#we'll get back to the regularly scheduled programming soon

[ohnonotthehorrors]

I would like to apologize to everyone for the mass reblogs of [insert new hyper fixation] I'm not even that sorry and it will happen again.

[meguwumibear]

ive got more to say about force sensitive megumi.........

The Jedi Masters are in fact pissed when Megumi staggers back to the temple with a fresh patch of inky blue bruises blooming across his flesh like burgeoning miniature galaxies. The Masters are so pissed, in fact, that Master Gakuganji even recommends his dismissal from the order. Yuuji tells him not to worry. Apparently the old geezer is always trying to dismiss Younglings and Padawans who struggle with The Code.

Megumi isn’t worried. Not because he’s certain Master Gakugani’s hold over the High Council is as frail as the man’s boney fingers, but because he couldn’t fucking care less if all the Council members agree with the goon and vote to dismiss him. Fighting is his lifeblood. He just fights the Jedi’s battles now instead of his own.

And, anyway, Megumi has other, more important things to worry about. Like the fact that he can’t stop envisioning the scrappy young girl from the ring who beat him so badly he popped a fucking boner.

At night he dreams of her. Of you. Wretched, ugly dreams that tear screams from his throat as he bolts awake. Dreams that leave his sheets soaked in sheens of sour smelling sweat. In his dreams, you are fighting and you are losing. You are losing over and over and over again.

Then the morning comes and bits of yellow sun begin to crawl their way across his bed, banishing the dreams. Or so they should. Thoughts and images of you beaten and bloody plague him during his daily lessons. They eat at him during mealtime. Visions of your body, broken, bleeding consume him while he mediates.

Megumi asks Master Gojo in passing if all Jedi have such violent dreams. Master Gojo laughs it off because Master Gojo laughs everything off. A Jedi as powerful as Master Gojo cannot make themselves any more threatening than they already are. They cannot take anything too seriously or care too much about these things. Master Gojo tells him to focus on his youth. He also tells him to mediate more as if mediation can solve all the fucking problems in all the fucking worlds.

It's Master Shoko who asks about his force dreams. He’s in the infirmary for an unrelated injury he obtained on some bullshit mission, so he doesn’t understand at first what she’s asking. Once he does, his simmering rage flares viciously to life, scorching, scalding, because Master Gojo looked him in the eyes and laughed.

For weeks these force dreams have tormented him. Visions that devour. He is so, so angry, and he is so, so scared. He isn’t sure if his visions are of the past or something yet to come. He doesn’t know if the future is fixed. If you’re already doomed. If there’s anything he can do to save you.

Worst of all, he can’t find you. He searches the pits of Coruscant all night desperately trying to catch a glimpse of you, but you aren’t at any of the popular rings. The underground is so large he could spend weeks scavenging through back alleyways and seedy bars and still have moved no closer to you.

The Jedi Masters refuse to help. Even though the Force clearly wants him to intervene, wants the Jedi, the fucking keepers of the peace to intervene, they refuse to help. They tell him his fixation on his visions is leading him down a dark path. That fear is the antithesis to peace and serenity. That if he chooses to feed this hunger, it will lead him somewhere void of light, somewhere filled with shadow.

It's the Chancelor of all people he finally finds comradery with. It’s the Chancelor who tells him that if he trusts his emotions, trusts his senses, they will lead him where he needs to be, that they will lead him to you.

The Chancelor is not a Jedi; he has no knowledge of the Force. If Megumi wants to graduate from Padawan to Knight, he should listen to his Masters. He should learn to swallow up his anger. He should mediate. He should let go.

Instead, he closes his eyes. He lets his world go dark. He searches for you.

prt 1 prt 2

[beebutadinosaur]

this isn't clownbo!!!! sorry y'all I got the case of a fascinating ship and had to write it!!! emf x clown/pkv mwhahaha

[sparky-is-spiders]

A couple years ago when A Starless Clan came out Nightheart hating his name and association with his (male!!) ancestor and admiring a random Windclan warrior and thinking about how well her name suited her spoke to me (<- person who hated its deadname for reasons it didn't understand to be gender-related and constantly tried to justify in other ways) HARD. And I dreamed up this fun time-travel scenario where Nightheart got stuck back in first arc times and met Firestar and came to actually know him as more than a mythical figure and also realized she was a woman and was eventually able to come back to Thunderclan more confident and sure of herself and who she was (and could maybe even. Request. Her Own Name. Instead of Bramblestar just pulling one out of his ass for her instead).

And then the second book came out.

[butchdykecxck]

very interesting to me the way some online "leftists" suddenly stop caring about human lives when those people live in red states

[gibles-lovely-selfships]

[LOUD at the end]

Hi hello. I forgot I had a blog. And I got sucked up in playing H.ades 2. Sorry about that folks

But hey! Earlier this week, I played a really cool fangame called Playtime with Percy. Very fun game, very nice artstyle, would recommend.

. But it did get very stressful at the end, as my friends ( @marblecore and @dimikissme ) who were in VC with me can vouch NENDNFMDN

[afterdarkprincess]

I'm deep into one hartbreak fic already but dang it seeing soft old man Bret last night is giving me Old Man Yaoi cravings 😭

[cannibal-nightmares]

constantly in my supposed mind is the sound of a 737 over-speed warning

[hollywoodsargeant]

ch10 of boyish…the way they enter and end relationships in sync (subconsciously) so they can Platonically Make Out and Platonically Be In Live or whatever. insanity. loved it!

they did do it pretty much in sync didn't they... they r just on the same wavelength ig. it's still the wrong wavelength. there's another one somewhere where they know they are in love but they cannot find it. rip

[dr-docktor]

The ttrpg campaign that I gm for drives me insane (/pos) bc the entire party is comprised of people who's past HEAVILY impacts their current state of being.

And while none of their backstories are truly connected they can all understand each other on a deeper level because of that fact.

And it leads to some FANTASTIC character interactions that leave me reeling every goddamned time ("You're a good person.. But not a very good friend" FUCKING WRECKED ME)

That's all except for one singular party member. A homicidal fish priest who genuinely looks the least threatening out of the entire party.

The dynamic is just so funny to me.

[baocean]

flirt

nice!rafe x reader college au

when rafe cameron finally takes an interest in you, you think its just another one of his one night stands

warnings - smut, swearing, partying and drinking

get comfy, grab a snack, because baby its longgger. i spent all day on this :) (hahaha ha ha h a) anyways, i wanted a nice, possibly even goofy rafe instead of him being batshit crazy all the time. so please forgive the personality change, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programs soon.

when rafe cameron entered the room, everyone swooned. the football star of unc chapel hill, the hottest guy on campus, the flirt. everyone would gladly drop to their knees for him, except you.

it was like something was wrong with you. because you absolutely did not understand what everyone was always going on about over him.

sure, he was tall and handsome. he was good at football. but he seemed like a complete jerk.

you were a sophomore at unc, rafe was a junior. you’d become very familiar with the horror stories of being around and getting with rafe cameron.

he fucks girls then leaves them on read, picks fights for no reason, drinks way too much, and has a god awful ego.

you just did not get it.

at the party, in some worn out, dirty frat, you stood with your friends in a corner, people watching and giggling.

it had been a fun night so far, meeting new people and having a few too many shots.

but when rafe cameron and his friends walked into the room, everyone’s attention was on him.

you saw him, and wanted to scream ‘boooo’. rolling your eyes, you walked away from your enchanted friends towards the makeshift bar.

a drunk frat brother poured you another drink as your phone dinged. you went to check it, and when you looked back up, there he was, in all his materialistic glory.

