#this is like the raven cycle all over again

[be-queer-do-arson]

Been doing an aftg reread so I checked and the books never actually said that Dan and Matt are black?? We all so collectively agreed that they were poc that I genuinely thought it was explicitly stated in canon.

[adamsrcnan]

man i'm really missing adam parrish today. i hope he's good

[soup-or-who-lock]

dreamt I was hanging out with the Raven Cycle gang and Ronan was about to give Gansey a face tattoo on my living room floor but before that happened Ronan just started platonically kissing Gansey

[autumnrory]

told two ppl about rereading the foxhole court which ofc no one knows what it is and i’m like LET ME TELL YOU

[defmaybe]

Sticky

ITZY’s Shin Yuna x Male Reader

1.9k words

Prequel to Party Police

See also: Not Shy

A/N: I write this in two sittings for probably the only mommy Yuna fic lol - BFH-type shit. No editing, no beta-reading, just pure lust again.

–

The clickings of the keyboards displace silence. Again, you’re stuck in the mundane cycle of doing another proposal for the project you’re going to lead. Sighs and sighs don’t keep you from drowsiness building up inside. Others don’t seem to do better even, some even folded on their desks already. The chilly breeze from the conditioner really is relentless right now, so damn perfect for a nap.

“Miss Shin wants you,” the secretary says, keeping you from falling into slumber.

You quickly get up from your desk, pacing towards the glass-paned office. You see your other co-workers dreading their assignments, clicking on their keyboards with blank eyes. On the opposite side, you can see, through the horizontal blinds, the vibrant office with your boss, Shin Yuna, doing the decorations inside. She’s tall (well, taller than you, at least), often confident, and so energetic, contrary to the department she just got handed over a few weeks ago.

You knock on the transparent door, seeing her putting on her Lady Bird poster on the wall. She’s wearing a one-piece raven black dress, one that hugs her slim, otherworldly curvy body so well. You can see her wide hips being so prominent, stripping away your fatigue.

“Come in!” she says, looking over her shoulders as she’s finishing the touch-ups.

You open the door, greeted with the scent of her air purifier—spring. The white fur carpet on the floor welcomes you with the sensations on your soles. Her office is spacious, and the colorful decorations fit her attitude and personality so much.

“Please, sit down,” she says with a smile, hand pointing to the seat in front of her desk. Even the cluttering trinkets on her table never look crowded, they are so meticulously placed to give her a perfect amount of space left for her work.

You accept her invitation, walking towards the seat. Yuna also retreats from her sprinklings back to hers, sitting down in her chair gracefully—a charming boss.

The air hangs heavy for a while, as Yuna takes some time to clear her desk. You glance around the room like the other times. The crucial difference being the Lady Bird poster, of course, and a few more band posters that you can’t quite recall from your listening history.

“So…” Yuna breaks the silence, tapping a finger on her chin, contemplating. “I see that you’ve been looking a little tired. Is that true?”

You blabber out, “N-No! I’m not tired a-at all.” You even put your hands up to deny the allegation.

“Those eyes don’t lie, baby.” The utterance of the last word alone freezes you. Is she flirting?

Let’s pause for a bit. Shin Yuna just got promoted to being your department’s manager—now three weeks in tenure. Her bubbly and kind personality receives multiple acclaim from your co-workers. And combined with her insanely high performances in projects, you cannot see how she wouldn’t get the position. 

Now, that friendly personality can be a bit, to say the least, slightly invasive. Yuna has always been so eager to fire up a talk with people, even if it means robbing someone’s silence. She’s also always happy to help those around her, no matter the methods. You’ve heard some complaints about her vivacious nature, but with the results saying otherwise, you just cannot dislike her for that.

“A-Are you suggesting I should go home or s-something?” you ask, unable to register how she’s getting up to close the blinds, as if she’s asking for some privacy from the outside right now. The room seems to shrink.

“Oh, does it look like that? Not at all, baby,” there it is again, baby.

“As your boss, I have to make sure that you stay productive for the day’s work!” Her smile lights the room up, as she walks towards her chair and sits down again. “I can’t have my employees dreading their jobs and expect a satisfactory performance.”

“Y-You’re very kind, M-Miss Shin,” you stammer out, and she seems to be happy with your words.

“Now tell me.” Yuna leans in closer to you, giving you the fine details of her face—doe eyes, minty breath, rose-colored lips. “Are you familiar with… mommy kink?”

You freeze, not expecting such a question from your manager. The gears in your head are working their best to seek the best answer you can give her, let alone making sense of the peculiar situation.

“A-Aga-”

“I’m certain of what I’ve said, mister,” she cuts you off, stern. Her expression reduces into an emotionless state. “Mommy kink, yes or no.”

“Uh…” That’s the only answer you can give her. The prospect of fully submitting to Miss Shin Yuna seems too enticing. Yet, perhaps it’s your inhibition that’s stopping your desire from falling into places.

“Come, sit on my lap,” Yuna instructs.

You glance around the room—left, right, back—as if to delay the inevitable of her pleasuring you.

“Now,” Yuna now commands, her voice steps down a few notes. 

“And there’s no camera hidden here, I promise,” she says with a smile, comforting you a little.

You slowly get up from your seat. What if I don’t do well enough for her? You walk around her table to land at your destination, your back against her face. She adjusts her position on her chair a little to accommodate your ass.

Her thighs feel… strong—definitely a result of workouts she has had after work. The images of those sweaty, skimpy sessions are making your mouth quiver—the fluid dripping down her body, just for you to taste.

Her hands start from grabbing the both sides of your slutty hips, earning a small whimper from you.

“So yearning for mommy’s touch, aren’t you?” Yuna giggles, moving her frisky fingers to unbutton your blue shirt.

“Y-Yes, mommy.” Your breath comes out in a false rhythm.

With your abdomen being gradually exposed, she uses a hand to feel it a bit, sending shocks and shocks through your faltering body.

“F-Fuck.”

“Hmm, so needy for mommy~” Yuna then continues her groping, until the last button is freed. Your upper body is bare under the cold air of the conditioner right now, as she brings the fondling hand up to your throat.

“Do you want my lips on you, baby boy?” Yuna asks, breaths warming the back of your neck. You can only nod at her.

Consented, she plants her lips on your body, and you are sure that the rosy prints are going to stick with you until the end of the day. Still, is it a fact that you should care right now? Getting groped by your goddess of a manager, with her being your mommy, on top of it.

You shiver at her kisses.

She frees your throat  before drawing her hand down to play with your raging bulge. She can definitely feel your cock aching to be freed right now.

“Need a hand, baby?” again, she asks, hand fondling the tent in your pants.

You become a stuttering mess at this point. “Y-Yes, m-mommy, please.”

“Please… what, baby boy?” She’s playing coy with you for sure.

“P-Please use your hand on my c-cock, please,” you utter out.

She whispers into your ear, “Good boy.” 

She unzips your pants, hand then slithering into the hole. The sensations are even stronger right now, with your underwear being the only barrier between you and her.

She keeps kissing your moaning neck, printing roses wherever she can reach. Her hand is stuck in fondling your cock through the slim cloth.

“Mommy, p-please,” you whimper, desire burning too brightly.

“Say please again, baby boy, and I’ll touch your cock.” Yuna giggles, enjoying how you’re submitting to your boss so damn easily.

“Please, m-mommy.”

Yuna wastes no time to push all of your lower garments down in a single motion, exposing your throbbing, twitching cock in glory. She hums in satisfaction at the sight.

“Hmm~, baby boy, so hard for me already?” she asks, finger drawing a line on the back of your cock from the bottom to the top. It twitches in response.

“Ngh, y-yes, m-m-mommy.” Yuna seems to be happy with your answer as she strokes your cock leisurely.

Her slender fingers only do what they have to do: sliding up and down to make you shatter under her touch. She starts at a slow pace, only teasing you about what’s coming. Her other hand roams under your shirt, moving down onto your juicy ass.

“Ngh, mommy,” you utter, pleasure building up in your loins. The sensations become stronger as seconds passed.

Yuna giggles at your whimpering, “Yes, baby boy?”

“I-I-, ngh,” you cannot form any words under her spell. Fuck.

Yuna cannot hold her chuckle inside, clearly satisfied with her baby boy melting under her touch. “Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Faster, please,” you finally respond, slightly out of breath from the overwhelming sparks all over your body.

Yuna listens to your plea, quickening the strokes, bringing you closer to the edge. Fuck, your slutty moans are probably heard by the people outside now.

The squelches of Yuna’s strokes are filling the room, along with your needy whimpers and her satisfactory hums. “I just wanna spend the whole day jerking this cock~” Yuna expresses, your heart flutters at her words.

“And I mean it, really,” she continues, still keeping the moderate pace of her hand from behind. 

“The size, the curvature, the thickness, god, I’m sure it can stretch mommy’s cunt out so well,” she whispers, and your length just cannot get harder at this second.

“M-Mommy, would you berate me i-if I- fuck.” you struggle to lead your words out, stuttering everywhere you can. She’s still jerking your cock, nursing you with another hand roaming over your body to over stimulate.

“Fast cummer, baby?” She chuckles at your apprehension. “You’re doing well, baby. I think this is the perfect pace for us.”

“T-Thanks, mommy,” you say, feeling the tightening of your knot already. “M-Mommy, where c-can I cum?”

“Ooh, that’s an interesting question, baby boy,” Yuna laughs. “I don’t think the higher-ups would mind a few stains from us~,”

“W-Wha-”

“Shh, let mommy handle this,” she affirms. “Just stay on my lap and let me milk your cock, okay?”

Your mind goes feral, aching for release. Her hand relentlessly stroking your length and another traversing your compact frame just overloads your mind. “Y-Yes mommy.”

“Good boy, now, cum for me, please.”

And it hits, you become undone at her touch, like a lightning. Your sticky cum is shot everywhere—on her desk, on the floor, hell, even on yourself. You moan in the pleasure of her touch and the mind-shattering orgasm. “Mommy!” you shout. Yeah, everyone is going to hear that.

“Wow,” Yuna pants, before planting a kiss on your neck. She doesn’t seem to mind the fact that your seed is on her precious report right now. “You came so much for mommy.”

You try to catch your breath, before speaking out, “Thanks, mommy.”

–

[videovamptramp]

i’m right over here why can’t you see me?

// your best friend ellie has always known she’s liked girls. you’ve always stood by and watched her chase after girls who don’t really care about her. what ellie doesn’t realize is you’ve been completely and utterly in love with her this entire time. what happens when abby anderson, the captain of the soccer team, proposes you two fake “hookup” in order to get under ellie’s skin? is ellie finally going to see what’s been in front of her this entire time, before the tall charming jock can steal your heart? //

[warnings: angst, pining, jealousy, fuck!girl ellie.]

xxxxx

pt.1

ellie has always been clueless. from the day you met her during your first week of freshman year, she hadn’t realized you were flirting with her. at first it stung; you and ellie had been getting close for two weeks during your first month at university, and she had seen you as nothing more than a really cool friend. you knew you liked ellie as soon as you talked to her. you complimented her iron maiden tee shirt, and you quickly realized you two had more than three classes together. ellie was staying all the way at the end of the girls dormitory, and you were staying in the middle; sharing a room with your roommate dina.

dina and you clicked right away, and it wasn’t long before the three of you were having girls nights together and hanging out. the only problem was, it was so painfully obvious how much you liked ellie. dina would notice how pink your cheeks would get whenever you’d talk to the brunette; or dina would catch you staring at ellie during movie nights. it wasn’t entirely one sided either, whenever dina and ellie would hang out alone, ellie never seemed to shut up about you. she’d always find an excuse to bring you up, and dina wasn’t an idiot. she knew ellie liked you too, the taller girl was just unaware of her own feelings for you.

it wasn’t until ellie started “dating” kelly, one of the girls on the debate team, that dina realized just how stupid ellie williams is.

it was a normal day for you and dina when you saw ellie and kelly together. the blonde was practically sucking ellie’s lips off, and it made you cringe. but it also caused your heart to crack right in your chest. you hadn’t seen ellie with anyone else, and you didn’t expect to, regardless of listening to her talk about how hot kelly was. you didn’t think she’d actually pursue kelly. though as you stop in your tracks to pathetically watch ellie kiss the shorter girl back, you know you were wrong.

“y/n…” dina trails off, and you shake your head, trying to play it cool. “it’s fine. she’s been talking about kelly for months. i saw it coming.” you lie and dina rolls her eyes. “i didn’t even know kelly was into girls.” the raven haired girl responds, as you both continue walking to your next shared class. “well the way she was frenching ellie in the courtyard certainly wasn’t straight.” you mutter.

thoughts of ellie and someone else plague your mind throughout the rest of the day. but you love ellie, even as a friend. so you don’t make it known that you’re hurting. you’re pretty good at acting as if nothing is going on, so there’s really no difference in your behavior towards ellie. you do however, distance yourself a bit until you find out that kelly ditched ellie for mark, one of the english majors. things go back to normal after that pretty quickly; ellie goes back to spending every free moment she has with you, and you unfortunately start crushing on her again. maybe you never stopped. it’s the beginning of a cycle you have when it comes to her.

it’s really not a surprise to you when ellie finds another girlfriend during sophomore year. by now you’ve both been friends for a whole year, and she’s actually one of your favorite people on campus. it also wasn’t a secret that you and ellie were close; most of the time, wherever you were, ellie was and vice versa. even though a part of you had come to the conclusion that ellie would never see you in that way, there was still always that part of you that held out hope. it didn’t help that dina would always tell you how much ellie likes you, how she just doesn’t know it yet.

but right now, as you watch ellie at jesse’s frat party hold angela sanders close, you’re starting to realize how stupid you’ve been. you sigh softly as you swish your cup around, “you do realize this is a party, right?” a soft southern voice asks you, causing you to look up and see abby anderson, the captain of the soccer team. you and abby have been friends since sophomore year started. she’s in your women’s history class, and her essay on women’s equality was moving. since then you and abby have had a few conversations, but never anything too serious.

“i hate things like this.” you admit, finally prying your eyes off of ellie and angela in order to look at abby. “yeah, judging by the way you’ve been glaring at williams all night, i don’t think the parties the reason you’re so down.” abby teases lightly, and you roll your eyes. “i’m not down.” you mutter, and abby raises a brow, clearly not believing you. “and i haven’t been glaring at ellie and her girlfriend.” you add before taking a sip of your drink. abby laughs in a way that you’re sure every girl on campus finds attractive. “i’m sure lying to williams is really easy, but i’m a little more perceptive than that.”

you frown, and abby’s grin deepens. “so you just came over here to tease me about it?” you ask begrudgingly, and abby shakes her head quickly, her eyes widening as she realizes she might be coming off as an asshole right now. “no! i just— fuck, i’ve wanted to say hi to you all night, but i’m clearly blowing it.” abby stumbles over her words, and you feel a small smile tugging at your lips for the first time since you arrived. you roll your eyes playfully, “you could’ve just started with “hey y/n, nice shirt”??” you question a bit, but your tone is light now, and it causes abby’s grin to return as quickly as it disappeared.

“hey y/n, nice shirt.” she greets you in this stupidly cute way that causes your cheeks to flush a bit. “hi abby, thank you, i spent almost an hour picking it out.” you admit and she can’t help but laugh. she glances at your cup and notices it’s nearly empty. “hey, wanna get a drink with me and talk outside? i hate loud music.” abby confesses sheepishly, and the offer is tempting. you hate loud music too, and crowded places. but you promised ellie you’d leave with her. though as you take a quick glance at the brunette, you see a large smile on her face as she enthusiastically nods at whatever angela is saying.

“you know what? that sounds really nice, let’s go.” you admit honestly, and abby’s smile is bright enough to put the sun to shame. what starts as a desperate attempt at fleeing the scene in front of you, turns into you realizing you and abby actually have quite a bit in common. when you first met abby, you thought she was a huge womanizer like every other girl on the soccer team… but the more and more you got to know about her, you realized she was just a polite, awkward woman who was strangely endearing. you find out abby is originally from salt lake city, and has lived a pretty privileged life.

you laugh as abby tells you the name of her horses back home, and she flashes you a charming smile. “i’d love for you to meet them one day. i can definitely show you how to ride!” abby admits, sounding eager. you giggle, feeling slightly buzzed; your cheeks are on fire and you can’t help but notice how big her arms are. you hadn’t ever noticed that before. for a moment you forget ellie even exists as you think about abby ‘hunky’ anderson teaching you how ride. though your mind goes to very sinful places that have nothing to do with a horse. “salt lake city? i’ve never even left my hometown before coming here…” you trail off, and abby nods in agreement.

“same here. i’m terrified of planes, so my dad drove 12 hours just to bring me here.” she admits, and you feel a large smile tugging at the ends of your lips as she blushes sheepishly. she rubs the back of her neck in the most adorably awkward way, “i can’t believe i just admitted that to you. after half an hour.” she grumbles, and you giggle uncontrollably before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. you reach for it, and as soon as the screen lights up, you see you have a missed call from ellie, along with a string of texts.

ellie (11:13 pm): wya??

ellie (11:20 pm): dina said she saw you leave. did you leave early??

ellie (11:25 pm): turned around and you were gone. you good?

