̚!̷̧̡͈̖̗͇͓͇̳̏͆͠!!”

A surge of static zapping as another blue spark zapped, this time hitting Valentino in the chest. Moth Demon giving a sharp yelp as he involuntarily wrapped his wings around himself, an undignified tumble off of the couch.

“Voxxy, the fuck!” Valentino yelled, gray smoke rising from the zap in his jacket. Velvett pulling herself back as she brought her knees to her chest, intent on avoiding by being zapped by any of that.

“Not sick, huh?” Unamused, twinge of a grimace on her face as she watched his screen short circuit. 

“I’m not– hHHK̶̊̋͐̒̿͊͂́͜S̶̨̪̭͖̙̩̠̜̹̓̌ͅH̴̟̯̗̄ͅŹ̸̢͕̰̙̱̖̦͔Z̴̢͓͍̲͉̈͐̀̒Ţ̸̥͕̮̎̔!!” This time, the lights in the entire penthouse immediately blacking out into darkness.

“Yeah, real convincing.”

Vox groaned, looking as flustered as his expression was able to manage, arms crossed over himself as he pointedly ignored the inspecting looks he was receiving. Even he couldn’t argue against this one. Huffing as his screen glowed duller.

He did feel fucking wrecked.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped against the kitchen counter. “Fine. Fine. I have a cold.”

“Told you,” Velvette hummed, sniffling pleased to be right. She was always right.

“Welcome to the club Baby.” Val grinned widely, lifting his wing and blanket as invitation for Vox to join them under it. “Surprise, Tesoro. You’re not invincible.”

Vox shot him a withering glare, muttering as it lacked its sharpness. “Shut up.”

And with the admittance of all of them feeling horrible, they could feel horrible together. Remaining time being spent huddled together. And that’s how it was the next few days.

Arguments over who was worse, arguments over each other hogging blankets and arguments starting after every sneeze from Vox short circuited another one of their electronics.

“I can’t believe Velvette got us all sick.” Valentino muttered, biting back his grin as she sat up pissed off, Vox groaning as he pulled a pillow over his screen, knowing the argument to ensue.

“Me?! It was you, you were the one coughing over fucking everything. And I wash my hands constantly. Unlike you with both your fucking gross men piss fingers.” Grimacing with a shooted glare, burying further into them despite it.

Vox groaned, “Does it even matter? We’re all suffering now because one of you idiots couldn’t not be walking disease.”

Velvette sniffled weakly, head laid against Vox’s lap. “Let’s all just agree to blame Vox for electrocuting us every time he has a fit.”

Vox glared embarrassed, preparing to move up from the couch and leave. “I’m going to bed.” Valentino stopping him as he pulled him back down.

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re stuck with us.”

And he didn’t have room to argue, blinking tiredly as the movie on the screen began to play. The three watching with various levels of exhaustion. 

And it was nice.

“Hhh.. Hih.. hḰ̴̼Z̵̮̎Z̴̠͙̾H̷͇͊ͅT̵̪̔̽!̷̹̐̀” 

Velvette’s phone buzzing and flashing before going dead.

“Dammit Vox!” Velvette groaned, dropping the broken device onto the carpet.

“Whoops,” For the first time all day, barking out a laugh.

With the movie playing, they couldn't help the exhaustion overtaking them. Slowly breathing as they began to fall asleep, and for the first in a long time, together they could rest.

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 26 - Prompt: Never @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 768 words

<<<Previous Post OR Start Here

“You know what, never mind,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I’m just going to-”

“Wait!”

Remus grabbed his hand and pulled him back before he could turn away and flee. He searched Sirius’s face intently. “Did you mean that? You actually like me? Not just half-fancy me or-”

“I don’t half-fancy you!” Sirius clapped a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes tight. This was top tier idiocy. His brother would take the piss out of him if he knew. After a full minute of mental gymnastics, he released it. “I mean, I do, but that’s not why I’m asking.”

When he opened his eyes, Sirius was startled to find Remus grinning. “What’s so funny? Am I a joke to you?”

Remus’s grin widened. “Not a joke, but it is a little amusing that the bloke who swans through a room like the fucking Queen is fumbling this so badly.”

“Swan? First I’m splashy, now I’m a swan? What is with you and these bird metaphors?”

“Uh-uh. No deflecting. You asked me to “try this,” Remus teased, flapping a hand between their chests. “You don’t get to criticise my choice of words.”

“Well, I'll take it back then! You and your Welsh nonsense can go suck rocks!”

Remus threw his head back and laughed. His body shook with his overwhelming glee, and if Sirius’s chest didn’t warm a bit at the raspy sound, he’d have shoved him away. It was a smoker’s laugh, half-cough and half-wheeze. Still, something about it stuck in Sirius’s ribs.

“Kick…not suck,” Remus forced out, holding his side as he caught his breath. “It’s ‘go kick rocks.’”

“Whatever, it’s a stupid saying anyway.”

“Oh, don’t pout. I thought it was sweet.”

Remus was using his own words against him. Clever git. Sirius fought back a smile and pointed at him with a narrow-eyed glare.

“Shut it. Do you want to or not?”

“Are you threatening me if I don’t? Besides, you need to make up your mind if you want me to ‘shut it’ or answer you. I can’t do both,” Remus said. He was entirely too smug now.

Sirius shook Remus’s hand off and threw his arms up in frustration. “Why are you so infuriating? It’s a simple fucking question, Remus!”