“hey angel.” rafe lifted the corner of his lip, handing you the cup the brother just filled.

“thank you.” you smiled for only a second, hopefully fast enough he didn’t even see it, then started to walk away.

“hey, wait!” rafe called behind you, useless. you took a guess that tonight, it was your turn to be the special girl in rafe cameron’s life. you didn’t want that title.

your friends stared in bewilderment as rafe cameron stalks behind you, and pulls on your arm ever so gently to get you to turn around.

“what’s your name?” he asks, his face blank of any little smirk he had before.

“depends on who’s asking.” you shrug, taking a small sip of the juice from your cup. it was strong.

“me.” he clarified, a look on his face telling you should have already known that.

“oh. then, no.” you give him a sweet smile. he scoffs, shaking his head.

“and if it’s for my homeboy over there?” his long finger sticks out and points towards one of his friends, one you’d seen on campus before, but couldn’t put a name to his face.

“oh, if it’s for him, get him to come over here and i’ll tell him myself.”

“what’s your problem with me?” rafe’s face scrunched up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“i don’t have a problem, im just not interested.” you give him one last sickly sweet smile, before returning to the group of friends, patiently waiting to interrogate you.

it had only been a few days since your’s and rafe’s interaction. you hadn’t thought about it much, after getting home to your apartment and debriefing your friends, it had slipped out of your mind completely.

that was, until, you saw him walk into the coffee shop you were studying at.

immediately, you ducked your head, hoping not to get spotted.

he went up to the counter and ordered, fiddling with a straw in his hands, back turned to you.

you thought maybe he had missed you, so with a sigh of relief, you went back to your schoolwork.

“hi, angel.” you cringed at the voice. looking up, there he was.

he was wearing a bandana, tied around his head, some old carhart jacket. he had good style, you’ll give him that.

“oh, hey.” you tried your best to not sound so sincere.

“how’ve you been?” he asked, inviting himself to take a seat across from you.

“great. how about you?” his smile lit up his face, thinking he was finally getting somewhere with you.

he went to answer, when you cut him off, “i’m so sorry, i don’t know your name?” it came out more of a question, a dare.

his smile faltered for a second, and you took that as a win, before he stuck his hand out in between you two.

“i’m rafe cameron.” despite protests, you took his hand in yours to shake it, ignoring how much of a difference in size there was.

he raised his eyebrows, “your turn.”

“still not interested. lovely to see you, though.” you let go of his hand, putting your focus back into your schoolwork.

he scoffed, stood over you for a second, appearing to be looking at something on the table in front of you.

he chuckled, low, then bent down a bit. “i’ll see you later, yn.”

he picked up his coffee and walked out the door without a second glance. alarm bells were going off in your head. how could he possibly know your name?

you grabbed your cup to take a sip, and realization hit you like a brick. on the side of the plastic, your name was written in simple black sharpie.

recently, practice hadn’t been fun. especially since rafe realized the football team practices right next to the women’s soccer team. and also, since rafe found out you were on the women’s soccer team.

he’d made every effort to get your attention, calling your name and throwing footballs towards the soccer pitch, more or less annoying you. your teammates would squeal and giggle, and you groaned.

coach called practice, and as you were packing up your gear and getting ready to make the trek back to your locker rooms, you heard the distinctive voice from behind you.

“angel, how was practice?” you turned, seeing rafe, sweaty and red.

you probably looked the same at him. you’d been running on and off for two and a half hours today, you probably did not look your best. rafe would have disagreed.

“fine, thanks.” you wiped your face with a towel, taking your cleats off and finding your shoes.

“you know, when your face is all red like that, it makes me wonder what you look like when you’re getting f-” you hit rafe on the chest with the back of your hand.

“you’re appalling. does that line ever work on anyone?” you were completely disgusted by him right now, even if the thought did draw a little curiosity from you.

“sometimes. let me take you out on a date.” un phased, rafe cameron persists.

“why would i ever say yes after the comment you just made?” you laugh in his face, earning a shit eating grin from him.

“give me one chance. i don’t know what you think about me, but give me a chance to prove im not whatever it is.”

“no.”

“please, angel.” the way his voice upped an octave erupted thoughts, lot and lots of thoughts.

so, you’d finally give him a little bait to chew on for a while. “i'll think about it.”

with that, you left him standing by the benches. you rolled your eyes at the boy, but couldn’t help but smile.

three hours later you had a follow and dm from rafe cameron.

rafecam: have you thought about our date yet?

yourusername: no, not really

rafecam: come on angel

rafecam: one date is all i’m asking

yourusername: that’s all it’ll be since you’ll ghost me afterwards! it’s perfect!

rafecam: ohhh so that’s what you think

yourusername: the answer is no

rafecam: i’m not taking that for an answer

rafecam: it’s yes or yes

rafecam: i’ll be the perfect gentleman

rafecam: im the man of your dreams come onnnn

yourusername: you’re funny

rafecam: so does tuesday night sound good?

read

yourusername started following you!

deciding on something nice, but not too nice, you took your hair out of the rollers and sighed.

it’s your date with rafe tonight. you were feeling a lot of emotions.

you’d gone through rafe’s instagram the night he dmed you, had followed him back. there was even some 'get to know you' conversations somewhere in between.

pictures of his parents and sisters, his friends, pictures of them on a beach, all smiling. no pictures of him out at a party, or arms slung around girls. there was an image to maintain, though. the quarterback at unc, with forty thousand followers, of course he wasn’t going to post that.

you rolled your eyes and jumped up to show your roommate the black silk dress you were wearing for the dinner date at the fancy restaurant in town. anna was funny, bowing down in front of you like you were some god.

the doorbell to the apartment rang and your eyebrows furrowed. you thought, ‘no way he’d find a way to get up here, no way he’d find your apartment, no way he’d willingly come up here and ring my doorbell’.

but there he was, on the other side of the door, holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. your jaw almost dropped.

he was dressed nicely, a smile painted on his tanned features.

“how did you know where i live. and how do you know about the flowers?” you invited him in, giving him a undoubtedly suspicious look.

“don’t worry, angel. i have my ways,” he smirked, looking at your roommate. “hey anna.”

“oh, okay. got it. got it, thanks anna.” you shake your head, grinning as you put your head in your hands.

“we’ll put these in water then head out, yea?” rafe grabbed the scissors while you grabbed a vase to fill up with water, moving in perfect harmony.

the dinner went well, surprising you. he was a gentleman, like he had promised.

and as much as you hated yourself for it, you swooned, just like that.

his smile, and his jokes, and the lack of inappropriate ones. you thought maybe the bar was on the floor, right now you didn’t care. you could only thing about maybe, you could have been wrong about him.

he’d walked you back up to your apartment on the second floor, carrying his jacket and your heels over his shoulder as you walked together.

when you got to your door, it was unlocked, thank goodness, because you forgot your keys.

