#tw nude woman

[120daysofsodomm]

[rraxx87]

Kind of nude I got obsessed with drawing woman’s bodies

With filter or without? Every time I try to put on filters, later I think the colors in my drawing are not enough but also filters, I think, mess up the original thing.

[quark-y]

Barbed wire ocean

[fleurhcss]

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐈 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 - Hyunjin x FEM Reader!

cw : photographer Hyunjin, needs a muse, reader and him will meet in his exhibition, blood, murder, nudes, sculpture classes, dead body tw, if you are sensible pls don't interact, MDNI. SENSITIVE CONTENT!

sw : blood kink, hair pulling, degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, rough sex, anal, oral (both receiving), riding, humping, teasing, touching, masturbation, blowjob, marks, biting, choke kink, they'll have sex covered in blood.

wc : 9.025

synopsis : Hyunjin's a photographer and meets reader at his own exhibition. He falls in love with her beauty and the way she talks about art, so he proposes to her to attend his sculpture classes and then, after some of them, to be his model for a nude photography project, which will lead them to have sex. One day, she arrives before the appointment and begins to explore his study, finding a cupboard where he keeps all the heads of the girls he has seduced before her. But she's not afraid, she's excited. After a few minutes he shows up, catching her in the moment and she tells him her little dark secret, so they set up a murder and then fuck in the bloody mess.

a/n : hii... that's the first time for me writing here and writing in English so PLS im sorry if there are some errors!! I hope u enjoy this anyway 🎀🎀 I opened a ko-fi account, i will post there some stories and drawings, if you want to support me i will be grateful to anyone who wants to give me tips, ITS NOT OBLIGATORY

MASTERLIST

[ SMUT / TW ]

You have always been an art lover, which has led you to visit many exhibitions over the years. Photography and sculpture were your favourite subjects, and you have lost count of the number of exhibitions you have visited in your lifetime. However, it was a bit of a contradiction that art was not what you studied. You were a student of anatomy at university, which of course helped you to understand the human forms you so admired and loved to create. Although your studies were far from your true passion, you couldn't help but attend the private lessons that were often advertised in flyers around the city. That year alone, you attended no less than five classes, loving the way your hands shaped the clay beneath them. Its softness, the way it escaped your touch when wet: it was smooth, soft, elusive and malleable. Almost unpredictable, one might add. Once, because of a few air bubbles, you had to redo your work because it had burst in the kiln. Yes, one of the great faults of clay was its ability to burst if it was not perfectly formed. You were like clay, unpredictable. But you also loved the unpredictability of a photograph, the immediacy of a shot. The reality it represented. It was no coincidence that these were your favourite subjects.

You were walking around, sipping your caramel milkshake, after a long and tiring day at university. The music was on your mind, you imagined yourself in the scenarios that the soundtrack was transporting through your ears, but nothing could have distracted you from the sight of a giant billboard announcing a photography exhibition that weekend: The Art of the Body. This particular billboard had caught your attention not only because of the type of photography on display - nude exhibitions were rare in your town these days, too much of a scandal for the citizens. You were different, you appreciated every single muscle, every single feature of the human body. - But also for the way in which that body, unclothed, had been immortalised. Enclosed in a net that did not completely cover it, the woman's features were fully visible; she looked almost like a sculpture because of the contrast between light and dark.

You were enraptured by the image, your thoughts had clouded your mind, you had barely paid attention to the name of the photographer who was going to present this exhibition. But you didn't care, the subject matter was already of great interest to you. Nude photography by those who could not understand or feel it was considered almost scandalous. You found it a contradiction because very often the same people who criticised this kind of photography were the first to admire sculptures of the calibre and genre of Michelangelo's David, who, by the way, was naked.

For you, this kind of photograph was just like a sculpture. But warm, soft, even more real and expressive. You were sure that you would love that kind.

When you got back to your flat, the first thing you did was take a shower. It was the most plausible option after a long and tiring day, not least because you would have to clean up the mess left in your kitchen. In fact, by the time you found yourself having to clean it up, you were starting to get bored, so television would have been a good idea for entertainment at a time when all you wanted to do was sleep. You watched the news, and once again the topic of the day was the countless missing girls in your area. You wondered what was going on and why so many girls had mysteriously disappeared in a matter of days. There were no traces of mysterious serial killers, or even traces and statements from the victims themselves, if there were any. They had not been seen with anyone, nor had anyone talked about them. They had nothing in common. Or at least the police had not been good enough to find out. Well, in fact, the police had failed miserably from the start with the story of these girls' disappearance.

After all, there were no traces of the girls, and you had to clean up quickly because of the stench that was starting to fill the room.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

Finally, the long-awaited day of the exhibition had arrived, and you were excited just to think that you would be able to see such works live, even more so if they were all close to the one on the poster that had caught your eye. You were well dressed for the occasion, you wanted to make yourself presentable. You were also excited to meet the artist. You hadn't read the name, you weren't even interested in meeting him, but as the days went by, your curiosity grew and you did some research to find out who the man was: he was a young man - well, very young - his name was Hwang Hyunjin, a photographer and professor of sculpture. You were very interested in that because those were your two favourite subjects. So you had to admit that you had made yourself beautiful in order to look like that in the eyes of such a man. Also because you had seen pictures of him on some magazine covers and on the Internet, and you had noticed that he was indeed a handsome man. Maybe even more than handsome. He himself seemed to be part of a collection of sculptures.

His features were delicate but masculine, his body seemed well proportioned and he was tall and lean. He had dark, feline eyes and lips that were sure to drive all the women who had ever met him crazy.

You took one last look at yourself in the mirror and, after spraying on your ever-present perfume, you left the house, heading for the exhibition. It was Saturday night, the streets of your city were crowded, kids ready to go to some club, men with wives were ready to go to dinner. Saturday night chaos was, as always, inevitable.

You found yourself having to turn down your best friend's invitation to some club just to go to this exhibition. But she understood, she knew how much you loved art and you hadn't missed a single one of these exhibitions that came to your town every year. It was true, you had never missed one. Once you even got a cold and covered yourself well with a huge scarf and a heavy coat. Unlike the way you were dressed today. A tight black dress that stopped at mid-thigh, a long black coat, your beloved lace-up boots and a chignon that gathered your hair delicately. You were truly charming.

When you arrived at the exhibition, you immediately took a glass of red wine that was offered to every visitor. You were enchanted by the splendour that surrounded you. Photographs of all kinds: coloured, black and white, bodies covered in nets, naked bodies, bodies covered in liquids - water, blood - lying in the soil , all one with nature. But the photograph that struck you the most was of a body whose head could not be seen and it was crushed below the knees, while a long stream of blood was falling on it. It was strange, the photo was in white and black, well contrasted, sharp, but the blood had not lost its colour: warm red, carmine. You could feel its density, its fluidity, through the photograph. It had given you goosebumps.

A warm, but not too deep voice distracted you from your thoughts.

«This painting is called Passion's Flood.»

You turned to see the boy you had been searching for, for the past two days, and your mouth almost fell open.

His beauty was even more ethereal in person. The complexion of his skin was almost golden, and those eyes seemed to bore into you. The articles were not wrong, this was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. He was elegant, refined, attractive. You didn't even know what adjective to use to describe him, to do justice to such beauty. You were so dazzled that you almost forgot everything you wanted to say to this man.

«Why this name? More to the point, why the adjective 'passion'?» you said as soon as you awoke from your almost trance-like state. The words slipped from your tongue, as did your curiosity as to the real reason for this choice.

It was strange to hear that such an image had been given such a name. You were curious about the definition of 'passion' for this man. Why it was associated with the image of blood. That rich red liquid dripping onto a naked body, accentuating the shape of the woman portrayed. This made the man behind you smile. He approached you and studied you carefully. He examined you from top to bottom. From head to toe. It was inevitable that he would find you a beautiful, attractive, girl. He bit his lower lip and glanced at the work in front of you, then shifted his gaze back to the subject of his interest: you.

«Interesting question, I see you also pay a lot of attention to the names of the works.» your eyes were fixed on his lips, watching them move at the sound of his voice. How he licked them and made them shine. Perfectly swollen and red. Watching him had become more interesting than watching his work. «Inevitably, the intrinsic meaning of the work itself could be understood from the name, but it is interesting how you used the adjective 'passion' to describe a body covered in blood. The work itself is interesting, it is rare to see something like this in an exhibition. You have a fascinating mind, Mr. Hwang.»

This only inflated the ego of the man at your side, who wasted no time in positioning himself in front of his own work. He flashed a smug, satisfied smile, interested in how your mind was working at that moment. He could not stop the instinct, the primal instinct, that inevitably drew him to you. He licked his lips for the umpteenth time and crossed his arms over his chest, allowing the fabric of the jacket he was wearing to fit better over the obviously defined muscles. «Call me by my name. I don't think there's much of an age difference. In any case, the definition of 'Passion Flood' in this case refers to the fact that passion can flare up in any way, at any time. The association with blood is not only because it automatically brings to mind a warm colour, such as bright red, but also because passion flows in our veins, in our blood. The blood itself evokes the heat, the impact, the sensation that passion can give us. A unique adrenaline rush. For few.» you were enchanted by the way his mind worked, the man was a genius.

Not only was he good at shootings, but the way he spoke to you, the tone of his voice, was like a mermaid to a sailor. He would lure you out to sea and then grab you by the tail. His piercing gaze was as if he wanted to trap you and drag you down with him.

«Your definition of passion is interesting, Hyunjin. I can also say that this definition fits perfectly with the way you create your works. If I may say so, this photograph is extraordinary, perhaps one of the best in this exhibition so far. After all, passion is what you do. Photography is in your blood, it is your passion. Art itself, right? Looking at this photograph, I can see the body of the liquid, the vivid colour and the contrast with the chiaroscuro of the body. I can see the softness of the flesh, its silkiness.» When you stopped talking, the man in front of you licked his lips, pleasantly pleased with what your mind could conceive in terms of art.

«Your mind fascinates me, ...?» he paused, clearly inviting you to tell him your name. You felt the blood boiling in your veins, a heat permeating your body. As if him had set it on fire. «Y/N,» you whispered, once again entranced by his beauty. You were sure he had bewitched you somehow. His charm was beyond anything else. Hwang Hyunjin was not just an artist, he was art itself.

«Do you also work in the field of art?» he asked, moving dangerously close to your body. Your mind went blank, he was far too close. You could not say a word. He was like a magnet, the closer he came, the closer you wanted to be. It was crazy how a man could have such an effect on you, who had always declared yourself a woman who would not be intimidated or subjugated by men. But with Hwang Hyunjin it was different. You were under his spell and would let him do anything to you just to feel him near you.

«I take anatomy classes, but in my spare time I take classes in photography and sculpture. Let's say they are my biggest passions», you could see his eyes light up when you said this. That was his moment. Hyunjin could not fail to use this moment to invite you to one of his classes. Yes, among the thousands of things Hwang did, there were also private lessons in sculpture and photography. And you could not help but be delighted, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. The one and only, the magnetic Hwang Hyunjin had personally asked you to join his sculpture class.

As he walked towards you, your bodies colliding, you found yourself squeezing your legs together, you felt a jolt penetrate your intimacy. His lips came to your earlobe and caressed it, «I expect to see you there, Y/N».

Needless to say, when you left that night, all you could think about was Hyunjin's pointed hands running over your body.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

It had been a really tough week at university, you had to dissect several bodies and your placement was about to start. You were going to be a trainee in a forensic laboratory, so your lectures were now harder and the level of attention they demanded was higher. However, the thought of attending evening classes that Friday, taught by Hyunjin - the man who had been on your mind for the past week - helped you relax.

Your best friend was aware of the little fixation you had developed with the man and often used it to tease you. When you told her you were going to meet him in class that evening, she made so many dirty jokes that you wondered if it was still her. But other girls had disappeared in those days and she didn't want you to be one of them. So she was worried. As you prepared to go to class, she had given you more advice than your mother had given you in your entire life. In fact, you felt like a daughter, a little girl to her. It was obvious that you would be careful, you wanted to return home safely.

So you prepared and made yourself beautiful, just to impress the man of your thoughts, and then you left the house, leaving a trail of fruity perfume behind you. That evening, even though the occasion was nothing more than a sculpture class, you had dressed well. You had on a light sweater that left a strip of your belly uncovered, burgundy with vertical stripes of fabric. Loose, baggy jeans below your navel and flats that matched the colour of your shirt. But the breeze that had risen that evening had forced you to put on your beloved leather jacket.

Your hair was loose, falling over your shoulders as one hand held the strap of the bag tightly. You were eager to see how Hyunjin taught during his lessons, eager to see those hands you dreamed of every night on you, running over the fresh clay, shaping it, imagining it to be your body. You were curious to see what this evening would bring, whether it would be as interesting as you thought it would be, or whether it would be a total disappointment.

Arriving at the location indicated on the flyer Hyunjin had given you, your eyes met the moment you crossed the threshold of the hall. He stood out like a marble statue, his hair tied back in a ponytail, a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and baggy jeans covering a pair of brown and white Nikes on his feet. The piercing in his eyebrow made his gaze at you even more captivating. You entered, bowed and took your seat. They weren't all taken yet, surely he hadn't started because he was expecting a few more people to attend the class.

Behind him were blocks of clay and a table with all sorts of tools and materials for modelling. You assumed that he would be distributing these materials to the students himself, and were not at all surprised to find that most of them were women who were just as interested in the art as they were in the man who was going to teach it to them.

Your gazes were chained as if nothing could break it, it was only interrupted when Hyunjin realised that the hall was now full and it was time to start the lesson. He stood in the middle of the hall with a smile on his face, he was really handsome. He managed to be delicate and attractive at the same time. You were sure that this boy would not be easy to get out of your mind. It was clear that you wanted him more than you thought. «Welcome everyone, this is the first lesson of this course where we will cover the basics and modelling with clay. I have some tools here with me, after I give you a general introduction to the subject, I will hand them out to all of you, along with a lump of clay, so that we can begin the actual course.»

Needless to say, you lost focus after his introduction, too focused on watching his lips move and the vein in his neck throb. You watched his movements carefully, the way the fabric of his shirt occasionally allowed a glimpse of the hollow of his v-zone, the way the material of his jeans clung perfectly to his slender thighs. The man was a dream, and yet he looked like a demon disguised as an angel. His elegant, almost princely movements had managed to hypnotise you. You felt your body go numb and shot through with a long series of electric shocks, all of which landed in your stomach. The sexual tension you felt when standing next to Hyunjin was now sky-high.

It was Hyunjin himself who distracted you from your unchaste thoughts about him. He placed a series of objects on your bench and winked and smiled at you. That made you glow red, and not just on your cheeks. You felt a pleasant warmth spreading through your body and you weren't sure what it would lead to. Certainly nothing good in the state you were in now. «Good to see you here, Y/N.» he whispered in your ear, making you blush again. You lost your words.

As Hyunjin took his place behind a table with all the materials needed to mould the clay, it was fascinating to watch how his wet hands began to caress the block, softening it. Kneading, massaging the malleable material. But the thing that took your breath away again was the way his eyes locked on you as he spoke. As he explained how to handle the clay, as he squeezed it, as he moulded it in his hands, his gaze was fixed on you. You squeezed your legs together, and you were sure he noticed because of the smirk in his eyes. This made you even more embarrassed.

You watched as his tapered fingers created shapes, sweeping over the material, smeared with clay, to shape it to his liking. You wished you were that lump of clay. You wished he would touch you the way he did with that slippery material.

As you began to shape the clay yourself, you hardly thought about Hyunjin's fingers caressing you as you wished. Your mind was lost in the farthest reaches of your thoughts as you concentrated on shaping the lump. You hadn't even noticed Hyunjin watching your hands move as you did with his. His gaze devoured your body and hinted at what was going on in his mind. He was curious how those skilful hands would move around his member. It made him quite aroused, but he could not afford to have an erection in the middle of class by having unchaste thoughts about you.

As the classroom began to empty, the teacher greeted everyone politely and took the opportunity to approach you, who had not noticed anything, still lost in your world and the little statue you were forging. He positioned himself behind you as soon as the last student had left the room, and began to stroke your arms and blow on your neck. It was what brought your head back down to earth. You bit your lower lip as his hands moulded the clay with yours and his warm body clung to yours.

You found yourself gasping as his lips touched your lobe again. This boy would be the end of you, you were sure of it.

«You know, I noticed how your legs tightened at the sound of my voice. I also noticed your eyes burning into my form as I gave this lecture. I'm very curious to know what fantasies are running through your head, little Y/N,» he giggled, then washed his hands in the next sink and invited you to join him. And once again you were hypnotised, enchanted by his voice and his touch. When he took you by the hips, placed you on the only clean counter and spread your legs, you couldn't help but gasp. Words were dead in your throat now, you looked at him with bated breath and all you wanted to do was sink his face between your thighs. «Look what we have here, - he said, stroking your intimacy from above the fabric of your jeans, which he could feel were already wet, - there's no need for you to hide now. I got you,» he whispered again against your neck.

«Hyunjin... Please,» you murmured, your thoughts now clouded by the pleasure of his touch. «What? Tell me what you want,» he taunted you again. Your hand moved to his wrist and pushed it towards the crotch of your jeans. That drove him crazier than you thought.

He unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down to your knees, his gaze resting on the crotch of your now wet panties. You felt no shame, the only thing running through your body now was the adrenaline of being fucked by this man. Your rational part had been switched off by the only one part that had to take over. «Look at you, I haven't even touched you properly and you're already all wet, you little whore. For now you'll be satisfied with what I'm going to give you tonight, if you're good enough you'll get another prize after this one,» your head had fallen back and your back was now arched. It was only with his words that he had been able to bring you to this state. Giggling, he moved the fabric of your panties with two fingers, the same ones that slowly began to massage your walls, while his eyes carefully scanned every corner of your body. You were going crazy, you wanted more and your grip on his wrist let him know it. «Look at you, so needy for my touch. I have a crazy idea that you can't refuse. I need this favour. No one inspires me, attracts me like you do. Be my muse and let me photograph this beautiful, unclothed body,» he whispered into your ear, pushing his fingers further between your pussy lips.

He did not penetrate you, but you were sure that only with this type of touch you could come. You nodded, reeling from the spell he had cast on you, and he smiled, pleased at the state you were in. He moved closer to you, not a kiss, just a bite on your lower lip and one in the hollow of your neck. Which made you quite dizzy with the sensation of his fingers now moving in a circular motion over your intimacy.

«Very good, Princess. Now why don't you cum for me? Like a good girl,» he whispered and began to move his fingers at a speed you didn't think possible. But your mind was clouded and you needed to feel under your hands how much he needed your touch too, so with a grin you grabbed the crotch of his trousers and began to move your hand up and down, feeling how great his length was. But there was no pleasure in doing this from above his jeans, so you inserted your hand into the fabric and with quick movements began to masturbate his intimacy. His moans were satisfying and made your head spin, you were almost in the same state. He growled, moving quickly on your vagina as you did with his member, now a moaning mess, playing with the tip of his member, stimulating it.

It was obvious that after a few minutes you would cum in each other's hands with a loud orgasm, and you did. You screamed her name as her teeth sank into the hollow of your neck, biting it. «I have no class on Tuesday, come here, to this address, my long awaited project will finally come to life,» he whispered in your ear as he licked his fingers covered in your juices, just as you licked yours, soiled with his.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

To say that you had been thinking about what had happened with Hyunjin all weekend was an understatement. The boy hadn't left your mind for a second, nor had the feeling of his fingers over your intimacy. You were constantly thinking about what you had done and the desire to go deeper was alive and growing inside you. It was obvious that you wanted to be fucked by him, so much so that you almost forgot your own name. When Hyunjin was in front of you, all rational thought went out the window. When he had asked you to be his muse, a warmth had grown in your chest and spread between your legs. You couldn't wait to pose naked for him. To let his hands move your body as he wished. Even at that moment, his hands were touching you in your mind, as you rubbed against the pillow in your room, with another news report of a missing girl in the background. But your mind was too busy thinking about Hyunjin to listen to how this girl, unlike the others, you had actually seen in the course of sculpting that the man you dreamed of every night was taking.

When you reached your orgasm, certainly not like you did with Hyunjin's hand, you decided it was the best to take a shower. The next day was the big day you had been looking forward to. You were going crazy. Your best friend had called you to find out the details, but you still hadn't told her what had happened between you and Hyunjin, you would when you maybe had sex fully. Also because that was what you had hoped for most. To hear how he wanted to fuck you. You giggled to hear how she imagined possible scenarios for your encounter, if only she knew how far you had already gone.

When the time and day finally came for you to meet Hyunjin for 'his long awaited project', you couldn't help but feel the shivers running through your body. You wore your hair in a slightly dishevelled bun, a tight black skirt covering you to mid-thigh and a slightly unbuttoned blouse with a burgundy lace-embroidered bra wrapped around your torso. Black boots on your feet and the usual leather jacket over your shoulders.

You gasped as Hyunjin's slim and elegant figure appeared behind you. He was wearing a blue silk shirt that showed his chest, tight black jeans and pointed ankle boots of the same colour. Sunglasses and a necklace surrounded the beauty already present in the man, and the loose hair falling down his neck made him even more attractive in your eyes.