“Hmm, perhaps I can do both. I’d have to kiss you though, and I’m not sure that you can handle it in your current state of distress-”

One step forward, Remus’s wool jumper fisted in his hands, and a hard pull. That’s all it took to bring that snarky mouth down to his level. Sirius smashed their lips together, then shoved him away.

“Now who’s in a ‘state of distress?’” he taunted, smirking at Remus’s open-mouthed gape.

The bloke recovered faster than he expected and jerked forward. Remus wrapped his long, knobby fingers around Sirius’s neck and their lips crashed together violently. Sirius gasped into the kiss as a rush of adrenaline surged through his body from the pressure of Remus’s palm against his throat. He swallowed hard and gripped Remus’s jumper with both hands.

Remus deepened the kiss gently and the intensity shift of the snog made Sirius’s chest clench. The hand at his throat slid to the side of his neck as his thumb stroked along Sirius’s jaw. It was hypnotic the way his tongue mirrored his touch, slowly and purposefully softening their connection.

When Remus pulled away, he pressed two small kisses to Sirius’s lips, as if he was apologising for needing to breathe. He rested his forehead against Sirius’s and smiled, a genuine smile this time. There were no remnants of his previous teasing in that smile.

“Yes, if that wasn’t clear,” Remus said, nodding slightly. “I want to try this too.”

“Even if it’s hard? Long-distance is shite.”

Remus released a breathy laugh. “I snogged you in the middle of a pub with dozens of people staring at us. I think I can manage a little travel to see you.”

“Yes, well…alright,” Sirius said, unused to being at a loss for words. It was one thing to choose not to speak what was on his mind, and entirely another to have nothing in his mind.

“Although, I hadn’t expected an audience,” he added, lips twitching as scattered applause sounded from behind him.

Sirius hugged Remus’s waist and tucked his face into his chest. He was surrounded by arms that held him so carefully, as if Remus was afraid to break him. This man was impossibly lovely. He was everything Sirius needed, and in three days he’d have to leave him behind.

That’s future Sirius’s problem.

Next Part>>>

[firstelevens]

Sam/Bucky + “subterfuge” for one word prompts!

@sambambucky said she was just gonna have to imagine Bucky hanging out with the baby in the Mr. and Mr. Smith AU and I was like, what if we imagined that collectively, as instructed by some prose. like a guided meditation or whatever. definitely not a continuation of the au. that would be silly.

When Bucky heads up to bed, it's less because he's tired and more because he wants to avoid a conversation with Sam. He tries to sleep, but it's fitful at best. Forty-eight hours ago, hopped up on super soldier grade painkillers and the determination to put it all on the line for Sam, Bucky had been certain that tonight was going to end differently. Even if it turned out that Sam hadn't felt the same way, or if years of subterfuge had been enough to turn him away, Bucky would at least have an answer.

Instead, Sam is across the hall like always, and Bucky is further from a clear answer than he's ever been before.

It doesn't help, either, that sleeping in a strange place means that Jack has woken up a couple of times now. Bucky was already on his feet the first time it happened, ready to help, but before he'd made it there, Sam had nudged the door of his bedroom shut. It's stayed that way all night, in spite of Bucky being able to hear Jack wake up a few times since then.

Around four in the morning, Bucky decides to call it. Lying in bed is just making him more antsy, and he'd been desperately curious to check out the property last night, but putting space between Sam and himself had felt like the higher priority at the time. He makes his rounds now, finding all the exits and stashing weapons within easy reach in every room. Sometimes he has to find new hiding places, because Sam has already tucked a gun or throwing knife into the spot that Bucky picked, which makes his heart twinge in a weird way.

He's about to step outside to check the perimeter alarms when he picks up a soft noise from upstairs, distinct from the sound of Sam's steady breathing. When he pads up the stairs and gently nudges open Sam's door, he finds Jack sitting up in the crib, glancing around the barely-lit bedroom with wide eyes. When he turns to Bucky, his eyes are bright and curious.

Bucky is certain he'll start crying and wake Sam, but instead, after a moment of looking steadily up at him, Jack raises his arms to be picked up, cooing as he does. With a wary glance to make sure Sam is still asleep, Bucky lifts Jack out of the crib and slips out of the bedroom as quietly as he can, leaving the door just slightly ajar so Sam won't panic when he wakes up.

For a baby surrounded by completely new people, Jack seems oddly at ease. Sam at least has years of experience as an uncle under his belt. The last time Bucky held a baby was 1929, and yet Jack immediately settles comfortably against Bucky's right side after a diaper and onesie change, making quiet, contented noises as they move down the stairs and into the kitchen again.

Though Bucky combed through the files last night, the notes all seemed inconclusive. There were no records of Jack being subjected to experimentation, but at the home where they'd found him, there were extensive journals detailing his behavior and development, with a specific enough eye to detail that it's clear they'd been looking for something. He supposes they'll find out soon enough, and all they can do for now is keep Jack safe.

Bucky goes in search of breakfast food and finds the fridge fully stocked, an abundance of fancy baby food taking up almost a whole shelf. As he reaches in to grab a pouch that looks vaguely breakfast-y, Bucky spots a jar of marmalade, the dark and bitter kind that he loves and that Sam has frequently referred to as 'old man food.' It kicks up the same conflicted feeling he's had in his chest since he got here, affection tempered by hurt. He knows that he doesn't have a leg to stand on, that Sam hiding this from him is no different than what he hid from Sam, but it still stings.