“these are yours. angel, i had a really good time. promise you’ll text me in the morning?” rafe asked as he held out your heels, a true, genuine look in his eye signaling he meant it.

you shrugged, love drunk, and pulled his arm so he fell inside with you. “we’ll see.”

he dropped the jacket and heels on one hump on the floor, grabbing around your waist and pulling you in.

the kiss was so desperate and rushed, but still gentle. one of his arms wrapped around your waist as you clung to his neck.

pulling apart, you grabbed his chin and lifted it upwards, placing light kisses on his neck, then sucking. his hands grabbed at your hips.

“you look so good. holy fuck, angel.” he returned the favor, kissing down your neck and shoulder, playing with the strap of your dress with his teeth.

you pulled him towards your room, and at first, he didn’t hesitate.

he faltered once you got to your door, pulling back from you.

“angel, i’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment i saw you, but i want to do this right.”

you were taken aback, not believing the words that were coming out of rafe cameron's mouth. you almost thought he was kidding, letting out a anxious chuckle, met with a confused stare.

"did you just say no to sex?" you questioned. he nodded, looking just as surprised by himself as you were.

he doesn't fucking like me, you thought. how could you be so stupid? of course, of course rafe cameron doesn't want you the same way you want him. do it right? what does that even mean?

and there it was, surprising you again, because since when did you want rafe? have feelings for rafe?

"okay, um well, goodnight, then." you tried, tucking your hair behind your ears and grabbing your heels from the ground.

"okay. goodnight, angel." he took a step forward to try and kiss you, but you crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head.

he faltered, heart shooting out of his chest. the one time he tries to treat a girl right, and he's fucked that up, too. he grabbed his jacket, stood up straight, gave you one last look and closed the door behind him.

rafe: good morning

rafe: do u maybe want to get coffee with me

rafe: or i could get it and bring it to u

read

rafe: helllllloooooo

read

rafe: angel what's goin on

rafe: text me back yn

read

it had been three days since you spoke to rafe. it'd been three weeks since you met him, officially. your emotions had been twisted, confusing. he’d been gone for an away football game. he stopped texting you after that.

you watched the game with your roommate anna, rafe throwing pick after pick, completely off his game. you sighed, hoping that the small flame inside trying to convince you you're the reason he keeps messing up is wrong.

the game ended, they won by one point. the team cheered on the field as number forty six walked off the field, helmet in hand and head hung low.

rafe: can you please talk to me

rafe: i would take you telling me you hate me over this

you: can you come over?

rafe: be there in ten

he was there in seven minutes, actually. looks of hesitation painting his features when you opened the door for him.

"you've been okay? you didn't text me back on wednesday."

"yea, we should talk about that." you nodded. his face slumped, he looked defeated.

"what? what is it, angel?" he took a step towards you.

"listen, i really only said yes to that date so you'd leave me alone," rafe felt a little bit liked he'd been punched. "but that entire date i felt so good, and i was honestly just fine with having one night with you and never speaking to you again. but then you said you didn't want to and whatever you meant by that, i'm not sure, but it, like, threw me off." you rambled, arms crossed over your chest in defense.

"i wasn't gonna have sex with you if it meant i never talked to you again." his blue eyes hidden under thick lashes, unable for you to get a good read on them.

"but rafe, thats like all you're known f-" your hands went up in defeat as you tried to finish your statement.

"was, it was. i wish you'd just talk to me instead, angel. but this-" he waves a finger between you two- "is different. i don't know if its because you give me shit every time i try to flirt with you or that you're just unlike anyone i've ever met, i don't fucking know. but id rather give this an actual try than pretend i could treat you like you didn't mean something more."

speechless, thats what you were. taking two steps forward and pulling him in. he tasted like mint gum, smelled like wood and vanilla. his lips parted, letting you familiarize yourself with his mouth.

he pulled back, "go on another date with me?" you laughed, then nodded, then pulled him back into you.

he pulled back again, "be my girlfriend?"

"you're pushing it, rafe." giving him a peck on the lips.

"well, just using my logic, here. if you're my girlfriend, then that means were giving it a try and we can fuck all we want." he shrugged, a hand finding its way under your t-shirt and onto your hip.

"you sound insane. ask me again later." you whispered into him, pulling him into your room, this time he didn't budge. rafe cameron, in your small, student housing bedroom, pulling your shirt off.

he kissed your neck, bit at the spots he'd sucked, picking you up and rolling onto the bed with you, earning a laugh from you.

you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, rafe helping you out. your hands found their way to his upper arms, he closed his eyes and flexed under your touch, almost unconsciously.

"you look so pretty, angel. always do." he whispered, leaned down to kiss you again. he pulled your thin, loungewear bra to the side, let out a quiet groan, and kissed.

and he would have done anything to hear that small moan from you for the first time again. your hand reaches up to grab his hair as one nipple is in his mouth, the other being rubbed between his fingertips.

"angel, you want this as bad as i do?" he looked up at you, watched you nod, and smiled, kissing down to your naval.

lifting your lips, he slid the shorts off you, then his sweatpants next.

he lined himself up, pushing into you slowly, memorizing the sound of your gasps and moans. surely, this is what heaven felt like. sounded like. "holy fuck."

two strong arms landed on each side of your head as he slid in and out of you.

his words came out all incoherent, with a lot of 'please', 'angel', and 'pretty''s thrown in there.

this wasn't the kind of sex you'd have with rafe, you thought it would be more rough, not sweet and caring.

your eyes closed, his hand flying to your face, gripping your chin. "open your eyes, pretty girl. i wanna see you. wanna see whats mine." you let out a moan, clenching around him, too deep in pleasure to care that rafe knew you liked that.

"say it." rafe moaned, his pace fastening, a steady hand still on your face.

"im yours, rafe." he pulled you up as you gasped for the millionth time. now, riding him, your face was an inch above his, his features looked perfect under the sunlight.

"are you mine?" you got out, in between moans.

"since the first time i ever laid eyes on you. all yours, angel."

[blixxkixx]

We'll go back to our regularly scheduled programming soon but first I'm gonna need to get these out of my system. First image was drawn before the movie, second was after

[lainiespicewrites]

Needing some attention

Hello all! Just a little sherlock one shot that was cooking up in my head! God I love that man!! I promise We'll get back to the regularly scheduled program soon! I PROMISE!!!

Summary: Sherlock is busy with work, and you try your best to stay out of his way but you can be quite fussy when you want his attention.

Warnings: Cursing. Sex MDNI, P in V sex. Fingering, Multiple Orgasms. Creampie. Unprotected sex. dirty talk. Sherlock being painfully handsome! Soft Dom sherlock

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

Entranced, yes that was the word. I was fully entranced just watching from the doorway. The bright morning sun streams through the window of the study, casting a warm glow around him as he works. His features are almost angelic, of course; truly, he was anything but. The thought causes a soft giggle to escape my lips.

“If you were trying to be discreet, you’ve blown your cover,” he says, his voice low, smooth, and calm. There’s an ever-present smirk on his face. Throughout the whole interaction, he never once looks up from his desk. Another giggle escaped me, and I took a few steps into the study. 

“Not sneaking, simply admiring.” I smile. “You’ve been working at this one for quite some time,” I tell him. I walk over to his desk, standing behind him, my hands gently resting on his large shoulders. His smirk grows wider, and he hums softly. I feel myself gasp as the detective captures one of my hands from his shoulders and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm.