“everything okay?” abby asks, and you know you should call ellie back, and tell her you’re still here… but if she thinks you left, what’s the harm in staying a little longer to talk to abby? after all, ellie is more than preoccupied with angela, you doubt she’ll notice you’re still here. you look up at abby and offer her a small smile, “everything’s fine, my friend was just wondering if i left.” you answer simply, before ignoring ellie’s texts and stuffing your phone back into your pocket. “your friend as in… ellie?” abby questions, her voice lacking any malice, in fact she just sounded curious. you nod, and the dark haired blonde raises a brow in amusement. “what has you so hung up on her anyways?” the taller girl asks simply.

you furrow your brows, shrugging. “she’s my best friend. i don’t… it’s not that big of a deal. i had a crush on her at the beginning of freshman year, and i guess i realized i wasn’t her type.” you explain bluntly, and abby makes a face. “not her type?” she questions uncertainly, “you know, popular, pretty, borderline straight.” you mumble and abby throws her head back and laughs. “oh she’s in that phase of lesbianism.” the jock states in a hinting manner, causing you to flash her a puzzled look, “what do you mean?” you sound as confused as you look, and abby thinks you might be the cutest girl she’s ever met. right now she’s actually pretty grateful ellie williams is too much of an idiot to see what’s right in front of her.

because abby saw this as a challenge. a challenge to make you forget all about your little crush on ellie. abby was a very patient person, and she was also committed to something once she wanted it. and if abby anderson wanted something, she stopped at nothing to get it. “every girl who likes girls goes through that stage. you know, falling for a straight girl. thinking you can “turn” a girl. she’s still heavily in that stage of lesbianism.” abby states in a matter of fact manner, making you laugh loudly. “there are stages of lesbianism now?” you ask in between laughs, and she laughs as well. “yeah there is! i can write a whole thesis statement about it.” abby says cockily, and you let out a small little chuckle. your eyes shine with something, and you can’t help but notice how beautiful abby looks under the lit up lamppost.

just as you’re about to respond, ellie’s voice interrupts, causing you to freeze. “y/n! there you are, i thought you left.” the brunette rushes up to you, angela is nowhere in sight but dina is treading a bit behind ellie, obviously trying to keep up with her. “i was just talking to abby.” you say as you gesture over to the taller woman who has a smug look on her face. ellie looks at abby and her face seems to change for a moment, “hey y/n! we’re gonna go get some late night tacos, wanna join?” dina asks, as she approaches you all.

dina is normally a pretty perceptive person, but right now she’s drunk and is absolutely oblivious to the tension in the air between ellie and abby. “um i—“ abby cuts you off before you can even start, “i could always walk you back to your dorm later. if you wanna stay.” she says a bit hopefully, and ellie scoffs. “no way.” the brunette states curtly and you furrow your brows. abby raises a brow a bit challengingly, instead of addressing ellie personally, the honey blonde glances at you, “it’s up to you, y/n.” she says with that charming smile that causes ellie’s jaw to tense. ellie’s eyes flicker to you, and meet yours for a split second before you look back at abby.

“i think i’m gonna stay and hang out with abby. i’m having a nice time.” you say, causing ellie’s heart to sink into her stomach. suddenly the thought of you and abby getting close tonight, and possibly hooking up, causes an uncomfortable sensation in ellie’s gut to build up. “seriously? you think we’re just gonna leave you here with her? alone? no way. what if something happens to you?” ellie asks, raising her voice slightly. you frown, “abby and i have known each other for months now, ells. i appreciate the concern, but i’ll be fine.” you really just want ellie to go, you were having a nice night forgetting all about her and angela.

ellie looks like she’s about to argue, but dina tugs her arm. “come on, dude. y/n is fine. let’s go.” dina slurs, the thought of tacos making her stomach rumble. the brunette glares at her best friend, but allows dina to drag her away. “call me as soon as you get back to your dorm!” ellie demands, you hate that your stomach flutters at the thought of ellie being concerned about you. your gaze lands on abby who has this amused look on her face, “what?” you ask, blushing slightly.

“she’s totally in love with you.” she mumbles, and your eyes widen. you let out a breathless laugh, “what? ellie’s not in love with me. she’s so into angela it’s ridiculous.” you respond, and abby scoffs. “how are you so smart yet so oblivious?” abby inquires, causing you to roll your eyes, swatting her arm. “i’m not oblivious! i’ll have you know i’m actually very perceptive.” you defend yourself, and abby doesn’t look the slightest bit convinced. “really? then don’t call her tonight.” abby challenges, and your face changes; smile falling at the thought of not calling ellie to let her know you go back to your room safely. she’s probably going to be waiting for you to call.

“i— i can’t do that. i have to let her know i’m safe. she’s just worried about me.” you come to your best friends defense, and abby flashes you an expression that says ‘are you serious’. “she was not concerned about your well-being. she was concerned about us hooking up.” abby clarifies, and your cheeks turn a shade of rosy pink at the thought of ellie being bothered by you hooking up with someone else. of course you didn’t plan on hooking up with abby tonight, even if you do think she’s undeniably sexy, you weren’t the type to sleep with somebody to forget about someone else. the thought of using abby didn’t sit right with you. she’s been nothing but nice to you.

“b—but you and me aren’t— i mean… i—“ you begin to stutter in a way that makes a shit-eating grin etch itself onto abby’s lips. she cuts you off before you can make a embarrass yourself. “don’t worry, y/n, i know we’re not hooking up tonight. but ellie clearly doesn’t. you should’ve seen her face. i know that look.” the taller woman states, and you shake your head, still not fully believing ellie is being anything other than a good friend. “what look?” you take the bait, deciding to entertain the idea a little longer. “the jealous girlfriend look. she was staring at me like she wanted to rip my head off.” abby chuckles, and you shake your head, “ellie has a resting bitch face. she always looks like that!” you declare, not sounding as convincing as you wish you did.

“you’re so naive it’s cute.” the tall woman half jokes, and your face feels as though it’s on fire. “even if ellie did have a thing for me… she clearly is too busy with girls like angela to even realize it.” abby hates how genuinely upset you look, and in a fleeting moment, she pathetically offers something that changes her life.

“i mean, we can always pretend to hookup… maybe even more. maybe she just needs to see what she’s been missing.” abby offers, and amusement flickers in your big, wide eyes. “you think that’ll get ellie to admit she likes me?” you ask in a tone so hopeful it causes abby’s heart to lurch. she envies ellie williams in this moment. “jealousy has a way of making people admit things they’d usually never say.” abby says, and she looks down at you; her eyes flittering across your face as she takes in everything that is you. abby doesn’t have many friends here, just manny and nora. she’s had a few girls try to talk to her, but she’s never been able to hold a conversation with anyone for long, until now.

of course the first girl i’m actually interested in, is into williams.

“you’d really help me make ellie jealous?” you ask, a bit uncertainly. abby doesn’t know why, but she thinks she’d do just about anything for you and those big eyes staring up at her. “of course. i mean, how hard could it be?” she asks, and your eyes light up. abby truly didn’t realize just how screwed she was until you wrapped your arms around her waist and squeezed her tightly. “thank you! thank you! thank you! i can’t believe you’re going to help me!” you squeal, turning into this excited schoolgirl that abby hates is all because of ellie fucking williams. abby hugs you back, but she knows by the way her heartbeat quickens due to the smell of your perfume, yup, she’s screwed.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Sleepy Afternoons

A/N: Teehee ngl I just wrote this as a period comfort fic indulgent for myself. I hope you nerds enjoy it as much as I liked writing it!

CW: AFAB reader on period, jokes of breeding, using a dragon as a heating pad, pretty much just fluff

WC:2000

Synopsis: A lazy Sunday, the perfect start to a week on your period where you'll be constantly pestered by your dragon boyfriend.

A dragon’s hoard in times long before consisted of fine jewels and immense mounds of gold, shiny objects as far as the eye could see. Whether it was stuffed in the depths of a cave or deep in the forest, a hoard barred spikes and “DO NOT ENTER” warnings; whether they were legible or not was never up to the righteous dragon’s responsibility.

Adventurers and bandits never heeded these signs of caution, getting stuck in the narrow holes meant for dragons to shimmy through or meeting their demise through puzzles and endless booby traps-- such monsters were thorough in keeping their treasure safe. Any item that caught the creatures attention could be found in their rich reservoirs, even if they were mere wave-smoothened stones from a lake, an old lover, or a prettily decked-out concubine that was too tempting not to take. 

That however, was centuries ago. Dragons, like the rest of us, must conform to modern society, technology too powerful and people too abundant to go around flying and terrorizing just to get one’s hands on a pretty penny.

Your boyfriend, once a ravenous creature with a cave of glittering gems and fine craftsmanship-- that he may or may not have maimed many blacksmiths to steal-- now resided with you in too big of a bedroom. You had argued before buying the apartment; who would need this much space? But his hoarder tendencies clearly made up for the abundance in space. Gaming consoles, silvery granola bar wrappers, aluminum dollar store trinkets, books with glittery covers-- the floor was almost unseeable with his trash and treasure mixed together. He wasn’t necessarily dirty-- in fact every item had its own spot and preferred place, which is why it killed a piece of him any time you threw away something that should not be “decorating” your shared home. 

Though as you practically took care of both of you, it was hard to keep up being the caregiver in the relationship. Especially, on your period. Sunday, what a perfect day, to realize you had a whole work week ahead of mood swings and lower abdominal pain, all mixed with the gory massacre you’d face every time you went to the bathroom. Your cramps didn’t usually come in this early of a start, but it seemed like nothing was going quite right today.

“T’s wrong, darlin’?” Your draconic, crusty-eyed boyfriend mumbled into your back. “Somethin’ hurting…?”

He had been asleep since noon, ignoring the stream of yellow shining down on him from between the cracks of the blinds. But with those poor eyes and slightly above average listening skills, he completely ignored the sun and heard your groans of pain as you curled into a ball. The aching in your lower tummy was like hellfire, crisp burning and somersaults of your organs unlike any other pain than usual. Nothing was helping, no cold rags or medicine, it was like your infinite headache and body pains were destined to consume you. 

“C’mon baby answer me, I wanna help..” He pouted again.

“Just my stomach..” You downplayed, not sure if you could handle his frantic coddling if he realized you’re period started. The last time you made the mistake of doing so, you had pads stacked to the brim in your bathroom cabinets and tampons in your closets, the mass shoplifting endeavor of his creating even less space in your home. Well, atleast you were set for the next fifty-seven or so cycles.

 “I just need to rest n’ I’ll be fine, soon…” 

Another wave of pain came through, head ringing as soft nails raked up and down your sweating back. 

‘When will this be over,’ you wondered. 

Maybe that horrible breeding endeavor your boyfriend was always obsessed with was worth it if it meant you wouldn’t have to suffer through this for nine months. Yeah, just nine months of morning sickness and bloating and growing a whole dragon-human parasite inside of you. But hey… the making part wouldn’t be too bad, and atleast you would be crotch-pain free. 

Man, now the pain was really talking through you.

“Yer period, right?” Your dragon wonders, scratching the back of his head. He’s more awake now, and you wish he was still passed out grabbing onto you, even through the sticky sweat from his body heat. “I’m sorry baby…I know it hurts. What’you want me to do?”

“How’d you even know..” You groan, almost annoyed at how keen he is. Next thing you’d know he’d be shoving some pretty pawn shop jewelry for you to hold to distract you from the pain.

“I don’t think.. You want to know. And well there’s the obvious, I noticed you changed the bed covers.”

Oh lord, was he talking about that split tongue-nose smell-ability ‘dragon thing’ again? Could your embarassment get any worse?

“Does that mean you’ve… EVERY TIME? Every time you knew?”

He sheepishly fell into the new sheets of warmth, those dark eyebrows lifted in innocence.

“Sometimes before you knew, I think.”

Officially, you wish your boyfriend was asleep again. Maybe you’d just strangle him to end this mind-numbing conversation. 

“What can I do?” He repeated. “Get you more pads?” 

“No.” You shut him down as soon as the words left his mouth. 

“What then? A snack, more pillows? Now’s the time to be babied, you know. Unless you’d be okay with me coming to work with you--” 

You groaned, partly to shut him up and to vocalize the squeezing, contracting inside of you. 

His clawed fingers came to cradle your belly, right below your belly button on your pelvic muscle. He rubbed, just gently, back and forth with a slight pressure as your head buried into the sheets beneath you. 

“Just this.. is fine..” You murmur, feeling hot, humid breath exhale against your neck, emerald green slits baring into your twisted expression. He was watching you, the way your body reacted, the little signals of discomfort. 

You heard a slight flutter of his wings as they adjusted, his body fitting against yours like a puzzle piece; it was nice to be the small spoon again, rather than cradling your needy dragon lover like a cocoon as he so often desired. 

The dragon slowly pushed a leg between your bunched knees that stuck together, getting easier access to your tummy. His palm was so warm, as the torso flushed behind you kept a reassuring prresence. You almost turned on your back to get his palm farther against your stomach, the slight pressure and warm temperature soothing the ache in your lower back and groin. 

“You know… I could always breed ya, then you wouldn’t have to--” 

“Don’t try to convince me right now.” you spat, turning into him as his hand worked magic, the other brushing hair off of your neck and cheek. “That’s not an option, especially right now.”

“Well, at the very least I can make you feel good. Might ease up some of the pain, yeah?” He laid back down to lean in closer. 

You sighed; he clearly didn’t understand the discomfort and embarrassment that his oh-so keen intimacy would bring you right now. You loved the sentiment, and maybe you’d be up for it if you weren’t solely thinking about your physical misery, but you barely had the fortitude to look back toward him. 

Your dragon buried his flared nose into the top of your head, lined against you like a perfectly shaped heat blanket. 

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything.. I’ll do whatever makes ya feel better.” His other hand snakes beneath your hip against the bed mattress, pulling you back toward his body even closer, if possible. The warm, spiked fingers tapping alongside your pelvic bone made your skin spark, your lower stomach buzzing with numbed pain and a fullness that made you want to sleep for another week. “I don’t like seeing you like this.” He frowns. “Your face.. You look so, uncomfortable.”

“Wow, thanks.” You jab, feeling a heated tail slither up your knee, to your thigh. It almost flicked in apology. “Mm.. Just stay my heating pillow and I’ll be fine.” 

“I can do that.” The confidence in his voice worries you, knowing he’ll do an unnecessary load of more than you asked for. Your fetal position was gently yanked free, a pounced creature on your back as you’re forced onto your stomach. “I’ll be the best spiky heating pad you’ve ever seen.”

The strong, scaled forearms of your draconic spouse come to wrap around your hips, a burning touch ringing from his skin, worming his way beneath your comfortable pajama pants and shirt, skin on skin as his body temperature rises to accommodate your desires. His forearms seem to ripple against you, fingers tickling your sides as his legs trap against your thighs from above, most if not every length of his body pulsating against yours like a live, scaly cocoon intent on making you his personal plush, and he your sweet, warm monster. 

“Feel better baby…” He kissed at the nape of your neck, sandpapery forked tongue popping out to lick away your sweat. “It’ll be over soon.. I’ma make it all better.”

You leaned deeper into the stuffy mattress sheets, the pressure on your abdomen welcomly encouraged as you push as far as possible into his fiery hands.

“I’m betting on it.” You muffle into the pillows, squirming your hips against his his body, warm chest and carved quadriceps surrounding you. The slight pressure of his inner thighs against your hips was welcoming, his mounted position atop of you seemingly odd to an outsider-- but you didn’t care how weird it might’ve looked, as the calm of your gutted abdomen took over. 

You yawned into the side of the pillow as you turned your head, lifting your hips just a little to soak in the heat radiating from behind you. 

“Awe’d, so sleepy huh? Need a little nap?” the dragon behind you poked. 

Who knew a murderous, millenium-old dragon would be sweet-talking you so gently-- just a few centuries ago he was murdering travelers for stumbling just a few steps too close to his prized hoard. 

���But I just woke up.” You protest, upset at the sleepiness of the afternoon that was rubbing off from your draconic lover on you. “Got too much to do, can’t lay in bed all day..like you.” 

You groan into the pillow as a wave of cramps hit you, only slightly set ajar by the gentle massaging of the skin above your pelvic bone. 

“Hrmm.” Your boyfriend thinks, shoving his warmly snout against your neck. “I guess it’s unfortunate that I’m not going to be letting you go then. Not allowed to get up until you feel better.” 

You laugh, taking one of your dragon’s toasty hands to your chest to hold onto. 

“I’ll be here all week, then.”

It was here you felt the safest, the warmest, the most vulnerable and easily devourable-- well, thankfully dragon’s didn’t particularly have a taste for the flesh of humans. Shutting your eyes, you let the guttural ‘hrmm’s’ of your dragon lull you to thoughtlessness. 

“If that’s what it takes..” He presses a deep kiss close to your forehead, relishing in the sweet scent of your hair. The huffs from his nose tickle the back of your ears, such petrichor warmth and humidity so reminiscent of past lazy mornings. “You’re not going anywhere, my diamond.”

[love-toxin]

would yandere Charles Xavier...baby trap his beloved?

OH......YEAH!!!! <3

(cws: DDDNE, fem!reader, crazy fucked up n-con, babytrapping, drunk sex, drugging, pregnancy talk, jealousy, dirty talk, super manipulative yandere charles)

I'm thinking Days of Future Past Charles again....the yearning. The loving glimpses of the life with you he let slip through his fingers. Every day that he's without you is painful, but when he finds you again, he's complete.

There's no way he can let that happen again. Ever. You belong to him. You're part of him. He's become so disillusioned by your reappearance in his life that he can't focus on anything but you. If you let him, all he would do is make love to you every day, kiss you, hold you in his arms, sweep your feet out from under you and carry you wherever you wanted to go. Even when you plead with him to stop taking the drugs, he's just so hooked on the feeling of being there for you that he wants his legs more than his powers. Plus, the sex is incredible when his mind isn't filled with thoughts and worries, and he can move around as freely as he wants. And part of it is perhaps willful ignorance--there's a quiet part of him that doesn't want to hear any negative thoughts in your head. He wants to live in the blissful delusion that you're just as obsessed with him as he is with you, that you want all the same things he does.