Jack chooses this particular moment to get fussy, so Bucky bounces him a little to soothe him, closing the fridge.

"Sorry, kid," he says. "Did it get a little cold for you there? That's on me; I got distracted when I should've been fixing you something to eat."

Bucky should be used to doing things one-handed by now, but it demands more negotiation with a baby in his arms. As he flicks on the kettle to warm up the baby food--something he only realized he should do after squinting at the too-small writing on the package--he narrates everything he's doing, and the sound of consistent chatter seems to keep Jack happy. He's midway through explaining how to make a good cup of coffee when Nat unlocks the front door, letting in Steve and Yelena before she follows and locks up behind them.

The cameras on the property had let Bucky know she was coming, but it hadn't occurred to him that she might have company. If he'd known Yelena would be here, he certainly wouldn't have been caught dead with a baby on his hip and a dishtowel thrown over his other shoulder, but he's too late to do anything by the time she and Steve walk in, so he resigns himself to being photographed as she cackles delightedly.

"One night in the suburbs and already you are transformed," she laughs. "Amazing."

Steve's smile is more subdued, though no less teasing. "I could've sworn you were your ma for a second there," he says, reaching for the bowl of strawberries on the counter.

In the blink of an eye, Bucky sends a plastic spatula flying across the kitchen, thwacking Steve on the hand just before he can touch any of the fruit. "If I look like my ma, you should have no trouble listening when I say to wash your hands before you eat," says Bucky. "Bathroom's by the stairs."

Yelena and Steve head off in the direction of the stairs, and Natasha sets a bag of bagels on the counter before coming around to say hi to Jack.

"Last night go okay?" she asks, holding out a finger for him to grab.

Bucky shrugs. "He woke up a couple times, but Sam handled it."

Nat narrows her eyes. "I didn't mean for the baby."

"I found out that my husband and I have been lying to each other for the past four years about the nature of our work, and that you and Steve probably knew about it and never said anything," says Bucky. "And then I had to come here and play house with him, because we're on a mission together for the foreseeable future."

Her expression doesn't betray anything. "And?"

"I'm not sure I'd call it okay, is all," snaps Bucky. In his arms, Jack starts fussing again and he sways a little, murmuring an apology to him.

"Did we exclude you from the conversation?" he asks. "Sorry, bud. I'm sure you've got opinions, too, huh? Though maybe you're team Sam, after all the nice stuff he got you."

Jack coos.

"I get it," says Bucky. "If someone got me that many fancy yogurts, I'd probably love them, too."

He gets more cooing in response.

"Let's not let him have too much of an advantage, okay? I didn't know you existed until last night; he had a head start."

As Jack settles back against his shoulder, Bucky catches Natasha looking at him with amusement on her face.

"For the record," she says, moving to pull bagels out of the bag, "Steve didn't know. Sam was recruited before he came out of the ice, and asset development doesn't have much overlap with Captain America stuff. He was as surprised as you were, probably."

Bucky bites back the urge to say, 'I doubt it', and asks her to slice him a poppy bagel instead. Jack has gotten upset every time Bucky has tried to put him down in the high chair, so he suspects he's going to be eating one-handed if he manages to eat at all.

They're on their second pot of coffee and several bagels down by the time Bucky hears Sam stirring upstairs, the change in his breathing clear after so many years under the same roof. At the far end of the dining table, he sees Steve glance upwards, too, serum-enhanced senses undoubtedly catching onto what Bucky's did.

Natasha and Yelena are unfazed, will likely remain that way until there's more than the barely-there creak of bed springs and the quiet shuffle of feet across carpet, but--Bucky is distracted from listening out for Sam as Jack starts wriggling furiously in his arms, pushing off of Bucky's shoulder like he's trying to reach upwards for something.

At first, Bucky thinks maybe he's just uncomfortable, or that he wants something, but when he shifts Jack in his arms to get a better look at his face, he sees Jack's eyes are trained on the spot on the ceiling where Steve's eyes had been a moment ago. As the quiet footsteps upstairs move across the floor, Bucky watches Jack's eyes track them half a second later, just as quickly as Bucky would be able to.

Bucky's heart rate must pick up as he pieces the evidence together, because then Jack is cooing at him, settling against Bucky's chest and nuzzling into his neck. Absently, he pats the baby's back, and turns to Steve, his eyes undoubtedly wide.

"Well," he says, "I think I just figured out what all those journals were about."

[gali-la]

FIC REC FIFTEENTH

I've been so busy lately I've been neglecting the good fics of AO3. In the spirit of getting back into it, I'm gonna make a list (or recommendation list) of the fics I read and like over the course of the month!