“Yes,” He says, his voice steady and strong. “And still much more work to do. I don’t want to keep you cooped up in here watching me go mad. It’s a beautiful day, darling. Why don’t you go take in some of that lovely sunshine we’ve been blessed with, and I’ll work on finishing up here.” I bite my lip, my eyebrow raised in question, but I hold back my protest. Sherlock is a busy man. I’ve always known that. He never blatantly tries to ignore me or keep me otherwise occupied. So I nod, giving him a soft smile. I lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Okay, my love, please try not to go too crazy, will you?” I giggle. The request earns me a chuckle, and he looks up briefly to meet my gaze as I move to leave his study. 

“I shall do my best, my darling.” He says before turning back to his work, leaving me alone again with my thoughts. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right; as always, I shouldn’t waste away in this flat waiting for him to finish his work. 

So I do head out to town for a while. I walk the streets of downtown London in the warm spring air, breathing life into me. I stop at the market to see what fresh flowers they’ve got. Baker Street could certainly use a touch of color, and I know Sherlock won’t mind. After picking out a few bunches, my basket full of florals, herbs, and a few baked goods, I make my way back to the flat. It’s late afternoon now. I busy myself arranging the flowers in vases and putting away my other goods. 

I still haven’t heard a sound from Sherlock. Peeking my head into his study, I see he’s still right where I left him. I sighed and shook my head. With nothing better to do I join him in his study. I scan his shelves for something to read, it’s been one of our favorite ways to spend quiet time together lately. Lying together in the garden, reading our respective stories. I look over at him again; still lost in his work, he’s probably barely even noticed my presence. Finding a story that is a particular favorite of mine I curl up on the chaise and open the book. 

This may not have been nearly as good an idea as I’d thought. Since I woke this morning, I’ve been craving Sherlock's affections. Sitting so close now, only to be ignored and left unnoticed, has only annoyed me. I let out a huff, sitting up and looking over at his desk… nothing. I sigh and turn back to my book. I lie back, settling in again, struggling to get comfortable. Another hour passes. Or at least it feels like an hour. I suppose I can’t be sure. And I feel as if I’m going to go insane. I let out a groan of frustration.

“Not enjoying the story?” He asked, a smirk on his lips. He’s far too smart to believe that is the source of my plight. I pull back from my book far enough for him to see me roll my eyes, and he chuckles. “I do so love watching you squirm.” He says with a dark glint in his eye. And finally, he lays down his pen and slams his book shut. I raise an eyebrow at him, not daring to speak a word, but my eyes are full of challenge. 

“I was hoping to spend a nice relaxing evening with you, my darling,” he teases. “But seem’s you needs an attitude adjustment.” He’s standing behind me, his breath hot on my ear as he purrs. “Am I going to have to fuck it out of you darling? Or are you going to apologize for being so bratty and impatient?” My mouth goes dry, and my body is suddenly on fire. 

“S-sherlock.” I gasp. “I- my love, I didn’t intend to … I-” I stutter, trying to find the words, but it seems all competent thoughts have left me. This is just how he wants me. This is exactly what I meant, Sherlock is no angel. He likes to play dirty. Make me flustered and shy and needy. He won’t stop until I’m begging. Nothing gives him more pleasure than making me tell him all the dirty things I’d love him to do to me. All it takes is a look, and he has me melting. And as annoyed with him as I am for turning me into a brainless, incompetent, desperate woman. He knows this is exactly what I’ve been needing all day. 

He chuckles and steps around the sofa, standing in front of me. He takes the book from my hands, tossing it to the side. He leans over me, a primal look in his eye as his knee gently parts my thighs and he hovers over me on the sofa. 

“What didn’t you intend to do, my love? Hmm? Did you not intend to huff and pout for my attention? Is that it?” He smirks, nipping playfully at my ear as he chuckles darkly.  “You just forgot your words, didn’t you darling, just forgot how to ask properly. It’s alright, my sweet. I’ll remind you.” He purrs his lips trailing down my jaw and neck as his tongue traces my collar bone. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” I pant, my chest heaving. Instinctively, I tilt my head back to allow him better access. He lets out a feral growl, and his hands squeeze my hips possessively as he starts to explore my body with his touch. 

“Oh, I know you are my sweet. And I’m going to give you the attention you so badly need.” He smirks, his hands slide under my skirt gripping my thighs, a low growl escaping him as he kisses my neck. I let out a soft needy moan my body arching into his my thighs naturally spreading to make room for him. He chuckles his breath tickling my skin where he’s biting at my collarbone. 

“Still so impatient; you haven’t learned your lesson, have you my darling?” he cradles my face in his hands, kissing me passionately. His tongue explored my mouth as we kissed. When he pulls back, he grabs my wrist, nearly dragging me off the chaise. Before I can begin to fall, he catches me, holding me against his chest. “Now what should I do with you?” He purrs. I look up at him, my eyes blown wide with lust and desire. 

“Sherlock, please,” I begged, my voice weak and pathetic. He lets out a low growl that I can feel deep in his chest. He grabs me around the waist, picking me up he holds me tightly with one arm as the other sweeps the papers from his desk.  He sets me down and steps between my parted thighs.

“Please what, my love? Hmm?  Ask for what you want darling.” He teases his hand, slowly creeping up my thigh again. his fingers graze the fabric of my panties, and my breath hitches. 

“I-I can’t.” I blush, biting my lip. Sherlock chuckles his other hand gripping my chin to make me look at him. 

“Yes, you can, sweetheart. You’ve had those filthy little desires playing in your head all day. And I want to hear every detail,” he growls. My breath catches in my throat as I hold his gaze. 

“T-touch me,” I beg and grab his wrist, pressing his fingers more firmly against my core. “Here, please,” I whine. Sherlock lets out another low growl, capturing my lips in a searing kiss as he starts to slowly rub me through my panties. I whimper and arch into his body. 

“So wet already. You’re such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He smirks, and finally, he slips his fingers beneath the fabric of my panties, pushing two inside me, curling them as he starts to pump them in and out. I let out a desperate mewl, my hips moving, grinding on his hand. He moves his thumb to rub circles on my clit. He smirks as he watches my face contort with pleasure.  “That’s it, my love. So beautiful when you’re like this. So desprate for my affection. He adds a third finger and pumps them faster, curling them just right so I’m seeing starts. My hands come up to clutch his shirt, my thighs shaking and head falling back, letting out a needy moan. My walls clamp around his fingers gushing on his hand. 

“Oh sherlock!” I whimper, panting as I come down from my orgasm. 

“That was beautiful sweetheart,” He smiles, kissing me tenderly. “We’re far from done. You know that, don’t you?” he teases. I giggle, nodding shyly. Without further preamble, he tears open my blouse, his eyes raking over me hungrily. He tears off his own shirt, tossing it aside, and cups my face, kissing me passionately. He gently pushes me back, laying me back on the desk, his lips trailing down my body. He stops when he gets to my breasts squeezing them softly and leaning down to capture my nipple in his mouth sucking and flicking with his tongue. I moan loudly, my back arching, pushing my breast further against his mouth. 

He groans sucking soflty and then swithing to give attention to the other breasts. He shoves up my skirt, bunching it around my waist, and then fumbles with his zipper. 

“I can’t wait be inside you,” He moans. I gasp as I feel the thick head of his cock brush through my folds

“My love, please, I need to feel you filling me. Make me whole.” I beg. With a feral growl, he surges forward, sheathing himself inside my tight heat. He lets out a groan, giving me only a moment to adjust before he sets a punishing pace. 

