#unfinished smut

[tarantulasnot]

Francis mosses is just a milkman, a nobody. But you were a something he wanted, and what's the difference between wants and needs?

CW: weed usage, hair pulling, cum eating, elongated tongue, misuse of shape shifting, Francis is a shy little freak, sub Francis, marking, reader gets stoned and gets an idea,

It's gonna be... 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 👅

You were so nice for a creature. Your smile, although a bit sharp was so mesmerizing. Your morning greetings were so pleasant, and genuinely made his day. He was so lonely, and you're small acts of kindness made him develop a small crush on you.

"Are you alright Francis? Your eyes have been getting darker." He'd shrug, however delighted that you'd noticed. "Mmm... Long shifts." You gave him a sympathetic look, and he looked the other way. "Come over tonight. I have something that might help."

So he came to you that night. He had changed out of his uniform into his button up pajamas, (1950s pajamas are Ebeneezer Scrooge couture okay 😭 lets act like that's sexy), and he approached your door, knocking on it.

Within a few seconds you had opened the wooden door, gazing at him with a smile. "Oh you're here already?" Another smile, it's like you're the original, but so much nicer. "Mmm, need all the help I can get." Your eyes scan him up and down and he shudders, but you shake your head, inviting him. "Take a seat on the couch, I'll be with you in a second." He does as told, but he's so stiff about it. Awkwardly sitting with perfect posture, his legs spread apart, and tapping his thigh anxiously. You return with a soft blanket and a two cups of hot cocoa, and two neatly rolled joints between your fingers. "Oh don't be so rigid, darling."

Fuck if only you knew the things you did to him. "Mmm, sorry about that." Francis apologizes, but you're quick to dismiss it. "I don't want to hear any of that." Settling down to his right, you pull out your lighter, and set the cups of warmed chocolate on the nightstand beside you. "Have you ever smoked weed, Francis?" The way you asked the question was so casual, that he looked almost taken back (this is the 1950s guys.)

"Mmm, well no." He glanced nervously at the joint in your hand as you set the end aflame, pulling on it once and holding the cocoa in your hand. You exhale the smoke and quickly take a swig. "I heard the coughing hurts."

You laugh, and it almost sounds like you're making fun of him. Once again, your teeth flash at him, and he swallows. Francis wonders how they would feel on his neck, his collarbone, his thighs... "Here," Lifting the other mug in your hand, you pass it to him. "If you exhale after a moment and drink this really fast you won't cough as much, if at all." He takes the drink, and sets it in his lap. However his attention is back in you and the way your lips curl around the blunt. You look so graceful about it.

"Here." You pass the joint to him between two fingers, and he copies you. "Now just take a small hit, this is your first time after all." The milkman nods, pressing his lips to it, and of course he doesn't listen. He barely feels it go down so after a solid 5 seconds you press your fingers to his lips and take the weed from him. "That's enough for you big fella."

Francis blows the white cloud from his lunge, and after a solid second of not feeling anything, he gets a scratchy burning feeling, and immediately sips on the cocoa. Afterwards he starts coughing, but it's not as bad as it would be without the drink. "H-Holy shit..." He manages in between coughs. "Damn that..." Francis leans back, his brain already starting to feel the effects. "That hits."

You chuckle lowly, taking another couple of puffs before passing it back to him. He goes through the cycle again before finally both of you are at a good high.

His eyes are dropped, eyelids lowered as he gazes at the wall. "Francis." You whisper, grabbing his attention, and suddenly he's locked in on you. Your hair, your lips, your eyes. God you're just a sight to behold.

"How are you feeling." He blinks at you, before smiling. "I feel great." He whispers. "Really good."

He moves a little closer, pulling the blanket further over himself. "Why haven't I done this before?" He leans his head back against the back of the couch, sighing. You can't help but appreciate the proximity. "Ummm..." He smells good, like deep cologne and the hint of flower in the air. "I don't know, but I'm glad you're feeling this good." Your hand goes to his thigh, landing on his knee and he shudders.

You had to be doing this in purpose. He felt his heart beating faster, and his body felt heavy. The way your fingertips glided over his knee to the center of his thigh, he wanted your hand just a bit further up. He wanted your hands everywhere. Really, he couldn't help it. His eyes fluttered shut as you kept running your hand over his thigh and he sighed heavily. "(Y/N)..." He whispered under his breath, and you took your hand away. You didn't want to push it, or do anything he didn't want.

You would have been an idiot to not notice that Francis had taken an interest in you. His flushed glances as you complimented him on his appearance, even if he was disheveled; or, when you touched his arm as a thank you for helping when you had "accidentally" knocked one of the bottles down.

"Are you alright, darling?" That nickname again, he parted his lips to speak. He wanted to be your darling, he had for a while. "I do like when you call me that." He admitted slowly, and his eyes sifted opened to peer at you. "Do you call anyone else darling?" He asked so innocently, but with a smidge of potential envy. "I don't." You reply simply, and you turn to face him fully. He returns the gesture, and now he's inches away from your face. "Mmm... So I'm your darling then?" He stated as though it were fact, speaking aloud.

Right in front of his eyes this time, your right hand drifts down to his thigh, and he twitches. "Mmm, don't do this to me." He wrenches his eyes from the scene back to you.

"What's the matter Francis?" It's his upper thigh this time that you graze, and it drives him to a point of no return. Already his pants are swelling with the thoughts he can't say, and if it weren't for the thickness of the blanket you would have seen it. However, you can feel the heat radiating from it. "Is there something wrong?"

Francis puts a hand over his eyes, he doesn't want to admit it, but he's already so painfully hard, a bead of precum staining his boxers and all you've done is pet his thigh. "Mmm... No- no." He shakes his head, and he nearly lurches out of his skin when all of a sudden your hand grazes over the spot that's affected the most. "Fuck- I just-" Francis mumbles, his hips chasing the contact, the stiffened member behind the clothing twitching beneath your ministrations. "Please-"

You don't deny him any further. You set your mugs to the side and crawl into his lap, and attach your lips to his. It's like a finely tuned instrument, both of you in sync, your hips moving over his slowly, and your kisses in the same agonizing rhythm.

He tries kissing you sweetly, this is the first time, but he can't control himself that well when it comes to this. "mmm- mm!" Your sharpened teeth bite his bottom lip, and he whines at the sting. But fuck he wants it, he wants those teeth to sinking into his neck, he wants the marks, he wants it all.

So you can't blame him when he grabs your hips and bucks into them, his eyes squeezed shut as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Only to lose when your much longer one, which he hadn't noticed before, fills his. Your mixed saliva drops down his chin and he starts fully thrusting against you practically, his hands on your waist and your assisted pressure. "oh fuck- fuck-" he parts from the kiss to groan into your shoulder, and he sits down, begging into your ear while you did all the work. "Feels so good-"

Francis had been so lonely, so pent up. "Mmm more-" He pleaded, but you felt like being a little cruel to him. He could take it.

Your hand pulls his hair backwards and his hips jerk, a long moan escaping his throat. "You want more?" Your hips went faster and his eyebrows furrowed upwards, sweat at his hairline as you relentlessly dug your hips into him. "Huh, darling?"

The grip you had on his hair was just tight enough to ache and when you shook him around a little bit he couldn't stop himself from crying out. "yes!" He gasped, and suddenly he admitted what he wanted. "Please I want your fucking teeth in my neck- I want your tongue on my chest and-" he didn't even need to say it for you to know what he meant, because he keeps dragging his hips over yours when he has the mind to.

You quickly ripped his shirt open, and he shuddered when you let go of his hair. His tired eyes watched you get on your knees in front of him, his lip pulled between his teeth as you immediately peppered his neck with kisses.

I'm too lazy

@the-lazyyy-artist

[loveduckyxx]

izuku working late isn't unexpected. what was unexpected was the giant ass blanket fort in the middle of the living room. it was furnished with pillows, plushies, candles, and snacks. you turn on a movie and u guys sit together (so wholesome! 😁)... and then the power goes out in the apartment and you guys are left cuddling up against each other in the dark. izuku never realized how close you two were, and you're plush chest pressed up against his arm was making this situation really unfair. sure, you guys have been close together like this before, but the dim candle light casting over your skin made it hard for him to not blush (and just hard in general). you suggest playing a game in the meantime before you were cut off with him pressing his smooth lips against yours. you gasp and hit his thigh playfully once he pulls away, but that led you to feel how hard he was. he grins before he pulled you onto his lap and kissed you again. you could almost feel the desperation radiating from him. "Wanna take advantage of this- er- setting...?"

[saturnrings77]

s1 and s2 rafe would be so greedy. only ever thinking about their own pleasure and rarely ever yours. you would always be on your knees for him either sucking his cock or receiving backshots.

when you were sucking him off, you'd be humping yourself against his shoes, leaving a trail of slick. "y'that needy, huh?" he would say, but never did anything about it, just pushing your head deeper and bucking his hips up into your mouth.