And one of those is, well...home. Charles is tired of the people he loves cycling in and out--he's sick of losing people and watching everything he cares about slip away slowly. He has a place to call home, but nothing to fill it with that's distinctly his. It's been a shelter for so long, for Raven, for the X Men, for his students, but he craves something more. Family.

But you can give him that. It would be a blessing, wouldn't it? On good days he watches the way you move, how your eyes light up with your laughter, the sun setting a glow over your skin. It's crude, but he can't help it; you would look so good pregnant. You'd get a cute waddle in your walk, a bump, and you'd have to rely on him so much more to help you when you're far along. He could put a ring on your finger and try for your first the very same night--nobody has to know you haven't had the wedding yet, and who would even care?

When you start having sex regularly, on the daily now that Charles has his muse back, it's obvious he's being risky. Coaxing you into letting him slip the rubber off, so sincere as he promises you he'll pull out...but each time he gets close, so close, that you have to keep your wits about you just to make sure you cry for him to slow down before he lets it get out of hand. The twitching and pulsing and throbbing inside you is so good, but you know Charles is acting strange about doing it unprotected. You gain a sense that he's hiding something but you want to trust your beloved, so you neglect to insist on using condoms again.

That's your own mistake. Charles tries to convince you to let him cum in you, at least once, but he gets more insistent around the time you should be ovulating. It's even harder for you to resist him at that time, but you manage to hold your ground--until he resorts to truly dirty tactics, and gets the two of you drunk while you've got the mansion all to yourselves. As usual, he's handsy right off the bat, kissing you while his belt buckle digs into your soft thigh. He just barely manages to guide you upstairs while he stumbles himself, laughing and cackling along with you as you lean on each other and teeter about the corridor like the drunken fools you are.

As it turns out, Charles is a pretty good actor. And as badly as he feels about it initially, mixing that powder into your drink really did make it easier for him to get his way--you're already fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, and when you trip and fall back against the floor as you stumble into his bedroom, all you can do is giggle dazedly with your eyes closed like you're floating on cloud nine. As he crawls on top of you to help you up (with no intention of actually doing so) he's deft in hiking up your skirt, and though in your drunken state you're conscious enough to tease about him not being as wasted as he seemed, your addled mind has no idea just how true that turns out to be.

When his buckle finally comes loose and he's slowly sliding it in, it's paradise. Your body is willing and your mind is void of common sense; you're barely staying awake as he takes you right there on the floor, skirt pooled around your hips as Charles mutters praises under his breath. "Right there, so tight--such a good mother, you'll make such a good mother, darling-" He can't stop, he might just be addicted to your drugged pussy from that moment on. It's foul, it's disgusting, it's wrong, but when he hitches his hips right up against yours and sucks in a deep breath, knowing you can't say no to what he's about to do, he feels more at peace than he has in years. His shoes squeak against the hardwood as he struggles to pin you down, your limbs twitching and flailing erroneously while he's working on making you a sweet little baby to take care of in the future. Charles eventually resorts to holding your head down with his palm, your cheek pressed to the floor that vibrates with the strength of his thrusts into your pliant body.

"You need this," he mutters under his breath, fighting the guilt settling in his chest at your growing whimpers for mercy. "Last time you ever fucking leave me, whore."

Mmh. Well, maybe he's a little drunk after all. The anger at your disappearance still simmers near the surface, and that betrayal isn't one so easily forgiven. You should be trained out of it so you never make that mistake again. Perhaps becoming a doting mom will fix that defect in you, just as he hopes it fixes the deranged, vile forces inside of him that would have him lure you into something as debased as this. With every plap of his hips growing sticky with your slick, Charles can sense those urges screaming out for him to make you his.

In a haze, he orders you to shut up, to stop that incessant whining and try to enjoy what he's giving you. When you try wiggling your hips away, feebly attempting to escape the pleasure growing harder to resist, he yanks you back on his length and bruises your tits in his rough hands as recompense. If he wasn't intent on impregnating you, he would flip you over and show you how mean he can really get--but he has a job to do first, and he won't let you out from under him until you can't walk without spilling his seed. Even if Erik never laid a hand on you during these long years apart, you still chose another man to scamper off with, and that will never happen again....not if you're all swollen with his baby.

"I-I'll swallow it, Ch-Charlie-" You slur, trailing off into mindless blabber as he bends your knees back to your chest. So cute. You think you can talk yourself out of it, but he's already there--already bursting at the seams with the promise of new life, already biting down on your neck like a hound as the heat overwhelms him and fills you with ropes of thick, virile cum. So potent your body already eases to welcome him in, and your walls tighten and clench when he pulls out, like you don't want to spill even a drop.

You're so fucking drunk, you can't even keep your head up. You look a right sloppy mess, laying there with your skirt pulled up and cum pooling underneath your hips, as if you're some used sex doll that's been kicked under the bed after serving your purpose. But Charles would never think of you that way, and he wants you to know that; Erik may have stolen you away and poisoned your mind against him, but he clearly abandoned you too once he'd taken everything he wanted from you. Yes, he may have taken advantage of you now in a sickening way, but it was for a good reason, wasn't it?

Yes, it was for all the right reasons. Charles has to tell himself that to stave off the guilt that follows, the tension in your shoulders when next he touches you and the fear of him that may never go away. Soon, you'll see that his efforts have borne fruit. And when you tear up and collapse in a panic at the result of the test in your hands, Charles, your Charlie, will be right there to soothe you with promises that everything will be alright.

[milunalupin]

REMUS GIRLIES UNITE!

first off congratulations on 100 followers ily

and can i request a remus blurb that's centered around like hopeless pining? maybe something like helpless stares and longing sighs?

Love your works

MWAH🌷

tulip my love so sorry for the wait and thank you so much for this request !! love you MUAH

— can't keep my eyes off you

remus lupin x reader ★ 1.5k words

Luck was almost never on Remus Lupin's side. He was a disgusting, ravenous werewolf for one. His scars were off putting, puffed skin stretching all over his face and body. He wasn't born into a wealthy family, and he wasn't promised a successful future.

But Remus did well in school, he'll give himself that at least. Maybe not top of the class, but enough to feel good about it. And he had the most incredible friends, always supporting him during his 'time of the month', and constantly trying to set him up with girls they thought were his type. They never were.

Finding love was never really his priority anyways, his mind focused on school and keeping his beastly secret. Aside from that, he never believed that someone would be able to fall in love with a poor, ugly half-blood with cycle issues. Unfortunately, the world decided the throw the most perfect girl his way at the start of third year.

"Gryffindor!"

Remus was caught in such a daze from your confidence walking up to the sorting hat and your almost familiar blinding grin once your house was announced that he didn't catch your name at first. He forced his eyes away and straightened his posture as you begun walking towards the red and gold embellished table.

"Who is that?"

"Seriously Moons? That's Y/N, I told you guys she was starting this year."

So why did you have to be his best friend's sister?

You were just like James in the sense that you were unbelievably kind, and the definition of loyal. He's surprised you weren't sorted in Hufflepuff with how hard-working and honest you were. But then again, it made sense for you to be in Gryffindor with your brother, you were one of the bravest people he knew, taking risks and always standing up for yourself and others.

Even though you were his best friend's sister, he really didn't get to see you much when you first started at Hogwarts. Unless you counted his shy glances during study sessions, or tipsy stares over Friday night butterbeers. The two of you didn't have any classes together, because that would mean the world was being good to Remus Lupin.

He doesn't really know when he first started to feel differently about you, but remembers feeling touched when you had begun purchasing his favorite tea. It wasn't just any tea; it was the exact same healing peppermint tea that he would drink around the full moon. How did you even notice that? You would even go as far as to bring it to his room in a warm mug, with a little too much sugar in it. But he would never bring it up to you as you could do no wrong in his eyes.

Fortunately while the other boys were trying to figure out if you knew his secret, he was grinning to himself behind closed maroon curtains. The boys cared about him, obviously. They had even been talking about becoming animagi to help him during his transformations. But to be seen by you, understood on another level that only you knew, caused a herd of hippogriffs to fly around in his stomach.

Finally, the winter holidays arrive and James had invited everyone to your house for Christmas. This was your favorite time of the year; James and your father were decorating the outside of the house while Sirius and yourself took care of the inside. The two of you always liked staying indoors to gossip while inhaling taste testing Euphemia's cooking to make sure it was up to standard.

"What are you hoping to unwrap this year Y/N, Remus perhaps?"

Your eyes widened and you turned to hit the cheeky Gryffindor in the chest, cheeks blazing with embarrassment. "Sirius! My mother is right there!"

He barked out another laugh when he saw your mother's shoulders shaking lightly with her own laughter. Your least favorite Marauder slung an arm around your shoulders and led you back out to the living to finish setting up for your friends.

The party had started the moment Remus and Peter arrived with arms full of presents. The gobstones were pulled out almost immediately, and everyone had a steaming mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and toppings. Euphemia made sure to put in exactly ten marshmallows in James and yours because if you had one more than him he would undoubtedly throw a fit.

The spiked eggnog and mulled wine came out later in the night, the group sitting in a circle next to the tree to pass presents around. The typical Quidditch gear and gag gifts were opened. Peter had taken out his camera to take a picture of you and James when you had opened your matching red and gold sweaters, "Potter" written in a sparkly font. Your gleeful smiles and infectious laughter were immortalized with a flash of a camera, the photo being displayed on the mantle straight away.

The twinkling lights hung around room reflected in your eyes, a warmth creeping into Remus' chest as he averted his gaze. Luckily all eyes were on Peter as he unwrapped a pair of knitted socks from you, striped with Gryffindor colors and his initials sewed on the side. The tall boy smiled fondly as his friend tried on his gift, with you clapping adorably in response to them fitting perfectly.

With the sun having set hours ago, the Potter house was now littered with scraps of colorful paper, candy wrappers, and board games were strewn about. The Potters and Peter had gone up to their rooms for the night, leaving Remus and Sirius to clean up at living room. Before following your brother and Pete, you walked over to the werewolf and poked his arm to get his attention (as if his attention wasn't always on you anyways).

"Hey Rem, I just wanted to let you know that I left your present in your room, in case you didn't want to open it in front of everyone," you smiled shyly, nodding awkwardly before shuffling towards the stairs, "Merry Christmas."

He wants to blame the mulled wine for his flushed face and racing heart, but he knew that nothing could be as intoxicating as you.

"Y'know Moony, your obsession might be a little less creepy if you just asked Little Potter out."

The wizard chess pieces dropped from the brunette's hands, looking up at his friend who had a shit-eating grin on his face. Remus huffed and quickly put the game pieces back in place, shaking his head. "I'm not obsessed with her, Sirius."

"Oh it's Sirius now! Struck a nerve, have I?"

Sirius had been staying with the Potters for a few years now, and it had become hard not to notice your behavior around his sandy-haired friend. He was no stranger to the way you would fix your hair around Remus, or put on your favorite outfits when you knew he was coming over. Also, you and Sirius had late night gossip sessions after James fell asleep. That was probably it.

"Pads, stop. It's not like that, and she wouldn't even like me back anyways. I'm just like you or Peter, just one of her brother's friends."

"Oh Moony," Sirius sighed dramatically, " Moony, Moony, Moony. You poor, oblivious boy."

Sirius had gone up to his room soon after, leaving Remus in the living room by himself to reflect on his feelings towards you. But how humiliating it would be if he confessed to you and you said no. He could never face you ever again, probably have to stop being friends with James at the very least to avoid any further embarrassment. Alright, he's thinking about this way too much. Remus head upstairs to his room, ready to fall asleep to hopefully dream of a life where you would look at him the way he looked at you.

On top of his pillow sat a small gift box wrapped so beautifully it couldn't have been from anyone else but you. Rough hands pulled away the delicate ribbon you had tied around the box, opening the lid to find a handmade teacup, his name painted carefully on the side. Next to the teacup laid a few bars of his favorite chocolate, a new book, and a bag of his favorite tea. His chest tightened with a new but very obvious feeling.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his daydream, the dark wood opening to reveal your lovely self smiling up at him. His mouth went dry as you stared at him with those big chocolate eyes that made him feel that just for moment you could look past every flaw and see him a man you could be with.

"Y/N-" he cleared his throat when it cracked embarrassingly, a deep blush dusting his scarred cheeks, "Thank you for the gift Y/N, I love it, really." I love you.

You nodded and pointed up the the top of the doorway, Remus lifting his head to see a sparkling spring of mistletoe.

Perhaps Remus Lupin could be lucky.

[kachowden]

ok so i've just been reading a lot of stories on redit and by some freaking coincidence they all involve cheating.

to take my anger out i imagined a scenario:

You who just found out that your S/O cheated on you with a mutual friend are so angry you go to the first party you find because

1.free drinks

2.with loud music you can't think

then Loren sees you from afar and he's so happy because it's so unusual for you to show up in these kinds of places he walks over and starts a conversation you barely hear because all you think about is how identical he is to a dog happy with his owner and you remember the day you met he said he would do anything for you.

"anything?"

"what"

"you said you'd do anything for me, did you really mean anything?"

Loren, with absolutely no hesitation: "yes"

I don't know going forward, my brain cycles between him murdering your ex or fucking in the bathroom of the party

Tw: NSFW themes. Kinda angst, mild exhibitionism.

His hands were shaking. Grasping at every exposed bit of skin he could, squeezing and massaging. His breath was heavy, labored and hot. It fanned the back of your neck as your body jolted with each thrust.

The toilet seat thudded dully under the massive jocks weight. His arms circled around you, hugging himself to your chest while he struggled to form any coherent sentences. Merely mumbles of adoration. Praise. Your name.

He sung your name like a prayer. He begged and begged and begged. You weren’t sure what for. He didn’t explain. You didn’t know if he could.

He whined deeply and gruffly, hips seemingly having a mind of their own as they smashed and squished against a your thighs.

In and out. In and out.

His lips were hot. Unbearably almost in combination of your sweaty skin, as he trailed hot and heavy kisses up your shoulders and neck. Sucking and biting and marking.

You let him, only to get back at the person who got you into this position. You felt a bit bad playing with the wonder boys feelings. What with the way he seemed to cry your name while bucking his hips into you so fervently.

When he finally started singing his I love you’s he made quick work to force your lips together and swallow any rejections on your tongue.

“Loren-“

“No no shh please, please let me have this. Let me have you just once. Just right now please.”

Your heart hurt hearing him, though with your foggy mind and recked insides you couldn’t pay much mind to the feeling. Only squishing his face to your chest and pressing deeper into his old.

Loren breathed sweetly at that, continuing his previous brutal thrusts, that only seemed to have groan more desperate, if that were even possible.

The more you felt his hands sweetly cupping and holding your own, tracing each bit of skin as he pumped himself into you, the more you felt your previous reasoning for doing this fade a way.

Why hadn’t you been dating Loren again? He had made his feelings more than abundantly clear before you were dating the jackass you were with now.

And loren was so…devoted to you. It was almost scary. He acted like he couldn’t breath without you. That this, what you were doing right now, was something he had fantasized over..craved for years.

Oh god if only you knew.

You blinked dazedly, sharply arching your back when a particular thrust hit your sweet spot, and Loren’s entire pattern switched.

His hips angled ravenously into your thighs, thrusting deeply and even at times stoping just to grind into you. You shuddered as he layered more wet passionate kisses against your skin, forming a small heart into your chest. You thought you peaked at initials too, but when you felt yourself being lifted and cradled fully into his sweaty chest, you didn’t bother to check again.

Your back met with the deliciously cold shower wall, and you marveled at the strength of the jock before you, who held you up by your thighs and continued thrusting.

“Y/n y/n y/n y/n”

It was a breathless whisper but it made your stomach flutter and your body clench, drawing out a low whimper and moan from loren, who slotted himself into the crook of your neck. Your arms circled around his head, holding him close and relishing in the feeling of your bodies sliding and pressing and grinding against each other.

“I love you…I love you..”

At this point you don’t think he was even saying it to you. It sounded more like a fact, something he was merely stating to the air in his own haze, as he hugged you so dearly. The weight of him inside you was intoxicating. Loren was nothing to sneeze at by any means.

“I-“

Loren didn’t let you reply. Not with the way he quickly fell to his knees in the shower, twisting you around and forcing you onto your own, bringing you back into a dip as he laid himself over you, lifting one of you legs to make sure he never once separated from you.

His thrusts were wild. So fucking desperate. Like he couldn’t control himself at feel of your body so sweetly warming and squeezing his cock.

Your eyes rolled back at the angle, and you barely had time to balk at the sight of his letterman underneath you, protecting you from the cold tile of the shower.

“Loren-“

Fuck would he not let you get one word out. He seemed hell bent on keeping you from talking, despite how typically he clung to your every word.

His thrusts grew erratic, chasing something you couldn’t see but prioritizing your experience over it all. He breathing was heavy, gasping, and at one point he dropped your leg gently and hovered over you, his shadow shielding you from any wondering eyes.

You weren’t sure why until the door unlocked and a drunk couple tried to wander their way in. Your eyes widened soberly, before they rolled back again when Loren kept thrusting, his hand covering your mouth gently, keeping your sounds to himself while he glared literal daggers at the couple who stared stalk still.

“Get out.”

It was a growl and tone you had never heard from the jock himself. Only whispers from people who had been there to witness it.

Fucking hell it was so hot. You gripped his forearm tightly, body convulsing when you came, though Lorne didn’t cease his pace, only cooing gently in your ear when the couple finally left and locked the door.

“Baby…fuck baby…thank you..thank you…you feel so good y/n..just one more please? Please I’ll do anything I’ll- nnnng…!”

Your body became play dough very quickly, only held up by the Loren’s strong arms that man handled you so gently, you didn’t think you could just call this sex anymore.