“Fuck,” He moans. “You’re so tight, so perfect, darling. Is this what you needed, my sweet? To be filled and taken. Reminded who you belong to?” I nod and let out a breathy moan. He pulls my leg up around his hip and drives into me deeper. The angle allows him to hit that perfect spot deep within me. My eyes roll back, and I feel myself climbing to my high. 

“My perfect girl,” sherlock praises his as he brings his thumb between us to rub my clit. My body shakes beneath him as he captures my lips in another searing kiss.” Thats it, my love. Let go,” he coos. “Let me feel all your pent up desire and love as you cum for me.” he encourages. I feel my pussy spasming on his cock and he growls “Good girl,” With those words I tumble over the edge my toes curling my head falling back gushing on his cock as my body trembles with pleasure. 

“Sherlock!” I cry out as my orgasm crashes over me and he fucks me through it. I feel his hips start to falter and he takes my hand pinning my wrists to the desk as he fucks me, his breathing ragged as he lets out a string of incoheart praises. 

“Yes,.. fuck.. You’re perfect, my love. Gonna fill you with my seed… such a good girl for me. Take it all, darling.” He growls in my ear, his body going stiff as he releases inside me. His hips jerk softly as he works himself through his orgasm. 

We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies connected and whole. With a soft groan, Sherlock stands and slowly pulls out of me. He takes my hand, helping me sit up on the desk. He cups my face and peppers it with kisses, pulling back and searching my face for any sign of discomfort. “Are you alright, my love?” He asked, his voice soft and tender. I nod a satisfied smile on my lips.

“Yes darling, I’m perfect.” I giggle. “I am sorry for being such a brat when I’m being needy.” I blush, ducking my head to tuck myself against his chest. Sherlock chuckles. 

“I know you are, my sweet. the truth is.” He says with a slight smirk in his voice. “I quite enjoy it, I was finished with my work hours ago. But I do so enjoy watching you squirm.” He winks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs are always welcome!! Tag list

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[eighth-heroine]

even it up

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

CONTENT: violence (hunting), graphic descriptions of injuries and repairing them, SMUT, unprotected piv, dean might have a pain kink (or a competency kink), praise (m!receiving), blowjob, riding, (reckless) choking, edging (m!receiving), begging, biting, overstimulation

word count: 4.7k

a/n: part 2 to bitchin'. sorry it took so long! i got busy with schoolwork, but the semester's almost up so we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon. thanks for your patience!

Silence filled the rental car as you and Dean drove to the location you'd tracked the missing vampires to. You had woken up tangled together, naked, dried bodily fluids a stark reminder of how far you'd fallen. You hadn't said a word to him all morning, and even Dean was devoid of his usual quips. At least you seemed to agree: last night was a mistake, and shouldn't happen again.

You parked the car in an unmarked, cracked parking lot a few blocks away from the abandoned house. Dean was out the door before you pulled the key from the ignition, rushing to the trunk to grab his weapons. You sighed and went after him, slamming the door behind you.

You stopped to the side of the trunk. "Dean."

"What," came his gruff reply from under the trunk lid. The sparse weeds growing through the pavement were suddenly very interesting.

"We should talk-"

Dean slammed the lid of the trunk, causing you to jump, and tossed you a machete, which you caught easily despite being startled.

"Let's just get the job done," he said, his face hard and unyielding as he made eye contact with you.

You looked away quickly, avoiding his stony gaze. "Fine," you mumbled. Those weeds sure were growing. Kind of how Dean had started to grow on you... persistent, despite the unforgiving terrain.

Shaking your head, you fell into step behind Dean as he started walking down the uneven sidewalk.

Your hands were deft as you picked the lock of the back door to the old, peeling green house. All the windows were boarded up, so you had no idea what was waiting for you directly behind this door, but if there was one thing you could count on, it's that if something did charge you, Dean would chop its head off. Not necessarily because he wanted to save you, but because he liked killing monsters. And you had a feeling that he had some anger he might want to take out on something deserving.

The lock finally clicked and you pushed the door open cautiously. It opened into a dirty mudroom, scattered with shoes and coats of all sizes and styles. Your stomach turned as you realized they must have belonged to victims.

Dean noticed it too. "Let's go," he said grimly and pushed past you into the building, machete held high.

You picked up your own machete from the ground where you had set it to pick the lock and followed Dean. He was quick, peeking past corners before whipping around and advancing down the hallways, pressed flat against the wall. You were less... dramatic about your caution, choosing to let him clear the way.

Dean stopped suddenly and threw an arm back, stopping you in place. For a second, you were distracted by the way his hand pressed back against you, fingers almost curling around your shirt, touching but not quite. A breeze through a broken window sent a wave of his Old Spice scent in your direction that almost overtook you. Then you came to your senses and slapped his hand away.

You peered past him to see what it was. You had come across a bedroom, in which three vampires were snoring away unwittingly. You recognized them from the warehouse.

Dean looked back at you and nodded, creeping into the room. You each went to a side of the bed and made eye contact over the sleeping monsters in front of you.

One, Dean mouthed, raising his blade.

Two, and you followed suit.

Three, and both of you swung. The blood of two vampires splattered the white sheets, and the third leapt up immediately, fangs descending. She stood on the bed, ready to pounce on Dean, when you pulled her legs out from under her. The vamp fell to the mattress, where you unceremoniously chopped off its head.

"Nice move," Dean muttered, wiping his blade and already walking towards the door. "Let's clear the rest of the house."

You checked the remaining rooms on the ground floor, while Dean hurried upstairs. You found nothing in the dilapidated rooms except some mice and rotting wood floors.

A loud pounding and scuffling sounded on the ceiling above you, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of metal hitting the floor. You turned and ran up the stairs two at a time.

Dean was locked in hand-to-hand combat with a vamp on the landing, his machete lying some distance away. Blood trickled down his temple. The ornate bronze candlestick the vampire wielded had a matching red stain.

The vampire hooked his beefy arm around Dean's neck and slammed him face first into the wall, shattering the glass on a picture frame that hung there. You seized the opportunity of having his back to you and rushed up behind him, hacking at his neck. Only his neck was so thick and muscular that your blade barely went through a third of it.

The vamp dropped Dean on the ground and slowly turned on you, your machete still stuck in its neck. Your eyes darted to where Dean's machete had fallen, and you scrambled backwards to pick it up, almost tripping on a rug in the process, but successfully retrieving it anyway. You brandished in front of you as you got backed into a corner, your last line of defense.

It had the audacity to laugh at you. "You think that's gonna work?" he taunted, bearing down on you and shadowing you from the meager sunlight coming through a window in an adjacent room.

In your periphery, you saw Dean rising from the ground, eyes fixed on the weapon stuck in the vampire's neck. You suppressed the urge to glance at him fully as he crept up behind the monster. He took hold of the machete handle and yanked.

It was no good. The vamp whirled on him, socking him in the jaw. You saw your chance. Dean was down for the count and the vampire had its back turned again. You ran up and swung with all your might in the opposite direction. The vamp's head rolled.

Dean looked up at you from the ground where he had fallen, panting hard. “You’re welcome,” he breathed heavily.

“For what? I saved your ass,” you reminded him, holding out a hand to help him up.