His gaze gave you goosebumps; he approached you with an almost devilish smile and greeted you with a kiss on the lips. At that moment, you felt the ground give away beneath your feet. You looked at him as, smirking at the way he was making you feel, he opened the studio door and let you in first like a gentleman. «I see you've made yourself pretty for me, little Y/N. I like the way you're dressed, that bra fits you like a glove, it's a shame we have to take it off,» he whispered as he slowly removed your leather jacket and put his glasses elsewhere. His voice guided you, sending shivers down your spine. You noticed that all the materials he needed were already arranged in every corner of the studio and understood that he didn't want to waste any time in arranging what he needed. Kissing your neck, he began to remove your shirt, gently running his fingers down your arms and then your torso, then removing your bra as well, cupping your tits with his hands and massaging them, causing you to give a moan of pleasure that made you throw your head over one of his shoulders. «They are perfect, they have a wonderful texture, a perfect shape to be cupped by my hands,» he blew on your shoulder, biting it almost violently. But this action only made you moan even more.

Slowly he began to move his hands down, caressing the rest of your body, making you gasp as he pulled off your skirt and then slowly your panties. You were completely naked to his eyes this time. He bit his lip as he caressed every part of your body, from your breasts to your bottom, cupping and massaging one of your buttocks. «Like a good little girl, take off your shoes and lie down on this wooden hoop,» he said, and you obeyed. Without a word. You felt his eyes burning on you, like fire. You lay down in front of him and let him touch you in any way that would satisfy his desires. When he grabbed the camera, you squeezed your legs together, already feeling the effect of his intense gaze on you.

It made him laugh, but not in amusement. Not at all. It was almost diabolical. You saw how he approached you by getting on top of you and opening your legs, he began to watch how your pussy shrank around nothing, completely wet. This made him move his nose closer to it and blow on it. It had driven you so crazy that you not only let out a long moan, but arched your back so that your vagina was closer to his nose. And he grinned as he slipped two fingers inside you without warning, taking a picture just as your back arched again, your head fell back and your lips parted in a moan. « Very good baby, you are the perfect muse for this project. No one could have done as well as you,» he whispered as he pulled his fingers out from inside you and brought them to his lips, sucking away your juices.

You went crazy, your body was burning even though you were naked, craving his touch, his hands on you. Every time he approached to take your picture, you hoped he would touch you, something more than mere caresses. Even if they were not 'mere caresses'.

But when he put down his camera and caught up with you at a fast pace, you realised that maybe he didn't just want to take pictures. And in the end, that was what you were hoping for. He towered over you with his body, observing how perfect yours was. He caressed every part of you until he lowered himself to your lips and began a ravenous, passionate kiss. You moaned at the contact and his hands began to massage your breasts until, running out of air, he pulled away from your lips and then lowered himself to your breasts and sucked on them voraciously. Your head was elsewhere, you could do nothing but give way to his touch. Your hands were harpooned in his hair, pulling at it. Your legs tightened around his torso as his pelvis moved in search of yours. Hyunjin was mad. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins; he needed to release all the adrenaline coursing through his veins. «My bitch, that's what you are. Just fucking mine. And like a good girl you are going to feed me now,» he smiled almost maniacally as his face settled between your thighs. He had taken off his shirt and unbuttoned his jeans, which were now too tight to contain his obvious erection. You clutched his hair as he began to bite your inner thigh, leaving bite marks and bruises everywhere. But you didn't care, you just wanted to feel him between your legs.

Hyunjin began to take long laps on your cunt, spreading it with his fingers so that he could better slide his tongue between your walls. You were a whimpering mess, all too pleasurable. He sucked and moved his tongue voraciously, as if he really wanted to eat you. He pulled at the lips covering your clit with his teeth and then sucked on them almost violently. You felt your orgasm approaching, but you didn't want to come like that, you wanted him to fuck you. «Please Hyunjin...mh...stop...it's too much, I'm about to come...!» you gripped his hair in a vice grip. But that did not matter to him, if it meant making you cum several times in one evening, he would do it without fail.

His mouth was harpooned between your walls, his tongue moving as if he were kissing you and not what was between your legs. You were going out of your mind and the closer you came to orgasm the more he felt it and went fast. «Fuck Hyunjin!» you shouted before cumming all over his face. Which pleased him by the way. He licked his lips and without a second thought started to kiss you again, so much so that you could feel yourself on his tongue. But that was not enough, he wanted you. «I'm going to fuck you so hard you have no idea. Now behave as well as you have so far and suck me off,» he said as he removed the last of his clothes. Your eyes couldn't help but stare at his erection, certainly getting him all the way in your mouth would have been quite a challenge. You watched him ravenously, having dreamed of this moment for far too long. You began to slowly run your hand down the length of him, massaging his balls as well, you were slow, running your fingers along the veins and playing with his head. He looked exhausted to see you like that. His moans became louder. You smiled and took him in your mouth, all the way to his uvula. This made him tighten his grip on your hair, which was clenched in his hands. He pulled hard on them as he fucked your mouth. Your hands were tight on his thighs as you slid it over your tongue. You spit on the tip, then took it back into your mouth and ran your tongue along every vein. Concentrating especially on the tip. «You are fucking phenomenal. My good whore, keep it up, faster,» he said in a broken voice as he used his pelvis to push against your mouth.

It did not take many more thrusts before it poured into your mouth in hot streams. You stared at him intently as you swallowed the liquid. With a grin, now his umpteenth, he ran his thumb between your lips, cleaning them of his own seed and attacking them with an almost violent kiss. It was so quick that you didn't even notice when he slipped two fingers inside you and began to move them quickly as his member became erect again. Seeing you under him like that drove him crazy and he couldn't wait to fuck you the way he wanted to. He wrapped one hand around your neck, making you moan. You didn't know that these things could ever turn you on, but with Hyunjin, with his hands on your body, it was impossible not to. Soon his fingers became four inside you, and the way he twisted them inside you made you think he already knew what your walls looked like.

It was unexpected for you when you were turned over and positioned on all fours with him standing behind you, erupting like one of your many beloved sculptures. He rubbed his erect member against your entrance, making you shiver as only he could. «God, I can't wait to fuck you, if only you could see the way your butthole is clenching around nothing as I rub against you,» he grinned. But you could feel it, you could feel it all right. «P...lease put it in, I need it Hyunjin mmm - make it quick please, fuck m...e» by now you were beside yourself. Your brain was disconnected.

You heard him laugh, pleased that you felt so weak under his touch. But you couldn't help it; it was as if he had cast a spell on you.

Without a word, he thrust into you in one swift motion. You let out a moan, just as he had. He pushed your back down so that your face touched the floor. You were a fire, you felt your body burning and you just wanted more, more and more. «Fuck,» he shouted. He had your hair in his grip as he squeezed your buttocks and began to thrust into you. You felt the floor turn and collapse beneath your body. You felt full and also heard the sounds Hyunjin made. He growled as he thrust into you with dry, precise strokes. «You're so fucking tight and hot. I could come right now,» he growled thunderously. You couldn't answer, too busy enjoying the feel of his dick inside you. But you needed to feel him deeper, you wanted to feel all of him.

You moved your pelvis closer to his, driving him crazy, he bit his lip while you were a moaning mess, doing nothing but mumbling unrelated words to each other. You were going crazy, you wanted to feel him burning inside you, between your walls. «Fuck, yes, shit!» you heard him say as he held your pelvis tightly against his. The strokes were faster, you felt his cock touching your sensitive spot, stimulating it. You were sure it would not be long before you came. He pulled your hair hard towards him and with the hand holding your pelvis he began to push your body against his own, as if you were standing up. He tightened his free hand around your neck and you moaned at the lack of air.

«Plea...se Hyunjin... harder... faster... fuck the...re...» you said incoherently as he bit your neck, leaving an obvious signal. «Shut up, I decide.»

He whispered in your ear, then increased his thrusts. He forced you back onto the cold wood and you felt his body crush yours as he squeezed your neck and thrust into you at a relentless pace. It was impossible at this point not to let out a loud, high-pitched moan along with your humours.

«Very good, Princess. Now make me come, like a good girl,» he said, overstimulating you, by this time you had reached your limit, your body was weak. But the sound of his thrusts drove you even crazier. After a few final thrusts, you toothed in the hot, sticky fluid that filled your hole. You moaned along with him, riding out his orgasm as his seed dripped from your thighs. He growled and let go of you, kissing your shoulder.

You never expected him to clean you up by putting his tongue between your buttocks and licking away his own cum. This made you moan at his touch, causing him to giggle, which made his tongue vibrate inside your hole.

As he stood up and began to clean it up, including you, he leaned towards your face and blew on your lips, leaving a slow, passionate kiss. «I want you here this Friday, Y/N.»

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

Days later, you were still thinking about the way Hyunjin had fucked you so well in the photo room. You couldn't get it out of your head. Even when you found yourself cleaning up the huge stinking mess you had made. That day you had made more of a mess than usual, you had to be more careful the next time.

When you had finished cleaning up the mess, you decided it would be better for you to eat: you had to cook lunch. The next day you were to meet the man who had been in your thoughts for two weeks. You couldn't think of anything else. Hyunjin really seemed to have cast a strange spell on you. But you didn't mind. Just like it hadn't bothered you to feel that his body was completely connected to yours.

After a quiet lunch you decided it would be best to organise your tools and materials, after this morning they were all in a mess and you hated mess. You had even left them out of storage the last time. So you stood patiently in front of your cupboard, arranging the duffel bag that you jealously guarded. Meanwhile, you wondered why the police still hadn't found anything about the girls. The number had increased enormously, and whoever was making them disappear had to be an expert to get away with it without leaving any evidence. You'd like to ask yourself who would ever be able to go unnoticed for almost twenty days while the police still hadn't found anything. After tidying up the mess you had made, you decided that it might be best to think about what to wear to meet Hyunjin tomorrow. You were extremely impatient.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

And there you were, in front of the usual studio. Where Hyunjin had arranged to meet you. You had dressed up, a black over the knee coat, your usual leather jacket, black boots and this time your long hair was over your shoulders. However, you noticed that the studio door was already open; maybe Hyunjin was already inside, just waiting for your arrival. You bit your lip, unsure what to do.

What would be wrong with going in?

So you did, but no one was there.

«Hyunjin?» you called, hoping that the man would appear before you. But curiosity got the better of you and you started walking around the studio, which was large but not too crowded. There were scattered tools, pieces of clay and photographic paper. But there was one thing that caught your eye. The door to a small room was half open, and from it came a strong smell that you knew too well. You were used to the smell. But you wondered why it was coming from the cupboard in Hyunjin's study and why you had never smelled it before, since you had been there twice before. So you went to the door, opened it and put your hand to your mouth.

You had just found the culprit behind the disappearance of so many girls in your town.

There were so many heads arranged in rows on tables, the blood had been cleaned off, but the skin looked intact, as if it had not decomposed. They looked like so many porcelain dolls. You started to get closer when you felt a presence behind you and your breath caught in your throat. «Someone found something they weren't supposed to see, don't you think, Princess?» you turned around so slowly that when you saw him covered in blood, an electric shock almost ran through your entire body.

But you were not afraid; your curiosity had overcome your fear.

«How did you make them so porcelain-like and not get caught?» you whispered as his body clung to yours, crushed against the wall. He chuckled, trying to see an edge of fear in your face. He was surprised to find none. That made you even more special and unique in his eyes. No one had ever been like you before. «Aren't you afraid? Ask me how I made them like this instead of running away and reporting me to the police,» he laughed. But you smiled, grabbed his hair and brought his face closer to yours. Lips on lips. «I'm not afraid. In fact, I'm curious. You made them look like so many disembodied dolls. Where did you throw their bodies without getting caught? It takes talent,» the answer made his eyes sparkle.

You were definitely different.

He grabbed you by the neck and tightened his grip. But you weren't afraid, you were sure he wouldn't hurt you. He was just angry because you made him feel different. Because it was you. You made him want you more than anything.

He slipped a hand under your dress, felt how wet the crotch of your panties was.

You giggled.

«You are different. You are not afraid. You're turned on by all of this, you sick little whore,» you laughed. At the top of your lungs. You pulled him closer with one leg and rubbed your pelvis against him, moaning. «I may have a dark little secret of my own, my dear Hyunjin. How about we take advantage of it?» you bit his lip. His head was spinning, he felt his hands burning. «First tell me about this dark little secret you little bitch,» you pressed your bodies together and felt yours almost catching fire, you wanted it. Again. At least you wanted him to make you come.

«Haven't you ever wondered why I take anatomy lessons when my passion is something else?» you giggled, leaving him confused. You were like him. «I love dissecting corpses even more when they are fresh and made by me, squeezing organs in my hands, and I would love to see them intact forever. Why don't you tell me your little secret? How do you make those heads like that?» you moaned under his touch, quickly rubbing your cunt against his thigh, wetting it. «You're fucking crazy,» he laughed maniacally and then began a fierce kiss, as if your bodies were about to catch fire. You continued to move on his thigh, moaning his name on your lips as you jerked him off over his trousers. All this was turning you on more than you thought. Your breath was short, you couldn't hold back any longer, so you let out a long moan, you on his leg and him in his trousers. It was fast but intense.

«How about cooperating, princess?» he laughed, still above you. «With great pleasure,» you whispered growling into his mouth.

⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡

After that day, you invited Hyunjin to your house and showed him your collection. It was funny to see his surprised face. He never expected to see that side of you. That day, you orchestrated the perfect plan. Your victims had rarely been women, and his were all women. He also explained to you how he chose his victims, his modus operandi : he often went to this café frequented by students, and often heard these girls squawking like chickens and insulting art, a thing he revered. So did the woman's body. So why not get rid of them after seducing them and keep the body as a prize? It was a perfect idea in his mind. So he decided to prove it to you himself.

You stood at the table behind him and a certain Sasha, he had met her that morning when he brought you your coffee and decided that she would be the ideal victim. You watched as he tried to seduce her with a grin, running his hand down her back to her bottom. You bit your lip, a little jealous of the touch he was reserving for her.

When they got up, you followed them silently, already knowing where Hyunjin was taking her: at the back of his study was a large chamber where he carried out his murders and burned the remaining bodies: the clay oven, a very good idea, you thought.

Everything happened very quickly, the way he undressed her and she undressed him. You trembled. You hated to see the way the girl touched him. He was almost ready to fuck her when, with a wink, he moved you forward and handcuffed the girl's hands and feet. But she screamed in vain, the walls were soundproofed, Hyunjin really had thought of everything.

He took off your clothes, stroking your body, and put them aside with his own so they wouldn't get dirty. After all, it was impossible to remove blood stains from the fabrics. He bit your shoulder and patted your ass, then stood statuesque in front of the girl. You watched closely as he slit her throat with a sharp knife, splashing blood everywhere. And you flanked him as he opened her chest and began to harvest the organs that he would soon show you how to embalm. You loved it.

Soon a pool of blood spread beneath your bodies. You sat on his naked pelvis, as bloodied as he was. He brought the knife between your mouths and you did not hesitate a moment before licking the blood off the metal, crossing your tongue with Hyunjin's. His vermilion hands cupped your breasts, your thighs. Your body. You were the woman he adored. His muse. The half he shared his madness with. His illness. Your mouths met, you drew your lips together, biting your tongues. It was a fierce, ravenous, passionate kiss. Your intimacy rubbed against your naked pussy, wet and warm. You couldn't wait to fuck him. He bit your neck ravenously. As if he wanted to eat you. You loved the way he was so impetuous with you, so passionate. He drove you crazy. «How about we play a little princess?» he grinned, then put two fingers to your vagina and began to move them quickly. Your moans were disconnected and his lips were tight on your breasts, sucking on your nipples and pulling on them with his teeth. Your hands were harpooned in your hair, pulling at it. You definitely wanted more.

He entered you slowly, playing with your walls. As he licked the blood from your body. «Mhh, Hyunjin faster please,» you begged him, pressing your pelvis against his. You wanted more, you wanted him inside you. Your hand reached his intimacy and began to play with his glans, pressing your thumb on the tip so that he moaned. You loved seeing him like that under your touch, even more so when he was completely covered in blood. His hand reached your neck as you decided his fingers were not enough to satisfy you and stood up, sitting straight on his cock. This caused him to moan sharply. «Have a good ride, Hyunjinie,» you whispered in his ear. And he grinned. He took his fingers, smeared with blood and your fluids, into his mouth to lick it all off and then push it into your mouth, playing with your tongue as your walls adjusted to his thick length. You pulled your head back as he tired of waiting and gave a precise thrust inside you, gripping your neck tightly. You loved it when he did this. You began to jump up and down on his length, letting out moans that fortunately no one could hear thanks to the soundproof walls. Hyunjin bit his lip hard as you humped him. He loved the feeling of watching you riding him. He felt a unique warmth running through his body.

But he was tired; speed and strength were not enough for him. He made you lie down in that pool of blood, put his hands under your knees and bent your legs towards your breasts. He entered you with a precise thrust, as if he knew just the right spot to hit you, and your loud moaning let him know that was exactly where he needed to thrust. So with almost animal speed he resumed his thrusts inside you. He put your legs on his shoulders while he held your neck tightly with one hand and played with your clit quickly with the other. It drove you crazy. Your moans were now as uncontrollable as the times Hyunjin had cried out in pleasure. «Fuck Princess, how good you take me. Your pussy is perfect for me, so ,warm. You fucking hold me so well, you little whore,» he growled. You couldn't help but moan loudly at those words. You couldn't speak, every time you tried to say something the words died in your throat.

«I'm... coming... fucking H... Hyunjin for fuck's sake! Ther...e yeah!» you moaned one last time before tightening your warm walls around his cock. «Fuck I'm about to come too, squeeze me so fucking tight.» And he, now at the top of his lungs, poured hot streams into you, filling you. But he didn't come out; he decided to tear himself all over you as he filled you, letting his cum drip out of your cunt.

You stroked his long wet hair as he kissed your breasts. «You are mine forever, just know that,» he whispered, biting you. You giggled. «I wasn't planning on looking for anyone else after you, Hyunjin,» he smiled, then looked at you and licked a drop of blood that had fallen from your shoulder.

«I like you covered in blood.»

TAGLIST 🎀 : @gloomy-k @raindropsondragons @linocvp1d @iiamthedramaa @snowyquokka @pynchkilledme @y4kie @ihrtlix @sugarsweetsugarsweet @rylea08 @skzswife @hyunjinhoexxx @hyunjinnie2000 @boi-bi-ahaha @nanamongmong @yongbokkiesworld @hyunjinnnsgirl @reader1221

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[konigsblog]

a simple ask here but how do you envision konig?

I'm assuming this is about his appearance + personality... :3

Appearance -🪞

Thin rectangular glasses. He's always worn them, from when he was a teenager to his late forties. Considering he reads nearly every single day, he keeps them on 24/7, or he'll tuck it in a shirt pocket for easy access.

Long ginger hair. It's got some hints of auburn and blonde in it as well. It comes down to around his collarbones, but he keeps it up in a bun throughout the day. He doesn't enjoy having it sticking to his neck, but will melt at your comforting touch and the way you run your fingers through his straight locks. It's not the thickest, but it's also not thin either.

He has a scar on his jaw. It runs across his bottom lip on the left side and has scarred a pale white colour. It's not super visible, but there's an indent that will never fade away. It was caused by an enemy slicing across his face during his time in the military.

Freckles. They're all over his body, especially down his shoulders, his arms, and his legs.

Pale, blue eyes. His eyes look tired constantly, with prominent and deep eye bags that have been there since he was a kid. It's natural, but makes him look exhausted.

His teeth appear straight and don't look out of place or crowded, but if you take a closer look, you'd notice that they're a little bit crooked. Especially his bottom teeth. He's tongue tied well.

A roman nose. His nose is pretty large, but fits his features well. His features are sharp.

Behaviour/personality - 🧠

TW: CREEPY BEHAVIOUR, RAPE, TOXICITY.

He comes off incredibly creepy. He doesn't properly engage in conversations unless he's actually interested or has initiated it. But, if he finds you attractive then he'll choke on his words and admire your beauty, how you'd look naked and spread out on his bed. He doesn't pay attention to whatever you're rambling on about. You're too pretty to have an opinion, you'd look perfect by his side, agreeing with him.

He's a social reject, he always has been. People dislike him for being eerily quiet. As a kid, he was chubbier than the rest of his peers, but as a teenager, looked lanky and thin after a growth spurt. At 16, he was 6’8”, and finished growing at 17.

Perverted. He's ashamed of himself for his sick and depraved behaviour, of course. He upskirts women while on the train/bus without their knowledge, getting himself excited when they're not wearing anything beneath their skirt. He'll follow them off at their destination, break into their house, and take them when they're not expecting it at all. Whether that's in the shower, or getting changed after a night out. König gets off to the thrill, knowing what he's doing wrong and immoral. He hasn't been caught before – hasn't been called out for the collection of women's underwear he's collected after using their bodies. He has found women passed out in alleyways and taken them in the middle of the night, unable to hold himself back. He should be in his apartment, in bed, getting some rest. Instead, it's one in the morning, and he's fucking a drunk, unconscious woman and stealing her panties, with the hopes he'll impregnate her. In a relationship, he's pushy. He doesn't ask for sex and just cums all over your slick cunt and mouth while you're fast asleep. Your body reacts to his touch, so clearly you want it too.