Disclaimer—these are not One Piece specific, despite the majority of this blog being so. 'Tis whatever strikes my fancy

(tagging the authors whose blogs i know/can find because i need you all to know i love you sm. feel free to yell at me)

SFW FICS

Bad Hair Day by Aerle [2.9k, One Piece]

Ratings: General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship(s): Thatch/Izou Additional Tags: Hairdresser au Summary: When Thatch is about to close his hair salon early because of the heat, a last minute and rather desperate customer shows up. Notes: Absolutely adorable fic!! from a favor for a near-stranger to sweet small talk and conniving matchmaker friends... this one has so much packed into a cute little one shot. Absolutely recommend!!

go ahead and bite off more than you can chew by gendervapor ( @gendervapor14 ) [1.1k, One Piece]

Ratings: Teen And Up Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship(s): Charlotte Katakuri/Donquixote Rosinante Additional Tags: Romance, first kiss, insecurity, domestic fluff, established relationshipSummary: "You—you hardly know what I am, what I look like. And you think I’m planning to wed you? I couldn’t." Notes: Sweetest thing on the planet written by the sweetest person on the planet (ya im a little biased. fite me). The delicious insecurity and subsequent reassurance all topped of with a first kiss!! this fic will forever have my heart and soul <3

OP Rare Pair Week Day 5 - Season by ArgelTal ( @chaoticargeltal ) [1.3k, One Piece]

Ratings: General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship(s): Akainu | Sakazuki/Ryokugyu | Aramaki Additional Tags: Admirals polycule, cute, fluff, domestic fluff, fluff and humor, one-sided crush, pre-relationship Summary: Day 5 of the One Piece Rare Pair Week, prompt: Season. Aramaki hates winter. The cold is terrible on his plant body and the sun is too weak. But then he finds a new sun in Sakazuki. Notes: Absolutely adorbsss I love the dynamic between all the admirals. I'm normally not a marines fan, but this fic could just about make me one XD

Those freckles are misleading by Lerya ( @lerya-fanfic ) [1.4k, One Piece]

Ratings: Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship(s): Marco/Ace Additional Tags: miscommunication, mutual pining, modern au Summary: Marco couldn't deal with this, he had only just started teaching history at Grand Line University, there was no way he was putting all of that on the line because he student was flirting with him. He's less than stellar sex life can't be the reason why he'd dare to do this. The 'student' in question is hot though, but still not worth his job. Notes: A lot of this fic was me just laughing at Marco, poor guy. Thank god Izou comes to the rescue—I'm pretty sure Marco wasn't gonna survive much longer. Ends with a sweet date and a night spent together!! Absolutely worth reading

challenge by starbitz ( @j1rouz ) [1.3k, One Piece]

Ratings: General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship(s): Zoro/Luffy Additional Tags: feelings realization, first kiss, roronoa zoro and vinsmoke sanji bickering, roronoa zoro-centric, slice of life, fluff, canon compliant Summary: "You don’t have a romantic bone in your big, dumb body,” Sanji quips, giving Zoro a hearty shove. Notes: One of my favorite zolu dynamics—captain and his first mate being silly and dumb together. This fic totally captures that in the best was possible <3 beginning to show up sanji and ending so sweetly

for what it's worth by de_winter [6.8k, One Piece]

Ratings: Teen and up audiences, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Thatch/Izou Additional Tags: modern au, getting together, friends to lovers, mutual pining, cabin fic, first kiss, Summary: A year since they’d seen each other in person, and Izou had once again forgotten how good Thatch looked. An impossible feat, now that he once again laid eyes on those shoulders. With each passing year, Thatch seemed to look better and better, and his sweaters seemed to be getting smaller and smaller at the same rate. Notes: One of my fav Thatch/Izou fics. the way theyre both so in love with each other... GOD its fucking delicious

Observe When I Am Dead by Augment [8.3k, One Piece]

Ratings: Mature, creator chose not to use archive warnings Relationship(s): Zoro/Luffy Additional Tags: angst, thriller bark fallout Summary: Kuma offers Zoro a slightly different deal. Notes: god the PAIN with this one. absolutely recommended read 10/10 zoro's devotion and silence—god it hurts and tastes so GOOD

pay you in love without returns by wishbone [3k, House M.D.]

Ratings: Teen and up audiences, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Greg House/James Wilson Additional Tags: gift giving, friends to lovers, lack of communication, joke proposal is treated seriously, marriage proposal, relationship advice, wedding rings, angst with a happy ending Summary: When Wilson tells House how much he spent on the Hammond organ he gifts him, House makes a mistake that will reveal their feelings for each other. Notes: Poor wilson—though to be fair, they're both idiots in this one, and i wouldn't have it any other way. if you want some feels and some happy endings with a dose of oh god that hurt you're dumbasses, this is the fic for you!

honest with you by astrange_one [8.8k, My Hero Academia]

Ratings: Teen and up audiences, Creator chose not to use archive warnings Relationship(s): Yamada Hizashi/Aizawa Shouta Additional Tags: fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining Summary: Hizashi doesn't want to be a burden to anyone, but he forgets that things are different now compared to back when he was in foster care. Because if there's one thing he's perfected over the years, it's keeping his problems to himself. He's used to it, after all. It's just that Shota doesn't like it when he does that. Notes: this is angsty as HELL. Total Mic whump (yum) with a happy ending. delicious

Eye of the Beholder by Heronfem [6.8k, My Hero Academia]

Ratings: mature, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Sero Hanta/Todoroki Shouto Additional Tags: Falling in love, idiots in love, didn't know they were dating, oblivious, humor, romance, first kiss Summary: “I’m just saying,” Mina says, propping her chin in her hand and pouting, “it’s unfair. It’s totally unfair. We were all fools and our punishment is too extreme to be borne. The gods are making us pay.” Bakugou cracks an eye open from where he’s sprawled out with his head in Kirishima’s lap. It’s a nice day, closing in on the end of summer during their third year of school, and the heat is fully upon them. “What the fuck are you talking about?” “That,” she huffs, and points. “Oh,” Bakugou says wryly. “That.” --- Or, Sero gets hot over summer break and Todoroki gets his man (though not without a few bumps along the way) Notes: the obliviousness is STRONG with this one. Paired with Todoroki's not-quite-perfect understanding of social cues, this is *chefs kiss*

Shovel Talk by nirejseki [1.7k, The Flash]

Ratings: not rated, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Barry Allen/Leonard Snart Additional Tags: canon divergence Summary: Barry warned him that people might try to give Len the shovel talk, now that Barry had decided to bring his and Len's year-old relationship into the light. Len never said he was going to be nice about letting them. Notes: Len is a little shit and I love him for it. he also doesn't take shit from anyone. it's fantastic.