"all you want is cock." he'd say, rolling his eyes, watching you finger yourself and before you could reach your high, he's gripping your hair and pulling you off him, throwing you onto the nearest surface and arching your back, your hands in one fist. "so greedy."

"what a dirty girl. getting off on sucking my big cock." he'd get off on it though because unlike you, many girls would run when he didn't reciprocate. not you. sometimes he'd leave you high and dry, sometimes you'd whine, but you'd never outright complain.

s3 rafe would find his pleasure in getting you off. getting atleast three orgasms out of you.

he'd be groping you everywhere making sure you're overstimulated. fingers inside you, rubbing your clit and sucking on your nipples. he made sure to have every part of him that he could, occupied with your pleasure.

there's never a day when he's not eating you out. he swears he could die with your pussy being the last taste he ever experiences. he always makes sure to get atleast one orgasm out of you just with his mouth.

his mouth is always occupied, sucking in your nipples or clit or biting deep, red hickies all over your body, especially in places no one can see. they're for his eyes only.

he loves missionary. loves any position where he can see your face contorting in pleasure. loves when your mouth is next to his ears so he can hear your moans and whimpers clearly. loves the way your nipples rub against his chest. he loves the way your noises get louder with every rub of your clit against his pelvis

[sceletaflores]

isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x stanford!fem!reader

summary: and there it is. there’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him. the heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what art’s wanted for months. your undivided attention.

—or: art tries to get through to you about patrick, it doesn't go how he thought it would.

word count: 6.2k (i'm so sorry lmao pls still read it's good i promise)

warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), switch!art a little bit, creampie, kinda hate sex but not really, more like angry sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, art is lowkey a little gay for patrick (it's literally canon), tiny bit of manipulative!art, art is just kinda an asshole in disguise honestly, hints of mean!reader cause i live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties, art being a bad bro, porn with too much plot, no use of y/n.

authors note: so this is basically a re-worked version of art and tashi’s dining hall scene when he’s trying to convince her that patrick isn’t in love with her. it’s really similar just way more messy and angry and with sex. this is literally just a tiny thought i had that somehow spiraled just a little bit, but i needed some lowkey asshole!art in my life. i had so much fun writing this, like way too much fun lmao. title is a lyric from fall out boy’s "sugar, we're going down swinging" cause that song fucks so hard and it's soooo art coded. okay bye! mwah xoxo

psst! tftw series masterlist!

Art Donaldson is a patient guy. He's nice, understanding, empathetic. It's something he prides himself on, lots of guys on campus are pricks, but not him. He's "the sweet blonde guy that plays tennis, like, really well!" according to most people who've met him.

That being said, he's not blind to the fact that you frustrate him to the point of wanting to shout himself hoarse and rip his hair out.

It's been a while since he and Patrick met you for the first time at the Open, and Art has been through hell and back about a million times over by now.

He still so vividly remembers watching you step onto the court, the almost visceral reaction he had. The crowd was cheering and clapping nearly as loud as they were for Tashi. There were even a few signs made in support of you scattered throughout the stands. Big poster boards plastered with your name and your winning streak and pictures of you playing, tennis balls and rackets drawn from markers decorating them.

It was obvious you were a favorite, and it was more than obvious how much you lived for it.

Smiling and waving to the crowd, fully basking in their respect and adoration. You were nearly glowing, Art couldn't take his eyes off you. He could tell that Patrick was thinking the same thing, if the way his thigh tensed up where it was plastered against Arts was any hint, his breath slightly catching as you started stretching.

"Goddamn..." Patrick had muttered under his breath. Art could distantly see his hand clench on top of his thigh when you bent over to tighten your laces. He always tries to be less shameless than Patrick but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t just as affected by you, fighting the urge to shift in his seat.

After you and Tashi walked up to the net with matching smiles and shook hands for a little longer than usual, it was time to start. Art watched as both of you got in position on the opposite ends of the court. Both of your faces lost the easy-going, excited expressions you’d shared when you first walked out, hardening in concentration as Tashi got ready to serve.

Patrick and Art openly gawking at the two of you would have been embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking justified.

You and Tashi made magic happen on that court. 

It was powerful hit after powerful hit. Tashi’s backhand was out of this world, your overhand was a monster. Every rally, every volley, every serve was pure perfection. Art had never seen tennis played like that before in his life, he couldn't help but get sucked into your world the longer he watched.

The match was close, completely neck-and-neck throughout each set, neither of you willing to give an inch to the other. Tashi won by a single point, hardly wasting any time before she vaulted over the net to come barreling into your open arms, crashing into you so hard it knocked the two of you to the ground.

You both grasped at each other like lifelines on the hard concrete of the court as the announcer crowned Tashi the 2006 girl’s U.S Open champion.

Art let out a long breath and deflated a little deeper in his seat. His mind racing, he didn’t need to look at Patrick to know he felt the same. They sat in silence like that until the stands were practically empty. 

“What time did you say the party was again?”

Art pointedly ignored Patrick staring at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, stretching his arms out in feigned nonchalance. Patrick just snorted, shaking his head and squeezing Art’s thigh.

That was then, now Art sits across from you in the Stanford dining hall at the same table you two eat lunch at everyday, trying to stay cool as you complain about the latest biology lab you’re doing. 

He’s hardly listening to you, too busy trying his best to not glare too obviously at the hoodie you're wearing. One that he knows for a fact belongs to Patrick. You must have kept it the last time he was in town. The Nike swoosh embroidered to the front almost mocks him. Art puts his water down with a little more force than necessary.

Patrick and you being…whatever the two of you are now was something he tried his best to be okay with in the beginning.

Patrick’s his best guy, Art should have been so stoked that you were into him as much as he was into you when the two of them walked up to congratulate you and Tashi at the Adidas party. Only being able to steal you away from the house after you said your goodbyes to Tashi and her parents, inviting you to join them down at the beach.

It was obvious you were playing into Patrick’s attempts to get in your pants. Not blushing or averting your eyes shyly when he blatantly checked you out, throwing out smart comebacks to his sleazy lines, looking up at him through your lashes and biting your lip.

It would have been soul-crushing if Art wasn’t such a good friend. So, he stifled the rising feelings of jealousy and plastered a smile on his face as he watched Patrick shamelessly flirt with you.

It wasn’t like it was your fault. Art didn’t come on as strong as Patrick, he never did. Plus it wasn’t like he and Patrick had talked about who could try and score with you prior to the party, anything was fair game.

Besides, you were nice enough to Art that night. Chatting about college admissions and smiling at him over your coke bottle. Sure, it stung seeing you laugh at Patrick’s stupid jokes while the two of you smoked off the same cigarette, but there was nothing he could do about it.

You choosing Patrick had nothing to do with him. Everyone always chose Patrick, he was used to it by now.

At least he thought he was, but the longer it was just you and him, the more angry he felt each time Patrick would visit and steal all your attention. It wasn’t just jealousy or frustration anymore; it was a gnawing, consuming rage that twisted his insides every time he saw you light up around Patrick.

Patrick didn't fucking deserve you. You were too good for him. Nothing like all the easy, ditsy girls he fucked his way through at the academy. You were special, unlike any girl Art’s ever met. Patrick would just take you for granted. He'd grow tired of you, completely dismissing you when he got bored enough. Any day now he'd call Art to spill on his latest hookup with some chick he met on tour. 

But Art didn’t want to sit around and wait for that day to come. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt by Patrick’s inevitable indifference. The idea of you, heartbroken and discarded, made his blood boil. You deserve more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are, not just a trophy. 

Art knows he could be that person for you if you’d give him a chance, if for once you’d look at him instead of Patrick. He just has to find a way to get you to understand that.

“Pat texted me this morning,” you say from across the table, boredly poking at your pasta. “He’s gonna be here later this week, says he wants to go see 30 Days of Night. You and Tashi should come with us.”

Art hums noncommittally, not looking at you as he takes another bite of his salad. You do this a lot– extend invites to Art and Tashi when you and Patrick go out.

Art knows you think you’re being nice by trying to make them feel included, but getting invited usually means having to watch Patrick touch you and kiss you and walk around with his hand in your back pocket.

Art’s fork stabs into his salad roughly. He takes a slow breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to swirl inside him. “Yeah, sure,” he says eventually, forcing a smile. “Sounds fun.”

He sneaks a look at you from under his lashes. You’re already looking at him, brow raised at his clipped tone. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Art shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, still watching him with a hint of skepticism. “Are you alright? You’ve been weird all day.”