Toxic. König can't love romantically, he doesn't know how to, he's never been given the opportunity (for obvious reasons). His first relationship was at 28, but lasted 2 months max... He uses guilt tripping and manipulation to get what he wants, coercing you into forgiving him. Oh, you want to break up with him because he's toxic? Do you also want your nudes to be leaked, too? He didn't think so...

Incel. Misogynistic. Sexist. He doesn't come across that way at first, and if anything, he seems genuine and kind-hearted. But once he's in a relationship, he really exposes himself. König doesn't expect you to have standards for him, but has a plethora of expectations you must meet otherwise he'll bitch and whine until you obey.

[the-grimm-writer]

Dabi with a darling who's obsessed with her art, her art being ballet

Cue vantom of the opera music ballet addition.

Also, I'm genuinely so sorry this took so long. I'm getting better at answering requests, I swear 😭😭😭

Mdni

Tw: stalking, paranoia, mentions of unhealthy habits, kidnapping.

You were used to people staring at you. Their eyes glued to you with pure admiration as you gracefully glided across the stage, moving your body in ways that took you years to master.

But this felt different. You felt someone's eyes burning into you with such intensity that any normal person would've broken down from it. Yet if you were one to break, you would've never made it very far. So you continued your performance like chills weren't running down your spine.

Heroes were hard to please. The world's top elite, coming to the theater to watch you, dressed in their finest night apparel. But the moment you started, all their doubts would wash away, watching silently with fascination once the music started.

The crowd broke into applause once you finished your dance, standing up and yelling their praise. It always made those long, painful nights of practice worth it.

As you bowed, you looked up to the audience, your blood running cold as you saw bright blue eyes from the back, hiding away from everyone else. Like a ghost, only you could see.

By the time you get down to greet the audience and discuss your performance, the man with the glowing eyes is nowhere to be scene. You don't know why you look for him, going past the darkest part of the theater and peaking in to see if he's still there, watching you.

Even your walk is elegant, your posture is perfect, back straight, and head held up high. Your voice was soft and feminine as you spoke to the people as they congratulated you.

"That was a stunning performance, my dear!" A tall, balding man with round, thick rimmed glasses eagerly shook your hand, yet you could tell by his crisp black suit and the beautiful younger woman that looked to be in her mid twenties or early thirties that stood by his side looking at you that he obviously had money. "When will you be performing again?"

"I'm here every night, thank you very much."

You smiled like he didn't give you the creeps. One thing your master didn't have to teach you but were thankful that he did. How to keep your admirers happy while maintaining a distance from them.

It continued on and on. You knew most people who attended the theater were wealthy, but you didn't care. You had all you wanted right now. So even as they introduced themselves, you didn't bother to remember their names. Always changing the topic if one got too bold with you.

A dancer's career was like a star, your balletmaster used to tell you. Shine too bright, and it would burn out quickly.

That's what you liked about it being busy, not being able to stay and talk to one person for too long. So whenever someone made you uncomfortable, you easily excused yourself and moved on to the next person. Sometimes, it would last for hours until you were finally able to leave.

There was a continuous cycle in your job. After you perform, you'd go to bed, get showered then something to eat, and then rush back to the studio in the early morning to practice. It was your favorite time to do it. When the sun was on the verge of rising and it was still dark outside. You could practice in peace with no prying eyes to judge you.

Turning the lights on, you walked onto the stage, dressed in your practice outfit. Skin tight nude colored leggings, a black leotard with a small tutu connected to it, and pointe shoes you just recently replaced and broke in. Your hair up in a tight bun, completely out of your face.

Taking a deep breath, you stood on the center stage and got in position, pretending like it was an actual performance as you danced.

It was always something you reminded yourself of when you got the lead role in dances. And whenever you didn't get what you were striving for and it felt like your world was going to come crashing down.

Yet still, you would dance until your feet bled and you physically couldn't anymore. It was painful yet an addicting feeling each time you overcame a boundary you once had and turned it into a new move you mastered.

"Why did you stop?"

Spinning around, you were about to stop until you collided with a person. You were about to apologize, thinking it was one of the other performers or the janitor until he spoke up.

You gasped in shock, turning around and stepping back from him. Those cerulean eyes were something you could never forget. Ever since that night.

"It's you..." Fear twisted in your stomach as you looked at him.

He chuckled at this, casually stepping forward towards you. "I knew you'd recognize me."

"Dabi..." You said breathlessly. It wasn't difficult to know who he was when he was always on the news. Heroes' warning is to be on the lookout for a deadly villain litered in patched scars and black hair. He smirked, knowing you'd seen him before.

"The theater is usually the last place I'd hide in. Too many witnesses." He stepped forward, making you go back. "But those idiots didn't even notice me. Not that I could blame them. That was quite the performance you put on."

You backed away, and he could see in your costume that your body was stiff as a board. Trained to have perfect posture even when just having a discussion with someone.

"Those fools don't deserve you, you know." He spoke up, his voice low and raspy. "They'll do what they do with everyone that has a talent. They'll make you dance like a puppet until you break."

You were stiff as you stood there, watching him circle around you on the stage. "I know what I signed up for," you said softly.

His eyes narrowed. "Then you're just as foolish as they are."

"It's ironic, you know," Dabi chuckled darkly as he stood behind you, placing his hands on your waist. "My father... he always strived for perfection. But even his most precious creation isn't enough for him."

You didn't blink an eye at his cold tone. Used to getting degraded and talked down to whenever you messed up even the slightest in front of your master and the instructors. So brutally harsh it could make even the villains with the blackest of hearts cry.

"Surely you understand," you argued back. "To love something so much, you'll continue to do it even if it kills you."

Though you didn't have a strong or flashy quirk, you made it up in your abilities in ballet. Pouring your heart and soul into your performances so even the untrained eye would be able to tell you aere the best at what you did.

You touched him like the fire that was dancing in his veins. The thing that consumed him aside from his needs for vengeance. Though he knew that obsession ran deep in his genetics. It was just something he never thought would hit him until that night he first saw you.

"That's because perfection doesn't exist."

His breath hit the shell of your ear, hot just like the rest of him, yet it sent shivers down your spine. "Yet here it is in the form of a little dancer."

You could tell how bitter it made him. You understood the feeling well. Every ballerina knew how it felt to be rejected and pushed to the side whenever a younger, prettier dancer came in and took the place they spent years working to get.

"Were you ever warned?" He mused. "Some hero or fuckin rich pig with too much time on his hands could ever use their power and money to snatch you up?"

Of course you were, and you hesitantly nodded your head. Nobody ever thought it would happen to them until it actually did. Hell, Dabi bet his mother thought she'd never wind up in an arranged marriage with his father, abused and locked away in an institution after making her have four children with him.

"I'm my father's son, after all." His scarred hand ran down your smooth cheek, down your chin until it wrapped around your throat and pinned you against him, his other arm snaking around your waist. "Men like us, when we see something beautiful, we have to own it, keep it for ourselves."

"You don't have to be like him." You protested, your heart racing in fear. Dread filled you at the thought of him taking away everything you spent your whole life working for.

"And you don't have to be a dancer." He retorted. "Sometimes we don't have a choice in life (Y/n). Now you're coming with me."

You tried to pull away despite his hand wrapped firmly around your throat, threatening you. "No! You can't do this! I have to perform tonight. I have to-"

"This is a lovely place," he cute you off. "Something even I could appreciate." His grip on your neck tightened as he held his other hand out, making you watch as bright blue fire appeared out of his hand. "Such a rich history. It would be a shame if it all went down in flames."

You weakly nodded your head, bursting into tears as you looked at the stage, the theater, your home on last time as he let his flame die out. He picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. His strong arm held you in place with ease as he walked away.

"Don't worry," he said softly, his smile wide and twisted as you cried. "You can still dance for me."

[pickmans-muse]

Thinking about Laios Touden and his monster(fucking) fixation… TW: monsterfucking, breeding kink, mpreg, fem!reader (sort of?), genital shapeshifting, eggs, mild blood (from biting with sharp teeth), fantasizing

It was pure luck that when he sank into the dungeon’s lake, Laios saw the mouth of a tunnel and managed to haul himself into it and up, up into an open space. His head breaks the water’s surface—he’s come up in an air pocket, a cave with a shoreline.

A cave with an occupant, because the eerie, milky eyes of a kelpie are staring into his face.

Laios flounders, tripping backward and almost going under the water again in his panic. There’s a liquid noise, something quieter and softer than a splash. It’s in the water with him now. He imagines teeth meeting in his neck, at the front where the armor doesn’t protect, and takes in a gulp of water instead of air.

Something grabs him by the back of his neck, and pulls with a strength beyond the human.

Laios lands on the bank, spluttering and coughing out the lake water. He’s on his hands and knees, struggling to breathe, when a hand comes to rest on his back. At his side, the sword trembles.

Laios tries to rise, and crumples onto his side instead. From there, he has an excellent view of a woman watching him with the kelpie’s white eyes, nude but for the shape of a pelt—a horse-skin—pulled around her body.

“Oh, calm down,” she says, her voice slower and deeper than any woman he’s met before. “Only a desperate kelpie would eat an adventurer—and even if I were, I’d choose easier prey. I don’t fancy pulling you out of all that plate armor, like shelling a mimic.”

Laios splutters, though he’s not sure if it’s the water in his lungs or the naked—woman? kelpie?—in front of him. He thinks he can feel a blush rising in his cheeks.

“I won’t bite,” she says, a smirk swelling into a mischievous grin that shows the sharp points of her teeth. “Unless you want me to, that is.”

Now Laios knows he’s blushing furiously.

Her brows, green as her hair, lift slightly, and her lips part in something between surprise and amusement. “Well, look at that,” she says, “a tall-man who’s into monsters.”

“T-to be fair,” Laios finally manages to stammer, his voice rough from the water, “I’d prefer not to do it with your other shape.”

A pause. He thinks he’s offended her—

And then she laughs, a wild, sharp-edged sound almost like a horse’s cry, teeth flashing, and Laios swallows hard. The horse-skin has slipped a little, and he can see the shape of her breasts. He feels his face heat.

“Oh, tall-man,” she says at last, still half-laughing—and Laios loves the sound—and she meets his eyes again, “I almost wish it was my rut.”

Laios swallows again. He knows about kelpies, more than most adventurers, but not their reproductive habits. No one does. Kelpies are reclusive, rarely willing to take a human form at all, and most are dangerous.

Before he can stop himself, he asks, “What would you do…if it was?”

Those strange milky eyes widen, appraising him slowly. Her tongue darts out, flicking over her lips almost hungrily. Oddly, it doesn’t frighten Laios at all—which is perhaps a sign that he’s swallowed too much water.

“Well,” she says slowly, holding his eyes with her own, “that depends.”

“On?” Laios manages to ask.

“Whether you wanted to carry young or not.”

Wait…what?

Laios’s brain is spinning. He’s male, so he knows he can’t carry young. After all, he doesn’t have a womb, and his body would have no way to nourish a growing life. But she’s acting like it’s actually possible, like there’s a way to do it.

“H-how?” he stammers, confused and yet profoundly curious.

The kelpie’s smirk returns fivefold.

“We have two major things we can do with our magic,” she says, kicking her feet back and forth playfully. “One, change ourselves from horse to human. Two, change our sex organs.” Her smile widens, sharpening to something mischievous. “And if we really want to, we can push those changes onto someone else.”

Laios’s jaw drops open.

“Hypothetically, how would that work? I mean, would you add another hole, or just attach a womb to the one I have now? And would I have to give up my penis?” He’s in full flow now, unable to stop thinking about the mechanics of how that would work. “Would I grow breasts?”

“Wow.” The kelpie stares at him. “You’re kinky, you know that?”

Laios blushes.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s not a problem,” she says, getting to her feet. “Now, do you want me to show you? Properly?”

The pelt falls away—and Laios’s mouth falls slack.

“Well, that’s certainly a flattering response,” she murmurs, tugging him to his feet. “Though I can’t just call you ‘tall-man’ anymore.”

“It’s L-Laios,” he manages, struggling to decide where to look. She has breasts—round and full, one just slightly larger than the other—but he doesn’t dare look lower. The nipples are dark against her pale skin—pallor that would be unhealthy on a tall-man or an elf.

“Laios,” she says, rolling his name across her tongue like a piece of meat. “Armor off, please.”

His hands are moving before he knows it, shucking off the plate and chainmail as fast as possible. It crashes on the rocks at his feet.

“Oh, what a good boy,” she says, tongue flicking over her lips again. “So obedient.”

Laios feels his manhood stiffening upward immediately. He swallows heavily. His pants and underclothes are tight against the skin now.

“And eager,” she laughs, stepping closer. “Now, I want you to look me in the eye, and tell me exactly what you want, Laios.”

“I-I want you to give me a womb,” he whispers, shamelessly. “I want you to tell me what’s happening as you do it. I want you to fuck a baby in me.”

She pauses.

“Well, sadly I think you might have to wait a while for that,” she says, “since I’m not in rut, and your party’s probably worried about you.”

Laios’s face falls.

“Then again…” She steps forward, close enough that her breasts brush the fabric of his shirt, and leans in. Her nose and mouth brush the side of his neck. She sniffs, nuzzling into him—and lets out a groan. “You smell divine, and it wouldn’t be the first time a pretty boy managed to get me to rut a week early.”

Laios goes a little weak at the knees.

“Tell me about it,” he pleads. “How would it work?”

She sighs into his neck, taking in his scent.

“I would lean in, run my hands over you, get accustomed to the shape—and when you were ready, I’d add in a little magic, bit by bit. Tease you, tell you to watch the change, or you wouldn’t get to cum. And then, when you were all ready for me, I’d change myself too. And then I’d push inside, breach your new hole for the first time and watch you moan.”

Laios, without meaning to, lets out a soft whine. He’s leaking now, the front of his pants so wet he knows she’ll feel it soon—if she hasn’t already.

“And then I’d hold you down, and push your legs wide as they’d go, and fuck my eggs into your brand new hole,” she continues, one hand snaking inside his shirt to rub over his pecs—and suddenly, viciously, give his nipple a twist.

Laios keens, high and loud and absolutely desperate, as he crumples to his knees. She goes with him, tugging his shirt aside so her mouth can latch over his nipple and kiss and suck and bite. He gasps, a little sting of pain zinging through his chest—but his cock is straining as far as it can, confined in his underclothes, and Laios would be lying if he thought he didn’t want her to do it again. And again, and again, until his skin breaks and she can lap at his welling blood like a cat.

“You’re a smart boy, so I’d tell you all about my eggs as they go in,” she says, pushing Laios gently down onto his back. “How they’re like shark eggs, leathery and soft, and how they’ll push your new womb as full as it can go. How each one carries a little tiny kelpie inside, just a little pulse of life so small you’d barely see it at first. How they’d feed on everything you eat, and how they’ll thrive on every meal and swell inside you until you’re so swollen you can hardly move. How I’d make you a nest, as cozy and soft as I could, and tuck you in and curl around you till it’s time. How you’d bear down and lay them at last, and I’d hold you close and help you through it. How you’d hold them, watch the little heads poke through the egg casing, and how you’d fall in love with your babies right there.” She pauses, nips his throat, and adds, “You’d be such a good mother for them, wouldn’t you?”

Laios’s choked gasp turns into a cry, because his back’s arching, and he’s cumming into his underclothes, hard, harder than he’s ever cum before.

Panting, he flops back, euphoric. Through the daze, he realizes he’s thinking aloud.

“So kelpies have egg cases like sharks? And you don’t leave them, but have a mate carry them like a seahorse? That’s so clever! Wait, does that mean that any pair of kelpies can mate, if they change their genitalia? That’s brilliant, because you’re one of the rarest monsters in the whole dungeon! You’d have to be able to adapt whenever you saw another one of your kind, if you wanted to carry on the species!”

Fuzzily, as he comes back to himself, rambling excitedly all the time, Laios finds the kelpie staring at him.

“What?”

Shaking her head, she says, “You’re such a nerd.”

And then their eyes meet, and they’re laughing so hard they’re almost cackling. She flops onto the floor beside him, her teeth bared joyfully in a grin.

“Could you…actually do that with a tall-man,” Laios asks quietly, staring at the ceiling, “or were you just indulging me?”

She smiles, soft and mischievous.

“Come back and see me in a few weeks, Laios,” she says, “and I guess you’ll find out yourself.”

Tell me if you want a part two!

[propheticbride]

Smile for the Camera

𐙚 Steve Rogers has taken freshly initiated baby frat brother, Peter, under his wing. And what better way to help break the boy in than Steve allowing him to help record a sex tape with his two partners?

𐙚 Steve Rogers x Reader x Natasha Romanoff/Peter Parker x Reader (tw: straight porn)

Peter Parker had miraculously been the only one to pass the seven days of hell within the Avengers frat house. Everyday a challenge was given to the boys who wished to pledge, every one harder than the next.

Not only had Peter outshined all of the boys, but he had impressed Bucky, an almost impossible feat. So when they had taken the boy, along with two other boys, in the middle of the woods and ordered them to down a 60oz and dive naked into the lake, and swim across and come back without puking, Peter had stood there, in full nude, smiling with the question.

‘I'm in right?’ despite shaking to death from the cold, he was grinning.

Steve, being the only one in the house from Peter’s high school, agreed to take him under his wing. It was either him, or Brock, but Peter happily agreed for Steve after looking the straight faced man up and down. Brock scared him.

Peter had come freshly from high school, on a fancy ass scholarship nonetheless. A bit naive, but smart as a whip that caught on quickly without needing to be told twice.

Steve and him got along quite well, and found several things in common. However, Steve found one thing odd about the boy.

It was no secret that the frat was a sex factory, even those with members that had girlfriends. So when Peter had accidentally walked in on you, and Natasha giving your boyfriend a blowjob, he admitted days later (when he could actually face Steve) that he was a virgin. Too caught up in his grades and dancing that girls and dating hadn't even crossed his mind.

That's when Steve got the idea. Albeit, when he was very drunk, bar hopping with Bucky.

Now Steve wasn't a sick guy, but when you have a sexy-confident woman as your girlfriend, along with having an adorable subby baby as your other girlfriend, things get pretty interesting inside his head.

Natasha needed to be convinced more than you did, her mostly being protective of you.

“I don't want her being exploited by your asshole friends. You already see how Brock and Jack look at her. How Bucky and Sam try to tell her dirty jokes when I walk away for a second.” Natasha had pouted. “I don't want them seeing my baby in such a vulnerable way.”

Now Steve wasn't submissive, him and Natasha both being equal doms in bed, but Steve had come to learn that it was true what they said. Women are wiser. And Natasha did own most of the brain cells, even in big bad dom mode, she was always reasonable.

Those times when Steve wanted to overstimulate you, Natasha would tell him you were already at your limit.

So when he discovered that his new baby frat brother was a virgin, his wheels began to turn. And after a long conversation with Natasha and you (mostly the redhead’s overprotective ass) he had the perfect idea in mind.

He spoiled Peter with breakfast, then lunch, and then promised him dinner after his 'present’. Peter was confused.

“You don't have to get me anything.”

“Oh I know that.” Steve nods.

When Steve opened the door to the frat and locked it, he instantly heard your sighs of pleasure. When Peter followed Steve up the stairs, Steve stopped him and requested he get the camera and stand from the main closet.

“What's that moaning?” Peter is visibly nervous when he asks.

“Left some porn on. Just get it.” Steve demands.

Peter nods and goes to fetch it. However, the sighs never stopped.

After his frat brother disappears upstairs, Peter sighs and claims the camera, quickly heading back up the stairs as the moans grow louder. Who leaves porn on?

He opens the door, without knocking, and nearly drops the camera when he sees the sight in front of him.

Peter had first met you a couple nights ago, when Steve introduced you and Natasha as his girlfriends. Peter struggled to comprehend the dynamic. Natasha hadn't been the warmest to him, but to be fair he watched her to be cold and distant to every other frat member, not excited that her girlfriend was being lusted after. Steve didn't seem to care, having his complete trust they won't ever attempt to try at anything, all having their own girlfriends and lovers at their beck and call.

But now you lay on the bed, your hands fisting the sheets while Natasha eats you out, her tongue focused on your clit while her two fingers plunged in and out of you.

Steve stands against the window, leaning back and looking at him with a grin. “You gonna set up the camera?”

“Y-Yeah.” Peter hesitates, quickly setting everything up.

“Puppy, how does that feel?” Steve asks you.

“Really really good daddy!” you cry.

“Yeah? Mommy’s tongue feels really good huh?”

“Yeah!”

Natasha pulls her fingers out and places both of her hands on your hips, immediately latching onto your clit and sucking it.

You cry and grind against her face, which she happily allows, beginning to moan to add vibrations to you.

“Steve Steve Steve-”

“I'm not pleasing you baby.” he informs you.

“Natasha. Mommy!” you cry.