Everybody else is second best by barrylen [3.8k, The Flash]

Ratings: teen and up audiences, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Barry Allen/Leonard Snart Additional Tags: fix-it, light angst, fluff Summary: Barry couldn't stop sneaking glances at Leo and Ray. Leo had a plan, of course. Notes: I'm a sucker for fix-its. thats it. i cant stand the fact that they killed len off and every fix there is ill swallow it whole

Mr. Blue Sky by BeauregardsTaxicab ( @beauregardstaxicab ) [269k, The Flash]

Ratings: Teen and up audiences, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Barry Allen/Leonard Snart Additional Tags: canon divergence, humor, friendship, angst with a happy ending Summary: Shortly after Barry is struck by lightning, Iris discovers that not only does he have a secret boyfriend, but that boyfriend is Leonard Snart, a notorious thief. She learns to trust him, however, as they both begin looking into Dr. Wells for Barry's sake. Over the nine months that Barry's asleep, their team grows and they discover more frightening details about the man who was currently keeping Barry alive. Together, they have to figure out the whole truth and make a plan to keep Barry safe before Dr. Wells catches onto them, or there will be no stopping him... Notes: I read this entire thing in a week. maybe less. (and finished it this morning!!) i am INSANE over the coldflash dynamic in this one. It's so good, so sweet, they're so in love and i want to cry. the plot is FANTASTIC i was hanging on every word. I can't explain how much i loved this—every single twist, every single moment of agony and happiness, there was no tearing me away from this. It is worth every single one of the 21 chapters and the 268,722 words within them. 1000/10. im never recovering. i need to leave five hundred comments once i regain brain function

NSFW FICS

Mantra by goldsaffron [4.9k, One Piece]

Ratings: Explicit, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Relationship(s): Silvers Rayleigh/Gol D. Roger Additional Tags: observation haki, kenbunshoku, pre-canon, getting together, sharing a bed, strangers to lovers, domestic bliss Summary: Rayleigh and Roger meet, and Rayleigh promptly develops telepathy. At least, that's what it seems like, because Rayleigh swears he can sense Roger's emotions. Affection, jealousy, desire--but is Rayleigh just imagining it? There's no way Roger wants him like that... right? Alternatively, how Roger and Rayleigh discovered kenbunshoku haki and fell in love along the way Notes: the TENSION between these two. goldsaffron is one of my favorite Roger/Ray authors, and this one SHOWS IT. the build up and series of events to lead up to the final wall breaking down and both of them giving in... absolutely love this fic. i think ive read it like, three times in the past couple of days

you heat me like a filament by priestkink [6k, Spider-man: Spider-Verse]

Ratings: explicit, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Miguel O'Hara/Peter B. Parker Additional Tags: Body worship, body image, blow jobs, intercrural sex, fantasizing, established relationship Summary: Peter thinks Miguel is unfairly, distractingly hot. Miguel shows Peter that he is, too. Notes: Body appreciation but in the "I'm so obsessed with you how DARE you think you're anything but perfect and exactly what i want" my favorite vintage. regular revisit

shallow then halo by xarvel [1.9k, Spider-man: Spider-Verse]

Ratings: explicit, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Miguel O'Hara/Peter B. Parker Additional Tags: Trans Miguel O'Hara, Trans Peter Parker, established relationship, use of AFAB terms Summary: Peter trembles above him, both hands on Miguel’s chest as he moves, and if Miguel could drown in this, he would. “There you are,” he murmurs, and Peter huffs out a laugh, turning to kiss the inside of Miguel’s wrist. Notes: toe-curling smut with a smattering of sweet dirty talk. nothing better than fucking three orgasms out of yours boyfriend and then losing your own mind (with love)

just for show by arxaris ( @arxaris ) [1k, My Hero Academia]

Ratings: explicit, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Sero Hanta/Todoroki Shouto Additional Tags: PWP, fake/pretend relationship, getting together Summary: “Shouto,” he gasped, vaguely wondering when they had switched to using given names all the time, instead of just in public. “Wh-what are we - oh, fuck - what are we doing?” “Fucking,” Todoroki panted. “Specifically, I’m riding you.” Sero huffed a laugh that turned into a moan. “Not what I-I meant, baby,” he replied, and suddenly he was distracted again, trying and failing to remember when exactly pet names had been brought into private, too. Just like this, it had sort of just happened. Notes: TASTY AS HELL. i love seroroki pissing off endeavor, and I love them getting together over it even more

We Keep Rockin' by orphan_account [1.7k, The Flash]

Ratings: explicit, no archive warnings apply Relationship(s): Barry Allen/Leonard Snart Additional Tags: jealous len, possessive len Summary: They'd been in this situation before, Barry pressed against the nearest surface, Cold fucking into him with a rhythm that was anything but gentle. Yet despite the rough and hot and heavy movements of their typical exchanges, Barry couldn't help but feel like there was an underlying rage to Snart’s thrusts tonight. Notes: the possessiveness, the jealousy—perfect and delicious. I love this fic so much.