It was far too passionate to be just sex.

What with the way he so gently repositioned you on your back, hugging you deeply into his curving chest, his back hunched as he kept your legs locked firm around his waist, and as he continued to beg and cry and moan for you. Only for you.

Your finish was fast approaching and you finally regained the strength to hold onto the tall male, who groaned deeply and who’s hips shuttered when your nails dug into his skin.

“Loren…-“

“Y/n please…please…just let me have this..”

You paused, blinking blearily.

Then you sighed, gently. There was no disappointment in your tone, when you gently kissed the side of his neck and leaned back to stare the distraught captain in the eyes. You marveled at the flush of his cheeks, and the sheer desperation in his his shiny eyes. You brought your hands gently around his jaw and smiled.

“Okay..”

Your lips gently pressing into his own seemed to be the final straw for Loren, who’s hips grew violently and hard before he came thunderously, moaning deeply with your own high riding alongside his.

Your breath shortened and choked at the weight and heat in your belly.

He didn’t pull out when he finished. Only shuttering and shifting slightly, relishing in your warmth.

You peaked, out of breath, at his expression, and had you not been on the brink of sleep, you would’ve felt concern at the wide of his eyes, and the untamed smile that split his cheeks.

“I love you…so much y/n..”

“I know..”

“No…you don’t.”

[millionancientbees]

I truly fear Maggie Stiefvater ruined me for all other books. It’s been nearly ten years of trying to find another series that breaks me open and destroys me and fills me back up like The Raven Cycle and nothing has come close.

Like?? HOW am I supposed to get over “while I’m gone dream me the world. Something new for every night.” Or “Look, his face looks a little like yours” and “And that sword looks a little like you.” Or “Blue was perfectly aware that it was possible to have a friendship that wasn’t all-encompassing, that wasn’t blinding, deafening, maddening, quickening. It was just that now that she’d had this kind, she didn’t want the other.” Or “And what is it you think my dog needs?” Or!! “It was nothing, but it was Adam Parrish's nothing. How he hated and loved it. How proud he was of it, how wretched it was.”

Like?? Maggie!! How did you distill all of the yearning and hope and heartbreak of being a teenager into these books and expect anyone to ever be okay or normal about it again?? Goddamnit.

[lucygxybaird]

billy finds out you're carrying his baby tw: pregnancy

As soon as you open your eyes in the morning, it feels like your stomach hits the back of your throat. 

You slap a hand over your mouth as you roll out of bed — you’re barely aware of the cold floorboards against the soles of your bare feet as you race into the kitchen, only making it to the sink with moments to spare. When you’re heaving up nothing but acid, you spit, pumping the water spout to rinse the sink clean. You fill a glass with water and rinse your mouth out, too. 

Then you sink to the floor and start to cry. 

What are you going to do?

For the first time, you’re thankful that Billy has been gone the past few weeks, on a long job with Mr. Tunstall and the Regulators. When you first started feeling sick, as selfish as it may have been, you only longed for his arms around you and the familiar sound of his deep, husky voice, soothing you as he read aloud. You kept waking up morning after morning, sick as a dog, only to find yourself ravenous as the day wore on. Even as the cycle repeated with each sunrise, you tried to pretend it was just some strange bug. 

You can’t do that anymore. Especially not when you know Billy is coming home tomorrow. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, putting a hand over your stomach. 

All you want to do is keep crying, but you have to think. You drag yourself to your feet and sit at the kitchen table, drying your eyes with the sleeve of your nightgown. The first question on your mind is how you’re going to tell Billy. After everything he’s been through, he’s finally found stability and peace with Tunstall. Now you’re going to yank the rug out from under his feet.

The thought makes you want to weep all over again, but you swallow hard and push the tears back. Instead, you get up and make yourself some tea, to settle your stomach and give you something to do. You stoke the fire in the belly of the stove, set water on to boil, and move to grab a mug from the cabinet standing nearby. 

Each action grounds you, giving you one simple goal after another: steep the leaves when the water is done, add a little honey, sit down again. Cool it with a little funnel of air from your pursed lips. Sip. Sip. Sip. 

There’s no question in your mind that Billy is going to stand by you. You only worry that he’ll feel obligated, because it’s the right thing. For a while now, you’ve been hoping that…that he’s been thinking of — of asking you a certain question. You have no doubt about what you’d say, if he asked. 

Or, at least, you hadn’t had a doubt. 

You don’t want him to propose to you out of a sense of duty, because of the little life you carry inside you. You want him to propose because the idea of calling you his wife — Mrs. Bonney — makes him feel like he’s donned a suit of armor, like nothing can hurt him now because he has you. He has you in a way that can be seen, understood, appreciated. The ring on your finger, matching the one on his, will tell everyone at a glance that the two of you belong together. 

Now the only thing it will say (at least to anyone who can do a bit of quick math) is that he married you because he’s a good man whose mother raised him right. 

You’re so buried in the misery and mire of your thoughts that when a hand — so gentle, yet so broad and strong, that you really should realize who it is — lands on your shoulder, you shriek and jump badly enough to send your teacup flying. 

“Honey—”

You jump to your feet in an instant, spinning around, and without thinking, your hands go to your stomach as if you can protect the innocent spark within. It takes you a few shuddering breaths to realize that it’s Billy standing in front of you, looking just as shocked as you feel. “You’re early,” you blurt out, staring at him like you’ve never seen him before.

And then you burst into tears again. 

“Hey, hey, hey…” Billy is reaching for you at once, pulling you into his arms. You bury your face against his chest, clinging to him, and he cradles the back of your head in his large palm. “Baby, I’m sorry for scarin’ you, I just thought I’d surprise you…”

You shake your head, though you can’t bring yourself to look up at him, so you just end up rubbing your tear-stained cheeks against his shirt. “No, it…I mean, you did scare me half to death, but…”

When you dare to peek up at him, he’s looking down at you with his forehead wrinkled, concern written all over his features. He manages to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so he can look at you properly. “But? Sweetheart, what’s the matter? You’re white as a ghost.”

You sniffle. “I thought I had more time.”

“More time for what?”

Another sniffle. “More time to…to figure out how to tell you…”

You swallow hard, trying not to start sobbing anew. Billy presses his lips together, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Did…did I do somethin’ wrong?” he asks, his voice soft, almost…small. “I — is what you’re tryin’ to say…are you tryin’ to figure out how to tell me you wanna call it quits?”

The idea is so far from anything you’ve ever considered that you just stare at him for a second, like he’s speaking some foreign language you can’t even begin to grasp. “No,” you finally manage to say, and you press your hand against his where it’s still cradling your face. “Oh, Billy, no, of course not, no. I love you. I don’t ever wanna be without you.” 

The air rushes out of him in a gust of relief, and he smiles. You haven’t even realized how tense he became until you feel him relax in your arms. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, good, cause I really don’t ever wanna be without you, either.” 

His smile dims a little as he remembers that there’s still something bothering you, and badly. “So…so what is it, darlin’? What’s goin’ on with you?”

You bite your lip. “I…I don’t know how to tell you.”

“You can tell me anything,” he says. “Just say it. Whatever it is, just tell me. No frills, no fuss, just…let it out.” 

“It’s not that easy.”

He shakes your head. “It is with me,” he says. “It is with us. Nothin’ you ever, ever say is gonna make me love you any less, or make me wanna go away. You’re everything to me.” 

A small sob bubbles over your lips. “I’m…I’m…” 

You watch the color drain from his face, and his arms tighten around you. “Are you sick?” 

At once, you feel a pang of guilt. You know how much illness terrifies him, not for himself but when it comes to someone he loves. 

“No, no, I’m…” You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and will the words out of your mouth. “Billy, I’m pregnant.” 

You only open your eyes again when the words are out of your mouth, and you look up to see Billy with the biggest, most radiant grin you’ve ever seen on his face. You don’t think he even smiled like this when Mr. Tunstall told him he was a free man, without the stain of outlaw on his name. 

“Honey, are you sure?” he says. “You’re sure, you’re sure?”

“Yes,” you mutter.

Billy frames your face between his hands, and kisses you — once, twice, three times, and then he goes on to kiss you so many times that you actually lose count. You sway in his arms, so dizzy from the rush of affection that you can barely stand up straight. He wraps you up in a firm embrace, arms anchoring around your waist. Billy rests his forehead against yours, and you think you hear him sniffle. 

“A baby,” he murmurs against your lips, and kisses you yet again. “My baby. I never thought I…”

He trails off, and he’s silent for so long that you reach up to weave your fingers into the curls that brush against his collar, giving a gentle tug so that he has to lift his head. “You never thought, what?” 

He smiles softly. “Well, truth be told, I never thought I’d live to see the day.” 

Billy looks at you for a moment, and his smile spreads over his face again, shining like a shaft of sunlight breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure, you’re sure?” 

For the first time since you had to face the facts, you find yourself smiling. It’s impossible to keep yourself from doing so, when Billy is looking at you like this, practically overflowing with emotion.“Yes, I’m sure.” 

At once, so suddenly you give another shriek of surprise, Billy scoops you up into his arms. You can’t stop yourself from giggling, clinging to him as he carried you over to the bed. “Billy, what are you doing?”

“There’s broken china on the floor!” You’ve forgotten about the tea cup. “I wouldn’t want you walkin’ around in your bare feet anyway, but especially now…”

You giggle again. “I can clean that up myself.” 

“Oh, no, you won’t,” he says, depositing you gently on the bed. “You’re hardly gonna lift a finger for the next nine months if I can help it.” 

You lay back against the pillows, watching him bustle around, cleaning up the mess and even making you a fresh cup. When he brings it to you, you tug on his arm, wordlessly insisting he gets into bed beside you; he obeys at once, putting his arm around you and drawing you against his chest. You melt into his arms, nuzzling against a gap in his shirt, where you can catch an enticing waft of the musk rising from his skin. 

“I hope they look like you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the crown of your hair. “The most beautiful girl in the world is gonna make the most beautiful babies, I know that much.” He pauses, as though considering something. “Except, I guess, I hope they have my eyes. My mom always told me I had her eyes.” 

You smile, kissing the hollow at the base of his throat. “I hope they have your eyes, too. I’d be happy if they looked exactly like you.” 

Billy chuckles, shaking his head. “Mm-mm. Just a little bit of me. This one will have my eyes, the next one my curly hair, and then—” 

You can’t help but giggle. “You’ve thought about this, huh?” 

“O’course I have,” he says. “I spend a lotta time on my own when I’m away from you, baby, and I’m doin’ some hard work while I’m gone, with long, long days. Thinkin’ about you and our future together gets me through it.”

You bury your face against his chest and hold him tighter, but he knows what you mean. He kises the top of your head. 

After a few minutes of quiet, he says, “Baby, can I ask you something?”

You sit up at his tone, sliding your eyes to his. You reach for the mug of tea to give you something to do with your hands, to hide your face in the steam still curling from the surface. “Of course.”

“Why…?” He trails off, his brow furrowing. “Why were you so scared to tell me?” 

You start, gulping too much of your tea as you do, wincing when the hot liquid burns your tongue and your throat. “I...” You cough. “I just…you’ve worked so hard and been through so much, Billy, and now you’ve made this new life for yourself. I didn’t…I didn’t want to ruin it.” 

His eyebrows draw further together. “Ruin it? You couldn’t ruin anything. The best reason I have for goin’ straight is you — I want a life with you. Knowin’ that you’re havin’ my baby just makes it better.” 

Now, to your surprise, he’s the one who looks nervous. “I, um…I actually got you something,” he adds. “A while ago. I — I was waitin’ until I got back from this job to give it to you, cause this one paid a lot, and I wanted…” 

He clears his throat, unfolding himself from the bed and crossing the room to the dresser, where he pulls open the top drawer, where he keeps his shirts. You watch him rummage around, reaching deep into the belly of the drawer, before withdrawing his arm and turning back to you.

“I wanted — well, I thought — I had an idea I was gonna do this in a more romantic way,” he babbles, and you feel a warmth creeping over your face, flushing over your neck and making your stomach flip. 

“Billy…”

“Listen — please, listen.” Billy comes back to the bed, taking up your left hand while clutching a small box in the other. “I love you. Every day, I — I can hardly believe that you’re mine, and now…” He smiles helplessly. “I can’t believe the two of you are mine. You and…” 

His voice catches, and you feel your own throat tighten. “You and this sweet little thing,” he says. He puts the little box down on the bedspread to put his hand over your stomach, splaying his fingers out as if to hold as much of you as possible. “I don’t know how it is that I can love someone I’ve never even met, someone I didn’t even know existed this mornin’, but I do.” 

Billy shifts on the bed, putting his head in your lap. “If your mama will let me,” he says, addressing your belly, “I’d like to ask her to marry me. What do you think?”

You laugh, though you can feel tears — of an entirely different kind than the one you’ve shed already today — pricking at the corners of your eyes. “They think you need to ask me properly.”

He grins, sitting up and snatching the ring box of the bed. “I love you,” he says again. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be be, more…more at peace. If there’s Heaven waitin’ for us, it can’t compare to the way I feel when I’m with you. An’ I — I hope I can make you at least half as happy.”

“More than half,” you whisper, and he just smiles at you. 

He pries the lid of the little box open, holding it out to you. “Darlin’, love of my life, mother of my child, would you marry me?” 

You press your hands to your face, as if to contain the smile that threatens to spill its borders like a river at flood. “Of course, of course, I will.”

Offering Billy your hand, you giggle like a little girl as he slides the ring into place. “Oh, here,” he says, fishing a piece of paper from the confines of the ring box. “A receipt with the date, so you know I bought this weeks ago. I wanna marry you for you. This baby is the next chapter of our family, not the first sentence.” 

You peek at the receipt, and indeed, it’s from nearly a month ago, before Billy went on this last job. You crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Look at you,” you tease. “Practically a married man, with a baby on the way. How respectable.” 

He grins back at you. “I know,” he says. “Who woulda thought it?”

You smile, kissing the tip of his nose. “I would.” 

[chiisana666]

a sweet treat

synopsis: luffy's heightened senses can evidently pinpoint more than just the smells of delicious food

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, implied virgin! luffy x fem! reader, pussy drunk! luffy, menstruation, cunnilingus, me making things up, dubious consent, pussy sniffing, nasty, inappropriate use of gum-gum powers, out of character for luffy (idk it's subjective), hair pulling, no p in v

wc: 2141

notes: image sourced from pinterest, credits for dividers here. not beta-read. this the first fanfic i've written in 8 or 9 years, i hope y'all like it. i'm excited to start writing more :)

Up until today, you had been handling your first period at sea fairly well. Perhaps it was the change in latitude, or your change in attitude, but the seas had a mysterious ability to ward off Mother Nature for many months. Nami and Robin had been quick to reassure you that the extension of your menstrual cycle was not unexpected; they, too, had experienced this bizarre phenomenon when they had each first set sail, respectively.

But after several months of peace, your luck had appeared to run out, and Mother Nature had reclaimed her stake in your body once more. The salty ocean air did little to soothe your cramps, but Nami and Robin had been more than happy to help lighten your chore load, allowing you to focus more on taking care of yourself. All in all, the first few days were a breeze.

Then the third day came. You could feel the squelching between your thighs as you stirred awake and groggily stumbled to the bathroom to freshen up. It was going to be a heavy flow day, but that would not be your main problem. No, the issues began when you made your way onto the deck of the Thousand Sunny.

Luffy sat, relaxed against the mast on the lower deck, hat tilted to shield his face from the glaring sun when a scent wafted by his nose. He immediately perked up and deeply inhaled; it was saccharine, rich with undertones of iron, and oh-so delectable. Luffy had to find whatever delicious treat was emulating such an intoxicating smell. Rising to his feet, he inhaled again and let his nose lead the way.

Luffy had stalked across the lower deck and climbed the staircases to the uppermost deck at the stern of the ship, pausing every few steps to take a sniff and ensure he was still on the right track. The scent, he found, led straight to you, who was leaning over the rail, gaze fixed on the waves ebbing and flowing alongside the Sunny. You were entranced when suddenly startled from the serene view by a figure at your back and a nose prodding at your neck.

“What the hell!” you shrieked as you whipped around to confront whichever man had decided to perve on you this time. Expecting to find Sanji, you were shocked to be faced with the wide-eyed, raven-haired captain.

“What’s that smell?” he asked after a brief, awkward stare-down between the pair of you, a dribble of drool breaching the corner of his mouth.

“Smell! What-“ you careened your head to the side in an attempt to sniff yourself, “What smell, Luffy?”

Luffy dropped to kneel before you, hands grasping at your hips and pulling your pelvis to his face. He pushed his nose into your lower abdomen and inhaled again, letting out a stifled groan as he peered up to meet your eyes.

Your jaw slightly hung open, hands gripping the rail behind you, “Luffy, what are you-“

You were cut off by Luffy wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging your body into him, a small squeak escaping your throat as your thighs hit his chest.

“Smells s’good…” he sighed, “Lemme have a taste.”

You eyed him for a moment, taken aback at how suddenly forthcoming your captain was acting. Of all the perverts on the ship, Luffy was the last one you would have expected to be on his knees, practically begging to eat your pussy. And in such a public setting no less. Not that you necessarily minded; Luffy had many attractive qualities that had left lingering thoughts in your mind on more than one occasion. But even so, this type of behavior was very unbecoming of him and somewhat concerning.

“Luffy… are you alright?” You inquired, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead beneath the brim of his hat. He nuzzled up into your hand and pawed at your hips, which remained entrapped between his forearms and torso.