Natasha begins to lick you out wildly, until you begin to shake and tears stream your face. You cum with a scream, and silently whimper as Natasha licks you completely clean.

Natasha pulls away from your cunt, licking her lips and giving you her fingers to suck.

You happily take them in your mouth, holding her wrist, and sucking them completely clean.

Natasha was wearing a deep red cami set, while you donned, or was once donning, a soft baby pink cami dress that was pushed up to your breasts, your panties completely gone, giving Peter a good view of your cunt. It made him turn red in the face almost immediately.

“Peter…right?” she asks, with an uninviting tone.

Peter nods, eager to please her for some reason. He then shifts his weight, feeling his boner getting bothersome.

“Steve?” Natasha asks. “Is he just going to stand there?”

“No. He's going to be a good boy and behave. Aren't you?” Steve asks him.

He nods again.

“Use your words.” she snarks.

“Y-Yeah.”

Natasha hms in approval, then stands up and pulls his arm closer. “You can touch her. But no kisses, or fingering. Or putting your mouth on her. Just touch her.”

Natasha then shoves him onto the bed.

Peter would be lying if he said he didn't find you attractive. Even at the most recent frat party, the night you were introduced, with you and Natasha kissing and her grinding you against her. Or the time you got up on the tables and danced ‘Can't Take My Eyes Off You’ drunkenly with Bucky’s girlfriend (in an appropriate way.)

And now, you were lying there looking at him with lust in your eyes, cunt on display, and spit gleaming around your mouth.

You whine.

“What's wrong baby?” Natasha beats Steve to it.

“Wanna feel good again.” you admit.

“Greedy girl. Natasha just made you feel good.” Steve shakes his head.

“I haven't even gotten to cum.” Natasha pouts.

Peter feels almost as if he's intruding on this moment. It feels sexual of course, but so intimate. Yeah. Steve and Natasha are your doms, but also your caring significant others who would do anything for you and each other. He stays quiet.

“Hmmm.” Natasha comes to your side, allowing you to roll over and meet her face. You exchange small kisses against each other, so loving, so soft. “I'm gonna ride your face. Daddy is gonna fuck you, and Peter is gonna rub your pretty clit. Make mommy cum and she'll be so happy.”

You nod and roll onto your back, making grabby hands as she pulls her flimsy shorts down, arousal evident on her panties.

Steve begins to undress as well, taking his dick out and giving it a few pumps.

He then looks at the younger boy, “You can undress too.”

Peter nods and begins to shed his clothes.

“Hey.” Natasha stops him. “Look, you seem like a good kid but I don't want to see you naked, and I don't think baby should either.”

“Alright. Just your boxers Petey.” Steve nods.

He nods, and follows Steve orders, removing all but his boxers.

Natasha settles over you, and before she's even ready, you immediately pull her down and hold her thighs. Natasha moans, a throaty and desperate whine that goes straight to Peter’s growing hard-on.

He couldn't get harder than he was at that moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Natasha cries. “You feel so good puppy oh god!”

“Feel good mommy?” Steve leans into a kiss Natasha.

She leans into it. She pulls back breathless, “So good daddy. Our puppy’s mouth is so so good.”

She begins to grind, you happily flattening your tongue and holding her down as she rocked.

Peter gets lost, watching it unfold. Sure he watched porn, but nothing was like this.

Steve quickly moved and slammed into you, catching him off guard.

“Go ahead and touch her Petey.” Steve instructs.

He nods, and quickly brings himself to the side of the bed, leaning against the soft fabric, hand immediately attaching to your cunt while he begins to run circles into your clit. You whine against Natasha, which causes her to pant and moan more at the sensation.

“Fuck. Daddy, she feels so good.” she cries.

“I bet mommy, puppy takes so good care of her doms doesn't she?” Steve rocks into you, not paying any attention to Peter anymore.

“She's the best girl. She's my favorite girl.” Natasha coos, pushing some hair out of your face as you suck and lick her.

Natasha begins to shake, rock and whimper fast. She cums with a slight squeal, as she rubs and pulls at her nipple to help her truly finish.

“Puppy let mommy up.”

You quickly shake your head and begin to lick up her arousal.

“Puppy I mean it.” she warns.

You hold onto her harder.

Steve laughs slightly, you never challenge him, but thanks to Natasha’s spoiling you, you tend to be bratty towards her.

“If mommy cums again, I'll spank your ass red. We have a guest over, you want to misbehave?” Natasha asks.

That quickly makes you release her, and she stands up once more.

“Rub her clit harder Peter.” she frowns at his fragile touch on you.

“S-Sorry.”

Steve laughs again, shooing him away before folding your legs up to your chest and begins to pound into you at a faster speed.

“Steve please!” you squeal.

“S-She's kinda loud…w-won't the other guys hear?” Peter swallows, not taking his eyes off your form for a second.

“Oh they hear. Her little fans are probably jacking it.” Natasha rolls her eyes, pulling her panties back on. She trails back to the camera and zooms in a little.

Steve cums inside you with heavy pants and a throaty fuck.

Natasha turns the camera off and closes it.

“Baby. Say goodbye to your guest.” she smiles.

“He's rock hard puppy.” Steve laughs, pulling out and reaching for his boxers.

You reach out and palm him through his boxers, he slowly rocks up against you.

“Fuck.” he swears in a low voice.

Steve and Natasha don't say anything, they know you love to please. Love, to please.

Like that one time when Bucky’s ex cheated on him, Steve had been able to convince Nataha to allow you to cheer him up, grinding against him with just your undergarments on, making him cum.

You quickly sped up, and Peter began to rock into your palm and you gave him a sly smile.

“Does it feel good?” you mumble to him.

He nods, you haven't spoken to him yet, and now you have. He was too dizzy.

“Yeah. Really good puppy-”

“You don't call her that.” Natasha hisses from behind them. “Steve tell him.”

“Nickname is sacred Petey.” Steve warns.

“S-Sorry.”

Peter cums with a high moan within his boxers, and you touch him through it.

“E-Enough. P-Please.” he begs.

“M’sorry.” you retract your hand.

A clapping of hands causes him to jump.

“Time to go Peter.” Natasha is opening the door and tapping her nails against it, a bit annoyed. “Baby needs a bath and then it's her nap time.”

“She gets grumpy. Both of them do.” Steve says the last sentence just to him. “C’mon, I'll see you out. I think Pietro is home from hockey practice. You share a room, yeah?”

Peter collects his clothes and is walked out by Steve, “Welcome to the frat house bro, lemme know when you want dinner and we'll go. On me.”

The door shuts, leaving Peter standing there, cum in his boxers, and his mind attempting to process what just happened.

[loousir]

[Werewolf] What about me?

Male Werewolf x Male Reader

Draven

Notes/Warnings: TW for reader breakup, mentions of an affair, non-aggressive confrontation, reader comfort, idk, this one is short but I'm content with it, haven't been feeling great lately lol, not very proof read

Masterlist

If you like my work, please consider reblogging!

You currently laid in bed, tears streaming down you face as you hugged your pillow. You trusted people too easily and it came back to bite you in the ass today. You had gone out for a dinner date with the guy you had been dating for a month. Everything was going great. He sat you down, treated you amazingly, like nothing you could have dreamed of. Made you think he was the one. But turns out he wasn't. While the two of you were together, a woman approached you and, albeit kindly, told you that this was actually her husband. She wasn't mad at you since she knew how he could act but you still couldn't help but feel guilty. You opted to leave so they could argue or fight about it, having felt so betrayed by who you thought could be the one.

A cab was called and you cried all the way back home, tearfully messaging your best friend about what had happened. You could see that he read the messages but didn't respond. You knew he would eventually and just figured he was busy. While you lied in bed, going over what happened and the things you two did while you were together, it almost made sense. He was being so nice to mask the fact he was doing something so horrible. You couldn't help but cry more, thinking how blind you were to the signs. While you were crying, you didn't hear the front door open or the heavy footsteps making their way towards you until you felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around you. At first, you were understandably panicked, whipping your head around to find out who it was only to see the soft gaze of the only man you've trusted for years.

You instantly turned around and hugged him tightly, crying into his chest as he shushed and comforted you. Even though he was thinking the whole 'I told you so' shtick, he kept quiet and let you get out your emotions. Once it seemed like you had calmed down enough, he pulled away and looked down to you with a smile. "Feel a little better?" He asked, wiping away some of the tears with his thumb. "A little..." You mumbled, hiding your face away again, the sound of his heart beat comforting you. "Let's get up and take a shower. Rise that gross memory away." He said softly, sitting up while you stayed, cuddling into the bed more as you didn't want to move. He stared down to you for a moment and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, get up, let's go." He said, pulling you up and out of the bed with ease.

You whined but held onto him as he carried you into the bathroom. "Do I need to help you get undressed or can you do that yourself?" Draven asked, setting you on the counter. He stood between your legs, making you blush and shake your head, pushing him away as you got up. "Just wait outside." You said quickly, voice still a little shaky from crying. With a small sigh, you closed the door and changed into the nude. You turned on the water and waited for a moment before getting in. It was still a bit cold for your liking but it didn't bug you, washing away the day felt nice. Draven knocked at the door and asked, "May I come in?" You mumbled out a yea before hearing the door squeak open. "Its just a change of clothes." He said before closing the door again. After a few more minutes of just sitting under the water, you stepped out and dried off, seeing that he brought a pair of comfy clothes for you to wear.

With a small smile, you slipped them on. When you got to the shirt you noticed it was big on you, making you blush when you realized it was Dravens. And it was still warm. You couldn't help but blush more knowing that he had given you the shirt off his back to wear. As soon as you stepped out if the bathroom, Draven instantly swept you off your feet, causing you to yelp and cling onto him. "I hate that you can do that..." You mumbled out, hiding your face. He chuckled and hugged you close. "You smell so much better." He mumbled, barely fluent enough for you to understand. "H-huh?" You pulled back and looked at him, blush traveling to your ears at this point.

Draven tilted his head like the big puppy he is. "What?" He asked, convincingly pretending like he didn't say anything. "You... Nevermind." You said softly, hugging him close as he carried you into the living room. Little did you know, Draven only made you shower cause you, to him, smelled gross, even if you were dressed in your best cologne. You smelled like a man he hated, someone disgusting. Which is also why he gave you his shirt, opting to rock the tank underneath. "Draven you didn't have to do all this..." You said, seeing all the snacks and blankets laid out for the two of you.

"No. But, I wanted to." He said, setting you on the couch. Draven didn't let you move as he wrapped you in blankets, giving you drinks and snacks to choose from. Even though you thought he would snuggle up under the blanket with you, he didn't. Draven made himself cozy next to you, turning on the TV and putting on your favourite thing to watch. The more you thought about it, why did he go out of his way to do all these things? You weren't together but he almost treated you like you were. While you thought and went over the possibilities in your head, you were unintentionally staring at him. He could only assume what you were thinking but ended up asking, "What about me?"

This time, you tilted your head. "What?" "What about me?" He asked again, locking eyes with you as you thought for a moment. You didn't fully understand what he asked at first before realizing. He was asking, what if you dated him instead? "I... I didn't think you were into guys..." You said softly, having only ever seen him with girlfriends before. Draven glanced away awkwardly. "I wasn't. At least I didn't think I was." He said softly, looking back to you with a small smile. "Not until I met you." Draven paused for a second and bit his lip gently. "I didn't actually break up with my last girlfriend cause she was bad or anything... I broke up with her cause spending time with you made me realize I was actually into men. I was into you, specifically." He pauses and chuckles. "I mean, I'm still into you but-" You didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

Dravens hands naturally found their way to your waist, pulling you a bit closer. "Is there anything else important you need to tell me?" You asked once the two of you pulled away, keeping your eyes locked with his. Draven was contemplating if he should be honest or not. "I'm a werewolf?" He said, almost questioning what he said. Your brows furrowed, before a small smile a laugh left you. After your small giggle session you realized he was dead serious. "I dont believe you." You said, looking at him, slightly concerned. "Earlier when I picked you up, I said that you smelled better." He stated, one hand making its way up to cup your cheek. "You smelled like that prick still, his scent was all over you." Draven said, leaning in and nuzzling his nose in your neck. "Now you smell like me." He whispered, making you blush again, still unsure how to react to his sudden reveal. "I-I'm not sure if I fully believe you on that..." Draven pulled back and tilted his head.

"On the whole sudden Werewolf reveal..." You said softly, still being a bit shocked at the possible fact that he's a werewolf. Draven thought for a moment before using one of his large hands to cover your eyes. You protested at the sudden lack of sight and tried to pry his hand away but he wouldn't move. After a minute, he let go and you blinked a couple times. Your brows furrowed again when you saw two wolf ears sitting atop his head, perked and focused solely on you. "Haha, very cute." You said, thinking he was actually joking. You reached up and grabbed one of the ears, pulling on it gently only to realize it was actually attached to his head. "Wait seriously?" You asked, other hand shooting up to pet his other ear. They're super soft for a wolf. Draven blushed softly and nodded as you nearly crawled into his lap to pet and scratch behind his ears. He couldn't help but hide his face in your neck when you noticed he had a tail that was happily wagging behind him.

"Oh gods youre too cute..." You mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Draven hugged you close and kissed at your neck gently. "Is this ok?" He asked, making you nod and ask him to keep going. Dravens kisses were slow and sweet, as if he was savoring you, making you shiver. "Draven..." You mumbled out, hugging him as well when he pulled back to rest his chin on your shoulder. "You're too good for that asshole." He said, keeping you pressed up against him. Draven laid back, keeping you close while you snuggled into him, his tail still swishing against the couch. "I think we could work." You said, nuzzling your face into his neck this time. Draven smiled and squeezed you tight for a moment before loosening his grip again. "I'd like that."

[koisuko]

So the cat asks what if the cat was a human who was cursed as a cat and somehow the curse is broken and now there is a young woman in their house

HAH! I imagine the reactions would vary wildly from shock to straight up embarrassment. * cracks knuckles *

Tw: none, fluff, slight mentions of nudity, fem reader

ft: Raiden, Kenshi, Lin Kuei Trio, Johnny, Kung Lao, and Liu Kang

Raiden

Dumbfounded, flustered, an absolute tomato at the sight of a nude young woman on his bed, where his newly adopted feline friend once was.

When I say his eyes were wide, nearly popping out of his head, his brain couldn't even register what you were saying.

It took him a moment to bring himself back to reality, quickly shielding his eyes with a gasp.

"I-I'm so sorry, m-miss, h-?"

He struggled to make a coherent sentence, his tongue failing to cooperate with the words forming in his head.

Eventually you were able to explain the situation, using a pair of casual clothes he handed you, his back turned out of respect of your privacy.

He listened intently to your explanation, making sure you were comfortable every step of the way, offering you food and water or tea. He made sure he didn't overstep any boundaries, he even offered you a place to stay after you clarified that you were in fact homeless.

Kenshi Takahashi

Considering he's blind, he had no reaction to the nude part specifically. He could sense a familiar presence, but something was off about it.

"Sento?"

He would call out to you, wondering if something was wrong with you that he could sense, only for a voice to call back in response.

Taken aback by a sudden voice, he quickly gripped onto his katana, his eyebrows knit together in a mix of caution and confusion. You were quick to clarify that you, albeit hesitantly as you knew how skilled of a swordsman the man in front of you was, were Sento, his beloved feline.

Multiple questions later, he released his grip on his sword, keeping his guard up yet still allowing you room to speak and explain yourself.

It took a while for him to consider that what you were saying about the curse was true, all of your answers adding up in a way that made sense. He offered you help with your redemption, allowing you a place with him while you rehabilitate yourself to a human life once again.

Bi-han

He had no reaction to your nude form, although he was quick to restrain you and cover you up, questioning you on who you are and where you came from.

You were quick to hiss in his face, not quite registering that you are human once again, to which you gained no reaction.

"Who are you?"

His voice was deep and gravely, his eyes squinting with suspicion at your sudden presence in his quarters. You could feel the chill from his skin, the frostbite rising on his forearms as he glares down at you, waiting for an answer.

Upon explaining your story, the curse itself and anything relevant, Bi-han kept his stoic demeanor, not once taking his eyes off of you. He was skeptical, to say the least, but the more you explained the more his face visibly softened. Although he didn't smile, or make any move to show that he understood, instead he allowed you to stay in the Lin Kuei as a new member.

Kuai Liang

He was quick to cover his eyes, a light pink dusting his cheeks as he handed you a nearby blanket to cover yourself with. He was confused, on why there was a woman in his room, and why you were nude.

"Miss, are you hurt? How did you get in here?"

He spoke in a soft yet cautious tone, careful not to intimidate you. After he was sure you weren't in need of medical attention, he quickly sat you down, giving you his undivided attention while you explained your situation.

He was understanding, engaging in your endeavor by asking questions, even offering you help with finding the culprit and questioning them for you. Kuai handed you any food, water, or tea you requested, a soft reassuring smile on his face as he mentioned allowing you to stay with him.

Tomas Vrbada

Much like Raiden, he was absolutely flabbergasted, I mean face full of red heat and audibly gulping at the sight of you, naked, in his room. He was quick to hide his eyes, and his visibly flustered appearance, behind his hands.

A stuttering mess he was, digging through his drawers for anything to cover you up, his hands shaking and fumbling with various different shirts and pants. He placed them on the bed, keeping himself faced away as he took a shaky breath.

"p-pick whatever you'd like, a-are y-" he nervously clears his throat, "are you hungry? Thirsty?"

He made sure to keep his gaze elsewhere, even if you were now fully clothed. Only glancing at you when something of your story piqued his interest, swiftly turning his head away with yet another blush tinting his cheeks.

He was completely open to you, believing your story and offering to console you on your struggles with this curse.

Johnny Cage

Respectfully, he's staring, out of pure instinct, but he apologizes and offers you some of his clothes to cover up with. Expect to be wearing his merch, his name labeled in bold letters on the front and back of the T-shirt, and Cage covering the pants.

Johnny's first assumption is that you are a fan, a crazy one, that somehow made it into his mansion looking for a 'risqué' encounter with your favorite actor.

He watched you pull a pink collar from behind your back, holding it to him with a pitiful expression. Realization hit him, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Princess? I must be drunk, or out of my mind," he glances down at the whiskey in his glass, "what the f*ck was in my drink?"

You explained the situation to him, from the moment the curse turned you into a fluffy white feline to now, making sure to sprinkle in things only you knew about Johnny to further convince him.

Considering he owns an entire mansion by himself, he had plenty of rooms to allow you one upon hearing that you were homeless without him. He never stopped calling you princess, despite you telling him your real name, not that you mind.

Kung Lao

His eyes were wide in surprise, a gasp left his lips when he saw you. He covered his face quickly and turned around, a string of apologies were thrown, worried he violated your privacy by looking at your naked figure.

He’s quick to find anything nearby that can cover you up, anything at all to maintain your decency, even willing to take off his own shirt just for you to have something to shield yourself with.

“Miss, are you lost? Are you hurt?”

He eventually sat you down, noticing the look of shock on your face, placing a hand on your back as he studied every detail of your features with concern.

As you calmed down, explaining the situation to him, he never once looked away. He nodded in understanding, asking questions in engagement with your struggles.

Eventually he offered to take you to Madam Bo’s for some food and tea, he was sure Madam Bo would have a solution for you.

Liu Kang

Extremely respectful, he is sure to cover his eyes and offer a gentle smile your way. He is more concerned than suspicious of you, offering you a warm blanket and a seat to relax in.

He will sit in front of you, the warm expression never once leaving his face as he patiently waits for you to gather your thoughts together. Even offering you a cup of warm tea as you pull the blanket tighter around your shivering form.

"What brings you here, does something trouble you?"

His tone not displaying even the tiniest bit of negativity, offering you a safe place to open up and talk about whatever troubles your mind.

Once you gather your words together, you explained in detail the curse bestowed on you, the life you had before it, and what you remember from your time as a feline. He listened intently, occasionally offering reassurance throughout that he believes you and that he is willing to help.

Despite your sudden appearance, he was willing to accept you with open arms, offering you a place within the Academy as your new home.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Phinks Magcub NSFW Profile

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, kidnapping, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, marking, spanking, anal, size kink but it's tall/bigger reader inclusive, mentions of somnophilia, praise, panty stealing, Phinks thinks your discharge is hot, breaking and entering, Phinks is vocal and you overhear him masturbating to you, marking, mentions of violence, pre-you Phinks is not a good hookup buddy, slight objectification, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Phinks is most certainly not a saint when it comes to anything involving sex; he’s had his fair share of hookups, nights spent in the arms of some random woman, only to slip out the door in the wee hours of the morning and never see them again.

 He’s got experience, knows generally what he’s doing between the sheets, though only to a certain extent – he’s very much aware of how to fuck, how to prep a girl and get them creaming around his cock, but any of the other softer sides that sex has to offer? Yeah, Phinks has no fucking clue.

Pillow talk, sweet nothings, praise and eye contact meant for anything other than sexual tension are things that he’s more or less clueless about, having never really felt the need to try them or do them in any shape or form. 

Why would he ever tell some random hookup that he loves them, that he’s so happy they’re in his life, that they’re perfect? 