if you made it to here, thanks for sticking around!! go give love to all of these wonderful authors, and I will see you on the next fifteenth o7

[duskyashe]

NaNoWriMo Day #28

[masterlist] [part one] [part two]

No prompt this time, I just really wanted to write this continuation ^⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠^

=============‹«⟨•·∆·•⟩»›=============

While the kid—Danny—took care of his business, Jason busied himself with getting the pancake batter mixed up, mind whirling with the thoughts he'd set aside the night before. Questions about how Danny had gotten to Gotham, how he'd gotten into Jason's apartment, and how the kid had done whatever it was he'd done tangled and spun around inside his head, mixing with thoughts and theories about what, exactly, had happened last night. He knew he'd probably have to tread lightly with the conversation topics at first, the kid looked like something a half dead cat dragged in and would most likely be standoffish at best. Jason knew himself, though, and with how badly he wanted answers, well... He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to handle taking the slow approach this time around. He'd just have to do his best and hope to high heaven that he didn't drive Danny away by being too pushy.

Danny made his way into the kitchen just as Jason was mixing the last of the big lumps out, causing Jason to grin. "Good timing," he said, setting the bowl down on the counter, shuffling a few steps over to turn the range on at a low heat. He bent to dig his pancake skillet out of the cupboard, he didn't make pancakes often enough to keep it readily available, though he did make sure to bring it every time he moved safe houses. A good pancake skillet was hard to come by, and he refused to dishonor Alfred's special pancake recipe by using a subpar pan if he could get away with it. "So, Danny, what do you like in your pancakes? I've got a few bananas that haven't gone bad, some walnuts, chocolate chips, one of my brothers left a jumbo container of peanut butter M&Ms last time they were over, and I've got some precooked bacon we could crisp up to crumble and throw in if that's your fancy." Jason glanced over his shoulder as he stood up with the pan in hand, pausing when he saw Danny's wide eyed expression. "What?"

"You... You can put all that stuff inside your pancakes?" Danny asked in shock. His big blue eyes seemed to shimmer with barely contained awe, his shaggy hair and oversized blue hoodie combining with the expression to make the kid seem even younger than he likely was.

Jason carefully sat the pan down on the range before turning to Danny with a raised eyebrow. That protective something was rising in his chest again, and he wasn't sure he wanted to stop it. "Kid, we can put all of that and more in our pancakes, if we want to. Who's gonna stop us?" Even with his crappy childhood, Jason had known you could add things to pancake batter before Bruce had taken him in! He'd never done it before that point, but that was excusable in his opinion. Not knowing it was possible in the first place wasn't.

=============‹«⟨•·∆·•⟩»›=============

After a filling breakfast of chocolate chip and bacon pancakes, with milk and applesauce packets so their meal was a tad bit more balanced than it otherwise would be, Jason finally decided to try getting some answers from the adorable kid who had mysteriously entered, and likely saved, his life. He just wasn't entirely sure how to start. Over breakfast, they'd asked each other some basic getting-to-know-you questions, so Jason knew Danny was ten and liked space, heroes, and the color mars red, and Danny knew Jason was twenty-one and liked books, guns, and the color burnished gold. How was he supposed to move the conversation in the direction he wanted to take it without just outright changing subjects? He must be more out of practice with social interactions than he'd thought if he was struggling this badly.

Luckily, though, it seemed Danny had no problems with getting down to business. "Alright, you said you had questions. I'm assuming most of them are about what happened last night and the rest are about me. Am I right?" He was a blunt little bugger, too.

"Pretty much," Jason said, nodding.

Danny nodded as well. "Right, well, we can do this the kinda quick and fairly messy way, or the much slower and more complete way. Which would you prefer?"

Jason raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm assuming one of those is me asking questions and you answering them?"

"Yep, and the other is me just starting from the beginning and answering any questions at the end," the kid agreed. Danny looked him dead in the eyes. "I don't have anywhere to be for at least the next few hours, but I don't know if you do, so you get to decide how we do this."

He thought about it, and the repercussions of both options. The "quick" and dirty method would theoretically get his questions answered quicker, but was liable to give him more questions and end to taking longer than either really wanted it to, while the "longer" and cleaner method would take longer to answer his questions, but would also give him most of, if not all, the context he'd need to actually understand the answers to his questions, and potentially be quicker in the long run at that. Jason nodded, decision made. "Let me tell my family I'm alright, then we'll start from the beginning, yeah? And we should probably move to the couch, it'll be more comfortable than the dinner table."

=============‹«⟨•·∆·•⟩»›=============

＼⁠(⁠◎⁠o⁠◎⁠)⁠／ I GOT INSPIRATION! I know I said I'd only use prompts this month, but they were starting to make me want to tear my hair out, and I like my hair (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）so yeah, these last few days will be free days where I can write whatever the fudge I want to. I'll probably write part four of this sooner rather than later, and I'm thinking of writing a part three for the fake cryptids au, as well. Here's hoping everything goes to plan (⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

I'm too tired to be able to go through with tagging everyone who asked to be tagged in part three of this ficlet series, so I'm just going to hope this makes it to everyone who wanted to see it even without me tagging them. Maybe if I weren't so tired, I'd take the time to tag people, but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠ಥ⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I'm trying not to fall asleep as I write this (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠) so yeaaaahhh, I'm going to finish this up and get myself to bed ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

Have a good morning/day/night!