Art lets out a small laugh, but it sounds more sour than sweet, and finally looks up at you. You look back expectantly, concern lingering in your eyes. “Nothing, it’s just…” he pauses, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the table, “the fact that you two are still going out surprises me. That’s all.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, words sounding way more patronizing than he wanted. His chest immediately tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t wince or shrink back like he normally would, just keeps his eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, a tiny frown pulling at the corners of your lips. “What?” you ask, fork stilling in your hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Art just sighs, putting his fork down and leaning towards you. “I know Patrick better than you do,” he says with a tiny shrug, “he’s always had a hard time with…commitment.” He says slowly, searching for the right word.

You don’t say anything for a couple seconds, eyes scanning over his face slowly like you're examining him. Art forces himself to not start squirming under your intense, studying gaze.

You don’t seem to like what you find, eyes narrowing as you push your tray away from you and lean back in your seat. “Are you seriously shit talking your own best friend right now?”

Art’s brow raises, that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, at all. His jaw ticks in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist on the tabletop.

“I’m not trying to shit talk him,” he says calmly, voice tinged with frustration. “I’ve just seen how things go with him. I’m looking out for you.”

Your eyes harden, disbelief mingling with irritation. “So, what? You think you know what’s best for me or something? Are you my keeper now?”

That pisses Art off, now you’re just being an asshole. His brows furrow, arms crossing in front of his chest defensively. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He says, tone harder than before.

You scoff, anger spilling over your face. “Well what the fuck do you mean then, Art? Because you dancing around whatever it is you obviously want to say is really starting to piss me off.”

Irritation flares in Art’s chest, piercing and sudden. He swallows it down, breathing out his nose slowly to try and calm himself. The air between the two of you is tense now.

You’re loud enough that a few people sitting at tables nearby start to quiet down, discreetly trying to listen in.

“Patrick doesn’t love you.” Art says spitefully, his fingers grip the muscle of his arms tighter. It’s childish, but he doesn't care.

Your eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. You recover quickly, letting out a disbelieving laugh as you push away from the table with a harsh scrape of your chair. "Excuse me?" Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and incredulous.  

He stays silent, letting the weight of his words hang heavy in the air. Your eyes narrow, searching his face for any sign of retreat, but Art meets your gaze head-on, jaw set stubbornly.

You stand with your arms crossed over your chest as you stare down at him. “Why are you telling me this? Why do you care if Patrick loves me or not?”

Why do you care? The question makes his heart drop down to his stomach. Dread mixes with the anger in his chest. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go, he doesn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the dining hall. You’re just being so difficult.

You’re jumping to defend Patrick, not even trying to hear him out, just like you always do. Still refusing to give Art the attention he deserves. It’s fucking infuriating.

“I’m just saying,” he says, voice distant and cold, “he hasn’t been in love with you for a while. He’s told me.” 

It’s a lie, he’s hardly spoken to Patrick recently, but he’s in this now. He may as well go for broke, he always plays to win after all. 

Your face contorts grimly, another disbelieving laugh punches it’s way out your chest. You don’t seem to notice the amount of heads turned in your direction, or maybe you just don’t care. “Oh, he’s told you that has he?” you parrot back mockingly, head cocked to the side as you stare daggers at him, “That’s fucking bullshit Art!”

Art clenches his fists, jaw flexing in anger. He’s never seen you this mad before, never expected to be the cause of it. But at the same time he’s fucking angry too. Angry at you. Angry at Patrick. Angry at himself.

His eyes narrow, holding your own heated gaze without backing down because if there's one thing he hates most, it's losing. “You don’t get it do you?” He mutters quietly, shaking his head in dismay. 

Your jaw tightens, eyes blazing as you lean forward, bracing your hands on the table to get up in his face. He can smell the familiar fruity sweetness of your perfume.

“What’s there to get? The only thing I’m getting right now, is a front row seat to you being a vindictive little prick.” You bite out, breath fanning over Art’s face. “Who even said I wanted Patrick to be in love with me? Who said I gave a fuck about any of that?” You question sternly, brows furrowed as you scowl at him.

Art scoffs loudly, his face twisting in disgust as he rolls his eyes. His blood boils at having to sit here while you bitch him out. He wants to strangle you, to take you by your shoulders and shake you so that you’ll listen.

To make you see what he sees. To make you love him. “Please,” he hisses through gritted teeth, shifting so he’s leaning across the table just as you are, his eyes dark. “Everyone wants Patrick to love them. Everyone wants his attention. You want it.”

You just blink at him, taken aback by his outburst. You stare at him, not budging as your eyes scan over his face for a second time. And there it is. There’s that glimmer of attention, that hint of acknowledgement of him.

The heavy look of rage taking over your features, the bite in your tone, it’s what Art’s wanted for months. Your undivided attention.

After a few tense seconds you just laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You might be the worst fucking friend in the world.” You say simply, like you're reading off this week's forecast.

Maybe he is.

Art can feel the heat rising to his cheeks in anger, in embarrassment, in hatred, in lust. The way you’re looking at him makes something stir deep in his gut. His heartbeat echoes in his ears.

You’re so mad, but in that you’re giving him a hint of your attention, giving him the time of day, and you’re still fucking defending Patrick. Rage seethes in him, hot like fire. Yet even in this moment, you’re the only person that really matters. The intensity of your gaze pulls at something raw inside him.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice is lower, pinched with thinly veiled frustration threatening to boil over.

"And you think you're the expert on what I deserve, Art? Last time I checked, your own love life’s track record isn't exactly stellar."

It’s a low blow, bringing up how Tashi rejected him a while back. He hadn’t told you about that, so Tashi must have. He laughs, but his lips are pulled up in a sneer.

"Don’t start deflecting,” Your name falls from his lips sharply, stabbing through the thick tension in the air. “This isn't about me, it's about you. You're setting yourself up to get hurt, and I'm just trying to warn you–"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for your fucking opinion," you snap, "maybe you should focus on your own damn problems.”

Art’s jaw tightens further, his frustration finally getting the best of him. "Fine, do whatever the hell you want. But don't come crying to me when Patrick does what he always does— leaves you for someone new."

You stare at him incredulously, shock and anger warring in your expression. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah, well," Art mutters bitterly, looking away. "Believe whatever you want. Just know that he’s playing with your feelings.”

You huff, throwing your arms out at your sides in frustration. “What fucking feelings Art!” you say loudly, not quite shouting but you’re getting there. “Sure, Patrick and I fuck but that doesn’t mean we’re playing husband and wife with each other!” 

You’re definitely way too loud, voice steadily rising in volume the more you talk. Seemingly not caring about who’s around to hear you yell about fucking Patrick. “In fact,” you continue, shaking an accusatory finger at Art, “you’re the one trying to get in my head and play with my feelings, you fucking hypocrite.”

His mind whites out, filled with blinding jealousy all over again. He wants you so fucking badly, he could be everything you needed. Why can’t you see that? How could you be so blind? How could you not see that Patrick was using you, just like he used everyone else?

Art leans further across the table as you speak, his hands coming up to grip the edges of it tightly. “You’re so fucking naive, you know that?” He snaps in a biting tone. It’s harsher than he’s spoken to you during this whole fight.

Your voice drips with sarcasm as you lean forward, eyes locked on his. "Oh, well forgive me for not seeing the truth according to Saint Art."

“So fucking naive.” He repeats, spitting the words across the table meanly.

“And you’re a fucking pussy.” You bite back, leaning in even closer so Art can see your lips form around the words maliciously. You sway close enough that the tip of your nose bumps against his. His breath catches, going ragged in his throat. You’re so close to him. He can smell you, can practically taste you on his tongue.

He wants to take you in his arms, to hold you and kiss the anger off your face. The only thing keeping him from lunging out is the way you look. Your whole body is rigid with anger, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful. He has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be pissed at you and fight the urge to pull you in and really taste you.

But then you're backing away completely, “I won’t waste my time on stupid shit like this,” you mutter, turning to pick your bag up off the floor. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” You say sarcastically, not even looking at him as you turn on your heel and walk towards the dining hall’s exit before he can respond.

Art’s heart lurches forward at your words, not with pain, but with want. He watches you leave, the regret quickly setting in once you’re not here to play into his resentment. It hits him like a cold shiver, he wants to feel good for speaking his mind, for telling you how it is. Maybe on some level he does, but it’s overshadowed by how awful he feels.

Art stares down at his unfinished salad, appetite gone. He sighs loudly, standing up to toss his own tray plus the one you left behind. He tries his best to ignore the stares he can feel following him as he walks out.

ᯤ

Art wallows in misery for the rest of the day, skipping the practice he had planned after lunch. He just locks himself in his dorm, laying on his mattress and staring at the ceiling as he replays the fight in his mind. Replaying every word you said to him, every word he said back to you, every angry look you gave him. 

He thinks about texting you a thousand times. Typing and deleting different messages until he eventually gave up. He knows you’re beyond pissed, that him reaching out will only piss you off more and he wants to try and salvage this before you completely shut him out. The thought of losing you is why he never wanted to bring it up in the first place, regret settles in his gut like a ball of lead.