It’s just never been a thing for him, but this is, ironically, something that’s on Phinks’s mind constantly when it comes to you. He holds such intense devotion to you, such intense obsession and infatuation and yearning for you that the idea of being naked with you, feeling your skin and lovely body against his own is something that literally gives him goosebumps, pleasurable tingles running up and down his spine, making him flush lightly and clear his throat. It’s a thought that Phinks loves to entertain; the idea of holding you close, his arms caging in your head while his hips thrust into you gently and languidly, your pretty eyes staring up into his wide, teary yellow ones, you whispering that you love him… 

It’s a guilty pleasure, and this leads to Phinks’s thoughts regarding you skewing a bit on the more lewd side, less innocent and wholesome. And while the thoughts of pillow talk and sweet words being exchanged between the two of you are things that frequently pass through his mind, so do the ideas of pinning you down and fucking you full of his cum, of having your legs thrown over his shoulders while he licks and sucks at your clit to make you come again and again and again, imagining you on your knees drooling and slobbering all over his cock. 

The dirty thoughts do very much populate his mind as his obsession with you forms, so much so that he actually feels a bit guilty for how often he thinks of you nude and moaning his name – is it disrespectful to have wet dreams of you on a nightly basis, his sheets harboring permanent stains all because of you? 

Is it tarnishing your image to be wringing himself dry to the thought of you on a daily basis, to be grunting and groaning your name so often that he’s sure the syllables are molded to his tongue, that your lovely name is being cried out while he does something so filthy?

He feels bad, but not enough to stop – no, not nearly enough, not when fucking his fist is the only possible solution to quelling the intense yearning and hunger he feels for you, if only slightly.

Phinks does, however, have one particular secret he feels really bad about – that is, while the thought of you is enough to get his cock throbbing, even just smelling you making him feel light headed and groaning lowly in his throat, he’s found that he really likes having an aid when he’s pleasuring himself. 

He can come to the thought of you (easily, pathetically easily, once even without touching himself), but if he has something of yours, something soft and pretty and used, his orgasms come faster, harder, stronger. 

That is, Phinks becomes something of a panty thief. The first time was genuinely accidental – he’d been snooping around your home, the front door’s lock carefully picked then relocked (he’d even taken off his shoes and neatly put them next to yours in the doorway, briefly staring at them side by side and letting the smallest of smiles flit across his lips). 

He always saves your bedroom for last when he’s broken in – something about the excitement gets his face flushing, the idea of being in your room, surrounded by your things making him fiddle with his fingers a bit, cracking his knuckles idly because he has to be doing something with his hands. And once he finally reaches your room, he’ll stand in the doorway and take a deep, deep breath, letting his eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s Apple bob because god, it smells just like you. 

He’s methodical and careful about the way he looks over all your things, staring at every little knick-knack and pen, carefully picking up any little bits of trash you may have on your drawers and throwing them away for you. He’s snooping through every drawer you have, looking over each piece of clothing and biting his lip as he imagines you wearing them, how your lovely body and curves would look with the fabric stretched across them. 

And eventually, of course, he reaches a more intimate drawer, filled with things he’s sure you wouldn’t let just anyone see. Your panties are neatly tucked away in a corner, the different colors and styles making his throat feel dry, and for a moment he’ll only stare, his fingers frozen as he imagines the fabric sitting over your hips, laying across your ass, framing that perfect little pussy. 

He’s gulping and carefully, oh so carefully, picking up a pair of black cotton ones, fingers gripping onto the edges, holding up and letting his eyes scan over every detail – a thread coming out here, discharge stains there, thinning fabric right over the padded area that must rub right against your cunt, the fabric maybe even bunching up, getting up in between your folds and getting drenched in your slick and tasting like you and smelling like you and fuck fuck fuck – 

He’s hard before he knows it, cock angry and insistent in his trackpants, and he stares for a moment longer, his face on fire, before nearly flinging the pair down back onto the stack, bringing a hand up to cup at his chin, fingers pressing tightly against his mouth. He can’t. 

God he wants to – to press them up to his face, licking and sucking at the fabric, letting any residual slick smear across his lips and skin, to revel in you, but he can’t. It would be too weird, crossing too many lines – plus, he doesn’t know how, but he feels like you’d know, like you’d somehow be aware of what he’d done with them. 

Guilt brews in his chest, but he can’t tear his gaze away, his lower lip sucked between his teeth as tentative fingers reach out once more, tracing over that pulled seam, the thread spinning between his fingers. 

Maybe you wouldn’t notice…? 

Before he can really even decide, there’s a jiggling of the front door and soon he can hear your heavy sighs as you push it open, and all too soon he’s hauling himself out the window, having already known which ways to slide it open so that it’s silent, how to move to the screen so that you wouldn’t see any trace of him. His heart pounds, and it’s not until he returns back to wherever he’s calling home base that he notices the bulge in his pocket. In the safety of his bedroom, he furrows his brows and digs into the pocket, only to feel something soft, unfamiliar, warm…? 

It’s those damn black panties; he must’ve grabbed them in his haste to escape your room, stuffing them absentmindedly in his pocket during his fleeing. Phinks gulps, staring down with wide eyes – what’s he supposed to do now? 

He’s got them, and it’s not like he can go back and just return them – you’re home, and maybe you’d smell him on them. (The heavy scent of his cologne – smokey and minty – is difficult to mask, even when he tries.) 

He’s not sure what to do, deciding to carefully fold them on his dresser and leave the room. It works, for a while – ignoring them, that is, until later that night when he’s got his TV on low, the poorly done action movie he’d thrown on getting to a part where the love interest and main character are alone.

The screen flashes to writhing bodies and obviously forced moans, and Phinks averts his eyes briefly, before snapping them back because that was weird, the actress looked just like you for a moment. 

Truth be told, he’d put on this movie because the lead looked like you through the hair, but certainly not through the face. Yet when they throw their head back like that and gasp, it’s you – or, at least, the you that Phinks sees when he watches you stuff yourself full of your fingers and that damn vibrator you seem to love. 

He bites his lip, watching as the sex montage only gets more explicit, the image of the man snapping his hips into the woman with enough fervor to get the bed shaking making him shake too. He’s palming himself, staring transfixed at the screen as the woman continues to moan and tremble under the man’s touch, Phink’s own voice mumbling your name as he reaches into his sweatpants to pull out his cock, already red and dribbling precum. 

He hisses as his hand wraps around it, squeezing a bit and making him lick his lips. He’s lost in the moment, but it’s not until the screen flashes to a new scene that he pauses, realization hitting him square in the chest. On the screen lie the woman’s discarded red lace panties, strewn haphazardly across the hotel room chair. Her moans blast through the speakers as Phinks stands up, suddenly running to his bedroom and snatching up your panties from off the dresser. 

Morals be damned, he’s hard – he’s hard and he needs you, and the closest thing to you he’s got is this stupid slip of cotton. He’s plopping back down onto the couch soon after, pressing the material up to his nose and letting a deep, strained groan tumble from his lips. 

He’s set the movie to repeat the sex scene over and over again, and as his hand reaches down to grab a handful of his balls and squeeze, he can’t help but inhale at the panties again. They’ve been washed, but they still smell like you – a musky scent, like not all of you had quite been washed out. It’s good, but Phinks wants more, needs more, and soon his tongue is licking across the area that presses right up against your pretty folds and clit, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

His fist is moving up and down so fast it’s nearly a blur, foreskin tugged and fondled as he brings himself steadily closer to his high. He can’t help but imagine you in the position of the woman on the screen – tits bouncing and face all screwed up in ecstasy, crying out like his cock is the single best thing you’ve ever felt. He grits his teeth as the trace edges of his orgasm approach, the tingling in his thighs and contraction of his abs. 

It feels good, so damn good, and it’s only once he opens his eyes again after fluttering them closed that he sees it – a stain, and not just any stain. Your discharge. 

The light color makes him choke back a gasp, his taste buds fooling him into thinking he's tasting you – he can taste it now, musky and intoxicating, and soon he’s biting back a yell, hips bucking up and into his hand desperately and unevenly, cum spurting from his tip in copious ropes. 

Your panties are pressed flush with his face, leaving practically no room for air, and all he can smell and taste and feel is you. 

The woman in the movie is still moaning, babbling something about feeling full, and Phinks can only stutter his hips, chest heaving as he tries to recover from his orgasm, letting the panties stay perched across his mouth as he leans his head back. He feels dirty, bad, because he knows that a good portion of what got him to his finish was the presence of the cotton – of you, really. 

But somehow, he doesn’t feel as guilty as he thought he would – rather, he feels this strange, indescribable sense of excitement, of satisfaction, because this is the closest he’s ever gotten to actually fucking you. He’s never had anything of yours to work with, and it felt so, so damn good – which is why he’s washing them and returning them, only to carefully pluck out a new pair the next week, gulping and – this time – purposefully stuffing them in his pocket, making a point to choose the one with the most stains on it. 

And the week after that? Well, when the dirty panties are sitting right on the rim of the hamper, still glistening slightly with the caked in slick on them? 

Fuck, he’s never come so much in his life.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your ass

Phinks likes to think of himself as relatively respectful towards women – he may be a murderer and a thief, but he’s never harassed or assaulted a woman. And he thinks that counts for something, saying at least something about his moral character. Consequently, he’s tried his best to stay away from objectifying women; or at least, belittling them down to their physical attributes.

And yet, there’s just something about you that makes it really, really fucking difficult for Phinks to not obsess over your physical appearance, to not be constantly fantasizing about how pretty you are. It’s incredibly difficult to not imagine the way your chest would feel against his, your nipples pebbled and brushing against the hard planes of his pectorals. 

It’s extremely hard to not notice how your neck is the perfect size for his fingers to wrap around lightly, the soft skin so very squeezable, bruisable... He doesn’t actively try to objectify you, but he can’t help himself from gravitating towards certain parts of your body. It makes him feel dirty, disgusting, but Phinks can’t help but let his eyes linger on your ass every single time he sees you. 

He’s not even doing it on purpose – his gaze is trailing down over your shoulders, along your spine, stopping right underneath your tailbone, his mouth suddenly going dry. It doesn’t matter whether you’re particularly endowed or not; Phinks has never felt such an urge to reach out and squeeze, to mindlessly grab and grope. 

He’s never wanted so fervently to reach out and smack, to see the way it jiggles and hear you yelp and smack his hand away, looking all flustered and embarrassed and aroused. He doesn’t, of course; he may force you into a multitude of other undesirable situations (stalking you and kidnapping you, for example), but he’ll never lewdly touch you without your consent, even as badly as his body (and mind) beg him to. 

And so, Phinks suffers in silence as you walk around, sneaking glances and then immediately feeling guilty, trying to fight the way his fingers twitch and fidget, practically aching to just brush against the soft fat, to smack, to spread your pretty cheeks and feel you shiver as cold air hits your folds. It makes him feel like a creep, so he tries his best to be inconspicuous with it – he doesn’t want you to notice him noticing you. 

He doesn’t want to be caught red handed, to be confronted by you and asked why he’s ogling you like you’re some slab of meat, like you’re something for him to put his cock into. 

(He wishes he could – he’d trade years of his life just to only once feel your warm cunt wrapped around him, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, to feel your kisses against his neck.) 

But despite his efforts, Phinks is not nearly as subtle as he seems to think he is – you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and while it initially scared you, as you grow more and more complacent, the more you’ll tolerate it. 

In fact, once your sexual relationship starts, you’re the one to sit yourself in his lap, scooping your hips and grinding down on his very noticeable bulge, even going so far as to grab his hands and place them on your ass. It makes Phinks splutter, because while he’s touched many women like this, it’s you – and it’s just as soft as he imagined it would be. 

He’ll spend a very long time with his hands idly groping and squeezing, the pressure behind his fingers becoming more and more the longer he’s got you perched on top of him, until you fear you’ll find finger shaped bruises the next morning. 

Once the floodgates are open, Phinks finds himself always gravitating towards your ass anytime you’re intimate with each other. His hands are finding purchase as he kisses you, cupping your thighs and pulling you upwards to wrap your legs around his waist, practically sprinting as he rushes to get you onto the bed to absolutely destroy you. 

He’s smacking your ass as your face pushes into the mattress, pretty moans and cries of his name slipping past your lips with each smack and thrust, the pleasure mixing with the pain. He likes it when you wear shorts around the house; his favorites are the kind that ride up as you move, bunching up bit by bit, until eventually the entire curve of your lower ass is visible for his prying eyes.

(The way he slowly licks his lips as he stares is almost comical to you, looking like some horny cartoon character. And yet, it’s strangely flattering – because you can see his erection from across the room when this happens, it’s just too insistent to hide.) 

He likes to take baths with you (this takes a while to happen, however, because the idea of it gets his head spinning and his cock involuntarily hard, even though he desperately wants the moment to be innocent, loving), pulling your back flush against his body, your ass pressed up right against his cock. 

You can always feel the way it slowly grows hard, his voice slowly getting deeper, his movements more fidgety and nervous. (You can feel it in the way his fingers – which had been drawing soft circles on the skin of your shoulders – freeze up if you move even slightly, the bob of his length in time with the little gust of air he breathes out.) 

There’s just something about how soft and warm you always are that makes Phinks melt, and anytime he’s in bed with you, something is touching your ass – be it his hand or hips.

His hands

While Phinks has never purposefully not given a hook-up an orgasm, it’s never been his top priority. He’s engaging in the hookup because he wants to get off, and if his partner doesn’t get there, is it really his problem? He doesn’t think it’s his responsibility to help them finish, and this philosophy has become pretty ingrained in him over the years. If they happen to get off before he does, great - if not, well, who’s fault is that, really? 

And yet, when he first starts fantasizing about becoming intimate with you, everything changes. He wants to make you feel good, to get you squirming and trembling under his touch. He wants to make you cry out his name and gush for him, to be left with a slick, sticky mess between your legs. 

He wants to make you gasp and writhe, and while he’s most definitely fingered a woman or eaten her out, he’s approaching these activities with you with a renewed fervor. He has to make you come – he won’t let the sex be over until you’ve reached your high at least once, and as time goes on he decides his favorite way to do this is by fingering you. 

His hands are rough; calloused and full of scars, evidence of the hard life he’s lived. Those hands cause so much pain and suffering, and yet when they touch you, they’re nothing but gentle, caring, eager. He likes the difference between his hands and your own body when he’s touching you in your most sensitive areas – you’re so soft and warm while he’s so hard and rough, and he’ll often spend time simply touching you. 

He’s letting his fingers run along the insides of your thighs, occasionally pressing down on the soft flesh a little too hard, sometimes leaving bruises in their wake. He’ll press his thumb along the curve of your pelvic bone, right above your  clit, tracing down to ever so lightly run along your slit. 

He’s drawing careful circles on your clit, eyes flicking up between your cunt and your face over and over, checking for every possible reaction to see what you like most, what makes your eyebrows twitch and your lips part into that pretty little ‘o’. 

He’ll carefully slip a finger inside, shallowly thrusting and exploring in every direction, seeing which spot makes you bite your lip or clutch onto him. He’ll slowly work it deeper, rubbing against your walls and feeling the way you clench down on him, beads of precum streaming down his length in anticipation of it being him inside you, fucking you like you deserve. 

He’ll slip a second finger inside, working into you and curling them forward, to the side, straight, anything it takes to get you sighing, anything to get you keening out a o-oh, right there Phinks, mmm! 

He likes watching you slowly fall apart on his fingers, and his stamina is good enough that he can keep up the same motion for hours, no matter how complicated or strenuous. His fall back is always to finger you, and once he learns the pattern you like, it’s over – he’s slipping his fingers inside any time he thinks he can get away with it (once you’ve consented to his sexual advances, of course – a mistake, really, as once the floodgates are opened, he’s insatiable). 

And oh – the way you look when your lips around his fingers makes him nearly cream his pants, the wet feeling and the way your lashes bat up at him making him so hard it hurts. 

He’s committed to making you feel as good as he possibly can, and once he notices your affinity for his fingers, he’s eager to get you creaming and gasping in any way he possibly can – just make sure he cuts his nails, because once he gets into the groove of it, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop until you’ve come all over his fingers so many times that you’re brain dead and just begging for something bigger to fill you up. 

And who would Phinks be to decline such a frantic request?

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Phinks’s sex drive is average – he’s had his fair share of hookups over the years, women he’d pick up in a drunken stupor or while on the high of a completing a job, spend the evening between the sheets, only to disappear when the rays of the morning sun peek through the low-class motel windows. 

He’s not especially ashamed of his history of fucking and running; he honestly doesn’t care – who’s business is it that he’s balls deep inside someone who’s name he doesn’t even know? Surely not a stranger’s, surely not even anyone else in the Troupe. 

Fucking is just fucking, after all – nothing more, nothing less. His sex life is something he’s a bit private about, and while he’s not embarrassed, he is actually a bit of a prude. Not enough to stop him from actively engaging in casual sex, but enough to make him a little hesitant to openly discuss it, especially when women are present. 

And so, while he very much enjoys getting his dick wet, feeling something warm and wet clenching down on his cock so tightly he thinks he might explode, he’ll keep his rather insistent horniness dormant for most parts of his life. Sex talk is reserved for the bedroom, and that’s that. But that dormancy starts slipping once you show up, bringing with you all of your curves and softness and beauty. 

To be honest, Phinks is absolutely done for the minute his obsession forms with you, if only because all those perverted thoughts and sexual desires that were swept under the rug in non-sexual situations are suddenly overflowing now that he has a target with which to fantasize. No longer is he swinging by the nearest dive bar and picking up a girl drunk enough to pass out, but instead he’s imagining your plush, wonderful thighs clamping around his waist as he fucks into you deeper. 

He’s not fucking his fist, hoping for a quick orgasm to get him to sleep, instead fantasizing about you caging in his head as he sucks and licks at your cute cunt displayed above him as you ride his face. 

No longer is he pleasuring himself to just the general thought of sex or receiving quality head, but instead he’s thinking of how you’d give him head, how your pretty lips would wrap so perfectly around his girth, how your little gagging noises would have his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips moving on their own, his tip ramming against the back of your throat as he loses control and uses your mouth as his personal cocksleeve. 

His desires for you come to light remarkably fast; he feels dirty, disgusting for sexualizing you so frequently and fervently, but Phinks honestly can’t help it – he can’t not think about what your body looks like beneath your clothes, how your curves and soft skin look when you’re laid bare and spread out on your tiny little bed. 

(He’s spent hours stalking you and watching outside your window with flushed cheeks and ragged breaths, so the question is really a moot point.) 

He can’t not think about how you’d sound moaning and crying out his name when you’re gushing all over his fingers. 

(He’d be more than happy to bring those fingers up to his lips and suck every bit of your slick off, the taste of you driving him forward and practically forcing his cock into your tight little hole, too frantic to even consider going slow for you.) 

He can’t not think about how you’d squeal and bite your lip as he pounds into you hard enough to leave you limping. (He’ll feel a bit guilty the morning after, but there’s this swell of pride settling in his chest because he did that, and the cum sitting inside you is proof of that.) 

He can’t not imagine getting intimate with you, and while he’s embarrassed beyond words to admit how often he’s humped your pillow or left cum stains on your panties all because of you you you, he also can’t deny it – because really, when your body calls to him on such an animalistic, raw level, how can Phinks deny anything?

However, when it comes to actually initiating anything sexual with you, Phinks absolutely refuses unless he has your explicit and eager verbal consent. 

He’ll never force you into anything in the bedroom, partially because he holds a certain amount of respect for women and for consent in general, and because he absolutely does not want you to be any more afraid of him than you already are.

He’s terrified that you’ll think of him as a monster if he were to try to force himself onto you, and while Phinks heavily tends to overthink and blow things out of proportion, he may honestly be right with this one. Because quite frankly, you will realize early on that he gets horny quite easily, and you will understand that if Phinks Magcub really wanted to, he could have you pinned down and skewered on his cock in a matter of seconds without you being able to land a single defensive blow. 

You’re both aware of this, to the point where Phinks actively avoids anything intimate between you both, even for things as simple as holding your hand or pressing a kiss to your jaw or neck. He’s just too nervous to scare you, and – though he’ll never admit it – he’s just nervous of you. 

He tends to get in his head, hyper fixating and worrying to an extreme degree about everything regarding you, and that natural awkwardness that he exhibits in nearly every other aspect of his obsession with you applies here as well. 

He wants to have the confidence to kiss you and touch you, but he really doesn’t – he wants to rip your clothes off and fuck you like an animal in heat and claim you as his, but he just can’t bring himself to, for fear of freezing up, looking like an idiot, doing something wrong, or oh god, what if he can’t make you come, if you’re unsatisfied and never want to sleep with him again oh god oh god oh god no – 

It’s a downward spiral, which leads to one clear-cut solution in Phinks’s mind – don’t try anything with you, and instead relieve the intense urges you inspire within him by himself. 

Which would be a wonderful plan, if it were to go as smoothly as he thinks it does. 

The reality, of course, is that the moment Phinks feels even the slightest bit of pressure in his pants, any sort of a rush of blood below the belt, he’s immediately spluttering, pulling some excuse out of his ass about how he needs to piss, I’ll uh – I’ll be back, no don’t pause the movie, um, I’m gonna go now and practically bolting away to the nearest restroom. 