“If I hadn’t distracted it, you wouldn’t have been able to get it,” he said while standing, obviously trying to repair his ego.

You rolled your eyes and dropped his hand roughly. “Oh please.” You started down the stairs to head back to the car.

“At least we got them all now,” Dean commented, stomping down the stairs behind you.

You ignored him all the way back to the car and all the way back to the hotel as he continued to try to convince you that you hadn’t done all the work.

The sun was setting by the time you got back to the hotel, all shades of red and orange that reminded you of the blood you had spilled today. It reflected off the Impala, parked in front of the side door of the hotel. And it bathed Dean in a warm golden light that bounced off his freckled skin and made him look like he was glowing.

Ew, what am I thinking, you scolded yourself. He's just sweaty. He's a gross, sweaty man who you hate and never want to be intimate with again. He doesn't look sexy at all right now.

You were brought back to earth as Dean winced heavily while hauling his bag out of your trunk to transfer it to his car. His hand went to his ribs, tenderly feeling around for cracks.

"You should come inside so I can check you out," you said without thinking.

Dean looked at you incredulously. "Yeah, I bet you'd love to check me out, but I gotta go."

You rolled your eyes, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "Not what I meant. You're obviously hurt, let me take a look. I can patch you up better than you can yourself."

He threw his bag into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut. "Fine. If you'll let me leave after."

You prepared your first aid kit while Dean stripped off his top layers. You could have just gotten what you needed as you went, but you were preparing yourself for seeing him shirtless again... in the same environment that you'd fucked in last night.

You turned around, heart rate picking up. You were just making yourself nervous more than anything. You'd seen him shirtless thousands of times before. It's fine, it's normal.

And there he was.

Half-naked.

Sweaty.

Groaning.

Dean sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, trying to look down his side, where deep red bruises were already formed. They were accompanied by a gash on his chest, presumably where the vampire's claws had cut into his skin as it tossed him around.

You kneeled in front of him and began examining his ribs, making sure to be gentle as you ran your fingers over each bone. Goosebumps rose on his flesh in the path of your hands. "Well, good news, nothing's broken."

Dean gave a pained sort of grimace-smile. "Great. So I can leave." He made to get up off the bed, but you held down his thighs.

"Not so fast," you said. "Let me fix up that cut."

"It's fine, really, I can do it myself," he protested. He met your determined gaze and slumped back.

"Fine. Make it quick."

You poured some antiseptic on a gauze pad. "This is gonna sting."

"I know, sweetheart, this ain't my first rodeo," Dean griped.

You gave him an expressionless look like I-am-so-done-with-you and pressed the soaked gauze to the cut. Dean hissed through his teeth, fingers tightening into the blanket beneath him. You wiped away the blood and the grime, revealing how deep the cut was.

"I'm gonna have to close this up," you told him. "It's deeper than I thought." You begin rummaging through the first-aid kit for the suture needle you knew was around somewhere. A hunter's first-aid kit was a little more elaborate than most.

You carefully threaded the needle, tongue poking through your lips, then looked up at him. "Ready?"

Dean's expression hardened and he grabbed the t-shirt he had been wearing, wadded up one end, and shoved it in his mouth.

Your brow furrowed in concentration as you wove the needle through his delicate skin, meticulously joining the two sides. You worked as quickly and as steadily as you could, painstakingly making sure to sew him up in a way that wouldn't scar too much. Dean did his best to keep quiet, occasionally grunting in pain, his face scrunching up around the shirt in his mouth.

You reached the end of the cut and adeptly tied off the thread, snipping the loose end off. Dean spat the chunk of t-shirt out of his mouth and tossed it to the side.

You made eye contact for a moment as you covered the wound site with a bandage, then Dean shifted his eyes to the side. "Thanks," he said after a minute.

"You sure you want to go? Why don't you rest one more night before getting on the road?" you asked softly, placing your hand on his knee soothingly. His leg twitched under your hand.

"I should go...." Dean protested half-heartedly, not making any move to get up. Did he want to stay?

"Got somewhere to be, Winchester?" you teased. Testing your theory, you rubbed his thigh a couple times. His eyes fluttered half-closed and he looked at you darkly through his lashes.

"Don't," he murmured, uncharacteristically non-combative. His hand crept around your wrist, holding your hand on his leg.

You looked up at him from your place between his legs. "You say one thing, but do another," you said softly. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean bit his lip and let go of your hand, clasping his together in his lap and dropping his gaze to them. You waited a beat, then grabbed his hands, pulling them to your chest.

"Look at me, Dean," you commanded. His eyes flew up in surprise. "Tell me what you want."

His expression changed from surprised to irritated to aroused. He grabbed you by the shoulders.

"You."

You grinned and stood up to clamber onto him, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss, Dean's hands ghosting across your back and legs, helping you into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him as close as possible as you made out and rolled your hips down onto his hardening cock.

Dean groaned and broke away. "Let me fuck you," he rasped, pupils blown.

A lovely mischievous idea occurred to you. You pouted. "You'll hurt yourself. Let me take care of you." You slid off his lap onto the floor and turned away, pulling your own shirt over your head. "Get comfortable on the bed."

In the fake gold plated mirror on the wall, you saw Dean look you up and down hungrily. Then he quickly stripped the rest of his clothes off and sat against the headboard. You slowly lowered your jeans, then your panties, being as teasing as possible, knowing he was watching.

"Come here," he barked finally. You turned to face him, bra still covering your breasts.

"So demanding," you breathed, but went to him anyway. You sat down on his thighs and looped your arms around his neck again, pulling him in for a kiss, which he swerved in favor of mouthing kisses into your neck and jaw. You moaned a little as he paid attention to a sensitive vein. Your hips almost involuntarily rolled forward, meeting his lower stomach.

His hands, which had just been resting on your thighs, squeezed harshly into the supple flesh of your hips. You yelped as he dug his fingers into the bruises he had left the day before.

"You said you would take care of me," Dean said snarkily, staring pointedly at his cock between you. You smirked and wrapped your hand around its base, admiring the reddening tip. You slowly squeezed your hand up from the base to the tip, and were rewarded with a thick drop of precum leaking out and dripping down the side. Dean huffed, a dark flush spreading across his neck and chest.

You scooted down his legs until your face was level with his crotch. Making teasing eye contact with him, you slowly stuck out your tongue and licked his cock from his balls up, flicking off the tip. Dean growled, his skin and gaze fiery.

"Quit'cher teasing," he slurred, tilting his head back to knock against the headboard.

You found significant pleasure in weakening him, and although you'd have liked to keep teasing him, you wanted to make him come undone. So you took his cock into your mouth, sucking gently on the fat head, savoring the salty taste of him.

"Fuck," Dean whispered, head still back, eyes closed. You swirled your tongue around a few times, then started lowering your head, taking him further and further into your mouth. He reached for your head but you caught his hand and held it down to the bed.

You raised your head, letting his cock fall from your mouth, a string of drool still connecting the two. "Trust me," you said, raising your eyebrow.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you," he groaned.

"Don't make me tie you down," you warned. "I will."

"I'd like to see you try- ngh!" You squeezed the base of his cock tightly and watched as it turned red and Dean squirmed beneath you, mouth agape and panting. He truly was a beautiful, lewd sight.