“Wanna taste,” he repeated, “please…”

And who were you to deny him? Especially when he asked so politely. You reached down and gingerly caressed his cheek, brushing your thumb across the faint scar beneath his left eye. He mewled like a bitch in heat – a tad ironic considering it was you who was menstruating. Without saying another word, you wriggled free from his grasp and sauntered towards his private quarters. Luffy was quick to beeline behind you, tethered to an invisible leash that you held in your grasp.

Upon entering his quarters, you perched yourself on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, right leg crossed over your left. Luffy stood near the door, suddenly finding himself unsure of how to proceed. He hadn’t expected his investigation to conclude that the sweet smell was emulating from your cunt, and the reality of the situation began to sober his drunken mind. He had never even seen a pussy before, let alone touched or tasted one. Luffy rarely even thought about sex; not that he was a completely hopeless virgin, no, he wasn’t stupid when it came to sex. But before now, there had been more important things that garnered his attention. So, for the first time in a very long while, he felt lost.

You were quick to notice his sudden apprehension and your gaze softened as you called to him, “C’mere Lu.”

He approached the bed and took ahold of your outstretched hand. Your thumb soothingly grazed his knuckles, “We don’t have to do this-“

“No!” And he was back, the scent that kissed his nostrils reminding him why he was here. He had to have a taste.

You smirked at him, tugging off your shorts and underwear. He caught a glimpse of the pad tucked into your panties as you discarded them on the floor but paid little mind. He didn’t care if his meat was a little bloody, why would pussy be any different? Besides, laundry day was on the horizon anyway.

You crawled towards the headboard, resting your upper torso against it, and spreading your legs, giving Luffy a full view of your crimson-tinted flower. Almost too eagerly, he pounced on the bed and fixed himself between your thighs. The smell that first caught his attention was stronger than ever. He inquisitively raised an index and ring finger to spread your lips, running his middle up along your slit, before bringing them to his lips. Luffy’s eyes rolled back, and he moaned at the taste, a mixture of your essence and blood danced on his taste buds, and he savored every drop. It was heavenly.

“Oh Lu…” You sigh, one hand entangled in his inky locks, keeping his face and tongue anchored to your pussy.

Luffy’s straw hat and red vest lay on the floor beside his bed, having been carelessly tossed aside long ago. He’s relentless, ravaging your pussy like a starved man. And in a way, he is starved. He cursed every day you had spent on his ship thus far not in his bed. Perhaps it was idolatrous of him, but Luffy vowed to worship you for every waking moment that you remained a part of his crew. Perhaps he had finally found the One Piece.

Luffy has one arm wrapped around your right thigh, and the other stretched up to fondle your breasts and tweak your nipples through the cotton of your tight top, all while lapping at your hole and suckling your clit. You had long since slipped down the headboard, head now thrown back against one of his pillows. Breathy moans slip through your agape lips with ease. As hard as he tries to keep his gaze transfixed on your angelic face, wanting to burn the image into his mind, he finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open, drowning in his pleasure. Between your hand in his hair and your cunt gyrating against his face, Luffy cannot help but grind his hips into the mattress.

A particularly harsh nip to your clit has you yanking his head up by his hair, eliciting a guttural moan from the captain.

“Gentle!” You chastise, taking a moment to relish in his appearance: his chin and lips are painted in a carmine glaze, and his blown-out pupils beg for your forgiveness. “Behave yourself,” you add before shoving his face back into your dripping hole. And Luffy wastes no time getting back to work.

Using the power of the devil fruit, Luffy extends his tongue to fuck deeper into your hole, curling and flicking the wet muscle along your gummy walls. Feeling a familiar pressure building within your core, you maneuver your unoccupied hand down your body, employing two fingers to rub feverous circles on your aching clit. Your captain, generous as he is, is quick to toss your hand aside and replace it with his that had been previously occupied with your boobs. His palm took purchase laying atop your mound, and his thumb strokes your clit in the manner he had just observed you doing.

“Mmm ya learn fast… so g-good f’me,” you heave between moans and spurts of pants, slightly lifting your head to gaze down at him. Luffy, feeling your stare, forces his eyes open to meet yours, subconsciously fucking his hips harder into the mattress beneath him. It was becoming too much for him: between your sweet juices, the praises escaping your lips, and the friction of his denim shorts rubbing his bare cock, he knew he would be cumming soon.

You can feel the vibrations of his moans against your sopping cunt becoming more frequent, increasing in tandem with the shaking of the bed, a result of the violent thrusts of his pelvis.

“F-fuck Lu, gonna c-cum,” you mewled, burying his face impossibly further into your pussy and bucking your hips to match the rhythm of his tongue fucking you and his thumb playing with your clit. You were teetering on the edge of pure euphoria, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you drew near. Luffy was barely holding himself together, so close as well but in desperate need of one thing to send him over.

His tongue brushes along a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of your cunt, and you are pushed over. Your entire body convulses as waves of pleasure electrify you, toes curling and thighs crushing Luffy between them.

The essence of release mixed with the metallic tang of your menses is all Luffy needed, his hips faltering their thrusts as thick ropes of milky cum soil the interior of his shorts. His eyes roll back, and a throaty moan emulates from his stained lips, muffling against your cunt that was still cemented against his face.

Luffy lulls slightly on his side, resting his head atop your left thigh which had since ceased to sandwich his head between your right, eyes still clenched shut and body twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Never before had he felt such intense, unadulterated gratification. He was overwhelmingly high, mind fuzzy from the ecstasy that held him prisoner. Globs of saliva trickle down his tinted chin and pool on your thigh, as tears and beads of sweat stream down his face.

When your consciousness ventured back to reality, you observed his state: Luffy had fucked himself completely stupid, all thanks to your exquisite cunt. The sight is almost as rewarding as your orgasm was. Retaining a quip, you instead tenderly stroke his cheek with the hand that was once knotted in his tendrils.

“Hey, look at me…” you call softly. His bleary eyes inch open, unable to clearly make out your face, “Breathe Lu… did so good honey.”

He takes your command into account, focusing his pants until they calm into deep, controlled breaths. Once Luffy had somewhat composed himself, you used what little strength remained to tug him up towards you. He hovers above you, caging your head in with his forearms. One of your arms snakes around his neck, pulling him down to capture his swollen lips with your own. The kisses are sweet and gentle; moist pops lingering in the air as your lips caress Luffy’s. Your fingers massage at the base of his crown as you two share languid pecks, reveling in intimate bliss.

Disconnecting for a brief moment, you nudged him to the side, and he rolled onto his back next to you. You sat up and tore off your sweat-soaked top before hooking a leg across Luffy, your now naked body sticking to his bare chest. Again, your lips met his, this time more deeply, and sensually than before.

“I think,” you drawled between kisses, still enraptured in the make-out session, fingertips dancing across his scarred chest as they journeyed to the button of his shorts, “I need to taste you now, Captain.”

[vyzz-undercover]

pspspsps dinner time everyone

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,700ish words) (im cooked)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon [again]

•hints of size kink

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions of virginity

•vague breathplay

•even more negligible aftercare

•degrading language

•mild possessive behaviour

•tumblr's pisspoor formatting as per last time

———————————————————————————————————

im once again doing a free magic show here and pulling a rabbit (this fic) out my ass. so, without further a-do the tagging... @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @pluvio-tea, @the-raven-lady, @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @lemon-russ. let me know if anyone else wanna be tagged if i do a part three HAHAHAHHAHA i might double down on the comedy-of-errors and have Guilliman get involved. Not like a three-way with this particular fic, even if I'd love to slut papa smurf out. There's always another time and another chance to sexualise an old man :3

———————————————————————————————————

Cato finds you relatively easily.

Truthfully, you make no actual sport of it. But he's never going to pass up a cheap bit of entertainment at your expense.

At this time of the ship's cycle you're most likely to be in the east wing, pointedly the lower libraries. He knows this. He won't confess why or how he knows, though—so, fuck off.

You're lazy and predictable. To say nothing of the fact you're far too comfortable scuttling about his Father's vessel. If a hypothetical assassin ever could get onto the ship without being stomped into paste by him immediately, they'd have no problems tracking you down. You may as well be a sevitor running on rails for all your movements stay the same.

He notes you're not on the first level.

Nor the second.

You are on the third, in the leftmost quadrant.

In the restricted reading area.

You do have clearance—but the fact still irks him. Typically, this was for his more decorated brothers to catalogue Xenos. Typically, one needed to be accompanied to even access this level.

But oh, no—no, you're allowed.

You're allowed because you are a damnable leach of a woman. And also the bane of his existence, did he mention that? And you're—you're—tucked up in secure side-room, reading on a data-slate; half-asleep in a little blue robe and looking the pict of adorable sloth.

You don't notice him immediately.

Clearly too absorbed in your gerrymandering-for-servitors cheat-sheet.

And that annoys him even more.

Because, are you really that obtuse? So unassailable in your own mind that you're this blatantly fucking oblivious? He's an Astartes, damn it. Sure, he's in casual rest attire instead of clanking plate—but he's a large, two-and-a-bit meter tall trans-human war-machine standing in the doorway—and you haven't even noticed him. Ignorant like some little rodent chewing away at crumbs in it's hovel.

His Father's got a vermin problem on board, and the mice are stupid and bold and literate... along with rather cozy, apparently.

A finely woven navy throw is swaddled around you where you're lying on the chaise lounge. And the sight of you bundled up inspires a vivid déjà-vu of the last time you were alone with him with little more than a blanket over you.

Cato hesitates for a heartbeat, swallows down the sudden lump in his throat and sets his jaw.

He steps into the room and waves a hand over the laser-pad locking mechanism.

There's a fractional second in which you become cognisant to the sound of the shutter door closing and where you actively notice him.

Then there's a shrill scream as if you've pinched a nerve.

The data-slate goes flying, pelted at his head. But it hits the shutter door and clatters to the floor, far-off any hint of a good mark.

Useless woman.

Realising it's him a moment later, you heave out a racketing sigh.

"Throne of Terra, Ca—" you start, and it sounds like you're going to say his first name before you rightly correct yourself and say, "C-Commander, you scared me half to death."

He immediately sets about accosting you, "Have you been sitting here with the door open this whole time?"

"No," you nip out.

"You are aware that I can tell when you're lying?"

"I'm certain you can," your tone flattens in a way he's only ever heard you talk to particularly sleazy representatives with. It's not an honest exchange, it's double-speak. It's mocking. You're mocking him.

He grits his teeth.

You've grown more open in your defiance towards him as of late, certainly not because of any revelation or reason and it rubs him in a dangerous, new way. He's not about to let it slide, either.

"Is that so?" His words are sharp and accusative and he hopes—he hopes he'll get the delight of watching you cower like you usually do when confronted by him. "Have you been lying to me often, then?"

Half his hopes come true. You look away nervously and mumble something almost inaudibly, and he'd not have noticed if not for his far superior hearing.

It was, "...maybe," and all Cato can help but do being himself, is detonate.

"And what have you been deceiving me of, you scheming little whore?" He snarls, fuming—a dozen crimes and sins crowding his mind you might be tried for. Maybe he's been far too lenient to the actual reality of your evil. Finally, validation to corroborate his deviation—maybe you'll admit you're some Slanneshi fleshchanger, and that you intended to have burrowed so deep in his mind.

Nonetheless, you're nowhere near even close to fast enough to defend yourself. But it's not like he gives you the chance.

He's crossed the distance with a practiced speed. And quicker than you can even yelp, you are pinned to the lounge—a shackle in the form of his fist around your smaller throat.

The pressure is a limp handshake by his standards. You're not really choking. Just stifled slightly for good measure.

Still, it'd be a mere flex to break your neck. He could snap you like a stylus with what was to him, ultimately, nothing but a simple twitch of his fingers. And he would think more about the blatant contrasts between you both much longer if he wasn't far too distracted by the fact you even struggle prettily wantonly. Big eyes wide and glossy with animal panic. Involuntary tears gather at the corners as you register what's going on at last. The mad temptation to lick them if they so much as dare trail down your cheeks begins eating at him.

Some rational part of his rational mind reminds him he can't get the truth out of you when he's vaguely throttling you, though—and he lets you go begrudgingly. Instead opting for looming over you as you roll sidelong on the couch, breathing fast.

He crouches down to your level and grumbles, still absorbed in his raging.

"Speak," he barks, and pointedly grabs you by the chin.

"I–I hadn't actually—" you start, breathless as you mumble. "Actually, uh, laid with anyone, even though I nodded I sort of... had."

He's staggered at the statement, "...that's it?"

A vague lie of omission, but it's not the great corruption he sought to root out.

Then he actually thinks about what you've just admitted.

Like fog banished under a rising sun, his anger at the thought of treachery immediately dissipates into blistering revelation.

"Hold on, you..." Cato starts, baffled and completely knocked for a six, meeting your gaze slowly—genuinely stunned as he pulls his hand back fully. "I... I was the first?"

You look away cursorily, face reddening not only with your previous strains, but with embarrassment.

Now, that was the reaction of a guilty conscience.

Cato doesn't know what to do with the information. Nor does he really know what he feels.

He'd been the first. He feels like he's won something over his brothers. Therefore, fuck the lot of them—and fuck Titus, specifically. Even if he's not sure why. He truly couldn't believe it. There's success, sure—but then there's taking the laurels: whole and absolute. And this... this is exactly that. But oh, for some apparently vestal thing, you'd let him bully down to the hilt in your tight cunt; whining like a whore when he spilled himself inside you. Throne, it was almost suffocating to think back on it now. So willing to have your maidenhead taken, nevermind the fact you weren't the only one who'd had a new experience that day. But you didn't need to know that.

"Another notch to my mantel of victories then," he ultimately decides is the best thing to say, gloating to himself.

"Unbelievable," you sigh softly as you shakily sit yourself up.

But there's the problem again. The one tangible, constant problem with having laid you. It's made you mouthy. He only ever glimpsed your boldness when you interacted with other baselines in the past. You never sassed Astartes, or at least, he's never seen you do it. But now that stubbornness and unwillingness to back down in a political forum is on full display heedless of situation. As if you've suddenly become one of the auto-felating Imperial Fists—or any of Dorn's insufferable ball-busting scions, really. Worst of all, it's only managed to somehow make him even more enthralled annoyed with you than usual. You're still too good at quashing your anger, hard as it is to rouse. But he loves loathes that you bite the lure instead of shying off now.

"To think that I was the first—is your entire professional role not centred around charm? Would no one else have you with that rotten attitude you've been hiding?" he says, knowing he's being nasty, knowing he's twisting the knife; and absolutely praying for you to fall for it.

Cato watches a rainbow of emotions pass over your features, before you settle on one that makes you look like you ate something sour. He's hit a weak spot. But the sentiment holds true. His Primarch thinks you the best and brightest to sway planets? You couldn't even seduce some daft, drunken aristocratic fool to fuck you.

You, the prettiest baseline he's ever seen.

...maybe Guilliman is right in saying the Imperium has rolled belly-up with bloat.

"That's not—that's not why and you know it," you open your mouth and jumble your words briefly before getting out, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone who won't have a panic attack because of the several Astartes that insist on following you around?" You continue, raving and flustered, "Do you think anyone would get near me with you—or—or... maybe Captain Acheran, or the good Chaplain, let's say, breathing over my shoulder?"

"You should be grateful any of us waste our time babysitting you," Cato oafishly shoots back like a petulant child, brows furrowing, "You should be thanking me for doing the brunt of it."

Your nose scrunches up, "Pardon me, Commander, it's surely entirely my fault that we are both at the whims of our Lord Primarch."

He pauses.

Something about this interaction isn't stirring his temper like it should.

He should be absolutely livid with anger, or at the very least blowing your eardrums out with a 'shut the fuck up,' at full Astartesian line-command volume.

Yes, he should be seething, and yet he's not. To his surprise, he's actually feeling more enthused than anything.

This feels... exciting, almost.

"You've only grown the backbone to talk back to me because I fucked one into you," he remarks sharply in reply.

You sputter, and go red, robbed of your words.

"Or maybe this is mere performance," He adds with a sneer, tipping his chin up proudly.

You roll your eyes and let out a dramatic puff of air, "Y-You're such a..." you start, but your voice tapers off—and you look away, pouting.

"I'm a... what?" He taunts, leaning close.

You grumble, apparently feeling brave again; meeting his gaze and puffing yourself up.

"You're a bully," you hiss, clearly upset but undeniably frazzled enough to be somewhat ranting again as you add, "A bully w-who's so disgustingly egotistical you've convinced yourself you're some great conqueror or... something... j-just for having been in me, as if I've never put anything in myself before."

Oh, but wait, Cato likes the idea of that. He likes it so much he completely forgets to acknowledge the insults in your statement prior. He likes the idea of you suffering like he had been—alone, yearning—aching for something you didn't know the dizzying reality of. He can imagine you smothering your sounds, those blessed whines he's got memorised, into a pillow in that cushy little quarters of yours, squirming on your meagre fingers, or maybe cold silicon. You didn't need that lesser imitation now. Cato'd gladly fill that role. He'd glad to fill that hole, too.

Nonetheless, he immediately wonders who you were getting off thinking about.

He'd streak the length of the ship for it to've been him you'd been fucking yourself over.

"Who were you thinking of?"

You blink at the completely offhanded question, then start sputtering, stalling.

"What? I-I—" you stammer, "That's not important or relevant—I just... did it, it's—"

"Keep lying and see where it gets you," He cuts in, raking you with an aggravated frown, and oh, excellent, you're starting to relearn he's not fond of your half-truthing, finally.

You duck your head a little, cringing under his gaze, trying to scoot yourself backwards. But there's nowhere to go.