He doesn’t feel proud as he locks the door behind him, chest heaving as his pants fall to his ankles, the eager and insistent erection pressing against his underwear making him curse and shut his eyes tightly, praying that he comes quickly so he can return to you. 

He hopes he’ll come fast so that he can look at you and think of you and hear you and smell you and imagine you – his hand gets the job done, for the most part, as he quickly and near violently begins jerking his fist up and down, the sensitive skin of his length making him hiss through clenched teeth.

It would all be a good plan – except that Phinks tends to be a bit loud, the passion and pleasure gripping him and making hoarse groans of your name tumble from his lips, curses and praises of what he imagines you in his fantasies doing (there’s lots of good girl, oh fuck that’s a good girl, look so pretty all stuffed full, gonna – gonna make you come so fucking hard baby), to the point where even with a hand firmly pressed over his lips, his sounds are more than apparent to you. 

You, who sits outside a distance away from the bathroom door and is forced to listen to the way he gasps and cries out your name so wantonly. You can even hear the wet squelching noises, rhythmic but getting less steady as he nears his finish. 

If he’s quick about it (and has a fresh mental image of you bending over, leaning forward, licking your lips, stretching, really anything), Phinks can be grunting and whimpering your name as white stains his hands in as soon as two minutes, though the noises he makes when he comes will be difficult to ignore – as is the way he stumbles out of the room, legs slightly shaky and his cheeks still a violent shade of pink as he averts eye contact, clearing his throat and asking what you’d like for dinner, if you’re feeling alright, why you’re looking at him with such an embarrassed and shocked face while you clench your thighs together… 

(His hands are still warm once he comes back, still a bit sweaty, and although he washed his hands afterwards, sometimes you think you even see a bit of cum left on his skin, evidence of how frantically he’d been trying to get off and return to you.)

He has no idea that you’re able to hear him, that his depraved confessions of love and desperation for you during the height of his pleasure are completely heard by you each and every time, but unless you want to see the blond near literally combust from sheer embarrassment and mortification, don’t mention it. 

No, instead, the moment you see a tent forming in his trousers, his body growing stiff as he nervously glances at you from the corner of his eye, stop him – he may not be willing to initiate sexual encounters, but that does not mean he isn’t willing to let you sink to your knees and beg him to please let me taste you, ‘ve been wanting to for so long, please Phinks… 

He won’t not let you climb into his lap and grind on him until he’s gasping and squeezing his eyes shut as his boxers are stained and sticky with his cum. 

He may be hesitant and constantly asking for reassurance that you’re really okay with helping him out, but he won’t ever say no – because you’re a beautiful woman that he’s madly, desperately in love with, and who in their right mind would say no to you? 

MAIN THREE KINKS

Size kink

For Phinks, this kink is really more about strength than actual physical size.

There’s something about you that’s so damn soft; your skin, your touch, your body, every physical part of you (and he knows every fucking nook and cranny of your body, even if you aren’t aware of it). Even your personality and voice are things that make him melt, the innocence that practically radiates off of you in waves making him flush and gulp. It doesn’t matter what your own past is – compared to him and his more alternative lifestyle, you are weak, laughably and worryingly incapable of defending yourself against others, like a bunny prancing around in a pack of wolves. 

But that’s what Phinks likes about you – you’re so damn warm and soft and perfect to just grope at and squeeze that it nearly makes him drool, his hands often having a mind of their own and landing on your curves before he can even stop them. 

You’re just so touchable, and Phinks really notices this when he’s got you underneath him, writhing under his fingers and moaning his name. He likes the difference in strength between the two of you; of course, it’s the root of many of his worries in the bedroom (like hurting you or fucking you too hard and breaking you), but it’s also one of the things he can’t stop thinking about when he’s got you wrapped around his cock, your walls fluttering and squeezing down on him hard enough to get him seeing stars. 

He likes how your body is so cushiony, the perfect juxtaposition against his calloused, rough skin. 

He likes how if he wanted to, he could hold you down with just a single hand, your pretty body open and vulnerable for him to do whatever he hell he wants with you - like you’re some sweet little toy all for him. 

And while he very much cares about your own pleasure, there’s something about that thought - of you being something for him to use, to fuck and touch and shove his cock into - that makes him so hard it’s nearly painful, his mind spinning because god, how did he get so lucky? 

He can’t help but marvel at the difference between you two once you’re even a bit undressed - every new inch of skin is something that makes him bite his tongue, suck in a sharp breath, gulp, palm at the growing bulge in his pants.

He can’t help but notice the way your arms aren’t corded with muscle like his - he can tell with how they tremble when you wrap them around his neck when he gets close to his end, his hips starting to stutter and move on of their own accord. 

He can’t help but notice the way your fingers are so damn tiny, staring and muttering a small fuck under his breath when you wrap them around his girth, fingertips just barely touching, looking so very different from his own hands that seem to dwarf his cock when he’s gripping it. 

He can’t help but notice the way your lips struggle to fit around him, your little mouth not big enough to get as much of him in as he’d like - though there’s something oddly hot about watching you struggle, about seeing the way you gag and choke on him when he goes just a hair too deep, his balls twitching and clenching because you can only fit a little over half of him in. He can’t help but notice the way your cunt desperately tries to make room for him, your walls squeezing down on him to the point where he feels like he can barely move, the grip so tight it’s mixing between pleasurable and painful. 

You’re just so weak and tiny, even if you really aren’t that much smaller than him, and in Phinks’s mind, it only solidifies your roles in the bedroom. He likes to think of himself as the one in charge, the one making sure that you feel good, like he’s the one fucking you, and when you’re just so pathetically weak and easy to throw around like some ragdoll, how can he not feel that way? 

He doesn’t manhandle you to the degree that he wishes he could, but he’s still insistent with moving your body the way he wants, switching positions where he’s doing all the work of arranging your body - all you have to do is look pretty and let him shove his cock back inside you, letting him work his way back up to an orgasm he hopes you’ll reciprocate. 

(He wishes he could manhandle you more, but he doesn’t if only because he’s scared he’d hurt you, nervous he’d lose control and accidentally send you flying across the room. And despite him dialing it down a bit, you most definitely feel like you’re just some sex doll for him sometimes - the way he just effortlessly grasps your hips and shifts you into his lap, only to manually thrust up into you from below makes you feel like you’re just a hole for him to stuff, like he’s using you for his pleasure. Of course, the praise and the way he eagerly rubs at your clit with frantic motions tell you it’s not so, but damn do you feel like it when he’s lifted you up against the wall, holding you with one hand while he grunts and groans and nearly kisses your cervix with his tip.) 

Phinks tends to lose himself during sex, your body and the pleasure you give him just too overwhelming for him to keep a clear head, but Phinks likes it. In fact, if you really want to get him in the mood (not a difficult task, but still), come up to him and press your tits against his chest, fluttering your lashes at him and tell him you feel empty, can you fill me up Phinks? Want you to stretch me out, I miss your cock… 

He’ll stammer and blush, mentally imagining the way you always writhe and bite your lip when he first pushes inside you, your muscles clenching and sucking him in deeper and deeper, right up until his balls are flush with  your ass, the warmth and wetness you cover him in making him hiss and suck a nipple into his mouth. 

He just likes the idea that he’s your big, strong protector, and you’re his sweet little woman, desperately in need of his care and protection, desperately in need of the masculine, large cock hanging between his legs, always ready to plug you up with his cum. 

He just wants to provide for you, really, and would he be a good boyfriend, partner, lover, if he didn’t regularly show you just how big he truly is?

Praise

Between the sheets, Phinks is relatively vocal. He’s not too much of a talker, being able to, at most, get out a stuttered phrase or two, but that doesn’t mean he’s quiet. Oh no, it’s just the sounds - he’s constantly grunting and groaning, cursing under his breath and softly gasping when you get tighter or wetter or claw down his back. He’s always groaning in your ear, his voice strained and gravelly and weak, as if he’s one breath away from coming the moment he slips inside you. 

(He is, most of the time, but he’s got enough self control to stave off his release. Most of the time.) 

He’s vocal in the sense that there’s always some sort of noise slipping past him, but as time passes and your sexual relationship with him grows, he finds himself uttering more and more words, actual thoughts slipping past his lips rather than a low grunt as he ruts his hips against yours loud enough to make a clapping, smacking noise. 

Before he knows it, there are praises slipping out when he’s buried inside you, his cheeks a light pink as he tells you it’s so good, his eyes fluttering closed and his lip caught between his teeth as you clench down on him. 

He’s telling you you’re so fucking pretty when you’re on your knees in front of him, soft lips clasped around his tip and lightly suckling, your eyes blinking up at him. 

He’s nearly whimpering as you slowly raise yourself up and sink down, cock dragging along your walls as you sit perched in his lap, gasping out a ‘s so fucking good, fuck baby, fuck! 

He doesn’t know where the instinct to praise you is coming from - past hookups have not been so fortunate, instead getting either nothing or derogatory comments mid-fuck about how they’re a fucking slut, demanding that they go faster, arch their back more, suck me harder. He’s never been nice in the bedroom, and yet it’s subconscious the way the words are slipping from his lips, his hands grasping onto your hips or ass as he lays into you, wanting to mold your cunt to the shape of him. 

And although he’s still a bit difficult to understand (his words are always a little rushed, a little slurred, a little stuttered), you’ll mostly know what he’s saying, hearing the way he’s always calling you pretty or warm or wet or perfect or telling you that he’s gonna come, fuck babe ‘m close, tell me I can come inside you - please, fuck tell me! 

(He doesn’t really need your permission on that last point, but he likes hearing you say it, admitting that you want him to come inside, that you want his cum, your own voice sounding fucked out and airy, just as he likes it. Besides, feeling the way you clench down on him even tighter, constricting around his cock so hard he can barely thrust in and out is worth it - it makes him wonder if you’re really that turned on, if you’re really feeling that good because of him, because of his body and his touch and his length. It makes him shiver, and he’s spilling inside you just from hearing your little y-yes, come inside Phinks!) 

It’ll make you feel good, honestly, and it only feels natural to extend the praise back - a development that Phinks really, really likes. His face turns red when you tell him that he feels good when he’s got his fingers rubbing against your walls, curling and rubbing against you with eagerness, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as soon as hears your voice.

(Often times you saying this will have him changing the pace slightly, excitement getting the best of him, leaving him to go faster, to rub harder, always getting embarrassed when you gently tell him like before, please, feels good when you do it like before.) 

His breathing gets heavier when you whine his name and tangle your fingers into his hair as he licks and tongues at your clit, your voice ringing in his ears when you tell him you’re gonna come, Phinks you’re so good, please let me come for you! 

(He’s groaning against your folds, hands squeezing at your thighs and nodding his head vigorously, his eyes squeezing closed as he focuses everything he has on getting you off, on making sure he feels the way your walls clench and flutter, the slick oozing out of you immediately slurped up with a moan.) 

And when he’s fucking you? Oh. Well, the moment you say anything even remotely positive about his performance, about his body, about him, he’s staring at you with wide, blown out eyes, before immediately crushing you into an embrace, his lips on yours with an unbridled passion that leaves you breathless. The kiss will be harsh, desperate, his actions rushed and nearly half-assed, as if there’s so much he wants to do and taste and feel that he can’t decide where to start. 

He loves when you tell him he’s so big, stretching me out so good Phinks! He growls when you run your nails down his back, whining about how it’s so good, right there, that’s it baby! 

He’s thrusting into you with new vigor when you tell him that you’ve never been treated so well, that you’ve never been fucked so good, only you Phinks, only you! 

He’s spasming and letting out these strained, embarrassed little whimpers when you throw your head back and moan his name, a rushed proclamation of ‘m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come-! Even compliments outside the bedroom have this effect on him; tell him his hair looks nice and he’s immediately trying to hide his face, his cheeks tinged pink and his heart hammering because you like his hair? 

If you tell him he’s strong, that his muscles turn you on, Phinks is training harder, hitting the gym more often, doing everything he possibly can to get stronger, subtly trying to flex his arms everytime you’re around just so that you’ll notice him, that you’ll find him attractive and want him. 

And when you run a finger down his chest, telling him he’s so handsome, I love that you’re mine? You’re on the bed quicker than you can process, clothes being torn off and eager hands groping at your tits, your ass, your hips while he spears you on his cock, sliding in with a wet pop and grunting out your name under his breath. 

He’s just so very affected by you, and even after his hips have stilled, his softening cock still snug inside you, he’ll whisper your name, telling you that you’re perfect, letting his fingers trace your cheekbones and run over your hair, his lips softly, nervously pressing against yours, the kiss innocent and sweet and almost sad. 

Because really, how can Phinks be displeased when he’s finally able to freely express how he feels about you, what he thinks about you? 

It feels good to be honest, to tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and as time passes he grows less shy about it - besides, when your cunt takes him so well and your face screws up into that lovely, sexy expression you make when you’re coming, Phinks would tell you anything you want to hear. 

Anything to get you screaming his name, anything to get you craving him just as he craves you. Anything at all.

Voyeurism

In general, Phinks wants to be an active part of your sexual pleasure. He wants to be the one touching you, slowly peeling off your layers of clothing as your pretty skin is revealed to him, looking so soft and touchable and fuckable. 

He wants to be the one kissing you, stealing your breath away and leaving you weak-kneed and desperate, your lips all swollen and puffy when he’s through with you. He’ll even leave a few bite marks against the supple flesh, simply getting carried away when he’s got you in his arms and his tongue pushing into your mouth. 

He wants to be the one that makes you shiver and rub your thighs together, your tits sitting in his palms as he squeezes and kneads, your nipples tweaked between his fingers or sucked into his mouth as he runs his tongue along your areola or very lightly nibbles on your nipple.

 He wants to be the one spreading your legs, a thumb dipping down to press against your clit, rubbing circles along the sensitive nub and leaving you twitching and moaning his name, your pretty hips jerking and bucking as he keeps up the pace. 

He wants to be the one who’s fingers are sinking into you, your little gasps and sighs all because of the way he curls his fingers and flicks his wrist just so, making you cream and gush so much that his entire hand is wet, fucking soaked. 

He wants to be the one sinking inside you, cock stretching out your walls and molding you into his shape, like you were made for him, like your cunt was made for sucking him in and never letting him go. 

He wants to be the reason for your pleasure, but there’s a strange, taboo sort of allure to watching you feel good, your body on display for him, all for his viewing pleasure. There’s something about the idea of you putting on a show for him that makes him gulp and palm himself, the idea that you want him to watch you fall apart in front of him enough to get him unbearably horny for hours. He likes the idea of watching you fuck yourself, of having you spread out before him with your body just out of his reach, just slightly too far for him to reach out and grab. 

He wants you to sit him at the end of the bed while your sit at the head, spreading your legs and letting him see how your folds glisten in the light, the amount of slick absolutely depraved. 

He wants you to tease yourself, rubbing along your inner thighs and all around that pretty pussy except for the spots he knows you really need it, your little whines and sighs making his cock twitch, already hard and aching to be touched by you. 

He wants you to spread your folds a bit, biting your lip and letting him see exactly what he’s missing out on; the way your hole clenches around nothing, a bit of slick oozing out at the motion, makes him audibly groan your name, unable to look away as you slowly, so damn slowly sink a finger inside, all the way up to your knuckle. He’ll watch with wide, rapt attention as you let your head fall back, humming at the feeling, making a show of pulling your finger out only to thrust it right back in, the wet squelching noise making his head spin. 

He wants to watch you add another finger, to go faster, to go harder, to finger you how he’d finger you – all firm motions and hesitant touches, so eager to pleasure you but not quite sure where to start. 

He wants you to pull your fingers out with a popping noise, parting those pouty lips and letting your tongue roll out to lick and suck the slick right off your fingers, jealousy and arousal pooling in his gut because god, he wants a taste too. 

He wants you to talk to him, to tell him how good you’re feeling, how you love it when there’s something inside you, how you need something big and strong and thick to fuck you like you need, like you deserve. 

He wants you to detail how you’re feeling, describing the pleasure as you draw shapes onto your clit, licking your lips and moaning about how it’s so good, ‘m gonna come soon Phinks! 

He especially likes it when you change positions, moving from sitting up and facing him to getting on your knees, spreading your legs and letting your face rest against the mattress, an arm coming up to clumsily sink back into your hole, the new angle making him imagine all the time he’s fucked you like this, absolutely pounding into you over and over until your ass was nearly bruised from the intensity of his thrusts. 

He can’t stop staring, seeing the way your thighs shake, the wet schlucking noises as you fuck yourself making him suck in sharp breaths, the slight bit of drool coming from your lips as you writhe and gasp making him want to stuff his cock into your mouth so you’ll stop being so messy. 

He just likes the idea of watching and putting on something so intimate and vulnerable for him, all while he has to sit there, unmoving, not even touching himself and instead just having to take it, to watch and stare and wish with every fiber of his being that it was his fingers and tongue making you cream and moan and cry out for more more more! 

It’s like some sweet kind of torture, reminiscent of the early days of his obsession when he was reduced to just watching you masturbate through windows or screens, unable to be present with you and help you out the way he knows he can. 

It’s exciting, taboo, dirty in a way that makes Phinks’ gut tingle with excitement, his balls clenching and tightening up, his fingers twitching because god, when you finally cave at the end, begging him to finally just touch you, he’s practically sprinting to you, jumping on you while his hands wander and grab onto every piece of you they can find. 

He’s all over you like some wild animal, a madman as he tries to get inside you only to be so excited and frantic that he’s slipping out, curses falling past his lips because all he really needs is to just fuck you, to be inside you, to be as close to you as he physically can be. 

He’s pathetic, really, and if you were to put on a show for him like this, he may even end up coming before you cave – untouched, too, the white cum splattering along his chest and thighs a reminder that even without stimulation, just the mere sight of you can have him blowing his load before it can even sit inside you. 

Wasting it, really, but if you were to sigh softly and kiss his cheek, leaning down and licking up every drop decorating his body? 

Well, he's sure he could fuck you hard enough to squirt if you’d just let him try. Please let him, he’s begging you.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Anal

Now, this isn’t something Phinks actively fantasizes about – he’s watched some porn featuring it before, and while it wasn’t something he would seek out again, he was oddly fascinated by it. 

There’s something arousing about the idea of stretching out something so, so incredibly tight, fueling his size kink and making him feel proud of just how big he is. But he’s never gotten a girl to agree to it before, and he’s not cared enough to press the issue – and even once you step into his life, he’s not desperate to enact this particular fantasy. 

He’d much rather partake in the thousands of other things he wants to do to you – and have you do to him, too. But once he’s been sexual with you for long enough, fleeting thoughts and curiosities are eating away at him. 

Would you like it? He knows most women don’t, but maybe you’re the exception, or maybe you’d be willing to let him indulge?

 He’ll bring it up after a very long time of debating, mentally rehearsing his words over and over to make sure he’s got them right, so that they aren’t forceful or demanding.

 He’s nearing stumbling over his own voice as he asks you if you’d like to uh, you know, use the other hole…? 

He makes it more awkward than it needs to be, but if you say yes, he’s gulping and nodding, already telling you he’s done research, that you need to avoid these foods while he goes out and buys enough lube to lasts you both years, all the while trying to ignore the steadily growing erection in his pants. 

You’re so damn tight like this - even more than your cunt, something Phinks didn’t think was possible. You’re warm, and the sight of him sinking into you, into the wrong hole, makes his head spin, every shitty porno he’s ever watched paling in comparison because god, who knew you’d take it in the ass so well?

If you say no, he’ll be understanding, vowing to not bring up the topic again – except, his curiosity doesn’t just go away. Instead, it’ll manifest itself in other ways; you’re on your knees, ass in the air and face resting on your pillow as he fucks into you hard enough to leave you gasping and clutching onto the seats? 

Well, he’s pulling your cheeks apart, his eyes fixing on your clenched hole the whole time, his hand smacking against your cheek and idly moving his thumb to lightly, gently brush over your asshole, lightly pushing and feeling the way you squirm under him. 

He’ll find himself between your legs, slick smeared all along his lips and chin, eating you out so frantically that his tongue is starting to hurt, only to – without even thinking, really – dip his tongue down,  tracing lightly over your lower hole, fluttering his eyes closed when your hips jerk and you let out a Phinks! 

He won’t ever force you into anal, but you’ll be able to tell what he wants from the way he’s always letting his gaze linger on your ass, his fingers dipping dangerously close, his hands spreading your cheeks and licking his lips at the sight. 

He’s not exactly subtle, so unless you want to run the risk of getting a finger up the ass with no warning, you might as well give into his desires – once couldn’t hurt, right?

Besides, you never know until you try – just be careful, because Phinks wants to claim every single part of you, and that pert, tight little hole is no different.

Marking

He’s possessive, every part of him yearning to own you, and in the bedroom this isn’t exactly a secret. He’s still desperate to stake his claim on you, to make sure you understand that you are his, that your heart and body and soul belong to him. 

And while it’s great and wonderful to be stuffing you full of his cum, leaving your pussy full of him and only him, he wants more. He needs to lay a physical mark on you that proves that you’re his, that he’s the only one allowed to love you, to touch you, to please you. Just the thought of leaving a mark on you gets him breathing heavily, his fingers clenching into fists and his knees feeling a bit weak because god. 