And yet, there was a small part of him that hoped, despite the shit show in the dining hall, that you’d see the quiet care he showed, the way he was there for you, and choose him for once. But hope was a dangerous thing, and Art wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Hours go by with nothing from you, it’s the longest you’ve gone with talking since the semester started. He forced himself to study for his biology final in a lazy attempt at taking his mind off you. You’d usually be in his dorm room right now, all spread out on his bed like it’s your own as you talk his ear off about something like your asshole psychology professor. 

The longer he sits at his desk the longer the ache in his chest consumes him. Art would do anything to know what you were thinking right now. He’d grovel for your attention, he’d fall to his knees and beg and plead if that’s what it took for you to forgive him. 

He’s getting ready for bed when his Blackberry pings on his night stand, it’s almost embarrassing how fast he rushes over to it. His heart stutters in his chest when he sees it's a text from you. It’s only two words, a simple ‘come over’. 

Art’s never moved faster in his life, rushing out of his room with only his phone, wallet, and keys. 

He makes it to your dorm in record time, nearly sprinting across campus to hurry up and get there before you change your mind. All that needy rushing completely vanishes once he’s actually outside your door. 

Art hesitates, staring at the little door decals taped on with your name written on them in black sharpie. He rests his ear against the door, but he can’t hear anything. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, brows pinched as he wrestles with himself.

“C’mon Donaldson, don’t be such a little bitch.” Patrick’s voice rings out in the back of his mind. He takes a breath and knocks on the door.

Barely a second passes before it’s swinging open and you're there, gripping the front of his shirt and dragging him inside your room. Art's back hits the closing door with a thud, his breath catching in surprise. His hands shoot out to brace on either side of the door, knocking over a racket resting on the wall. Everything he brought with him falling to clatter onto the wood floor loudly.

You look rough, eyes slightly red and puffy like you may have been crying. Your breath comes out in short, quick bursts as you stare up at him. All the anger he swore would come rushing back when he saw you drains out of him in a second.

His face softens, a tiny frown on his lips. "Hey, what’s going on?" he asks, voice a mix of confusion and worry. His hands come up to hover near your hips, hesitating at the last second, not sure if he should touch you.

Without a word, you’re flying forward while yanking him down by his shirt. Closing the distance between the two of you with your lips crashing against Art’s. It’s so sudden, so completely out of left field, that Art stumbles forward a few steps, hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself.

It’s almost pathetic how easily he kisses back, not even hesitating. Flashes of Patrick’s face go through his mind as he eagerly reciprocates, not stopping him from pulling your hips flush against his. He definitely might be the worst friend in the world, all the loyalty he felt to Patrick tossed out of his mind the second your tongue slides past his lips.

It’s intense, there’s no romance or gentleness about it. Your lips move against his almost violently, all the aggression and anger from earlier still very much there. He’s never kissed a girl like this before, it’s not how he imagined his first kiss with you would go. He’s still getting hard in his sweats anyway.

Your tongue fucks into his mouth roughly, it reminds him of the time he and Patrick kissed when they were still at the academy for “practice”. He moans loudly into your mouth, letting you dominate the kiss and just trying his best to keep up. Your teeth clack against his roughly, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to have him whining embarrassingly high and needy.  

“It’s over with Patrick,” you breathe hotly, slick lips brushing his with every word. “I want you to fuck me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Art’s dick feels hard enough to burst out of his sweats by sheer force, but he pauses, pulling away from you with a hesitant look. "I-" he tries, voice cracking slightly. He can feel his cheeks starting to burn as he clears his throat. "I don't think that's a good idea. It's so soon, and I mean you're obviously going through something and I don't want to take advantage of yo-"

An incredulous laugh bursting from your lips effectively cuts Art off, your eyes roll to the ceiling in dry amusement. “God, Art.” you scoff, both hands pushing off his chest to create space between the two of you. He keeps his hands on your hips, the thin material of your bottoms bunching in his grip. “You’re such a fucking little bitch, you can kiss me but you won’t fuck me? What is it? You scared of Patrick or something?”

The taunt hits Art like a slap across the face, he freezes for a second before disbelief gives way to white hot rage. You just stare up at him smugly, lips red and wet. Art bares his teeth, using his strong hold on your hips to force you backwards until your knees hit the edge of your bed.

“You’ve pushed me and pushed me and pushed me,” he spits, glaring down at you as he speaks. “Acting like such a fucking brat. You want me to fuck you?” He pushes you back onto the bed roughly, covering your body with his, letting his weight sink you deeper into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll fuck you.��

Art sits up, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind his shoulder. Your greedy eyes rake down the toned muscle of his torso, hands coming up to lightly scratch your nails over his abs. His breath hitches, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. He grabs your wrists, forcing them down and pinning them to the bed. “No touching.” he chastises, leaning down to bite the skin of your neck roughly. Sucking hard enough that he’ll definitely leave a mark. 

His dick twitches against the inside of his sweats at the thought of you walking around campus with his claim staked on you, at the thought of Patrick, if he was still coming down, seeing it and immediately knowing who left it there. He slides his knee between your legs, he can feel the warmth radiating from your pussy, can feel how you’re so wet it’s soaking through your bottoms and onto his thigh. 

You hiss at the sting of his teeth, trying to squeeze your wrists out of his strong grip. Your thighs tighten around his knee, hips bucking up against him. “Are you gonna fuck me anytime soon, Art? Or do I need to find someone else that’s not all talk?”

Art chuckles darkly, nipping at the sensitive skin of your collarbones. “You can bitch and moan all you want, but I haven’t even touched you yet–” he leans forward to whisper directly into your ear, “–And you’re still fucking soaked for me anyway.” He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear in a dirty stripe. 

You let out a keen, pretty and high, grinding your hungry pussy against his knee faster. He lets go of your hands, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. Tossing you around like it’s nothing, just manhandling you.

“God,” he groans, big hands coming up to knead the meat of your ass, spreading it lewdly making you moan softly. “You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, words falling from his lips like he couldn’t hold them in any longer.

Art keeps one hand tight on your hip, the other fumbling with the drawstring of his sweats so he can push them down to finally free his aching dick. Letting it spring out to slap up onto his bare stomach, trailing a thin line of pre-come across his abs. 

You squirm under him, feet kicking out as you struggle in his hold. Your head craning over your shoulder and zeroing in on his dick, hard and red and leaking. “You came over here with no panties on, Donaldson?” you taunt, pushing your ass back onto the sensitive length of his erection. “How slutty–” 

“Shut up,” he snaps harshly, but his dick twitches where it’s dragging over the seam of your ass. He’s leaking like a faucet, leaking like a girl, all over your light green plaid bottoms. It strikes him suddenly, how familiar they look. He stares at the worn down fabric covering your ass, at the way his pre-come stains the material darker, at the way they hang too low on your hips, too big for you. 

“Are these…are these Patrick's,” he asks slowly, voice low as his fingers skim over the soft material. You chuckle wickedly, wiggling your hips back teasingly. 

“Yeah, they are,” you say, sliding your ass back and forth over Art’s dick. “You’re leaking jizz all over your best friend's pants, Art.”

Art groans loudly, chin dropping to his chest as hips jerk against your ass involuntarily. A full body shiver wracks through him like lightning, eyes screwing shut as he tries not to come all over your ass. “Shit–” he bites out sharply, voice rough and scratchy. He can distantly hear you laughing at him through all the white noise buzzing in his ears.

He breathes out through his nose, willing himself to calm down. He needs to be in control for once, needs to teach you a lesson for ignoring him for so long.

Art’s hands come up to the waistband of your– Patrick's– pants, fingers digging underneath the loose material and forcefully yanking it down along with your panties, only pulling them down to your mid-thigh. You yelp in surprise, hands gripping the sheets of your bed tightly. 

“I need to get inside you, right fucking now.” he rumbles thickly, flipping you onto your back again. He needs to see your face when he fucks you for the first time, needs to burn it into his mind forever.

“Fuck yes,” you reply eagerly, arms coming up to circle around his shoulders. “Finally.”

Art doesn't reply, eyes fixed on your bare pussy, so fucking wet and shining underneath the shitty ceiling light of your dorm. His mouth waters, he wants to drop to his stomach and eat you out until you're shaking and squirting all over his face. His dick drools at the thought, but he’ll have to wait. He needs to fuck you.

He takes his dick in his hand, dragging it through the silky skin of your soaked folds. He spreads your wetness around your clit, rubbing the leaking tip over you back and forth teasingly. You whine, thighs starting to shake on either side of him. He drags his dick back down to your clenching hole, lining up and slowly sinking inside the tight, wet heat.

Art doesn’t give you any time to adjust to the thick head of his dick breaching your tight hole, burying himself to the hilt inside of you with a sharp thrust. 