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 18 || 1102 Words || Read on Ao3 —

He knows he’s meeting the lads at Remus’ flat in twenty minutes but fuck has James had the worst day.

Ducking into the dimly-lit pub and out of the torrent of rain that insists on beating him while he’s down, he runs his fingers through his hair in an effort to shake out the water before it settles in and weighs down his curls. In twenty minutes, he’ll be sipping whatever ale of the week Remus had stocked in his refrigerator, but he needed something stronger. Now.

Luckily, a Tuesday night isn’t the most popular night to frequent the pub so there’s only a handful of patrons as James makes his way to the bar, sidling up next to a woman looking down at the phone in her hand as she takes a sip of her drink. He orders a scotch and receives it gratefully, grimacing all the same as it burns a trail down his throat.

The woman beside him huffs, slamming her phone face-down into the bar as she shakes some of her deep red hair from her face and takes another, longer, drink from the nearly-empty glass in her hand.

He knows he shouldn’t get involved. It’s not his business, he’s had a shit day himself, he just wants to have a solitary drink before having to put on a happy face for his mates (because he wasn’t going to be a downer on Peter’s birthday of all days), but something about her compels him to brush all of these reasons aside.

“Er, everything alright?”

He’s met with the most cutting glare he’s ever received in his whole goddamn life. Her eyes—glittering green—freeze him to the spot where all he can do is hold his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry, I just—”

“Is this your thing?” She bites. “Hanging around empty bars, swooping in when you see women who are upset, hoping they’ll be so thankful they’ll just—”

“Hang on a moment,” James splutters. “I’m doing no such thing. You just seemed—”

“It’s called an emotion, I’m allowed to have emotions—”

“I’m not disagreeing with you!”

“—and just because I’m expressing that emotion instead of keeping it bottled up inside—”

James is waving his palms in front of her in surrender, throwing a concerned look at the barkeep and hoping this interaction won’t result in him being thrown out of the pub and back into the rain before he’s even finished his drink. “Let me start over. I’ve had a shit day. It seems like you’ve had a shit day. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

She stops her tirade and James counts himself lucky for that at least. He doesn’t know why he’s proposed such a trade, but as he watches the woman signal for another drink from the bar, he realizes that heading off to Remus’ having told someone about today would be a weight off his chest and maybe allow him to feel a little lighter.

After all, what’s a secret amongst strangers?

Her gaze is back on him as the barkeep busies himself behind the counter making her drink, and James can practically see the moment she decides. 

“Alright,” she agrees with a small nod and an unreadable expression. Her lips pull into a thin line and she gestures towards him. “You first.”

Blinking in surprise, he takes a sip of the scotch. “Why—”

“It was your idea,” she challenges with a raised brow as her new drink appears in front of her.

Well fuck, he can’t argue with that. 

Heaving a sigh, James leans his elbow against the mahogany bar, eyes locked onto hers. He brings his glass halfway to his lips in preparation to wash down his confession.

“I was sacked today.”

Saying it is simultaneously another stab in the gut and a weight off his shoulders. He takes a bigger drink of the scotch, reveling in the burn.

“That’s shit.”

“It’s also as much detail as I want to give,” he manages to say through the burn of the drink, placing his glass back onto the bar. “What about you?”

“My friend got engaged.”

“And that’s…bad?” James asks with a furrow of his brow. “What, do you fancy the bloke?”

“No,” she answers emphatically, rubbing at the space between her eyes. “It’s just…all my mates are coupled up now, properly. And I’m just…still here, alone.” The hand drops, draping itself over the drink as she raises it to her lips, green eyes unfocused and gazing somewhere in the mid-distance. “Cold. Unloveable.”

He scoffs and that seems to pull her out of whatever stupor she’d found herself in.

“Fuck,” she breathes, taking a large drink.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Hard to take your opinion when you know fuck-all about me. Pretty sure my colleagues who see me day-in and day-out have a more solid read on the matter.”

“I’ve got a good sense about these things.”

She tries to brush him off with a laugh, and he takes the opportunity to study her. Her jaw is clenched, chin tilted up ever-so-slightly: a picture of defiance of other people’s expectations. 

No wonder she’s here, drinking beside him on a Tuesday—it seems exhausting.

Her eyes—green and alight with the fire of their back-and-forth—flicker from her glass to him, a quick look of concern washing over her face before being replaced once more by that mask of indifference.

James gets a thrill from it—the peek behind the mask—and wastes no time in grabbing a pen from next to the register, scrawling his name and number on his slightly-damp cocktail napkin.

Pushing it towards her, he raises his chin in response. “I’ve got somewhere to be, but—”

She takes it from him, letting out a (nervous) laugh. “If you’re only doing this because I’m emotional and a bit shit-faced—”

“On the contrary,” James responds with a smile, “this is strictly for when you’re sober. I’ll prove it to you—or, I guess, your colleagues—that I have a better feel for these things than they do.”

A divot appears between her brows as she stares down at the napkin, now clutched in both of her hands, with a stunned expression on her face. It quickly morphs into something softer as her eyes travel from where he’s written James to meet his gaze. She holds it for a few seconds before her voice travels the space between them—absent of any of the earlier bite of their conversation, and wrapped in something that almost feels like hope.