He’s picky about how he marks you up, though – because of his aversion to physically harming you, he reverts to sexual ways of marking you more often than he’d care to admit. 

He loves leaving hickies; the dark purple spots will appear all over your body, evidence of the way he’s pressed his lips onto every inch of your skin, his tongue often coming out to lick and suck at you until you’re squirming and left with the ugly, swollen bruise as a reminder of Phinks.

His favorite spots to leave them are along the expanse of your collarbone, right up at the base of your throat and stretching all along to your shoulders. There’s something so intimate about the area, something so sexy and demure, and he’ll purposefully only provide you clothing that doesn’t fully cover the area, if only because he really, really likes glancing at you and seeing the dark spots, his eyes immediately drawn to the places where he’s claimed you. 

(It makes him flush a bit to think that his lips have been there; his spit had been covering the area, lips and tongue sucking and bruising and kissing, all while you had to sit there and take it, maybe even carding your hands through his hair, maybe even sighing out Phinks… The bathroom’s far away, but he’s quickly rushing towards it, a hand coming down to block the sight of the now noticeable bulge in his tracksuit pants.) 

He’s also particularly fond of leaving hickeys along your inner thighs, purple spots leading up to your pretty folds, and every time he gets you spread out before him, he likes to kiss them, trailing his lips up and up and up, leaving you frustrated and desperate, more often not. 

He just wants something of his close to intimate, vulnerable areas - your cunt, your neck, your breasts, everything. 

You just look so pretty like this - so don’t be surprised when you notice his gaze lingering on your neck, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he stares. 

You’re just too attractive, so enticing, and how can he not leave hickeys on you every time he gets his hands on you, even if you ask him to stop? 

It’s like he’s not in control of his own actions - he’s too lost in the pleasure of being near you, of touching you, and when he finally snaps out of it you’ll be painted with bruises and swollen skin and him him him. 

He likes it, a lot, so just get used to it - because he will not stop. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

Although a very, very large part of Phinks craves to fuck you in the most raw, animalistic way he possibly can, there’s another part of him that yearns for soft, gentle, romantic sex. He’s constantly at war with himself, alternating between wanting to get you screaming or getting you moaning. 

Does he want to leave you sore enough that you can’t walk the next day, left to fully depend on him because his cock literally made you go dumb? 

Or does he want you to be left with deep, big hickies decorating your collarbone and neck while he  praises you for your beautiful body, your soft hands clutching onto him even as you both wake up the morning after, unwilling to let go of him? 

He’s constantly fighting himself, because both options sound so, so very good, and frankly, he’s not too picky – either option is fine with him, it really just depends on your own sexual preferences, and what stage you’re at in your sexual relationship. 

That said, there are a few hard and fast fantasies that Phinks would give absolutely anything to live out. 

They’re the kind of scenarios that he thinks over in hyper specific detail as he drifts off to sleep, trying to immerse himself in every aspect of the fantasy so he can pretend to be right beside you, feeling your touch and hearing your cries and marking up your pretty skin and stuffing you so fucking full – 

They’re the stuff of his wet dreams, and one of his favorite fantasies to revisit is the idea of you waking him up because you need him in the middle of the night, your body craving his touch so badly that you just can’t take care of yourself without him. 

He likes the idea of you rousing him awake, slick already coating the insides of your thighs while you sneak a hand down into his boxers and squeeze, thumbing his tip and tugging him up and down a few times. 

He wants you to kiss him, whining into his mouth, only to pull back and beg him to please, please fuck me Phinks, need you so bad, I can’t come without you, please… 

Mostly, this fantasy stems from wanting you to desire him – he wants your body to become so dependent on his, to be so spoiled from his touch that you literally can’t come without him, that you can’t make yourself feel good unless he’s right there with you, helping you along. 

He just wants to feel needed and wanted, and if you were to actually wake him up and demand that he fuck you because the ache is just too great, the mixture of pride, arousal, and satisfaction would have him immediately nodding, hurriedly grabbing your hips, pulling out his already half-hard cock, slipping inside you and letting out something between a gasp and a grunt. 

He wants to be of service, and he likes that this fantasy implies that your desperation for him is nearly as high as his own – as if you truly, genuinely love him back.

            Phinks’ snores fill the bedroom, and for a moment you feel bad about reaching out, your fingertips brushing along his bicep. Your thighs rub together, the friction not nearly enough to quell the throbbing coming from between your legs.

            You had no idea what was wrong with you – you’d never been this unbearably horny before, as if your every thought was revolving around being filled with something much bigger than your own fingers, something heavier and thicker and fatter. Your nipples were pebbled, thighs twitching, forehead already a bit sweaty and your clit unbearably sensitive, and yet you hadn’t been able to come. You’d been trying for what felt like hours, using a nimble finger to circle over your clit tirelessly, drawing figure eights and making your hips jerk but never getting closer to that wonderful high you were craving. You’d stuffed yourself full of your own fingers, curling and thrusting and doing everything in your power to get off, but it just wasn’t working.

            Phinks stirs lightly at the feeling of your hand brushing against his chest, but it’s not until you dance your palm down to slip beneath the hem of his boxers that he truly starts waking up. You’re quick to grip him at the base, sliding up and down slowly, gently, nervously, because while he’s told you more than once that his body is yours to use whenever you need it – his hadn’t been able to meet your gaze when he’d told you this, with his cheeks flushed and his arms crossed in an attempt to appear confident – you’re still a bit hesitant to act upon that promise.

            His dirty blond hairs tickle your hand as you swipe your thumb across his tip, smearing the precum along his head as you shuffle closer, letting your lips ghost over his jaw, pressing against the light stubble. He groans slightly in his sleep, already in that halfway stage between dreaming and reality, but when you press your lips to his own, tongue swiping out across his bottom lip and your kisses becoming a bit more insistent, his eyes are fluttering open.

            He says something, but it’s muffled into your mouth as your kissing suddenly grows in intensity, your hand squeezing tighter and your body moving to be more above his. The ache between your legs is stronger now, a dull throbbing that makes you delirious with need because his cock is already in your hand, already pulsing and twitching and surely bright red with a need matching your own.

            When you finally pull away for air, Phinks can only peel open his freshly closed eyes and stare at you, a light flush on his cheeks and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Babe? What’s gotten into – shit, that feels good.”

            He cuts himself off with a hiss, your hand starting to move between stroking him and squeezing at his balls.

            “Need you, Phinks,” You start, pressing kisses along the nape of his neck and lightly sucking at the skin. The feeling makes a shiver run down his spine, the idea of you marking him up making his cock grow ever harder for you. “’m so empty, it’s not enough when it’s just me.”

            He swallows hard. Biting his lip, he tries to ignore the way your hand – all soft and sweet and clammy, slicked up with his own precum and making it incredibly easy to glide your hand up and down his shaft – is making his hips buck up involuntarily, his still sleepy state making him more sensitive than usual. “Yeah? You need me? Tell me what you need, baby.”

            You whine a bit, embarrassment eating you up, but the words are uttered out before you can really think about, your body driven by an arousal you can’t hope to fight. “I need you. I need your cock, it’s the only thing that can make me feel good, my fingers don’t feel like you do. Please Phinks, fuck me, please…”

            He groans at that, hands grabbing at your hips and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out on your back, chest heaving as you watch him clamber over you, his boxers discarded somewhere into the sheets. He’s painfully hard, already swollen and drooping slightly from the weight of it as he lines his tip up with your entrance. He takes a moment to tease you, awe tinging his voice as he asks, “Here babe? Right here?”

            Your ankles lock together around his waist, hands coming up to grasp onto the strong muscles of his back. “Please, please!”

            He likes the sound of you begging, the sight of you biting your lip and staring up at him with wide, glassy eyes practically drowning in need. But most of all, he likes the way you lift your hips up to rub your cunt against his cock, little airy moans slipping past your lips because god, even just the feel of him is better than anything you’ve managed to do to yourself so far tonight.

            Phinks curses, and immediately he’s plunging into you, tip ramming into that spot he knows you love – the one that makes you gasp and clutch onto him, your hips jerking and twitching while your breasts bounce with his every thrust.

            He buries his face into your neck, groaning and muttering your name under his breath, but he tries to quiet down as he hears you starting to talk again. More like blabbering, but your words make his eyes go wide.

            “I’ve been – oh,  ‘ve been fucking myself with my fingers, but Phinks, oh god Phinks, it wasn’t enough!” Your voice is strained, warbled, moans mixing between your words and making him gulp. The clapping sound of his hips smacking into yours is deafening, but he wants you to keep going, to keep talking to him like this.

            “Nothing feels as good – shit, as good as you do. You’re so good, it’s so – so big and makes me feel so fucking full –“ You cut yourself off with a moan, eyes fluttering closed as he brushes against every sensitive spot inside you over and over, your orgasm already steadily building.

            Phinks bares his teeth, face still pressed against the nape of your neck. “F-fuck, keep talking baby.”

            “Couldn’t make myself feel as good as you.” You cry.

            “Nothing’s as good as you.” You moan.

            “Couldn’t wait – fuck! Couldn’t wait, needed you inside, you feel so much better!” You gasp.

            “Phinks, oh Phinks Phinks Phinks – couldn’t come without you, only you can make me come!” You squeal, and at your words he freezes for a moment, letting them sink in. You whine, hips wiggling and begging for him to keep moving, but something about your phrasing makes something feral ignite within him. Something about the idea that only he is capable of making you feel good, that only he can make you orgasm (not even yourself) gets him feeling possessive of you, the cunt wrapped around his cock belonging to him and him only.

            He’s snapping his hips into you with a new fervor after that, the pace brutal as he fucks into you hard enough to make you bounce up and down the bed, your pretty tits bouncing along with you and rubbing against his chest. He’s chanting your name like a prayer, his voice husky and strained and still the tiniest bit raspy from sleep, and it only makes you clutch onto him tighter, harder, your walls clenching around him like a fucking vice –

            You come with a cry of his name, fluttering around him and making his hips stutter. The only warning you get before floods of warm, thick cum shoot inside you is a gaspy, almost pained sounding ‘fuck, t-take it take it-!’

            He’s panting, still keeping his head in the crook of your shoulder, too embarrassed to look at you. You’re still breathing hard too, and when you wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, Phinks feels himself freeze up a bit. 

“Stay like this?” You ask, and your voice is so soft and unsure that it makes his heart ache, his body immediately relaxing and letting his arms slip under your body, pulling you both onto your sides so that you’re embracing one another. 

“Of course, baby. Now go to sleep.” He whispers, pressing a long kiss against the crown of your head. 

You obey, falling asleep almost immediately, and as Phinks drifts off himself, cock still nestled inside you, he can’t help smiling a bit, the corners of his lips turning up.

[quark-y]

Edible paint

[baby-tini]

TW: domestic abuse, verbal abuse, cheating, manipulation

Toxic!Dabi who is always going through your phone, looking through your texts, checking your call log and deleting your social media constantly. Taking your phone to go through followers and blocking all the men. Family, friends, co-workers, doesn't matter, they're being blocked.

Toxic!Dabi who finds you talking to your male boss about a promotion and he flips the fuck out, snatching your phone from you and hanging up on your boss. He starts screaming at you, slapping you across the face before throwing your phone into the wall, the glass shattering all over the floor.

Toxic!Dabi who throws crumpled receipts in your face, before snatching you up by your hair and screaming in your face. "Who the fuck were you out with, huh? Who were you slutting yourself out too this time, fucking whore." then proceeds to throw you on the couch, yelling about how he's, "I've been faithful too you all this fucking time, I could have anyone and I chose you, and yet, you go sleep around." It was just a dinner too catch up with a friend.

Toxic!Dabi who's 'crying', hugging you from behind pleading for you too not leave him like, "everyone else." When you see text message between him and another girl, her sending nudes and him flirting with her. Pinning you too the bed so that you can't leave, taking your packed back and throwing the clothes and essentials around the room.

Toxic!Dabi who starts arguments accusing you of cheating, so that he has the excuse too get "payback." "You made me do this shit, don't start fucking crying, it's your fault." or "who the fuck are you texting now, huh? What dude are you fucking behind my back now? Whatever, I'm leaving."

Toxic!Dabi who starts arguing with you in the car and when you plead with him to just, "drop me off at my mothers." He loses it, going 130 in a 65, slapping your thighs and screaming at you. Unbuckling your seatbelt as he locks the doors, only pulling over when you're screaming apologies, sobbing so much you start hyperventilating.

But.. it's so hard too leave when, Toxic!Dabi who consistently buys you new phones when he breaks them, bringing you roses and giving you chocolates hours after calling you a "slut" apologizing and kissing you, leading you into the bedroom to fuck you nice and slow. Praising you for being so good for him, telling you how he didn't mean anything he said, whispering how those women mean nothing.

Or... Toxic!Dabi who buys your favorite take-out, cuddling you as he kisses the bruises on your arms and face, telling you he'll never do it again. Talking about marrying you and starting a family with you. Wanting to have a better family then his own, how you're the only woman he'll love and how you'll be the perfect mother. So caring and sweet, always coming back to him after nasty arguments.

"I promise baby, it'll never happen again, okay? We'll be a happy family, I promise. I won't see those other woman anymore." and "I swear too you angel, I'll never hit you again baby, I love you so fucking much, you don't even understand." Only to break those promises and repeat the cycle a week later.

National Domestic Violence Hotline- 800-799-7233

[gabessquishytum]

tw stepfamily fantasy, age difference. Human AU.

I promise this is Dreamling, stay with me lol

When Time dies, Night is eager to find herself a strapping young husband. Enter Hob, who has heard that the widow Endless is filthy rich. Don't get him wrong, Night IS a beautiful woman, but it's the money he's after. He charms her easily enough, and in less than 6 months they're married and living together in her huge mansion... it's only then that Hob gets to know her kids.

He knew she had 7 of them, of course, but, well, this is a lot. The eldest two seem well-adjusted enough, sort of, but they're early 20's and out of the house already? The youngest boy ran away from home and no one bothered to look for him. Del and Despair aren't getting any mental health care they seem to badly need. And then there's Desire and Dream.

Desire is beautiful and charming and smart as a whip, but they change sexual partners more often than most people do underwear and they're only 16. They love their twin but are awful to their other siblings and downright cruel to Dream.

And Dream... he's a piece of work, yes. But he's pretty. Just as pretty as his sibling, if not more. He's got a bratty cruelty that echoes Desire's but could still be corrected by a firm hand... He mocks Hob mercilessly for his humble origins and because Hob married for money, and to Dream's heartless mother of all people! He's so closed off to affection, shouts at Hob even while bursting into tears when Hob tells him Hob could at least be a friend to him, since 34 is a bit young to be a father figure to a teen. But oh, Hob can tell: this boy is so, so lonely. Dream wishes someone would take him, even if only for money...

Desire, of course, immediately figures out that Hob isn't actually in love with Night and promply tries to seduce him. Hob gently rejects them, of course, but they try again. And again. And again. And... well. And it's hard. It's really hard to resist them. They're really really beautiful, of course, and they're so good at this... but Hob's one braincell that's still getting blood knows better than to fuck a 16-year-old with that huge a cruel streak. That's just asking for trouble. And besides, Hob likes a challenge. Desire is just... too easy.

Dream, however... what a little temptation he is. He's so reserved. He tries to focus on his art. He tries to pay Hob little mind, but can't help to listen and smile at Hob's tales. He's gotten his heart broken more times than anyone should have any right to at his age, and is just as depressed as Despair and only marginally better at hiding it... Now, that's a challenge. And such an easy target at the same time. Seducing him would be so fun! Hob can just imagine how outraged Dream would be at first... but Hob can be convincing, and Dream so badly needs someone to want him. And Hob is so horny, with Desire touching him all day, whispering filth in his ear, trying to sext him and send him nudes. You see, Night has a pretty low libido, too low if you ask Hob, and Hob's hand is a poor substitute for sex with another person.

Hob doesn't want Night to divorce him, of course, so he's wary of looking for sex outside the house, afraid to get caught if he's out too long with no explanation (he doesn't need to work now after all) and he wouldn't stoop so low as to take advantage of the house staff...

Isn't it so convenient that Dream just turned 18?

-PA

(reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated)

Oh fuck oh FUCK this is hot. AND HEY PA ANON I MISSED YOU <333

Hob feels like he's living inside a powder keg, honestly. He thought that marrying for money and living a life of luxury would be wonderful, but now he even longs for a job that would just get him out of the house. He's trapped in horny hell and he's sure that he's going to do something terrible and/or stupid. As a last ditch attempt, he sweetly suggests to Night that the two of them could take a little vacation - just the two of them, to the gorgeous little tropical vacation spot that the family owns. Death and Destiny can watch over the kids, and Night can have a well deserved break!

Alas, she just smiles and kisses Hob’s cheek. Unfortunately she's far too busy for a holiday right now. But she encourages Hob to go and soak up the sun - he's starting to look pale and stressed, and she can't have her toyboy husband looking under the weather. Her one request is that Hob should take Dream with him. She's noticed that Dream and Desire's fights have been getting more and more serious recently, and she's tired of the screaming matches. Some time apart will be beneficial for the siblings. And it will make Night's life a lot quieter.

Hob can't backtrack now, so he agrees. And he's even more glad to get away, because when Desire finds out that Dream has been sent off on holiday with Hob, they throw an absolute fit. Naked. In Hob’s bedroom. Hob’s single braincell really needs to get out of there.

It's not like Dream is even pleased to be forcibly packed off on holiday with his "step-father". He spends the whole journey in snide silence, occasionally muttering under his breath about Hob being a total creep. (And he's right, because Hob is still shamefully horny about the beautiful 18 year old. He nearly embarrasses himself completely when Dream grabs his hand because they hit turbulence.)

But it's funny how you can hate someone and still want to fuck them. Older men were always Desire's territory, but Dream is starting to see the appeal. He's starting to think that his mother is a fool for letting Hob out of her sight. When he catches his first glimpse of Hob on the beach in his swimwear, Dream makes up his mind: he's going to be a bad person.

Hob fucks him for the first time on the beach-house balcony. There are stars above them, possibly - Dream doesn't really recall. He's sure that Hob recalls even less. He's desperate, primal, unhinged. He cums, and just keeps going until both of them are exhausted. Obviously somebody needs to take care of him properly, if this is how wound up he gets.

Well. The Endless family have always been fucked up. This is just another chapter in the story. Maybe Night will even be grateful to her son, for keeping her husband happy...

[konigsblog]

What if we accidentally sent nudes to stepbrothers ghost and soap 🤭🤭🤭

(accidentally sending nudes to stepbrother-könig version.)

TW/CW; STEPCEST, BLACKMAIL, PERV!STEPBROTHERS, DARK CONTENT, DUB-CON.

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. MDNI 18+

(YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY AND YOURS ALONE.)

it really depends on who you send it to. these perverted, depraved, and creepy sickos will do different things to your photos.

johnny will use it as pornography. he sits in front of his computer all day, staring off into the monitor and fantasising about fucking you. the majority of the porn he watches remind him of you, usually because you share similarities with the woman in the video. you don't have a chance to even delete the photos, because you don't realise who you've sent it to until johnny is rubbing up against you in the kitchen, moaning in your ear and praising you for finally giving in to his desires.

it doesn't even cross his mind that it could've potentially been a mistake. he's always asking for you to finally give in, to send him some photos before deployment. he was under the impression you had sent these out of the kindness of your heart, bonnie. :(

simon riley uses it as blackmail. he's not as oblivious or stupid as johnny. when he picks up his phone, he's immediately met with these sexual photos, that leave his breath shaky as he saves them to his camera roll. you plead with simon not to say anything, not to share these photos with anybody, especially not kyle and johnny. but simon will tut at your mistake, demanding that you come over to his apartment tonight, to show him how desperately you don't want these photos leaked.

you're forced onto your knees, to suck his big cock, making a mess all over yourself with spit running down your chin. you gag and mumble weakly, whining and choking on the length of his dick, his pearly release running down the back of your throat. he'll praise you for doing such a good job, for listening so well, but he continues to ask for more favours, using the photos as blackmail, threatening to send them to your beloved boyfriend if you don't follow along.

gaz is similar to johnny in the sense that he uses these photos as pornography, but he's completely aware that this was a total accident. he gets off to your nudes, moaning loudly so you're forced to hear the sounds of his pleasure, his enjoyment as he uses these photos for his own enjoyment. he humps his pillow and gets off to the photos, taking them on deployment with him for his own sick pleasure.

he'll ask you for more, and when you refuse, slapping him across the face for being disgusting and entitled, he guilt trips you and uses blackmail as a form of manipulation.

oh, you don't want to send him anymore photos? then he'll just have to show your boyfriend and explain that you're cheating on him with your stepbrothers. your jaw falls slack, unable to speak or mutter a word. you didn't think he'd use that as a threat, but now you feel inclined to send him nudes everyday, out of fear that he'll expose you for this complete accident. :(

[cauldronblssd]

We're Leaving the Planet, and You Can't Come

CH 1/6 | Read on AO3

Thank you once again to the best beta, @climbthemountain2020 and @witch-and-her-witcher.