“Fuck!” you cry out, legs coming up to wrap tightly around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back. “Shit, fuck you’re– God, you're so fucking deep.”

“I’m going to use your fucking pussy however I want,” Your name falls from his lips, dirty and blistering. “because it’s the least I deserve for putting up with your bullshit for so fucking long, and you’re going to be good and lay there and take it.” He drives his point home with a mean thrust of his hips.

“Fuck you, Art.” you mutter back, trying to keep up the bratty act even though your voice is going breathless and needy.

Art doesn’t ease into it, pulling back only to start pounding into your pussy ruthlessly. Sharp slaps of his hips stinging your ass each time he drives back in, your eyes roll back in your head, slack lips parted in pleasure as he fucks you. 

Art can’t help but lean down to claim your mouth, kissing you a little too sweetly for the moment. He can’t help it, not when you’re under him making the sweetest noises, letting him fuck your perfect fucking pussy like he owns it. God.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Art growls, breaking the kiss to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. “You’re so fucking, tight. Feels so fucking– shit, so fucking good.” His hips speed up, desperately rutting into you.

“Art,” you whine, nails scratching down his back hard. “I’m so close, fuck I’m so close– keep going, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–”

He cuts off your rambling with a kiss, groaning at the way his name sounds getting fucked out of your mouth. The loud squelch your pussy makes each time he buries himself back inside has his ears burning, he can feel you soaking the skin of his thighs with every thrust.

“Wanna feel your tight pussy milk me dry,” he grinds out through gritted teeth, picking up his pace. “Fuck, I‘m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.” He ruts into you harder, splitting you open with every thrust. The skin of your ass turning red and raw from how hard he’s giving it to you. 

Your hands come up to bury themselves in his hair, tugging sharply to make him look at you. “Inside,” you pant, eyes glazed over and wild, “come inside me Art, please. I’m on the pill you can, you can come inside me.” Your legs tighten their hold on his hips, ankles locking snugly over his lower back so he couldn’t even pull out if he wanted.

“Fuck!” Art shouts your name hoarsely, hips stuttering as he unloads in you. Hot come spraying the walls of your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your whole body shaking as you come with him. Your pussy chokes his dick so tightly, gripping him like a vice, milking him.

Art tilts his head up, catching your lips with his to greedily swallow down all your moans. He keeps going, shallow thrusts of his hips working you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until you’re kicking at his back, whining at him to stop. He collapses on top of you, his sweaty skin sticking to the fabric of your shirt. 

It’s quiet for a while, the two of you silently trying to catch your breath. Your hands come up to his head, sliding into the messy strands of his hair. “It’s pretty late now,” you say slowly, nails scratching against his scalp softly. “You could…you could stay here if you want.”

Art hides the wide grin breaking out on his face in your chest, arms coming up to circle around your waist. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers back, squeezing the soft skin of your hips once.

It’s only later, when you’ve fallen asleep on his chest, that he stares up at the ceiling lost in thought. He’s too worked up to sleep, so fucking thrilled that it worked. His plan actually worked. You’re his now. He looks down at you, glowing softly in the moonlight filtering through your window, deep hickeys scattered across your neck. He drags his fingers along your cheekbone, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

This is what he’s wanted for so long, you.

You asleep in bed with him, you curled up in his arms, you with his come steadily dripping out of your swollen pussy.

Art can hear his Blackberry start buzzing on your nightstand, lighting up with an incoming call. Even from far away he can read the name displayed on the screen. Patrick. He lets it ring.

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[xxsabitoxx]

"Satoru, enough." you sound exasperated, tired eyes glaring at your laptop screen as you try to find another peer-reviewed article for your essay topic. However, you had to admit nothing was getting done and it wasn't only because of your boyfriend. "Satoru, enough~" He practically sang back to you, that same shit-eating grin plastered to his face. His hands were finding their way to your thighs again, only stopping when you would reach down and swat him away with one of your signature death glares. So, you repeated the motion again, slapping his hands off of you but not bothering to look at him.

"C'mon, sweetheart you've been glued to your laptop since you got home from work." He somehow managed to sound just as exasperated as you had. "Because I have things due, Satoru." It wasn't a lie, but the essay wasn't due for a few days. You could certainly afford to hold off on it for another day, but for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to stop. "Yeah, well, I'll pay off the professor. I want your attention," he whined again, this time flinching when your hand came down to grab his wrist before he could touch you. "And I am busy, go bother someone else." the bite in your tone didn't bother him at all, if anything it made his cock twitch.

"You wound me." Satoru's hand came up to splay over his heart, head falling back dramatically as he looked at you. "Good." was all you uttered, the tension in your shoulders only adding to your aggression as you fought the urge to throw your laptop. Nothing you had tried to read in the last twenty minutes registered in your brain and one single paragraph was glaring back at you on your Word doc. Now add Satoru teasing the shit out of you every fifteen seconds... you were going to snap or self-destruct, it depended on Satoru at this point.

"Just take a damn break, you're getting bitchy." He smirked at you, watching your entire body tense as your neck nearly snapped with the force you used to turn your head. "Do you have a death wish, Satoru?" your jaw was clenched, if looks could kill, Satoru would be dead four times over by now. "I do, but that's beside the point. You couldn't lay a finger on me and have it cause damage." he sneered, trying to ignore the blood flow to his dick as you got steadily worked up. He wasn't sure if it could be classified as a kink, but Satoru got off on you being pissed. He craved your hand slapping his skin and your nails digging into his scalp. He would do whatever it took to get you mad just to see that adorable pout on your face.

You knew this by now, and it wasn't hard to miss the strain forming in his sweats. "You're sick and twisted, Satoru." You refused to close your laptop, giving your boyfriend one last disinterested look before your eyes settled on a random point on your screen. You wouldn't give in to his games. "You fucking love it." he moved closer, hand resting on your thigh and squeezing harshly when you couldn't move fast enough to slap him away. You gasped, body shivering at the sensation before you recollected yourself and tried to swat him away. "I'm serious, Satoru. Leave me alone." but Satoru was smarter than that. "You haven't typed anything worthwhile on that word doc. Let me take care of you, I can clear your head real fucking fast."

Your answer was rolling your eyes, earning a low rumble of laughter from your boyfriend. That was the nail in the coffin, you could only yell in protest as he snatched your laptop off of your lap and tossed it over to the chair beside your couch. "Satoru!" You squeaked, heart dropping to your ass as he flung the object. "Relax." was all he said in return, catching you while your guard was down and pushing you onto the couch. You let out a string of curses, awkwardly pressed face-first into the cushion as Satoru grabbed both of your wrists and restrained them behind your back. "Just relax."

[murdrdocs]

stiles needs his dick sucked fr fr

like he works sooo hard time and time again to protect his friends and beacon hills and he just needs to blow off some steam you know.

he just needs to stand there, arms crossed over his chest, gaze a little hard as he rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. he's thinking, staring at the board in front of him, putting together the final pieces of the latest crime to be nearly solved.

you're being patient as can be, swinging your legs as you lay on the bed behind him, eyes focused entirely on his frame even if you can only see the back. he starts talking to you, or maybe more so to himself. murmuring connections, letting rhetorical questions fall out into the air, only for him to answer it himself just a second or so later.

your patience starts to wear thin, especially when he scratches his jaw and his back muscles flex. he turns around to face you, pink lips already forming a questions directed at you this time. but there's no time, not when you're already over there, on your knees with your hands at the waistband of his sweatpants.

stiles only has enough sense to say "woah", his hands resting over yours. "are you––? do you wanna––?"

each question is left unsaid, but you nod anyway, waiting for stiles' consent to continue. which comes in the form of a nod, and his hands leaving yours. he lets you dig your hands under the elastic. he lets you pull his sweats and briefs down.

he watches as you take the leaking head on his tip into your mouth, lips puckered around him, tongue flicking out to lick the precum off. when you pull away, there's just enough saliva there to add a glisten, entrancing both you and stiles. you look at him, he looks at you, and then he looks back down to watch your mouth work.

[alanaaii]

Date night 2.

Nsfw #unfinished.

After you and connie’s valentines date, you knew you was about to get some GOOD DICK The way he looked at you all night told it all.

He would start off with his head between your plush thighs feasting like it was his last meal. As if you two didn’t just come back from eating

He would use his fingers too. His mouth focusing on the bud while his fingers push into you. When he feels you squeeze his fingers, he knows you’re about to cum. Your juices would stain his face and his shirt but he wouldn’t mind. He loves to please his favorite girl.

Then he would switch to missionary. Pushing your legs all the way to your chest—he felt like it helped him be more close to you. His fingers would be doing magic on your bud while his dick slid deep into you. “you like that mama? you like when i fuck you like this?”

And you did. So much so after those words left his lips you’d end up squirting all over him.