“I’m Lily, by the way.”

He smiles, and it’s easy. Easier still when she smiles back; smaller, but still genuine.

[margotnetwork]

TUPPERBOX COMMANDS FOR DISCORD ROLEPLAYING

This has probably been written a million and one times but I find myself giving this information to people more times than not, so I have written a discord guide for Tupperbox Commands I think people who are new to tupper will find useful but also some that have been using it for a while might find something in there as well

tul!register 'Margot Purnell' Margot: text

So this is registering a character. Where it says Margot Purnell that’s naming your character. Margot:text is the brackets so everytime you want to use her you will need to go Margot: Hi to summon her.

tul!avatar "Margot Purnell" *insert image url here*

This is the next part where you need to add a image or avatar for your character. If you don’t by default it will come up as that blue discord one. You add your characters name and after that you can either attach a http link or you can upload a image from your phone.

tul!nick “Margot Purnell” 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐋 .

This is where things get optional. It’s not really needed but if you notice people with fancy nicknames this is how I do it. I do it this way because if you ever need to change the icon you can type their name normally instead of going for the special font. But you just type the characters name and add anything fancy afterwards.

tul!auto 'Margot Purnell' #channelname

This is another optional option but it’s one of my favourites and saves me a lot of time. When you don’t want to type the bracket a million times like “Margot: Hi” because it can slow you down. You can automate the tupper to a channel so when you type it’s just like us typing now. 

Whatever you type in that channel specifically will come up as just the character. In order for this to work the channel names need to be different so if someone else is setting up the server the channel names will need to be different or the bot will get confused and not work.

 If you have two categories and in one it says #anna and david and then the other category is for text messages that also has #anna and david. It will only automate for one, the workaround for this is to flip the names

tul!remove “Margot Purnell”

If you ever want to remove a tupper you have created. This is a really simple command. It will remove it completely.

tul!rename ‘Margot Purple’ “Margot Purnell”

If you find you have made a mistake with your characters name and need to change it. Instead of removing it and starting again you can rename your tupper. You put the incorrect version first and then the correct version after.

tul!brackets “Margot Purnell” Margot:text

This is the same with brackets but this is pretty much useless if you automate your tupperbox but you can change the brackets. The brackets are what you use to summon your character. If you find automating is not for you and you find typing the name too long. You can always change it to something else instead of removing and starting again.

tul!list

This will summon all of your characters you have ever created and you can see their statistics.

tul!help

This will help if you ever get stuck this will summon the bots help menu and prompt you where you need to go.

[seokka0o]

LITTLE BOY

Terazono Keita x Afab!Reader

Prompt: 11-"shh. i’ll take care of you “ ;13- ”can i eat you out?”

Warning : Oral; hair pulling

the weather was pleasant, you and keita on the sofa in the living room, lying together watching television. he's always been a born enthusiast when it comes to lying between your legs, hugging your date in the form of comfort, nothing fancy, just the comfortable vibe you two always share.

“can i eat you out?” he started, he looked neutral with small eyes in your direction as if somehow he would wait for whatever the answer was to do what he had been asked. you on the other hand looked at him a little uncertainly, trying to take it in, before shyly agreeing to the proposal. anyway what would be the problem? It was just the two of you standing there doing nothing much, so you just nodded and with the beautiful smile keita have down your body, still between your legs. you watch him make his way,not fully realizing what was about to happen.

keita gently remove your clothes, without delay, keeping you exposed to him completely in moments, he is worshiping you again, touching your skin gently, holding your legs open for him, kissing your inner thigh, you feel the soft touch. Your air missing every time he makes more mention of getting close to your intimacy. Too anxious about what might happen next.

Keita is just touching you in the most gentle way possible, making sure you are feeling him completely, you who little by little were getting more breathless, feeling everything contract already just from that. Just Keita's teasing seems enough to send you into a complete meltdown .

you moaned at the first touch of his tongue. Keita has always been so kind, in moments like this it doesn't change, how he glides knowing every space, pulling out the first sighs as if they were nothing. Your fingers went to meet his dark strands, wrapping themselves with surreal ease, the moans falling from your lips in a way to demonstrate your satisfaction.

Keita moved to his rhythm, smearing everything that was fit for him to smear, sucking your clit whenever he returned to the starting path, making your hips move involuntarily.

“K-Keita…” you called to him in a rather silent way, biting your lower lip to contain the despair and then feeling it stop

“shh, i'll take care of you " he said low, leaving seals on your intimacy, going back to what he was doing right after, your fingers wrapping more and more in his hair, whenever some more drastic movement was made you pulled them to relieve yourself of tension, also making keita moan against you, vibrate against your clit to honor your moans of pleasure.

Your skin trembled with desire, now hot and sweaty, your whole body stimulated by even the smallest act of keita as he licked all of your intimacy without mercy, like the good hungry man he is, sucking everything without leaving a single trace, devoted to your moans and sighs, the way you call him and tell him that he does you so good, the cut moans, the way you close your leg when you're close to your limit, your body levering and your back bending. His hands roamed inside your shirt, searching for your soft breast, clumsy but wanting to feel it even just a little, a mess of sensations and sounds, you roll your eyes in accumulated desire, panting and pulsing desperately, when you lacked air you already knew what it meant and then let it come, reveling in the orgasm. Keita fervently sucked you until the end, while you tried to fuck against his mouth and then sprawled on the couch so exhausted.