Cato realises belatedly that in the middle of your antics, the sleeve of your robe has started to fall from your shoulder. His brain short-circuits momentarily with the sheer amount of air that floods his head. Your warm, soft skin on display just for him. He didn't get to see all of you last time. He felt a good portion of you, yes—but he didn't get the chance to admire acknowledge the whole vista. Not because he was too desperate to rut against to try. Or because he was probably going to swoon like a fool if he did. Shut up, he's no coward. Afterall, his hands had been close to your chest, but now—now he can actually look.

He's going to absolutely ruin that lovely canvas you've given him.

"Nobody," you say softly.

"Groxshit," he snaps.

"Fine—" You swallow and start scrambling for a response, "Malum C-Caedo."

Cato genuinely cannot help but bark a laugh at that, "Spare me, you haven't even met the man, moron—you're only saying that because your most recent reading was on his last briefing," he rolls his eyes. "You forgot I was there with Guilliman when you were given it."

You look at him like a cornered little mouse, and finally—finally, your sleeve falls just enough that he's given a perfect view of one of your tits.

"You already..." you grumble softly. "You already know who, then, so I shouldn't even have to dignify this."

"It's me, isn't it?" He asks darkly, and while he tries to sound haughty, the fact he's thrilled by both the notion and the sight of your partial nudity ends up warping his tone into a vaguely manic chuff.

You glance aside and stammer loudly, "N-No."

No, you say—but he hears your little heart flutter. And sees your pupils dilate.

"I hope you're aware you can't lie to save your life," Cato drawls.

Your gaze snaps back to his, and for a brief second, your expression is flushed with embarrassment; until it changes to a sour little scowl.

"I'm not a bad liar, you're just an Astartes—" you start furiously, but check your flustered anger.

Cato smirks.

It's not a completely clean victory, but it's good.

It means his own lusting madness is at least reciprocally vindicated.

And at that realisation, Cato's impulse control violently loses balance; and he's painfully aware he cannot, for the life of him, contain the hungered almost purr-like sound that crawls up his throat.

You go back to looking transfixed at that, and he pauses.

There's something... pulling him in even more than before. He feels as if he's taken the bait, and the hook, and the line and sinker—hell, he's taken a good bit of the rod, too. Everything's a little too heated, and he's got an innate, intuitive feeling you're just as wound up as he is—wait. He breathes in deep and slow, and scents the air. Throne, he may as well have been cold-clocked at the temple by a Dreadnaut for all the innate information he suddenly receives. You're quite frankly drenched in want. You're getting off on this. Smothering him in a dizzying biological chant of hormones that scream—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

He leans close, and puts a hand on the arm-rest; the other palm slowly moving towards your chest.

Your eyes follow it—but you voice no complaints nor rejections.

Justified now, he's ecstatic. And your skin is as perfect to the touch as he remembers.

His hand looks huge compared to the breast cupped in it, idly toying with the consistency of the flesh in his grasp. It's much softer and malleable than he thought it'd be. Almost like a water-skin. Thumb depressing your right nipple, before drawing a thoughtless circle.

You sigh lightly and relax a bit, and Cato takes that as another open invitation.

He uses the same hand to tug away the fabric from your other shoulder.

Quick as anything, he's practically stuffing his face against you without any real warning, ignoring your flinch at his haste. Cato's letting the urges he'd withheld in that wretched shack out. And it's so worth the wait. He groans, licks a fat band over your left breast, and worries at the perked little bud with his teeth until you're squirming; only to drag his attention up to nip at your fragile throat.

You're breathing hard, and you open your mouth as if about to speak—but ever spiteful, Cato rewards your attempt with the drag of his tongue and the press of his teeth; and that promptly shuts you up. The faint salt on your skin isn't half bad of a thing either, honestly. He rather likes it. It tastes like how you smell—and he's absolutely luxuriating in it. It makes it all the easier to map your chest from the curve of your breast to your collarbones, garnishing you with eager drags of his tongue and mouth-wrought bruises.

And now you're glorious. The marks on your skin are vivid—he's guaranteed you won't be wearing anything showy for a good while. No lovely vile plunging necklines for you to display to bastard dignitaries. Not unless you want to explain why they're Cato Sicarius sized. They'll also be a good reminder to you of exactly who's superior.

You're still too dazed by his efforts to realise the extent of his actions, but he knows exactly how hot and bothered it's made you. That honeyed reek of arousal is driving him insane.

Urged on, he digs a hand down and around your back and drags you off the lounge. Manoeuvring to turn so his back rests against the lip of the lounge, nigh dumping you before him on the rug.

"W-Why...?" You blink, stunned for a second before righting yourself and meeting his eyes. Cato's sat himself cross-legged, before letting them unfold, one tenting and the other splaying out.

"I did all the work last time," he starts impatiently, and leans up to grab you by the forearm; bringing your hand close close to the cradle of his hips, "Now it's your turn to do something for once."

...Cato's not sure you're actually listening, because he could've bet his helm you'd've become irate at statement that if you were. That, and you're glaring between his thighs.

Ironically, he also almost instantaneously finds he doesn't really care to continue the train of thought. Not when you trace the engorged bulge of him through the folds of his tunic. Groping at the base, before smoothing your palm to the rounded tip.

There's no accursed buttons between him and the open this time, thankfully—and that means he can simply tug aside the folds of his layered tunic and bare himself from the belly down.

His cock lays fat and heavy with blood, smearing precum as it moves from his navel to leftward on his hip when he straightens up.

You're staring.

He scoffs at your apprehension and says, "Alternatively, perhaps you can—"

A soft, "Shhh," leaves you.

He snorts like a big, angry stock horse, brow raised. No baseline, regardless of rank, would dare treat Cato like this; none would dare even think to treat to him like this. Except you now, apparently. You forget your station, your place. Making demands of an Astartes is nowhere near your clearance. Your best option is to implore, not command. Yours is to nod your pretty thick head and smile your fair rotten little smile and obey your betters.

"Did—did you just shush me, woman?" Cato's nigh instantly consumed by a rush of anger at the sheer audacity, sneering. "In what reality do you think you've any right to shush me? I'm Commander of the Victrix Honor Guard, Grand Duke of Talassar and High Suzerain of—"

Of... of something.

Suddenly your insolence is inconsequential to him. All that matters is the smooth glide of your dainty hand on his cock, and the sight of your thumb and pointer being unable to wrap around and meet given how thick he is.

You look up at him slowly for a second, before your focus returns to apparently sussing out how best to saddle him. It's a timid gesture, like you're anticipating overstepping—you're cautious.

He's about to remind you of the fact you've taken him before, so Cato's proven he fits and all this coyness of yours is arbitrary. But he guesses the point is moot when you're suddenly already stradling his hips.

With one small hand finding a place on his stomach, and the other holding his cock straight beneath the obscurity of your garbs, he feels you lower yourself enough to make contact; testing before offering a little more urgency.

With an agonisingly careful roll of your pelvis, the head of his cock catches against the soft ring of muscle at your entrance for a second.

He grumbles despite himself.

He can't watch his cock sink into you like last time thanks to the curtain of your robe, but at least he can certainly feel every millimeter of it happening.

Tight heat feels like a death shroud over his mind as he draws a blank on anything else.

And finally—finally he's stuffed down to the hilt—and oh, he's filled you to your end just like the last time. Throne, he's drunk off the spongy heat the thick head of cock is squared right up against.

This position's made your cunt just that bit shorter inside thanks to gravity.

You whimper, clearly trying desperately not to start shaking.

You start shaking anyways.

He's fascinated by the small, restless palms now pressed flat and trying to find a counterpoint on his broad, tunic'd chest. Soft and un-calloused aside from the small bump of a pen's rest on your writing hand. Everything about you is warm and soft. Inside and out, you're all his.

He exhales harshly through his nose and blinks, gaze shifting from your hands to your tits, then to your face.

You wear an even more flushed expression now, overwhelmed, with all your focus on him.

Right where it always should be.

"Hurry up," he grunts sharply.

You swallow hard, and promptly drop your gaze.

You, surprisingly, manage to lift yourself up despite your theatrics. And, little by little, he watches you strain up until just the tip of him is still buried in you.

Angling yourself, you keen, carefully sinking back down on his cock and reeling at the stretch again as you settle, ass meeting his dense quads with a soft plomf.

He can see you biting back a moan, pointless as the act is.

"Keep going," Cato grits out, "I didn't tell you to stop."

You frown halfheartedly, and your insides clench around him despite yourself.

You start a slow rhythm, the noise of colliding skin on skin echoes in his ears. Slick friction, and fucked-out, half-stifled cries. Your pace quickening. Riding him. Using him at your own leisure, like the precious wretched little thing you are. You repeat the same dizzying motion again and again, and again—rising and sinking up, down, up, down; until it's clear you've found an angle that hits something just right, sending you over the edge with a rattling gasp.

A low groan crawls up the back of Cato's throat and slips free without restraint.

He's barely able to cope through the tight squeeze of your orgasm around his cock; but he steels himself, winning the fight to not spill in you right then and there at that. No small thanks to the furious couple hours he'd spent earlier in the simulated night cycle furiously attending his urges.

You stop suddenly, seated to the hilt, trembling and oversensitive—grinding back and forth, nails digging into his pectorals through his tunic.

"Just... n-need t'catch my breath..." You whimper, and that debauched tone wreaks havoc through his mind. An unceasing urge to pound you to tears overtaking what little sense he has left. It's the ravenous fact that you, the little parchment-pushing temptress, are all tuckered out from cumming on him so quickly. He's preening at the fact he feels that good to you—oh, he's going to send you limping back to your quarters.

He wants to watch you break.

"You lazy little cunt, you can't do a thing right, can you?" Cato groans, your thighs twitching as he lifts you by the hips and makes you sink back down.

He gets the treat of seeing your eyes swim back in your skull, dumb with sensation.

Lulled by the reedy, oversexed moans slipping from you with each motion; and he can't help but start thrusting up, matching pace.

"Hardly even four and a half minutes—and you're a mess, absolutely useless." He heaves, dropping you to full-hilt for a second to manoeuvre you better. You're nigh but a gasping dead-weight, delirious.

If you're going to act the entitled bitch, he'll screw you into something alike submission. Which is exactly why he's then pulling out, shoving you against the lounge on your back; and moving your thighs to bracket his hips as he half kneels on the rug. Just to slide himself back inside, balls-deep in willing flesh. The only dignity he affords you then is the space to wrap your arms around and behind his shoulders. Which you rightly do without demand.

Hold on, was the unspoken order.

Then he's fucking you into the lounge like his life depends on it. He's glad to notice it's bolted down, but the damned thing creaks—nonetheless, he can barely even hear it over the perfect sounds you're making.

Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, barely holding back the noises that choke his own gullet.

"You're so damn lucky you're a nice tight hole," he rasps harshly, "That's all you're good for, hm? For me to fill?"

There's a gutting sort of beauty in the way you're looking up at him with open desperation. He's trying so hard not to fall victim to the siren call of it, but it's perfect vile and he can't help but fold. He'd kill for that look to never leave your face when your eyes fell on him.

"Fuck, I must be in your womb at this rate—would you like that? My load in your womb?" Cato says between a great lungful of air, only to start huffing madly to himself when you nod drunkenly. "Good, because that's exactly where i-it's going."

Mind reeling with every resounding sticky slap of his balls against you, paired with scorching wet slide of him pumping in and out of you. You're crying, all your sensibilities lost in the thorough pace he's ploughing into you with; trying to pull him in by tugging at his shoulders, but with your meagre strength it's merely a vague suggestion.

Still, he leans into it, if only to finally seize the chance to lap the tears off your cheek, and you sob; trying to turn nose to nose with him. Your pathetic pawing at his broad back only exacerbates the overwhelming urgency in his blood.

He's so close.

Bliss crests up like a tide inside him, building and building, stunned with how it makes him buck into you. He's dazed in a way he surely wasn't designed to be resilient against. He can't even shut his damn mouth to stop moaning—and only technically manages to do so when you cover it with your own the very second he's about to finish; your legs squeezing impotently down on his hips, trembling through another climax.

His nerves light up like an orbital barrage, body rocking against the pretty, willing thing below him that you are. He has no idea what's going on beyond that. Are you kissing him? Is that what you're doing? Half his brain is stunned by the idea and the other half is flooded by the rushes of pleasure in his system making his tendons cramp, ravaging him with the sound of his hearts thudding in his ears.

Working himself right into agony; he's tensing against you as he empties himself as deep as he can. His pace finally breaks pattern and staccatos as his mind leadens.

Lulled by the molten satisfaction that swamps him soon thereafter, Cato blindly tries to chase forward and keep your lips on his. Emphasis on tries. He thinks he likes it, foreign as the sensation and sentiment is. He's got his tongue in your mouth, but no real clue what to do beyond lapping further in like a man dying of thirst—and then, of course, you decide to start weakly thrashing for air, blunt teeth grazing against the invading muscle—so, with a miffed groan; he pulls away, drooling as he slumps front-long against you and the lounge with a rumbling sigh, letting his eyes close as he basks in the afterglow.

You're panting still, nosing against the nape of his neck—likely having difficulty respiring under his weight—but despite that, you're still twitching around his spent cock, just like last time.

Wistfully, he wonders if he could sleep with you stuffed full of him like this. Slotted together and absolutely buried in your cunt; reaming you out as far as your small frame will allow. He enjoys the idea of that, and of holding you close.

He listens meditatively as your breathing steadily evens out, a soft in-out rhythm he can hear start in your chest only to feel warmly dancing across his collarbone a moment later.

Your small hand glides up the back of his trapezoid and combs through the short hair at his crown.

He shivers almost immediately at the act, thoughts clouding. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do, now. He can't really bring himself to do anything. He's locked in. It's like he's been sedated, or scruffed about the neck. Then your fingers trace the bare skin behind his ear, and he snaps from the trance enough to crack an eye open to glance down.

"Don't push your luck," he bites out automatically and leers away.

You immediately stiffen, and lurch yourself back—seemingly completely confused.

He's not exactly sure why he reacted that way either, but he's certainly not going to address it.

Ultimately, he opts to pull his cock out of you with scant decorum rather than linger on the topic. Then he settles into a kneel as he eyes the soaked-in stain below the bunched-up fabric of your robe.

"Well," he snorts.

And damn, it's difficult to hold a straight face at the overdramatic, painfully oblivious pout you shoot him.

So, Cato just continues watching you with a cruel sort of satisfaction as you sit yourself up shakily, and realise the mess.

You blanch, promptly shutting your legs and fussing—your ass is half stuck to the fabric of the lounge by your own slick and his spent when you move to stand on shaky, unsure legs.

He's aware of the fact you're after something to wipe away the aftermath. But he's far too content observing you struggle for the moment. Pleased, even. Especially when he's treated to the cringing gasp that slips from you when his semen no doubt starts dripping down your thighs.

You're panicking within seconds. He can hear your heartbeat quickening, plus the acrid tang of baseline stress hormones pervading the room.

There's nothing to spare. Unless you want to leave another smear across the lounge cushioning, but he doubts you'd go so low. He, however, has no such reservations—and yanks the plush velour padded square up to wipe his cock off. It's not as if he wasn't going to toss it down one of the incinerator shafts on the library's second floor anyways.

"Do—" you begin softly, but amend yourself, "Would y-you have anything... to..."

He stares at you, brows furrowed.

Floundering now, you waddle close and swallow harshly.

"To... wipe this up?" You finish, barely a whisper. He can tell you're sour at the fact you're stroking his ego and essentially too full of him to go anywhere.

Cato scoffs, holding up the seating cushion, "What? Too spoilt to use this?"

You cringe at him, "People have sat on that—hundreds of people, probably. I-I don't have your immunity to infection."

Cato cedes on that point at least, because he assumes being a baseline is hell. And so very not his problem, too.

Completely out of left field, comes the temptation to lick you clean. His mulish hind-brain reasons it's a brilliant idea, namely because you'd likely be squirming for him again. Even if he has no real idea of what to do beyond that. Lap at your clit, probably—he's not actually done any of this before except—well, except just slamming into you. He has the basic gist of all of this from biologis graphics and pornographic motionpicts. Yes, the latter are technically contraband on Ultramarine chapter vessels—Throne, he actually remembers when that was put into force. He was still green behind the ears when that'd happened. But those specific brothers had displayed it for abstract amusement, not... it's intended purpose—rather: 'Lo, look at this curiosity, brothers! See they're fornicating, how very so strange! Baselines am-i-right?'

Honestly, it's never actually anything heretical, except for maybe the terrible acting.

He'd deem that punishable by death.

Regardless, Cato's guessing the process of licking something can't really be some sage art form. Not like duelling, and fuck, he's stellar at that. He's stellar at almost everything, he reasons. So why not that? You're such a wanton little thing he'd probably make you finish on accident.

Yet he decides against it as soon as the logical part of his brain boots back up. Largely given the fact he's probably already going to have a hard time as it is trying to avoid others on his way to mask the stink of sex. His brothers have keen noses, it wouldn't be difficult for them to notice the smell of you on his way to his chamber if he's not careful. Let alone if it's smeared all over his face. Next time, however—

"Surely it's not that bad," he says off-handedly.

A surge of shame appears on your face as a red, blotchy belt across your cheeks, and you seem about to protest before he grumbles.

"Still, you really ought to find a solution," he remarks idly, and he notices the implication isn't lost on you.

You frown softly, and wrinkle your nose at him.

"Maybe some manners would help you achieve your goals," he adds, with a clearer spite.

Your frown grows nigh comically harsh.

Cato grunts wryly, satisfied at your annoyance and paws at the hem of his tunic—tearing a portion off and holding it out to you.

You grab the edge of it and tug, but he doesn't let go.

"And what do you say?"

"Thanks," you answer hastily.

He raises an eyebrow and pulls the torn fabric back towards himself ever so slightly, causing you to over extend closer to him.