Yeah ya man knew how to handle you.

I'm just clearing my drafts / unfinished fics.

[holyfuckyoureferal]

hello again fellow leona likers and fuckers<3

i got more for you guys pspspspspsp

tagging: @atomatoho3 this is sorta a pt 2

18+ content warning ahead

Leona catches you in your room one day, cuddling with a body pillow of him in blue lacey lingerie. Yes, that blue lacey lingerie that you went out with Leona to buy for him.

During that session, you managed to convince him to let you snap a picture for future use. It was right before you fucked him roughly to both of your hearts' content. And so on that body pillow is of Leona in blue lacey lingerie, looking to the side, flustered as his cock is pressed against the fabric, staining it with his precum.

After Leona's initial shock of this discovery wears off, he teases u about having a custom made body pillow of him in your room and on your bed with you.

This flusters you a bit as you were usually the one doing the flustering. As you were trying to recover from the teasing, you didn't notice Leona climbing on top of you till he was straddling you, pinning your arms above your head with one hand and the other throwing the body pillow to sevens knows where.

Grinding slightly on you, he teases you more about how he was able to get you to such a state this easily. Surely you are still the same person who fucked him silly and were bold enough to take a photo of him in that state to make into a body pillow?

You struggle a bit against his grip, but it wasn't as if he was truly holding you down since he didn't want to do anything without your explicit consent, thus allowing you to break free and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a sloppy makeout.

This eventually turned into both of you struggling to take your clothes off during the makeout till Leona got fed up and got out his magic pen from his pocket and magic'd away the clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hi guys... i forgot this blog existed for a while tbh. but hey, I did write some more!

I'm not completely comfortable writing actual smut since I have no idea how that'll go, but I'm willing to go this far at least.

enjoy!! because I'm likely not coming back for a long while again unless i get struck by more ideas

[inazumass]

Lost in the Fire || Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

This is a sneak peek of one of the drafts I've been working on these days. I've started a couple other things as well because my squirrel brain has way too many ideas at once. No warnings apply for this blurb, just a cute little makeout sesh

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

Shaky hands gripped at your hips, squeezing gently as he leaned into your touch. Soft lips melded against yours, your thighs on either side of his waist. With a hand on his chest you could feel the way his pulse quickened at the kiss, his cheeks radiating heat with the fierceness of his blush. Your hands moved to his hair, lightly gripping the fluffy indigo locks as he melted into you.

He whimpered when you broke the kiss, cringing internally at his shameless whines. His eyes were screwed shut, a wobbly little pout on his pretty pink lips. He wanted more, but you knew he wouldn’t be the one to cave first. The honey coloured glow of the sunrise filtering in through your bedroom window cast long shadows across the room and bathed his pretty face in its glow. You let out a sigh at the sight, your palm pressing lightly against his rose coloured cheeks.

“You’re so pretty like this, Tamaki.” You breathed out, earning another whine from your roommate.

“Stop torturing me,” He huffed out, daring to peek up at you from beneath his dark eyelashes.

It was a mistake to do that, he wasn’t sure his heart could take it. The sight of you, thighs splayed open across his lap, cooing praises at him, it had his breath catching high in his throat. His fingers twitched against your skin and earned a smug little smile from you, your soft gaze never wavering from his face. 

“Is that your way of saying you want more?”

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: for @princessbrunette.

“How’re you feelin’, princess?” TERRY McGINNIS’s big hands grapple at your flesh, touching anything in his reach. Keeping you steady as you work. His tip brushes a particularly sensitive spot inside you, drawing a sharp gasp through your parted lips. “Yeah, is that right?” he teases, that dimpled grin stretching onto his handsome features in the dim light. Your palms brace on his shoulders as you roll back and forth, massaging your insides with him.

“Terr, I’m getting tired.” you whisper in a plea, squeezing your eyes shut. His fingers clench into your skin, and you emit a little noise, intensifying as he lifts you up.

“Here, let me help you out.” As he pushes you back down, he tenses his pelvis, and it forces his tip in a little deeper than otherwise. Gradually, from dribbling you on his cock, his hands creep up from your hips to your underarms, picking you up to slam you back down. Using gravity and the mechanism in your own thighs, he makes you ride him harder while you mewl like a little kitty. Every sheath elicits a choked sound of pain, but he knows it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind that comes from his head kissing your cervix. “Wanna cum? Wanna cum just from this?” The web of his thumbs digs into your under arms from the strength of his hold on you, fucking up into you as he controls your movements. “Love your little tits like this… look at ‘em. Does it hurt when they do that?” The fat of your chest bounces with your motion, all sore. You can’t even open your eyes, but what he said in awe reverberates through your head and your pussy slicks around him.

[sootrootdoot]

gonna try some more wiht lovely, lustful, lethal, lucky, loser, landlord, longing, more maybe

[malivwh0res]

pussydrunk!sejanus plinth keeping your legs opened so he can eat you out better. he’s very sloppy, drooling all over your folds like a dog starved. your hands grip the sheets, your curls splayed on the bed like a halo as he devours his meal. he doesn’t even let up for breath, too focused on sucking your clit and lapping what comes out of your slit. he uses on hand on your thigh to keep you in place and the. other to spread you open even more. you clench and throb around nothing, your moans fill the room.

“sejanus please” you whine, bucking your hips into his mouth as he hungrily devours you.

[pervertedreams]

i thought the hyperfixation was wearing off but i have more farleigh headcanons!

requests / asks are always opennnn !

minors dni. sexual themes

- i think he gets sick easily, constantly sniffing (for multiple reasons) and gets cold super easy. i don’t think he’s a whiny type of sick person but he makes it obviously known that he’s ill. but whenever you offer help he’s almost got an ‘i don’t need your pity’ attitude, meanwhile his curls are flat, lips are dry and complexion pale as ever. idk i feel he doesn’t like asking for help even when he really needs it. makes him feel inferior. but eventually he accepts defeat and lets you take care of him, with a not so satisfied tone in his voice when hes saying thank you.

- thinking about how farleigh laughed in oliver’s face TWICE once at nobody knowing his name at his bday and again when he laughed at oliver’s dick flopping around in the field. so i think it’s fair to say he’ll laugh right in somebody’s face loud and shamelessly. and he should! and when people get mad at him for laughing it just makes me laugh more.

- i can’t remember if i said this before so imma just say it again, but i think he likes giving head more than receiving it. he likes having a purpose and fulfilling it. so whenever the two of you are in the mood he almost always offers to give you head… yeah

- i feel like it takes a lot for him to yell in an argument, i think by nature he’d like to have a screaming match but knows it’s more effective to be calm in a disagreement. it’s more productive and bound to get more of an reaction out of whoever he’s bickering with.

- when he’s really upset or mad and arguing is getting nowhere, he just feels like he’s talking to a brick wall he does the silent treatment. just giving hums and slow nods as a response.

- doesn’t really smile in photos the most you can get outta him is a smirk. if he is smiling in a photo it’s def an off guard

- walks dick first.. yeah

- idk i feel like he’s a good kisser it’d be crazy for me to say he’s good at giving head but a bad kisser. he’s very into it, very tender almost with it. it’s one of the few things he does where his softer side shows <3

- much like oliver i feel he’s attracted to pretty things and just femininity in general

- has an intense skin care ritual that he makes sure to follow every night. he gets down he don’t play

- runs through a pack of cigarettes a day and gets pissed whenever someone mentions it cause he’s convinced it isn’t a problem. he’s knows it is but.. pride yano?

- i feel like farleigh has a choking kink, likes to choke and liked to be choked. idk if i said that already LOL. but it’s something about giving into the submission of being choked, and letting his brain get foggy, with rolled eyes. just allowing himself to be dominated, but the soft dom in him also likes having that control. putting that soft pressure against your neck, and watching the way you fall apart. he gets off to him being the reason you fall apart.

- he’s an asshole and he knows it, i think he just naturally gets off to teasing people. he’ll whisper in peoples ear laughing and snickering, i think he’s just a whisperer in general. randomly coming up behind the shell of your ear to whisper something inappropriate in front of his family. or whispering a joke about oliver to you while looking oliver dead in the eyes. and if anyone asks him about whatever he’s whispering about he plays like he doesn’t know. i think he just likes being the reason for peoples reactions. good or bad, makes him feel powerful

[milk-tea-sakura]

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

𝓒𝔀: 𝓕𝓮𝓶! 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻, 𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓨/𝓷, 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯 𝓽𝓸 𝓢𝓮𝓶𝓲-𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽 (𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽)

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 1,957

𝓔𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮: 7 𝓶𝓲𝓷 39 𝓼𝓮𝓬

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ.

Hongjoong couldn't take his eyes off Y/n as they sat together on the sofa. The way she smiled, the way her eyes sparkled, and the way she laughed were all mesmerizing to him. He couldn't believe he was lucky enough to have her as his girlfriend.