"Mind your stitches," you reminded him gently. "Lie still." You loosened your hold on his cock and began sliding your hand along it languidly.

Dean visibly relaxed, eyes fluttering open. You lowered your mouth back onto his cock, taking him all the way to the back of your throat and swallowing around him. Your eyes watered and stung, but the groan he let out was worth it. You repeated the process a couple more times, then pulled off and looked up at him. He regarded you darkly and lustfully as you grabbed his hand and brought it to the side of your face, allowing him to lace his fingers through your hair and grab a handful.

A handhold.

You nodded slightly and dropped your jaw, mouth waiting above his heavy cock. Dean's mouth slowly grew into a grin.

"Want me to fuck your face, huh? Guess that's one way you can help me out." He shoved your head down onto him. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat. "Fucking slut, letting a guy fuck your mouth just 'cuz you feel sorry for him." He began bobbing your head up and down. His grip on your hair made your scalp tingle.

You made a little moan of protest. It turned into the most obscene gurgling, gagging sound as he continued to use you like a human fleshlight.

You gripped his wrist and tugged his hand out of your hair so you could pull off of his cock. You looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I will stop."

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed, out of breath. "You practically threw yourself on me."

You smirked, moving up to straddle him, and pinned his hand to the headboard. "I think you'll find that, both times, it was the other way around."

Before Dean knew what was happening, you ambushed him with a handcuff snapping around his wrist, the other side looped haphazardly on the bedpost. It didn't matter that it wasn't secure. He didn't have enough leverage to lift it over the tall post and free himself.

While he snarled, distracted, you trapped his other wrist in the same way. You smiled down at him sweetly when his angry face turned to you.

"I did warn you," you said, grinding down on his lap. "But I guess I should've known better than to give you any control. It was always going to come to this, wasn't it?"

"You bitch," Dean said through gritted teeth, straining forward against his restraints.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his neck, his jaw, his earlobe. "Just say the word if it's too much."

You felt him relax underneath you, then he nipped at your ear. "How weak do you think I am? Do your worst," he sneered.

You rose above him, triumphant. "Oh, I will, baby." You ground your wet core against his cock, still slick with your spit. He ground his teeth more, trying not to react. You threaded your fingers through his hair and tugged gently.

And oh, how beautiful it was that he let his head loll back, giving himself into your control, eyes fluttering shut. Then he seemed to snap to his senses and he opened his eyes, muttering, "Just ride me already."

"Patience," you whispered, and began kissing him. You kissed down his neck, across his chest (avoiding the stitches), down his stomach through the soft hairs that led back down to his pretty cock, laying on his stomach and leaving droplets of precum like dew in the hairs.

You blew softly across his length as you considered the best way to make him unravel for you. He let out a low groan, quiet and strained. You smiled to yourself and lowered your mouth back onto his cock, running your tongue lightly along the thick vein that ran up its underside, tracing the life-force that pulsated beneath his skin. He huffed softly in quick succession.

"Breathe," you murmured against his dick, and licked the tip gently, slo-o-owly. Dean made a pretty noise that was halfway a grunt and halfway a breathy sigh, and your pussy fluttered between your legs.

You clambered back up his body, your knees framing his waist as you hovered over him. His eyes were completely clouded by lust, an eager expression taking over his face. You took hold of his cock and lined it up with your body. His breath hitched in anticipation.

You cocked your head, smiling. "What do you say?"

Dean scowled. "Fuck you, I'm not begging."

"Oh, but you already have, Dean." You stroke his cock gently where it waits between your legs. "What's one more word?"

His eyes threatened to close against his will. He gritted his teeth, opened his mouth, closed it, sighed, and spoke. "Please," he whispered.

"Good boy," you praised, sinking down onto his cock slowly. You moaned loudly as you felt him fill you up again. It almost felt better now that you were taking your time with him. Dean moaned softly, arms finally relaxing in his bonds.

Your head dipped down and you kissed him. His mouth was soft and pliant against yours, not fighting, not working to dominate, and you had the fleeting thought that you had tamed him. You didn't know how, but in this moment, he was completely submissive. And you liked it.

You raised yourself up and drew off his cock until just the head remained inside, then slid back down slowly, like you had at first. Dean leaned forward, held back somewhat by the cuffs, to suck and press kisses to your breasts. You ground down on him, pressing his cock as far in as it would go until it ached, and your chest vibrated with Dean's responding groan.

"Please move," he begged hoarsely, hips twitching underneath you.

"Since you asked nicely," you breathed. You began rolling your hips against his steadily, watching as his pleasure flickered through his rugged features. It was a stark contrast to last night, when he had been scowling and making quips the entire time as he fucked you into the mattress. This was almost... loving. Or perhaps you were simply providing him a service. You did agree to take care of him, and maybe that's what he needed.

You reached up and unclasped the handcuff on Dean's left hand, somehow trusting that he would not go anywhere. His eyes flew open and his hand was on you like it was a magnet and your hip was the opposite charge. His hand massaged into the flesh of your hip, making a dull ache arise from the bruises of the previous night.

You looked into his eyes as both your moans filled the air. They were wide and asking, and since his hand was gentle on your body, and he had been on such good behavior, you released his other hand as well.

It was like a switch flipped. His right hand darted to your waist and dug in, the hand on your hip tightening as well as he took control of your movement. You yelped and he began pushing you faster, your thighs screaming with effort as you tried to regain control.

"Dean," you gasped, clawing at his shoulders.

He grinned, slamming your hips down on him until you were forced to fall against his shoulder. "You were too slow," he gasped between heavy breaths, the wind rushing from his lungs each time your hips met his.

You managed to push yourself back up, bracing your forearm against his throat. His gasps turned ragged as you cut off his air. His thrusts slowed as you regained control of him.

"Be good," you said harshly, catching your breath and narrowing your gaze. "Only good boys get what they want." Dean scowled as he realized you were parroting his words from the night before.

"Fuck you," he spat hoarsely, voice barely audible from the pressure on his vocal cords. You cocked an eyebrow and leaned a little heavier on his throat. His cock twitched inside you.

Letting up on his throat just enough that he could breathe, you picked yourself up and began fucking yourself on his cock again, this time fully in control as his hands just clutched at your hips. You swear he went bug-eyed at the renewed friction combined with his light-headedness.

You felt pressure build in your core as you watched Dean's face, red and straining, mouth hanging open as he gasped in a desperate bid for a full breath. All that came from his mouth were raspy moans and heaves. He seemed determined not to beg still. You supposed he had been faking before. That wouldn't do.

"Tell me when you're close, baby," you purred in his ear as you began rubbing your clit, the sensation causing you to clench around him tightly. You readjusted the arm on his throat so he could speak.

"I'm close," you continued. "If I come on your cock, can you take it? Or will it be too much?" You pouted in mock pity. Dean was barely listening, eyes rolled back in his head, mouth moving in something that might have been words, if he wasn't so pussy-drunk and oxygen-deprived.

The look on his face finally pushed you over the edge, and you fell on his mouth hungrily as your pussy spasmed around him, eating up his desperate whines and moans as they fell from his lips.

You didn't stop your pace, overstimulating yourself and building another orgasm while Dean... finally broke.

"Please," he gasped hoarsely into your mouth, teeth clashing against yours as he jerked forward, drawn towards you, needing to be closer and closer and closer. "I'm so close."