His stare stays locked on yours, and he gets the treat of watching you dither and fluster under his focus momentarily before you amend, "T-Thank you..." you swallow, and break eye contact, adding; "Commander Sicarius."

"Was that so hard?" Cato scoffs, especially thrilled as he lets go of the scrap—eyeing you as you trot aside, and gingerly begin to wipe away the mess of satisfaction coating your thighs and rear.

When you're decidedly done, you stomp back over to him and hold out the soiled fabric.

He reaches for it, only to have it promptly pulled away.

Cato scowls, and takes a step forward into your space—only for you to inch forward into his.

You're tormenting him then, he decides; or rather he thinks. He's not sure. You don't look smug—you look... nervous? Your lips have drawn into a thin line and you keep glancing between his eyes and behind him randomly.

"What?" He huffs, narrowing his eyes.

"Lean down," you mumble, then quietly make the additional effort of throwing in a "...please."

Cato grumbles at the request but complies, and Throne, he's glad he does; because suddenly you're up on your tip-toes, your hand on his jaw—and your lips are on his cheek.

He blinks, dumb as a mule. It's over as fast as it started and he can't even begin to unpack the elation he's abruptly feeling.

Heedless of his dazzled state, you clear your throat with a bashful laugh—and then the rag is suddenly stuffed into his open hand. He's still frozen there as you practically rush out the room, scooping your previously flung data-slate up as you frantically wave the door mechanism open and vanish from view.

A long wheeze escapes his throat in the empty room, his face thudding with heat.

Oh, he's fucked fucked.

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Twenty-Three)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Miguel is rutting, Reader is in heat, Breeding kink, Overstimulation, Rough & Gentle PinV sex, Oral sex.

Word count: 5338

Notes: IM BACCCKKK!! Daddy's come back with milk and oh god we all know what kind of milk I mean, ENJOY! Threesome chapter will be next, along with a non-threesome version, thanks to the last poll we did. Both can be interpreted as canon, it's whatever you want.

Mig was right. It was a long week.

While you could go for maybe an hour or more without feeling the urge, when it hit you were almost incapacitated by a need for each other.

Most of the time Mig approached you in a soft, docile, almost submissive manner. He’d get on his belly and rustle his abdomen, affectionately laying his head on your thighs, or he’d grind his pulsating cock between those same thighs while whispering and purring against your neck.

He’d kiss your head as he moved slowly inside you, petting your chest and hips while he praised how good you were. His good arañita, his small, perfect arañita, sweet and warm. He’d tell you not to worry, to just relax, that he’d take care of you.

But every so often, something seemed to stir up the absolute animal in him.

He became obsessive, possessive, fixated on that primal itch at the back of his mind to be successful in his mating. He’d pin you down hard and mount you from behind, digging his claws in deep while his cock probed deep, thrusting inside you like he wanted to physically push into your womb itself.

And god, the things he said.

The growling, the hissing, demanding to father your offspring, ordering you to get pregnant, ordering you to take it. You indulged him too much in this state. It created the fiercest pleasure in you, the most potent, soul-shaking orgasms, to let him fuck you like a beast until you were shaking and weak.

He’d always calm down after ejaculating, and every time he showed you the same level of aftercare. He’d cradle you close and keep you warm, licking venom across the places you were sore, shifting between constant praise and kisses. Still, the animal just kept coming back.

When you simply couldn’t handle being penetrated anymore, the only option left was to try oral or mutual masturbation, but that proved a little difficult with how different your bodies were.

At first Mig got desperate, and resorted to webbing your body upside down on the wall so you could pleasure each other with your mouths at the same time. He’d ravenously suck on your clit while you struggled to get your mouth around the tip of his bulbous cock, feeding each other’s delusional lust with soft, muffled moans and lapping tongues.

When he’d cum you swallowed as much as you could of the thick, strangely sweet stuff, but inevitably about half of it ended up coating your jaw and neck, and the sight of that just set him off all over again.

But then you started getting lightheaded. You were forced to resort to lying in bed instead, where you’d suck him off until he came and then let him taste you until you shuddered into your own orgasm, going back and forth in this dizzying tasting session until he inevitably broke and just fucked you again.

It was a mess. A wet, literal mess, a cycle of mating and sleeping with little in between, but between sessions you did get a few moments of lucidity to enjoy his company too. It was gratifying to lie on the clean side of the bed in his arms, talking about nothing while he groomed your hair. Whether he was being unintentionally funny or having a real discussion, he was always interesting to talk to, and when you had nothing to talk about you still felt wanted.

He'd wake you up with food whenever he had a moment of control. He always wanted to hear that you liked it, and when you said it was great, he’d bristle with pride.

Even in this strange, dizzying state, you were continuing to fall hard for Mig. You were becoming docile, domestic almost. His home felt like your home now, and more importantly, he felt like home. The sex was fun, yes, but it was also a reminder of how normal his body was, how much you trusted him with your own body.

You lost track of time in that warm, sweet den, indulging in each other like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Part of you wanted to just stay like this in perpetuity, but the world wouldn’t slow down for you, and soon other needs would catch up with the both of you.

….

About five days into the second heat, you woke to find yourself alone in bed. You were splayed out on your deflated mattress, utterly drowning in silk blankets and stuffed pillows, but the usual warm fluff you now associated with bedtime was gone.

Mig wasn’t here.

You arched your back and rubbed your face as you came to your senses. Thank God, you weren’t burning up right now.

In that brief respite you had time to think.

You needed to go to the medical bay. You needed more back up. Your patch was due to run out soon and you weren’t even sure it could withstand what you’d done, not to mention the strain on your body was very real and very taxing. Anything to ease the soreness, or perhaps to bring back the proper function of your limbs, would be greatly appreciated.

You just had to get past Mig.

The work you’d made on his possessive nature had been a little set back after the pollen incident. Whether it was his hormones or his lingering anger at Miguel, the poor man couldn’t let you out of his sight.

When you went to get food, or even just to clean yourself, he insisted on being at your side through it all. He was still compelled to scent mark you, and sometimes in his sleep he’d pin you down and growl as he pulled you close.

He was relapsing hard, despite his best efforts. That was partially why it was so strange that he wasn’t here right now. With a yawn and a stretch, you decided to go find him.

You staggered about the den with a silk blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

You noticed, as you moved from room to room, that a cold breeze kept blowing the blanket up around your feet. That could only mean one thing: the front door was open. You followed the great earthy tunnels up to the surface, emerging into a pale pink dawn, and there you found him.

That beautiful beast was stationed at the nests entrance like a gargoyle. In the morning mist and glistening dew he looked like an honest to god sculpture, chiselled and glowing in the pastel light. You bit your lip at the sight as you sidled up to his side.

‘Mig? Babe?’

He turned and purred at the sight of you. The way his face changed made you melt a little inside; it was all involuntary, the way his eyes widened and his lips automatically curled into a smile. ‘Mi arañita, what are you doing up?’ he asked.

‘I could ask the same of you, dummy. I was worried about you.’

He let you slouch down against his abdomen, his spider legs stretching to tuck you in at his side. He clung to you tight.

‘I just wanted to give you some space, and—well, I think the hormones are giving me ah… guarding reflexes’ he said. ‘I have a drive to just, protect the nest. I’m not sure from what, I just- I know I should. I know I have to guard you.’

‘Guarding your little treasure hoard, huh?’ you teased.

‘Mm. Mi tesoro. My priceless little thing’ he said softly. You nuzzled his side.

‘Well, you’re not gonna like this next bit then.’

‘This—next, what? What bit?’

You sighed. ‘Mig, I think I should I go to the medical bay. At the HQ. Just quickly! I need to get more birth control patches, and I think it might be worth seeing if they recommend anything else I can… Ah, it sound so, crass, but, I can only put off wanting you inside me for so long, and I could use something to ease the uh… aching.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. Is it, still bad?’

You couldn’t help but smile. ‘My darling Mig, how do I say this… You are, REALLY, really well endowed, and you are inside me almost half the day. Yes, it’s quite bad.’

You saw his brows go up in distress. ‘Mi arañita… I’m, so sorry—’

‘Don’t be sorry, Mig. It’s not your fault that I want you’ you said, trying to play it off with another laugh to ease his worry. ‘We’re about 50/50 on the whole, begging the other for sex, so I take full responsibility for my own soreness.’

‘Well, are you sure you need to go to the medical bay? I can still use my venom if you’re in pain. You said it helped.’

‘Yeah. Yeah I mean, it does, a bit, but- I also know too much of it will paralyze me’ you retorted. ‘I saw that with Miguel.’

‘I can control it’ he insisted back. ‘I can control whether I release it or not, I’d never paralyze you on purpose.’

‘Of course not, I’m not saying that. I just—I trust you, Mig, and I wouldn’t blame you for slipping up, but good will and the best intentions don’t stop mistakes, and it’s mistakes I’m worried about. Plus, the venom won’t keep babies at bay, will it?’

You rolled your eyes at his instinctive little butt wiggle, the way his abdomen vibrated to betray how excited just a mention of such a thing made him. His primal brain was still so hooked on that thought, that deep rooted fetish, that desire to breed you. He coughed to cover what was already painfully obvious.

‘It—it, will not. I feel like, I am sadly the opposite of birth control.’

For a moment you were still. Then you snorted, and you giggled, and that giggle spiralled into laughter. He just smiled back with that same patient expression.

‘Oh my god, Mig. Ah. Oh—okay look, what I was saying is, I just need to visit the bay for a bit, then I will come straight back, and you can have me all to yourself.’

As you posited your idea to him, he took a moment to mull it over. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his mouth as his eyes wandered over the misty horizon.

 ‘Mm. Very well. But I will go with you’ Mig grunted.

‘What? Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mig, I—’

‘I’m going with you.’

You squeaked as his leg suddenly drew you closer. Glancing through his thick fur, you noticed that his eyes had narrowed. ‘Uh… Mig? You okay?’ you asked. His eyes narrowed further.

‘I don’t know who else in that place might—smell you’ he said. His voice was now low, monotone, dangerous.

‘You—you let me go before’ you said. His leg wound tighter, gripping you like a snake coiled around its prey.

‘Yes, because I physically couldn’t follow you in. And you got grabbed by… him’ he hissed. ‘I won’t let that happen again.’

‘Mig…’ You sighed and gently pet his flank, noting the disgruntled way that his legs were tapping.

‘I… I will not, get in the way, but I am asking, just—to please, let me accompany you’ he pleaded.

God, it was hard to say no to that face. Those big red eyes, those full lips pouting slightly as he silently begged for your favour. It didn’t help you were so unbearably horny for him. Part of you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, if it just meant he’d bend you over again, and give you a little taste of that perfect monster shaft.

Your thoughts must have shown in your face as his sadness shifted slightly into curiosity. You saw his eyes darting over your body’s contours beneath the silk blanket and quickly shoved him with your hand.

‘My god—okay! You can, accompany me. You are a member now I guess, it’s only fair. I only made you stay last time because you said you couldn’t enter the HQ, so… sure. Come.’

His body began to vibrate against your back as he purred with joy.

‘Wonderful. Mil gracias, arañita. I promise I will keep you safe.’

…

In sharp contrast to the comfort of your little isolated den, it was unbearably awkward to make your way through the HQ with Mig.

It’d been awkward the first time you’d gone to the medical bay, when nobody had known your reason for coming nor your relationship to the giant spider, but now? Now the eyes on you were ravenous and aware.

Mig’s body language was so overt even a fool could pick it up. He was hovering around your back with his fur bristled and sharp, his eyes fixated on anyone who drifted too close.

And you, with your body dotted with hickies and bite marks, with your legs still shaky and your hip bones bruised, it was painfully obvious. Luckily for you most people chose to keep their snide smiles to themselves. They found it weird, yes, but they found him too scary to question at this point.

You walked together to the medical bay without any major incidents, though one thought began to nag you as you delved deeper. Last time you’d been here you’d felt Miguel watching you, and now, nothing.

You’d heard nothing about Miguel’s whereabouts since the calls from Peter and Jess five days ago, so you were unsure if he’d returned or not. Your senses told you he hadn’t.

You felt a little pang in your gut as you walked into the medical bay. You had a lot of distaste for the man, but you still hoped he was okay. You didn’t want him to have done anything stupid.

As you got into line you felt Mig bristling, and in your heart, you knew he felt the same.

‘Where do you think he is?’ you whispered up to Mig. He let out a low growl at the reminder of his foe and his unusual disappearance, which also let you know that you were right, and he had been thinking of him too.

‘I don’t know’ he whispered back. ‘And frankly, I don’t care.’

‘I mean, you do. You do care where he is’ you said. ‘You’re worried he might be around, you’re worried he’ll approach me again, I know that for sure.’

‘I care about his proximity to me, and his proximity to you’ Mig grumbled. ‘Outside of that, at this point, he can choke.’

You pursed your lips. ‘Do—Do you really want him, dead?’ you whispered.

Mig narrowed his eyes further. It took him a moment to reply. ‘I… I don’t know.’

‘Mig, I get it. Obviously I don’t like him, but—I just don’t want him to be hurt. Like, hurt hurt. He’s a massive prick but—I mean he’s a person’ you said. It was clear from your tone even you weren’t sure of what you were saying. ‘I’d like to know he’s around, just, away from me. You know?’

You saw the momentary conflict in Mig’s eyes as he rolled his tongue. ‘Mm… I know. I know. I just—I don’t, want to talk about it, please’ Mig insisted. You nodded and gave his flank an affectionate pat.

You sidled up to the desk and put in your usual request to a slightly disgruntled looking receptionist. They requested Mig stay outside but he abjectly, if politely, refused, and not wanting to question the giant spider he was allowed to accompany you through the motions.

It was so much worse.

It was so, so much worse, to stand on the scanner and have Lyla look at the amount of semen inside you while its donor was glowering at you from across the room like a jealous dragon. It was so much worse to be asked, ‘how active are you?’ when Mig was there, a perfect example of who you’d been active with, as you said ‘up to ten times a day’.

It was so much worse that, when asked further questions about anatomical issues, Mig was there to answer in his usual blunt fashion. His casual description of his phallus size, detailing nonchalantly that, yes, he did slather your nether regions with venom to make it less painful. You could see Lyla eating up every word he said.

It at least invoked a kind of sympathy in the horrified nurse, as she willingly signed over whatever you wanted. Pain medication both topical and oral, stronger birth control, and anti-venom shots in case he injected too much.

As you made your way out you could only cope by laughing about it with him.

‘You are—a nightmare, Miguel O’Hara, I swear to god.’ As you spoke you let out a dramatic sigh that turned into stuttered laughter, all while Mig watched with endeared bur confused eyes.

‘Did—Did I do something wrong again?’ he whispered. You could feel him leaning in at your back, begging for affirmation, and despite being exasperated to the point of exhaustion you gave it. You held his little foreleg as you walked into the waiting room.

‘You are so… honest’ you laughed. ‘Just, SO honest.’

‘Is that not a positive trait?’ he asked.

‘Oh, it is. It is. I love that about you, but I also hate it.’ As you spoke you turned to cup his hips in your hands, holding him tenderly. ‘But, I’m willing to put up with it, which I suppose is a good sign, right?’

Mig blinked at you, his eyes wide. ‘Good, because… It means, I am worth the effort?’

‘Very much so’ you whispered. His abdomen rustled furiously even as his face remained calm. ‘Mm… Mm. Good. I am- glad. You are, worth, a lot to me’ he replied in that sweet, shy, stilted manner. You just chuckled.

‘You have such a way with words. Anything else you wanna say?’ you asked, your head tilted. Mig froze.

He knew what you meant. You’d both been teetering on the edge of saying it for a while: the big ‘L’, the biggest thing he could ever say. The moment where he admitted he loved you. He’d blurted it in front of his counterpart before, but to say it to your face? That was terrifying.

He hadn’t said he loved someone since Dana, and this was so much more. He wanted to keep you, to hold you, to see you every morning, but something in him just couldn’t say it. He was still terrified of something going wrong, of repeating his mistakes, and saying that word felt like moving too close to the sun.

And you, you weren’t much better. You were terrified of saying it and of him not returning the sentiment. It felt selfish, in a way, but you just kept waiting for him to say it first.

‘I… You, are mi tesoro’ Mig said softly. His hand cupped your cheek. ‘You are dear, to me. And I hope that I can keep waking up beside you.’

Your heart tripled over beneath his gaze. It wasn’t quite what you wanted, but it was enough for now. ‘I hope so too’ you whispered, and with one last squeeze you let him go.

You stepped into the reception room to find it almost entirely deserted, spare for one or two people milling about in chairs. You were grateful for the privacy as the reception called you over and handed to you those thick bags filled with pain relief and birth control.

‘We’re just waiting for one more thing, is that okay?’ the reception asked. You nodded.

‘Ah, sure, we can um—we can wait’ you said, but as you hurried back to Mig’s side you didn’t look as sure as you’d sounded.

‘Shiiittt. I don’t know how long we have before it—you know’ you whispered up at him.

‘The violent passion of the heat overtakes us both and we begin copulating on the floor of this public establishment?’ Mig replied. You grit your teeth.

‘Yes. Yes, that exactly’ you hissed back.

‘Ah… too blunt, right?’

‘Yes. Very blunt.’

‘But just between us, that is okay, right?’

‘We’re in a hospital waiting room!’

It was halfway through your whispered shouting match that you heard the reception call.

‘Anti-venom?’

Ah. That was the last bit you needed, you thought. What a weirdly quick turnaround, especially when she’d just asked you to wait. You turned and blindly reached to grab the bag from the receptionist, only to lock hands with someone else. You baulked and spun.