As they sat in comfortable silence, Hongjoong suddenly spoke up. "You know, I have something for you," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Y/n looked up at him with curiosity. "You have something for me? What is it?"

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands," Hongjoong said, his voice taking on a playful tone.

Y/n obeyed, closing her eyes and extending her hands out towards Hongjoong. She felt him place something small and lightweight in her palm, and she instinctively clutched it.

"You can open your eyes now," Hongjoong said, his tone softer.

Y/n opened her eyes and looked at the object in her hand. It was a small, jewelry box. She looked up at Hongjoong with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.

"Go ahead, open it," Hongjoong urged, leaning forward in anticipation.

Y/n carefully opened the jewelry box, and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of a beautiful necklace inside. The pendant was a delicate, intertwining design of silver and jewels, sparkling brilliantly in the light.

"Oh my god, Hongjoong…it's beautiful," Y/n gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Hongjoong smiled, a mix of pride and sweetness in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it," he said. "I saw it and thought it would look perfect on you."

Y/n carefully took the necklace out of the box and held it up to her neck. "Can you help me put it on?" she asked, turning her back to Hongjoong.

"Of course," he replied, smiling at the opportunity to help. He took the necklace from her and carefully fastened it around her neck, his fingers brushing gently against her skin as he did so.

Y/n turned back to face him, admiring the way the necklace looked against her skin. "Thank you so much," she said, feeling touched by his gesture. "I love it so much."

Hongjoong smiled, his heart swelling at the sight of Y/n wearing the necklace. "I'm glad you do," he said, bringing his hand up to touch the pendant lightly. "You look beautiful."

Y/n blushed at his compliment, feeling a flutter of happiness in her chest. She leaned in and rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Hongjoong wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. They sat like that for a while, neither saying a word, just taking comfort in each other's presence. Hongjoong stroked her hair lightly, feeling the softness of it against his fingertips.

Finally, Y/n broke the silence. "Can I ask you something?" she said, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt.

"Of course," Hongjoong replied, still stroking her hair. "What is it?"

"Do you remember when we first met?" Y/n asked, tilting her head back to look up at him.

Hongjoong smiled as he thought back to that day. "Of course I do," he said. "It was during one of our concerts. I still remember the moment I first laid eyes on you. You stood out to me in the crowd. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Y/n blushed at his words, feeling a warm flutter in her stomach. "And do you remember what happened after the concert?" she asked, her voice a little coy.

Hongjoong chuckled as he remembered that day after the concert. "How could I forget?" he said, a playful gleam in his eye. "I came out through the back door, and there you were, waiting for me."

Y/n grinned, remembering the butterflies she had felt that day. "I was so nervous," she said. "I couldn't believe I was actually going to talk to you, the main rapper of Ateez."

Hongjoong laughed again. "You were so cute, all shy and nervous," he said, his voice fond. "I knew right then that I had to get to know you better."

Y/n snuggled further into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. "I'm glad you did," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "I'm glad you took the chance and talked to me. I don't know where I would be without you now."

Hongjoong tightened his arms around her, his heart swelling with love. "I'm the one who should be thankful," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, you know that?"

Y/n melted into his embrace, feeling a wave of emotion wash over her. "You're just saying that," she said, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Hongjoong huffed a laugh. "No, I mean it," he said, his voice firm. "You make my life so much better. You give me strength when I'm feeling weak, and you make me laugh when I'm feeling down. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm never letting you go."

Y/n felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "Ugh, now you're going to make me cry," she said, her voice slightly choked up.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, tenderly wiping away her tears with his thumb. "You know I love making you swoon," he said teasingly.

Y/n laughed through her tears, swatting at his arm playfully. "You're insufferable," she said, her voice fond.

"But you love me anyway," Hongjoong said, his tone cocky but his expression soft.

Y/n smiled, her heart feeling like it was overflowing with love for him. "Unfortunately, I do," she said, her tone feigning annoyance.

Hongjoong chuckled, pulling her closer to him. "You're stuck with me now," he said, his voice warm and possessive.

Y/n pretended to huff in annoyance, but she snuggled into his embrace even more. "Oh no, what tragedy has befallen me," she joked, her voice brimming with mock despair.

Hongjoong laughed, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You're such a drama queen," he teased, bopping her playfully on the nose.

Y/n mock glowered at him. "And whose fault is that, Mr. Over-the-top Romance?"

Hongjoong put on a wounded expression. "Hey, I can't help it if I love to make a grand gesture," he said, feigning hurt.

Y/n rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. "You're lucky I find your theatrics endearing," she said, poking him in the ribs.

Hongjoong chuckled softly at her poke, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Oh, is that so?" he asked, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pulling her onto his lap. "You find me endearing, huh?"

Y/n let out a small gasp as she found herself suddenly straddling him, her face flushing a light pink. "I-I—" she stuttered, suddenly feeling a bit flustered by the sudden change of position.

Hongjoong's arms tightened around her waist, a smirk playing on his lips as he reveled in her reaction. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?" he teased, his voice low and silky.

Y/n blushed even harder, her heart skipping a beat at the pet name. "I just, uh—" she tried to come up with a witty response, but her mind was suddenly blank as she felt the heat of his body against hers.

Hongjoong chuckled again, loving the way he was flustering her. He pulled her closer, their bodies now flush against each other. He could feel her heart hammering against her chest, and he relished the effect he was having on her. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur, "I can think of a few other ways to make you speechless."

Y/n swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, and it made her feel both flustered and excited. She knew what he was implying, and the thought made her stomach flutter with anticipation. "Oh yeah?" she managed to say, her voice a little hoarse.

Hongjoong's smirk widened, his eyes darkening with desire. "Oh yeah," he replied, his fingers tracing soft patterns on the exposed skin of her waist, just below the hem of her shirt. He felt her shiver at his touch and his grin became predatory. "You have no idea how badly I want you right now."

Hongjoong's hands continued to roam over her skin, his touch becoming more insistent as his desire grew. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck, causing her to shiver. Just as he was about to taste her, there was suddenly a knock on the door, interrupting their passionate moment.

"Y/n? Hongjoong? Are you in there?" a voice called from the other side.

Y/n and Hongjoong froze in their position, their moment of intimacy shattered by the interruption. Hongjoong's hands stilled on her waist, his grip reflexively tightening as he let out a frustrated huff. Y/n felt a pang of disappointment, her body still thrumming with unfulfilled desire.

"Uh, yeah, we're here," Hongjoong called back, his voice sounding strained. He gently pushed Y/n off his lap, reluctantly putting some distance between them, although his eyes were still darkened with desire.

Y/n sat up, still trying to catch her breath, as the door opened and one of Hongjoong's bandmates, Wooyoung, poked his head in. He looked at the two of them with a smirk, his gaze traveling over their flushed faces and slightly disheveled appearances.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Wooyoung said, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

"Yeah, you kind of are," Hongjoong grumbled, still trying to compose himself. He shot Wooyoung a glare, silently cursing him for ruining the moment.

Wooyoung just chuckled, completely unfazed by Hongjoong's glare. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a schedule to keep, so you two lovebirds will have to finish your little…session later," he said, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Hongjoong huffed in annoyance, knowing that Wooyoung was enjoying this too much. Y/n, meanwhile, was trying to smooth out her hair and make herself presentable. She could feel Wooyoung's gaze on her and it made her feel a bit self-conscious.

Wooyoung chuckled again, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on them. "Come on, you two," he said, his tone slightly teasing. "We don't have all day. We need to be at the studio in ten minutes."

Hongjoong reluctantly rose from the sofa, his movements a bit stiff. He turned to Y/n, his expression conflicted. He clearly didn't want to leave her just yet, but he knew they had responsibilities to attend to.

Y/n stood up as well, her legs a little shaky. She could still feel the heat of Hongjoong's touch on her skin, and the unfinished business between them was making it hard for her to focus.

Wooyoung clapped his hands together, effectively breaking the moment. "Alright, chop chop," he said, his tone lighthearted but firm. "Let's get moving, lovebirds. Don't forget about us waiting on your lovey-dovey selves."

Hongjoong and Y/n exchanged a look, both silently promising to continue their passionate encounter later. With a final glare at Wooyoung, Hongjoong grabbed Y/n's hand and led her out of the room, their unsatisfied desires still burning low in their guts. 

As they walked down the hall, Hongjoong couldn’t help but imagine what would happen once they were alone again. Y/n could feel his grip on her hand, tight and possessive, and shivered in anticipation.