Also thank you to @moonpatroclus for encouraging me to write this.

TW: dubious consent, non consent

Elain sighed in frustration as she glanced down at her exposed flesh. She’d just managed to extricate herself from the polymer casing of her safety gear. The perfectly regulated air of the station kissed against her skin, the velveteen flooring soft and plush against her feet. Her domed mask rested in its port. It had been the perfect night in, before she’d been interrupted by the melodic ring of her transmitter. It sounded throughout her small station, muted by the carpeting covering the walls. 

“Commander Graysen, this is an unexpected call. Allow me to dress myself before we continue.”

“No need for that, Archeron. This is a matter of state.”

Elain didn’t see what one had to do with the other, it was hardly adherent to the decorum of a state matter to appear before him nude, but she didn’t argue. Graysen demanded unquestioning compliance. While his methods were unorthodox, and at times unpleasant, she’d been urged by the others at her home gate to accept his quirks rather than put him in a poor mood. She plastered on a pleasant smile, forcing herself to pinch up her cheeks so that it would reach her eyes.

“Very well then, what’s the urgent matter?” Elain shuddered at the way his eyes roved over her body as she spoke, holding herself back from covering her breasts with her arms as she stood at attention.

She was beautiful to the males, she knew, who requested her more often than most when they copulated in the modern fashion. She didn’t know why it mattered, the whole thing lasted no more than a moment, hardly long enough for them to develop a preference. Still, she accepted amiably, forcing an enthusiastic smile onto her face, the same smile she took the exaltation transference pill with, and held out her palm to the man’s own, inevitably sweaty and unappealing.

“We received word from an informant that a male has left the station in aid of a leader that puts our Sun System in great danger.”

“Danger? But we haven’t had that in decades,” Elain exclaimed. All thoughts of Graysen and his unsettling gaze were gone, as she tried to imagine what kind of danger they might face and how she could possibly be involved in it. The Sun System had been at peace for longer than she’d been alive, the greatest crimes simply a waste of resources or a return to more primal habits that sometimes gripped those less astute in the teachings of the Nolans and their ilk.

Elain, under the tutelage of her sisters and, at times, her negligent but stern parents, had grown up in the New Ways. She adhered to all its principles, eschewing all primal pleasures and wants, for the restraint of an intellectual.

“He carried with him a weapon he’d developed, one harnessing the powers of old ash, that could cause great harm to humans and other creatures alike.”

To what creatures he referred, she could hardly imagine. She’d heard tales from Nesta of great creatures not like human men at all, ones who slithered along the swamps of other planets or flew like winged predators through the air, keen on capturing a human woman. Even still, the idea of violence was abhorrent, so wholly against her own principles as a woman of the New Way.

As her mind continued to whir and wander, Graysen continued, “We’d like you to travel to the planet Hybern to go find him. We believe he goes by the name ‘Vanserra.’” He said it with a sneer that curled up his lip, clearly unable to contain his disgust. “He serves the Great High Lord.”

“Whatever can I do about it?” She was hardly the most well-trained member of her team– that could only be credited to Nesta. Nor was she especially brave like Feyre.

“Use your charms, find Vanserra, and bring him back by any means necessary.”

Elain only nodded, unease raking through her. A solo mission would be a lonely one, and she wished she might bring her sister or a friend along with her. Instead, she redressed herself, donning a silver uniform that clung tightly to her curves and exposed the whole of her bare leg, before sliding a boot of the same color up to the curve of her thighs. It would do for the planet of Hybern, she’d been told. She lay down for sleep, cold glass encasing her body, pressing against her skin as she drifted off to sleep. The station would carry her to Hybern, and, if she was lucky, she’d be there by the time she woke.

*****

Elain should have known better. She’d never been lucky, that always fell to one of the happy, unbothered ladies that seemed to surround her. It had been why she’d placed herself on call, despite her sisters’ protestations that she’d be too sensitive for an outward mission. She longed for adventure – and now she had it. 

The station shook aggressively, rattling her bones and bumping her aggressively into the glass walls of her sleeping pod. The cacophonous sounds of the sputtering engine overwhelmed her, a smoky scent filling the air. Before she could brace herself for impact, the station crashed with a hard thud, throwing her off balance against the wall.

Steam hissed in the air as she crawled on her hands and knees. The large screen she used to communicate screeched with static. Blind in the smoky fog of the room, she touched the surfaces along the floor and walls. Elain grunted with relief when she found the door, scrambling for the latch to push it open. Something pushed against the door as she tried to open it, and she thrust her full body weight into it. At last, she stumbled out of the station, taking a deep breath and noting with relief that her oxygen mask would not be needed.

That was the only comfort this planet was likely to offer her, and she shivered as the hair raised on her arms. A cold, harsh wind cut through Elain’s already scant attire, raking against her bare skin. Her hair blew around her face, hitting her with surprising force. 

Elain’s heart stopped as she yanked the golden-brown strands away from her face to see in front of her. Ghostly children, in shimmering shades of white approached her. Perhaps it was a phantom of her imagination, a result of the harsh impact of her crash landing. She’d heard of monsters on other planets, beings that were not human at all, but something like it. She’d never heard tales of this, children both haunted and beautiful, approaching her en masse.

Elain staggered backwards, placing her hands against the increasingly cold metal of her station. It was a cheery pink, bright and garish against the cold white backdrop of this place. It had been foolhardy to trap herself against it like this, seeking the stability of the familiar. It went against every bit of training that she’d received in her time on the guard. Perhaps her sisters had been right, she should have remained on the care teams, relegated to easy daily tasks more suited to her anxious disposition. The children made no sound as they approached her, wafting on the air as if by magic. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, her whole-body shivering.

The children beckoned her as they surrounded her. There was nothing to do but follow, though she was loath to leave the comfort of her station behind. Her steps made an audible crunch against the cold rock underfoot, unlike the silent glide of the apparitions in front of her.

It was only when they arrived in a room inside a cave, with a rudimentary cell carved into the side of a mountainous rock that she began to question her decision. Her commanders had long informed her it was better to die in the moment than be captured. Awful scenarios began to circulate through her mind, each one featuring these unsettling ghostly children. 

They must have some kind of corporeal form, because, to her horror, one child, a small girl in pigtails, began to bind her wrists to the bars of the cell, tightly overhead. Her ankles were then restrained, holding her in place with little give to move about. She began to shout, screaming for help, from whom she didn’t know. Did anyone inhabit this planet, or had they died, leaving only these half-alive creatures behind?

Her heart pounded in her chest, fear constricting her breathing as she cried out. 

She scratched and clawed for something she could grab as a pack of white foxes entered the room. They circled and sniffed at her as she stood, unable to move. 

The sound of a thunderous bellow interrupted whatever horror had been about to occur. Standing in the entrance to the cave stood a man, or something like one. He was exceptionally tall and broad, filling the whole of the cave. Long, blood red hair curled and waved down his back, an ominous picture against the barren landscape. His lip lifted in a menacing snarl, claws protruding from his hands in a promise of what’s to come.

Elain gasped, her words gone from her as she watched him step forward, the children parting to make way. They scattered, leaving her alone in the cave with the foxes and the man in front of her. The animals too, seemed to heed his direction, falling into step behind him. 

Rich, brown skin spanned his muscular chest and arms. To bare so much of his body was an indecent exposure that would have him labeled a rebel in the Sun System. She turned her face away, as if the impropriety were the worst of the errors she might be reprimanded for when, if, she ever returned home.

One long claw touched her cheek, drawing a prick of blood, as he turned her face towards his own. It was inches from hers, and she could see the long, sharp fangs that he bared in a grimace. She pulled at the restraints on her wrists but there was no give to be found.  The man’s hot breath was warm against her face as he towered over her. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Even as he said the words, he traced his claw languidly down her cheek and the curve of her neck. She shivered, unsure of whether to meet his eyes or if that would only provoke him further.

“You saved my life,” she uttered in response. Stupid. She could hardly ingratiate herself to a half wild man like this. Still, she tried to recall her training, considering what negotiations she might have to offer. “What can I offer you in return? My home planet, the Sun System, would pay handsomely for my return.”

He hissed in response. “And what is your life worth, then? How much gold would they offer?”

Elain’s lips trembled as she weighed her true value. Perhaps the Nolans didn’t intend for her to return at all. The more she considered this mission, the more unusual it seemed that she’d been sent alone with not even enough notice to inform her sisters. Perhaps there was no need to banish her when they could just send her away, expecting her to never successfully return. Perhaps this Vanserra didn’t exist at all.

“Don’t worry, little pet. I don’t need any gold.” Despite the reassurance, she hardly felt comforted as he took several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling closer to her with each one. Elain twisted again in the ropes holding her wrists and ankles, feeling at once both nervous of the implications and something else she hadn’t experienced before.

The man watched her useless pulling, an amused expression on his, admittedly beautiful, face. An arching, prominent nose and full lips set off his angular features, with one eye of a bright russet brown and the other an usual shade of golden yellow. It only highlighted his otherworldly appearance, his strangeness, or rather, her strangeness in this place she didn’t belong.

Home. She needed to go home. Forget Vanserra and this stupid mission.

“I need to fix my station, to get home. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

He quirked his brow as he looked her up and down.

“And if what I need is your body?”

Elain felt her brows pinch together as she struggled to understand his question. If he meant to take her body, or some part of it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever make it home.

The man crouched, leaning in close to her ear and Elain couldn’t help but suck in a breath at his warm scent, like a crackling fire in the middle of this barren, snow filled planet. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll make it feel good.”

That didn’t comfort her, at all. She still didn’t truly know what he meant and worse, she was beginning to suspect it was of a prurient nature – something that surely would get her banished on her home planet if she wasn’t already. Perhaps they sensed the same thing in her this man seemed to, the same reason she was called back over and over for transference.

“Copulation, you mean?” She said it in as neutral a tone as she could maintain, trying to hide her uncertainty at the idea. It was nothing, and yet, with this man...

“If that’s what you’d like to call it.” That amused grin was on his face again, baring his too sharp teeth. She looked down, nervous. And oh. She’d never seen a naked man before - it was hardly necessary for the act performed in the safety of the Sun System health centers. Could they all be as large as this? Or perhaps it was due to his otherwise large stature. 

The man chuckled, lifting her chin to bring her gaze back up to his eyes.

“You’ll have to untie my hands,” she offered, her will to fight this leaving her.

“Oh?” His smile turned into something else then, pulling at the left corner, highlighting that unusual eye. “You look rather pretty like this.” 

He pushed his hand against her own restrained one as if to show his meaning. His fingers interlaced with hers. Her heart thundered in her chest. He couldn’t mean to...

One long claw pulled at the front of her clothes, ripping the silver material away from her body in one swift gesture. Cold air rushed against her, her nipples hardening and a shiver running down her body.

“I didn’t bring the transference pill,” she continued. “I wasn’t expecting to...”

“Do the human men on your home planet need a pill to fuck you, love? You’re wasted on them, then.” He brought his mouth closer to her, her pulse quickening at the sight of his sharp fangs. He brought his mouth there, to where her heart fluttered in her neck, his tongue swirling around the spot. Something began to throb between her legs.

“I can smell you, sweet thing. I want to taste you, too.” 

He sucked at the crook where her neck joined her shoulder and a gasping moan escaped her. What was happening to her? It felt too good, nothing like transference at all. 

She’d heard talk of the old ways, of humans driven mad by lust, behaving no better than animals. It was all talk now, tales passed down through whispers. To even speak of it was strictly forbidden by the Nolans and the commanding officers of the Sun System. It was punishable by banishment, a sentence as sure as death.

Even knowing this, Elain leaned her head to the side, giving this man access. “What’s your name?”

He chuckled, sucking on her earlobe before speaking with the low growl of his voice. “Lucien. Call me Lucien, pretty human.” He dipped his fingers into her mouth, and she accepted it, sucking on them without knowing where the instinct came from.

“Lucien,” she repeated, as he removed his fingers from her mouth, a line of spit trailing in between them. Her cheeks flushed warm as she watched it. 

“And you? What shall I call you?” 

A more rational part of Elain whispered that she shouldn’t give him her name. Names had power. And still she couldn’t deny him anything, something pulling in her ribs, urging her to give herself over to him.

“Elain,” she said as she looked up at him, feeling desperate to move, to relieve the ache between her legs.

“Elain,” he repeated, smiling as he said it. He moved her hair off her face, a sudden tenderness to the gesture. She liked the way he said her name, a slight lilt to the word that made it sound different, more beautiful than plain.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe they sent you here all alone.” He rolled his hands up and down her sides in an exploratory fashion, as if letting her adjust to the idea of him touching her. 

Lucien brought one hand to her breast, cupping her gently in his large palm before rolling her hardened nipple between his fingers. She didn’t know. Didn’t know she could feel so sensitive, that a singular touch could feel like this. She whimpered in response. Was this a spell, some sort of magic cast by this alien creature? She wasn’t sure she cared. Her body chanted for more, more, more. The ache between her legs turning into a pulsating throb with every touch and tweak.

“These humans have been neglecting you,” he growled with a possessive squeeze of her throat. She’d have hardly called it that, didn’t like to think of the ways she avoided their unwelcome attentions. Here she was, tied up, unable to get away from Lucien’s invasive mouth that seemed equally inclined to talk as to taste, and yet she didn’t feel used at all, she felt wanted, worshiped. She arched her back, leaning further into him, the only movement the restraints allowed her.

He offered her another rueful smile as he squeezed at her throat the same moment his mouth connected with her breast. The swirling movements of his tongue against her, wet and warm, had her ready to beg for more. She’d die if he stopped.

He pulled his fingers away from her throat, placing them back in her mouth. “Quiet, Elain.” He said it in an admonishing tone, as if she should have known to be quiet, when he’d been growling and roaring for anyone to hear. It set off another alarm bell, one she chose to ignore in favor of the way he’d moved his mouth down her body, now kneeling in front of her.

Lucien ran a hand against her thighs, and she gasped, surprised to find them wet where he touched. Was this part of the magic, too? He dipped a finger against it before placing it into his own mouth. He let out another growl, not at all quiet, she thought.

She should feel debased, it was all wrong, or at least that’s what she’d been taught. She tried to shut her mind off from the pleasure, but then his tongue began to lap at the wetness between her legs, and she bowed and pulled against her restraints. It was too much, electrifying and overwhelming all at once and she wanted to close her legs against his onslaught. 

He didn’t slow, but he ran a soothing hand up and down her hip as he continued, licking and sucking and all but panting against her. Occasionally, he’d turn those sharp fangs to nibble at her thighs, offering her another sensation to focus on before he continued whatever slow build had started in her gut.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she rubbed wantonly against his face.

“God, I could die like this,” he murmured. Elain gasped, feeling panicked, and he chuckled in response. “Don’t worry, my pretty human, I won’t. At least not until I get my cock in this tight cunt of yours.”

He squeezed himself to indicate his meaning, and Elain felt another panic rise in her chest. She wasn’t sure where he would put that. It was long, wrapped in veins that seemed to dance against his skin as he moved his hand against them. Glistening fluid, much like her own, dripped from the tip, trailing down his cock and onto his hand.

“I can’t wait to see this pretty cunt stretch over my cock, sweet thing. You want me to come inside you, breed you full and keep you here as my pretty mate?”

She didn’t know what he meant, truly, but the way he said the words, the way his fist clenched around himself as he said them, gave her an idea. Mate. She liked the sound of that word, whimpering and whining in response.

He trailed his fingers between her legs, dipping one of his clawed fingers into her wet entrance before dragging the finger backwards. “You like that don’t you, want me to make you feel nice and full?” He traced his finger around it, and she froze, despite the aching throb that said yes.

He sucked on the sensitive point between her legs with increased fervor, running his tongue along her in a soft motion, soothing away the intensity.

Her whole body felt hot, like she was burning from the inside out. She didn’t want it to stop, and yet she didn’t know what would happen if they kept going.

“Lucien,” she started to warn him.

He squeezed her thighs possessively, moaning into her. “That’s it, Elain.” And he nibbled at her clit before laving at it with his wet tongue and her whole body began to shake with violent tremors. She’d never felt like this in her life, something strong and electric pushing with delicious pleasure through her whole body. Whatever had been building was overtaking her now, and it was all she could manage not to scream. Pleasure suffused her body like a golden light on this cold planet, bright and burning like the sun. She felt alive in a way she never had in all her life. Elain couldn’t move, suspended in that upright position as Lucien continued to lap at her until it ached. 

When she began to move her body away from him, he stood, towering over her once more, before thrusting his tongue against her mouth. She opened wide for him as he tilted her jaw up toward him, finding it unnatural to taste herself and yet not seeming to mind. 

Lucien grabbed at the ropes on her wrists, biting at them with his teeth and they came loose. She rubbed at the tender skin as he performed a similar motion at her ankles. Elain sagged against him, his large body holding up her own with ease. He held her for a moment, running soothing touches along her hair and back.

“We’re not done yet, my little mate.” She nestled further into him, humming in contentment. He lay her down against his jacket on the floor, his hand nestled under her head. Her whole body felt heavy, woozy and spent with pleasure.

It was Lucien’s finger again at her entrance that reawakened her, as he ran it along the wetness still pooling and dripping between her legs.

He moaned at whatever he found, running back and forth with his knuckles against her. “God, Elain, you’re so...” His words trailed off as he placed kisses along her thighs. “This might hurt at first.” 

She couldn’t imagine it doing anything but hurt, if he planned to push himself inside her. Still, the ecstacy of what she had experienced a moment ago left her mind hazy, everything touched by the velvet softness of pleasure that still ran through her.

“Tell me you can take it,” he pleaded with an urgency to his voice as he pressed himself, warm and unyielding, against her entrance. 

She considered telling him no, only so she could hear him desperate again as he begged her, as if he hadn’t just put his mouth all over her while she was tied to the wall.

His large body shook as he held it over her and she lifted her hips in invitation. She was already ruined, already destined to be banished to empty space, she might as well commit. Still, she flinched as he pushed the first inch inside of her, a sharp pain causing her to tense. He reached between them, touching her and rubbing in maddening circles as he continued to push. It felt like an invasion of her body, she was too full, he was too large, a giant by any human standards. And yet her body ceded the space. She could feel herself dripping against him, the glide of her wetness easing his way in deeper. When he pressed himself fully against her with a final snap of his hips, they both moaned.

This is what the humans had all but banned, what they feared. She ground her hips against him, experimentally. Yes, she could see why, she felt a bit mad already, the pain and pleasure pushing her closer to that edge again.

With a tender kiss that had no place in this coupling on the floor of a cave, Lucien began to move, still cupping her head as he thrust with more force. Each push awakened something in her. She felt alive, everything clicking into place with the pleasure of this moment. She felt powerful as she began to push back against him, matching his rhythm and drawing more growling sounds from him. 

“Yes, Lucien,” she chanted, holding onto his broad shoulders. 

She could feel the muscles moving with each shift of his body, everything working with all of his powerful control to give her this. She remembered she was meant to be repaying him for saving her life, but it didn’t feel like that at all. Elain kissed his cheeks and neck and anything she could reach as she moved with more urgency, wanting to please him, to hold up her end of a bargain. Her body was what he asked for, and she’d given over every inch of space, full with nothing but this man, a stranger to her in every way but this one.

He murmured her name in her ear over and over as he moved, as if learning and memorizing it for later. She hummed, repeating his own back to him. Yes, this was all they were in this moment, Lucien and Elain, two bodies met by chance on this barren planet. When pleasure began to crest in her again, he knew, covering her mouth with his own in a frantic wet kiss as they reached their peak together, all sweat and skin and one steady heartbeat.

Lucien continued to pant, licking and biting at her neck and shoulders and breasts as they both came back to their senses. She ran her hands through the long red locks of his hair, enjoying the way they slipped between her fingers. As the planet turned away from the sun, it had gotten darker, lit by a vast sea of stars against the inky black sky outside the cave.

Lucien moved off of her, resting his head on his elbow to look at her as he lay on his side. “Was that what you expected, little mate?” 

Elain huffed, frustrated suddenly at this male who felt all too proud of himself. “Not quite all they chalked it up to be when they talk of it at home.” She sighed for effect. “But I suppose these things are always exaggerated in fiction.”

He didn’t seem deterred, perhaps knowing that her body had already told him quite a different tale. Even now, she couldn’t keep herself from touching him in some way, her knee brushing against his thigh and her cheek leaning against his arm.

“I’ll do my best to surprise you when you come back to visit me, then.” He bit her neck as he said it, drawing another gasp from her.

“I’m going home,” she reminded him with a frown. It didn’t sound as appealing as it had before.

Lucien scowled then, wrapping the blanket around her as he scooped her up, cradling her in his arms. 

“Let’s get you back to my station, I’ll work on repairs.”

Lucien walked with broad strides throughout the planet, cradling her tenderly in his arms, though something had tensed in his body. He dipped his head as he stepped through another cave, this one furnished more like a home, with soft lights and furs covering various surfaces. He laid her down on a pillow pile, wrapping her up before stepping back out into the bluster, the incoherent chatter of foxes following behind him. 

Elain drifted into an easy sleep, despite her dire circumstances, humming with content.