There was a man beside you, roughly your age and height, and he was reaching for the same bag of anti-venom.

‘You—can I help you?’ you stammered. The man frowned.

‘I—’

‘Oh, sorry, you both have—sorry that’s my mistake’ the receptionist said, interrupting you both as she yanked the bag back. ‘I have prescriptions for you both.’

You remained locked onto the other man as the receptionist rushed back to speak to the counter. He looked horrified, but of what? Your eyes narrowed. Why would anyone else here need anti-venom?

‘Sorry about that. You both ordered the same, thing, ah—Okay, here.’

The reception put both bags down and pushed them towards the two of you, but you didn’t even notice. You were unblinkingly focused on the other man’s face. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

‘Ah… Thank you. Sorry. I will… go, now’ he blurted, and before you could speak he’d grabbed the bag and hurried for the door. You grabbed your own and followed in hot pursuit.

‘Arañita?’

Mig crawled after you in haste. His sudden emergence into the main lobby caused a few startled screams, but you refused to turn. You were following that man with absolute dedication.

‘Arañita—what is it? What’s wrong?’ he hissed as he caught up with your stride.

‘HIM’ you hissed back, your eyes fixed on the man speed walking away. ‘I need to talk to him!’

Mig blinked. Without even questioning your motive he bowed to your needs, and with the power of his giant spider legs he gave you a little push across the slippery floor so you could close the gap between you and the stranger.

You skidded up and grasped him by the shoulder. ‘Hey! Hey, you—’

‘SHIT!’

The man jumped when you touched him, causing you to quickly retract your hand. ‘Sorry! Sorry, I just—’

‘Oh, I thought—I was having a heart attack, my, god’ the man panted. You watched him clutch his chest and heave, awkwardly and impatiently waiting to speak. ‘How did I not hear you? My senses are… awful, man—’

‘Look, I—’

‘You, you’re the one dating Miguel’s variant, right? The big spider?’

You were surprised when the man addressed you first. His eyes were on his suit as he brushed it down, but every so often he’d cast you a glance. He thankfully didn’t look angry.

‘I am’ you blurted, ‘yes, I’m—with, Mig. Spider Mig. Spider, Miguel. I’m sorry, again.’

He nodded. ‘Right. Yeah. Hence the uh- the, anti-venom. Right?’

‘Yeessss’ you said, clearly if wordlessly putting emphasis on the fact that he, also, had anti-venom in his hand. He noted where your eyes were drifting and accidentally looked down himself, glancing to the bag in his hand, which he immediately then tried to hide behind his back.

‘So, you uh… Other, Miguel, I’m assuming?’ you asked slowly.

The poor man was almost squirming on the spot.

‘You’re not a, spider, right? Like a regular one?’ you inquired when he failed to reply, noting his unusual suit and lack of mask. He sighed dramatically and leaned in close.

‘I—shit, I—look, I’m a physiotherapist, I work for the HQ’ the man hissed. ‘I’m—friends, with Miguel.’

‘Friends?’

‘Yes! Don’t look at me like that. I mean that, genuinely. We are friends. He—has a lot of, physical issues due to his biology, the mutations, and he pushes himself physically so much harder than anyone else, so he needs a lot of help.’

‘Right’ you said, slowly nodding along. After a moments silence spent staring at each other, teetering on the edge of the truth, the man sighed again.

‘I— Fuck, okay. We are, friends, and—Very, rarely, we engage in—we, do—’

‘He gets you to have sex with him, right? Because of the rut?’ you asserted.

The man recoiled in surprise and horror. ‘We—No! He doesn’t get me to—I mean we fucked like, one time, a really long time ago, but that—I really didn’t want to be interrogated today, you know.’

‘Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to interrogate, I was, curious? I guess? Or—’ You paused to breath as all your worries spilled from your mouth.

‘No, okay, for context, Miguel’s been gone for a few days and I said I’d keep an eye out but, more than that there’s a lot of complicated stuff going on, I think we were the last people to see him before he vanished, so—I’m not asking to shame you or, out of the blue, he—there’s a lot of stuff with him implying to Mig and to me that he wasn’t allowed to have relationships like this but then doing it anyway in secret so I’m just—’

‘Oh, ohhh okay.’

To your surprise the man interrupted your spiel was a soft ‘oh’ face of recognition. ‘I gotcha. Of course, you know him too, you’re dating his variant. But surely then, come on, you know about all his weird hypocrisies by now, right?’

‘His, what?’ you asked. The man snorted with laughter.

‘What you just said, about his weird hang ups. God the man spends twice as much time moping about his slip ups as he does actually making them. That dumbass. Trust me, if I wanted any more out of him than being friends, I’d have fucking strangled the man. He’s a mess. But, I don’t, which I think is why he comes to me. He gets in those, ‘moods’, and—I usually just, yanno, help him out. Hands or mouth. And, he does the same.’

‘Oh… Oh, huh.’

The man gave another shrug as you mulled over this new information. ‘So… you’re not, put off? By how… Much he is?’ you said subtly. Again, the man chuckled.

‘What do you mean? I mean he’s stubborn, and a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s fine, that’s fun. He’s still so nice.’

Your look of shock seemed to surprise the man. His smile faded in the face of your overt confusion. ‘He—are you, okay?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, just… Did you say he’s, nice?’

‘Yeah! Of course. I mean he’d hate me saying that out loud, he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s nice, but I know. He overworks himself to death trying to keep this place running. He’s always on edge because he’s always worried, so he plays off like he’s all… you know, cold and scary, but he’s soft inside. I’m, assuming you don’t know him that well, then?’

You remained utterly confused by this weird interpretation of the Miguel you’d met. ‘He—I mean, yeah, I thought I knew him pretty well, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do anything, nice’ you retorted.

Your overt distaste must have shown in your words, because the man suddenly looked disheartened. He coughed before speaking again.

‘He uh— I mean for me, and this is just me, but—when I couldn’t get surgery in my own universe, he secretly filed to let me have it here instead, and when the medical bay took too long, he personally went there and chewed them out for it. He never told me about it, Peter did, but post-surgery he’d always ask how I was doing. I’d show him and he’d just… give me a thumbs up and say, looks good, and that’d be it. Nobodies ever gone out of there way like that for me, ever, and he did it without complaint.’

Your eyes widened. Now this, this was interesting. You couldn’t imagine the Miguel you’d had to deal with being that considerate, that selfless, and yet, this guy had no reason to lie. Surely there had to be more to it, right?

‘Was… this, when you were, messing around?’ you asked slowly.

‘Oh, no. This was before that’ the man said nonchalantly. ‘Like I said, we were just friends. We still are. I appreciate that he’s never asked for more, honestly.’

Oh dear, you thought, you’d run out of justifications. Why had he been so aggressive with you then? Why was he so angry, so vindictive?

‘I mean, he’s—he’s also REALLY hot’ the man added with a slight laugh. ‘Like, REALLY hot. No offense but I used to have clients talk about how weird it was, you and the spider hybrid, I had to bite my tongue from saying bitch what are you TALKING about? I’d overlook much worse shit to just LOOK at that man.’

As the man chuckled you found yourself awkwardly laughing with him. You didn’t exactly have the best of terms with Miguel, but, clearly this guy had a very different experience. More importantly, you now had a solid lead on where Miguel had potentially gone.

‘So, you saw him recently?’ you queried.

‘Yeah. Well—Look, I know you get it, so, all I’ll say is I saw him about… four, days ago? That’s all I’ll say. I got this just in case, cos it’d been so long since the last time I forgot to stock up.’

You perked up a little as he spoke. Four days ago. That was after Peter mentioned he was gone, a full day after he gave in the paperwork for you and Mig.

‘Is… Is he, okay?’ you asked quietly. To your relief he nodded.

‘Yeah. Yeah he seemed fine, he seemed a bit more grumpy but that’s typical for him. He just, took sabbatical, he said. He wanted to figure some stuff out. He came over to relax then bounced. It’s not uncommon.’

To your surprise, you let out a soft sigh of relief. Had you been holding that in? You opened your mouth to thank the man and to ask his name, but something else hit you before you could.

Your whole body throbbed. You had to rub your thighs together to stop yourself from trembling, as the most vicious, potent heat slid through your veins. Your horror must have shown as the man tried to help you stand.

‘Hey, are you—’

‘BACK!’

You squeaked as something firm and furry grabbed your waist. You were pulled taut to Mig’s side as he appeared at your back, his eyes wide and his fangs bared. He was hissing aggresively as he held you close. You could feel it beneath his fur; that violent, overpowering rut, brewing and overflowing inside him. 

To your surprise, the man took no offense. He seemed to see those glowing eyes and recognise something in them. ‘Oh. Oh! Okay. No worries, I got it. You don’t gotta worry about me. You two uh—you two have fun.’

The man waved once before speed walking in the other direction, leaving you and Miguel to panic in silence.

You could both feel the heat brewing to the point it hurt. There were eyes everywhere, eyes all around you, glowering and gleaming. You knew you didn’t have much time before you both lost all social inhibition to your need.

Your eyes met, once, only to find that just locking gaze was too erotic in this state. You both turned and glanced in unison at the same thing; the nearby elevator, the one just large enough to fit Mig inside.

You swallowed hard. You were burning up, physically sweating beneath your suit. You weren’t thinking straight at all. In the moment, all you could do was act. You both barrelled into the elevator together.

Time to make another mistake.

Link to next part!

[ellieslittlewh0re]

hi shelby! i love everything you write, you’re incredible. could you maybe write something where abby x reader are in a super toxic relationship but reader keeps coming back because the sex is too good? (even though reader swears it’s the last time)

heartbeat - abby anderson x fem! reader

(yes this is named after the childish gambino song lol)

a/n - ahhhh!! my first request! I hope it’s okay :(((

wk - 1.7k

additional tags - toxic relationship, heated argument, strap on usage (reader receiving) , abby calls reader mommy (pls bare w me), doggy style bc I’m a whore, happy ending, dom abby, sub reader, SMUT!!

“So what, you’re seriously going to leave again?” Abby yells, her hands waving in the air before coming down to slam against her thighs.

You roll your eyes, trying to block out the sound of her anger induced voice that you’ve come to know so well.

Three fucking years of this shit, constant fighting and endless cycles. Everything you two did, was passionate, from fucking to screaming matches and everything in between. It definitely wasn’t all Abby’s doing, you had your contribution to this toxic relationship, but the only difference is, you were always the one to leave when shit got bad. You’d tell yourself, this is the last time, that you finally had enough of her overbearing protective behavior, but you always found yourself coming back, practically begging at her feet.

You turn away from your bag that you messily packing, clothes hanging out the sides.

“Fuck you.” You spit, not at all hiding your contempt for your girlfriend in that moment.

She scoffs, roiling her eyes- and wait… was she smiling?

Your anger grew from her lack to ever take you seriously when you threatened that you’d leave, but she knew you better than that, after all.. she knows you best.

“You’re not leaving y/n.” She mocked, a grin still pressed on her face.

You shake your head to yourself, turning back around to finish stuffing clothes into the suitcase when hands on the back of your hips stopped you.

“Don’t be like this, baby… jus’ come to bed and I’ll help you forget that this ever happened.” She breathed into your neck, placing soft kisses to the spot just below your ear that never failed to make you go weak.

“M’ not doing this abs, not again.” You try to focus on the clothes, your hands started to move slower against the textiles.

Her arms slither between yours, moving to hold your back firmly against her tight chest.

“Just give in, you know you want to.” You can practically feel her smirk against your neck, her teeth grazing the delicate skin.

She tightened her grip on you, pulling you closer to her. The strap she wore under her sweatpants bumped against your ass with this movement, almost making you moan.

You turn around, pushing against her chest to create some distance.

“I mean it abs..” you try to sound stern, but it comes off meek and unconvincing.

She doesn’t reply, instead her fingers traced along your sides, dipping down to the hem your tank top, slightly moving it to expose the skin on your hip.

You stopped breathing for a second and are instantly reminded why you always come back. Abby had a power over you, a spell of some sort.

“I know you do babe, lemme say I’m sorry.” Her hands found your face, cupping it harshly and pulling you in for a kiss. It was ravenous, but she kept her composure, you on the other hand? Not so much.

You moaned into her, your hand pulling her closer by her hip, feeling her strap brush against your lower stomach.

“That’s it, baby.. atta girl.” She praised between open mouth kisses, her hand coming down to your throat to squeeze it, not too hard, but just hard enough to where she knew you liked it.

Almost immediately, you forgot why you were so mad in the first place, something to do with her getting mad at you because you came home late? Whatever..

"Fuu- Abby..." you roll your head to the side, giving her full access to your neck, which she went to work on, sucking the skin and pulling at it gently with her teeth, making sure to leave maroon splotches to mark you as hers.

"You still want to leave, huh?" She retorted, placing breathy kisses between each word while her moved down your torso, slipping past the waistband of your shorts and panties.

Your knees also give out when her fingers came in contact with your pussy, gliding her middle finger between you folds, collecting the slick.

"I've barely touched you, and you're already this wet? Fuck.. baby." Her tone indicated a hit of humiliation, her finger entering, curving inside, but not all the way.

She repeated this torture, kissing your neck, holding you in place by your jaw, and her finger only slipping in to the first knuckle. She preferred to get you like, all dumb and jelly in her hands, all the while doing the bare minimum. She wanted to tease you, give you a fraction of what you really wanted, and you'd beg her for more.

"A-abs please.." You use the dinning table behind you as support, practically sitting on it to prevent yourself from falling.

Abby chucked at your pathetic state, feeling pleased by how easy you gave in to her.

"Just say the words mommy, and I'll give it to you how you like it."

You shudder, goosebumps erupting across your skin, and who are you to neglect your needs.

"F-fuckin'- jus' touch me.. please." You barely manage through heavy breaths, and Abby couldn't be more eager to fulfill your needs.

She muttered praises, calling you "good girl" and "m' gonna take care of you" as her big, strong hands turn you around in one swift motion, gripping your hips, pressing the silicone against your ass. She ground it in place, looking down at how eagerly your back arched, pushing your ass against it.

You whine from the lack of fullness in your tummy, and your cunt clenching around nothing.

She took her time riling you up, her hands wonder underneath the thin fabric of your tank top, cupping your tits with her calloused hands, rolling the hardened peak between her fingers.

You begged, your body contorting beneath her. She finally gave in to you, her fingers crudely yanked down your shorts, not even bothering to take them off completely.

She bent you over the table, the back of her hand squeezing the nape of your neck to keep you in place, your face squished against the oak table.

You cry out a yelp of surprise and anticipation, your cunt dripping with instinct.

"You gonna let me take care of you, huh? gonna let me use you, mommy?" She said, sounding eerily calm as her fingers messily spread your slick down your inner thighs and ass.

You couldn't even speak, too lust drunk to form a sentence, instead you just meekly nod your head against the wood.

Abby tugged her sweatpants down to her mid thighs, just enough to free her strap. She picked this one out specifically for you, knowing it was your favorite. It was black, 7.5 inches and girthy. It filled you up just right, not leaving any empty space when it was buried inside you.

She slipped her middle finger inside, her wrist bumping against your ass as she curled it, adding a second finger and scissoring them inside you.

You whine, a pool of spit collecting on the table from your parted lips.

"Just- fuck... jus' fuck me already." You begged, needing her inside you now or you felt like you combust.

"S' gonna hurt, baby... gotta make sure you're ready." as strong as she was, she never wanted to actually harm you.

You object, shaking your head.

"D-don't care.."

Abby, being the obeying girlfriend she is.. she did what she was told, holding the base of the strap and sunk it into you, pausing halfway to let your walls mold and relax around it before furthering it inside, letting it disappear inside your cunt.

You sigh in relief as the discomfort is replaced with ecstasy, feeling her cock bump against your g-spot.

"Mm- fuck.. y-yeah jus' like that abs.." you moan, bitting down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste iron.

The fat on your ass ricocheting against her hips as she thrusted into you, sent Abby into a spiral. She quickened her pace, getting more animalistic with her movements, small moans escaping her own mouth from the harness tightening, bumping into her clit.

She was growing impatient, frustrated even, her hand grabbed your wrist, bringing it behind and securing it on your lower back, while the other fisted your ass, and her hips snapping against you.

You whine and whimper, jaw open and your eyes rolled back into your head. The whole scene was disgusting, your tank top was was in disarray on your body, pushed up to expose your tits that were pressed against the table, your body limp and your mind completely fucking dumb, wrist starting to hurt from her strong grip while your other hand clawed weakly at the grain.

This is what always kept you coming back- the way your girlfriend always knew how you wanted to be treated. Sure, there were times it was sweet, and tender, but she knew when you wanted to be treated like a toy.

"G-gonna cum, m' gonna cum.." you barely make out, no more than a chanted whisper.

M-me to- fuck... jus' hang on for me baby." She moaned, breathing heavily and intensifying her movements as she chased her own building release, pistoning each blow against your cervix.

Your body tenses, stiffening your hips, jaw slack and eyes squeezing shut as you came undone. Abbys eyebrows furrowed upwards, lips parted as she selfishly continued on your aching cunt, muttering "I'm sorrys" and "so close" through thick breaths.

You cry out, your pussy aching, but you took it.

With a few more thrusts, abby moans, high pitched and sounding so sweet as she peaks, slowing her movements before slowly slipping out, a stream of your slick dripping down your thighs as she does so.

You stay bent over the table for a few seconds, catching your breath before finally standing and fixing yourself, pulling up your shorts and straightening your top.

You turn to face your girlfriend, her face sympathetic and adorn with a layer or sweat. Her hands come up to hold your upper arms, rubbing the skin gently before cupping your face. She kisses you, the sweetest you've ever been kissed, full of love and worship.

Maybe you will stay this time.