[bunnie-online]

just ask. {A.S.}

juuuuust thinking about (modern!)anakin being your boy bsf (and roommate) catching you coming home from a verrrry disappointing dick appointment

part two

warnings: MINORS DNI 18+, suggestive, possibly ooc ani, fem reader

it was 1 am, you fully expected Anakin to be asleep, doing this 'walk of shame' in front of him would be exactly that... shameful. you has just had one of the WORST hookups of your life with some dude you met off tinder a couple of days ago, he was alllll talk. the definition of 'sounds to good to be true'

he didn't know ANYTHING about the female anatomy, like seriously, he basically dry humped you and rolled over. lame.

you unlocked the door of your shared apartment, opening and closing the door as quietly as possible, as not to wake Anakin. to your surprise he came walking into the living room with a mug in his hand. he was in his usual pajamas, blue and black plaid sweatpants and topless. you tried not to stare but your gazes always seem to linger when it comes to Anakin. "Hey! Thought you'd be home tomorrow?" he tilted his head in that adorably innocent way he always does. his mannerisms never matched his face, or body for that matter.

"Ah noo" you chuckle and cast your gaze downward. "Oh? Your date didn't go well?" he asked again this time raising his eyebrows with the word 'date'. he might look and sometimes act innocent but Anakin was far from it, he knew what your intentions were for the night. "Ugh, not at all." you roll your eyes and set your bag down by the door. "This dude was soooo lame." you whine.

"Aw, poor thing" Anakin says in a joking tone. "C'mere, I made some tea" he offers. "Since when do you drink tea?" you laugh "I like to pamper myself from time to time!" he said feigning offense, clasping his hand over his heart in a classically Anakin fashion.

"Tell me what happened." he sits in the bar stool at the kitchen island after handing you a cup of tea. "Ani, I don't know, it's embarrassing." your face turns pink. "Please I know about the thing you did in middle school. I think I can handle this" he laugh at you cringing from that horrid memory from your pre-teen years. "Oh you know you can't bring that up all willy-nilly Anakin!" you swat at him. his beautiful laughter filled the air

"Okay so I was going to hook up with this guy-" you start. "Shocker." Anakin smirks, interrupting you "one, rude. two, shut up. three, anyyywayys, I was going to go hook up with him and it sounded sooo promising because, damn can he talk himself up. He was so good with his words! And we get down to it and dude lasts like, two minuets! Anakin, I wish I was joking.." you bury your head in your hands out of frustration (mostly sexual). "That's the third guy this month! Like can men just be honest if they're mediocre at sex?!"

Anakin chuckles. "Blows my mind that there are guys out there who're putting up false advertisements for dick." you toss your head back and laugh "false advertisements is CRAZY" you laugh harder and Anakin joins you. "Did I lie?!" he jokes again, earning another laugh from you. "You got a point" you agree with him.

"Seriously though, that's a shame. I'd never lie like that." he takes another sip of his tea. Your mind starts swirling with questions. 'what does he mean by that?' 'I wonder what he's like in bed?' 'he has to be huge, right?' "Like honestly that's so fucked up." his voice breaks you out of your thoughts. "This sounds personal for you, what're you doing? Handing out trash dick or what?" you laugh. he chuckles again. "Hah, no. But if I was, I'd at least be honest about it."

your eyes widen but you regain composure quickly. "Oh? And what makes you so confident?" you smirk at him, wanting a rise out of him. "Well, I'm sure some of the girls weren't crying because I was dishing out bad dick." he smirks. "Wow you sure are cocky." you say with fake confidence hoping he wouldn't double down. your hopes were crushed when he stood up. he made his way behind you, placing both of his arms around you, resting his hands on the counter trapping you. he leaned close to your ear. "You know, you don't have to act out for me to prove it to you. You can just ask." his voice completely changed. you have never heard Anakin speak in such a low, sultry tone. you noticeably shivered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i highhhh key wanna finish this tomorrow bc it's midnight and i'm SLEEPY

~bunnie

[yviqq]

jason todd || stake outs, they never really... work

i.e. jason peter todd brain rot hit my brain in the middle of the night when i had an assignment to complete (the assignment was never completed) with this song on REPEAT.

warning: this fic was an oc insert, the only thing changed was the name (or lack of... i suppose) !!!

afab!reader, she/her reader, reader has unnamed boyfriend, reader cheats on said unnamed boyfriend, a lot of f bombs, this is unfinished, stops just when they bouta...

“I didn’t know your eyes were so green,” she mumbled, almost incoherently as her nail graced his cheekbone like it never left, “Like… Deep green.”

Jason doesn’t need a mirror to know his ears are already doing the thing where they’re all flushed, he can feel in the way his breaths stop at that point in his throat, feel it in the way his heart starts stuttering against her hand on his chest. Fuck.

He fidgets underneath her, hands flat on the floor of his van as he tries to sit up, “They’re not— Well sometimes they are… Just… Could you get off me? ... Please?”

Her eyes flicker (and God he wished he didn’t notice the way they wander his body to his lips) before her hand leaves his chest, her nail stopping its movements, and she's sat with her knees to her chin. With a groan, she rests her chin on her knees, quickly replacing it with their forehead when she groans even louder.

Jason chuckles, glad to have his space again but somehow missing the flush of his ears. Fuck. His stupid revived brain cannot be doing this right now. Not on a stake out, not on a stake out with his best friend, not on a stake out with his best friend who just so happens to have a boyfriend of a couple months— Yeah… That’s fucked.

A silence wafts through them, and they both wonder if the other can tell there’s something more in the silence than just that, than just silence.

She shivers at the very thought, shuffling away to one of the computers of the van. Jason stills, finding the back of the van suddenly extremely comfortable as he watches her hands type away. He watches her every move, the way only the slightest movement of her hair falling to her face would irk her off and she’d tuck it back into the back of her ear just as quick as it moved, the way her bottom lips insides were bitten as she examined whatever was on that monitor, the way her eyes flicked from the monitor to Jason— Oh.

“What?” She mumbled. Odd, he realised, she never really mumbled around him before— Not when they were kids, teens, after his revival, not after anything. She was always so…. Snarky.

He clears his throat in hopes it’d clear his mind too, “Nothing, nothing—” he curses at his awkward responses, he was never like this around her before either— “Just lost in thought.”

She nodded, understanding as always, quiet as never.

“Jason…” his heart jumped to his throat at the sound of her voice merely uttering the two syllables that made up his name, “Do you wanna pass some time with me?”

His mind started rushing and his blood started squeezing around his veins at obscure speeds, down, down, down. He let out his second and hopefully last awkward chuckle, “Like a game of ‘I Spy?’?”

They used to play that all the time back in detention whenever Prof. Duong started nodding off to dream lands far far away from that dumb school for the troubled. But Jason guessed they weren’t back at detention, guessed they weren’t really kids anymore when she started to inch closer to him than ever.

He tried his best to look everywhere but her, in hopes his hands didn’t jump at the chance to grab her waist and just have her as near as possible— But of course, as always, he failed. And all of a sudden his eyes couldn’t leave the two piercings that sat symmetrically on her bottom lip— and his thoughts couldn’t leave the mere feel of them against his lips alone.

“No, birdie wonder,” she made herself at home between his legs, on her knees as she leaned in closer and closer. She hadn’t changed her perfume since before his death, he realised when she was just a couple of inches away, “Something more… Grown up?”

The only thing keeping him grounded, keeping him from absolutely taking her in with all his soul, was the two necklaces that were clasped onto her neck. His mothers necklace, and a newer one— A silver heart-shaped locket engraved with the lettering ‘K’.

His hand comes up to fiddle with it, “Hm… Do you think ‘K’ would approve of this?”

That stalls her, just for a bit, just for a small stutter of her heart. All until her hands leave his chest— and he starts wishing he never said anything about no stupid ‘K’— and goes behind her neck to unclasp the poor thing.

She slides it to the other side of the van, “Fuck it.”

The very moment she turns around, he knows how those piercings feel against his lips— Right.

His thumb caresses her cheekbone as he leads their kiss down so that she’s on the floor of the van. His knee comes up and slots easily between her legs as he’s met with the surprise that she’s got a piercing in her tongue as well. He shivers down into a small groan against her lips, his other hand sliding up her shirt and tracing the line of her bra.

She whimpers into his lips and he wishes he could let that consume all of him forever, keep that exact moment engraved in his brain as the feeling of her reverberates across his very soul. He wonders if ‘K’’s ever felt that exact same whimper on his lips, and wonders if he even took care of her like Jason could.

His kisses grew hotter yet languid in the way of savouring every moment their lips touched, he starts to kiss down from her lips, down to the expanse of her neck where he held himself back on leaving any mark of some sort, down to her collar bone where he left the smallest of nips that made the smallest of moans leave her shaky lips.

He looks at her through the gaps of his lashes, the way her eyebrows furrowed and her lips trembled at just his teasing knee and a couple nibs and kisses. He grew hot. And bothered. Very bothered.

But before he could do any more than just that he huffs as he spoke out to her, “Are you sure...? Are you so sure this is what you want? ... With me?”