You smirked down at him and slowed drastically. He was going to feel everything you were subjected to last night. He whined and buried his face in your chest, hips wiggling in an attempt to thrust into you again. "What do you say?"

"I just did," he growled, scraping his teeth over your skin.

"You didn't," you said cheerily. "You know what you need to tell me."

He let out a drawn-out groan followed by what could be considered somewhat of a sob. "Fuck."

"That's not it," you chastised.

Dean gritted his teeth and looked up at you, meeting your gaze. But he couldn't hold it. "I need to come," he whispered, eyes dropping. "Please make me come."

You resumed your last pace, touching yourself and clenching down on him as your body reacted to the feelings. Dean let out a broken moan as you leaned on his throat again. "Fuck- fuck-" he gasped against your skin, more his mouth just forming the words than speaking, hot and wet and open. His entire body tensed and he stopped breathing for just a moment-

And then he came inside you, shuddering and digging his nails into your hips so tightly you thought you might bleed. You didn't slow until you were following him, wringing every drop from his spent cock as he begged you to slow down in half-human sounds. You didn't slow until you were overstimulating yourself too, and he was straining against your arm, all but crying as his face contorted, all gritted teeth and tense muscles and red cheeks.

At last, you seated yourself fully on him and just stayed there, finally un-obstructing his airway. Dean's hands fell limply to your sides as his chest heaved, panting heavily and looking at you with a glazed expression as his cock jerked weakly inside you.

You made a quick scan of his injuries. Nothing had burst or ripped. He was catching his breath. Satisfied that he was physically okay, you smirked down at him.

"Now we're even," you told him slyly, dragging yourself off of him and laying down beside him.

"Fuck you," he croaked.

You smiled and nipped at his jaw. "Think you better just stay the night, wouldn't want you to drive like this."

Dean hesitated, then decided to take the bait. "Like what?"

"All weak and worn out," you said sympathetically. "Driving tired from a good fucking is the same as driving drunk, you know."

He let out a sharp chuckle. "I don't think that's how the saying goes."

"Really?" you asked sweetly, propping yourself on one elbow to look at him. "Could've sworn it was something like that...." You pretended to think.

"I'll stay," Dean sighed, snaking his arm around you and pulling you into his side. "If you promise we can do this again before checkout."

"I don't know," you said. "We might sleep too long. We might have to take it out to the car."

Dean shivered at the thought of fucking you in his Impala. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad."

[dollfacefantasy]

Rookiepillz: Here We Go Again

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: almost a year after the rookiepillz incident, you and your now-boyfriend play some video games together. he's got a special strategy to help you win.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief cockwarming, daddy kink, rookiepillz

word count: 1.8k

a/n: finally. rookiepillz has come back to tumblr. the most anticipated come back of the century in my book. i just needed something silly as a break from school. we'll be back to regularly scheduled programming momentarily. part 1 is here.

“ANOTHER GOJO!” you yell at your tv, flinging your controller to the other side of your couch. You feign a growl and look up at your boyfriend who’s lap you were laid up on. “Another fucking Gojo killed me. Can you believe this? It’s like a curse or something.”

He chuckles right next to your ear and kisses your temple. “You’ll get the win soon. You placed third that time, that’s not bad,” he tells you as you ready up again.

He was one to talk considering he planned and acted out a whole revenge scheme on you when he placed second. But hey, look at the two of you now. Snuggling on the couch, you wearing one of his shirts, playing video games in his lap while he gives you little smooches and whispers sweet nothings to you.

Sure, he used to be your stepdad, but he’s your man now. Sure, he dated your mom just to get back at you for beating him in a Fortnite match, but he also gave you the best dick of your life. And plus, he was pretty sweet when he wasn’t being a total asshole, so who are you to complain?

His arms squeeze around your waist, and he nuzzles the back of your neck, inhaling your scent as you beat on some innocent player in the lobby for having the default skin. He smiled as he watched your eyes light up with glee. He took in every word you said about how dropping at the pool house was the best strategy. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Yeah, he had fucked your mom as part of a long revenge plot over losing a victory royale. Yeah, he did humiliate you by spanking you and then revealing said revenge plot in the middle of fucking. But it’s only cause he knew you’d be his girl in the end. He was just having some fun with his sweetheart, right?

He half-watches you running around the map, giggling when you drive a car off a cliff or start doing the weeknd emote. A smile breaks across his face whenever you kill someone because you lightly tap his forearm and go “Look! Did you see that? I gottem.” And then he’d whisper to you, “mhm, that’s my girl” before planting another kiss on your cheekbone.

But what really got him going wasn’t the precious moments of joy or the sweet expressions of tension when you started losing health. No. What really fired him up was your rage. What could he say? It reminded him of nearly a year ago when he’d pulled you over his knee, the fire that had burned in your eyes. A day he’d never forget. 

All he had to do was be patient for your match to start winding down. Once that notification came up that said there were only 25 people left, that red monster inside you would start rearing its head. The “motherfucker’s” and “god damn it’s” would start flying, and in no time at all, you’d be wearing that adorable pouty expression.

Like right now. He watched your character explode into a pile of loot. You slammed the controller down on your laps and crossed your arms, sinking back into his embrace. “That’s such bullshit. At least it wasn’t Gojo again,” you grumble.

Fuck, it got him hard.

“I think I know your problem, baby,” he says. 

You look at him with a raised eyebrow. The one piece of certain leverage you had over your boyfriend was that you were a better Fortnite player. Whenever he gave you unsolicited advice on your playing, you made sure to bring up the fact that you had beaten him before.

“You’re getting so frustrated, y’know. I think you gotta calm down a bit. Let yourself relax so you can think and focus better. And I think I have a way you can do that,” he says.

“And what would that be?” you ask, tone growing softer as you start to catch on.

“How about you relax on daddy’s cock? I know you can only think straight once you’ve been filled up,” he purrs. His hands smooth up your stomach to your tits, coasting over your nipples that were already starting to harden out of instinct. Because if there was one guaranteed piece of leverage he had on you, it was that special word that you’d seemed so averse to just a few months ago.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you answer. It felt shameful that he could get a rush of arousal from you with just a simple word said in a particular tone.

You stand up, still working the controller as another match starts up. He tugs down your shorts for you, grinning like the madman he was at your lack of panties.

“Look at you all prepared,” he coos and kisses your hip, “You knew you’d be getting a treat from daddy today, hm?”

“Lucky guess,” you respond as he guides you back down. Your knees rest on either side of his thighs. He lines himself with your entrance and pulls you down until he’s bottomed out. You whimper and bite your lip, locking your eyes on the tv to focus.

For the beginning, he really does just let you sit there, nice and full. And maybe he was sort of right. You feel pretty calm so far. Everything is less stressful when, in the back of your mind, you’re noticing the way he twitches within you or the small grunts he lets out when you tighten around him.

You were so warm and tight. Felt just as good as the first time, and fortunately for you, there was no bombshell plot twist waiting around the corner. His fingers rub little circles on the outside of your thigh.

“What do you think? Is it helping, babydoll?” he asks.

“Mhm, thank you, daddy. Fits just right,” you say.

He chuckles at the cute way you say it. You work on sniping some people, he tests out rolling his hips. You sharply inhale but don’t protest. So he does it again. His cock slides through the warm embrace of your walls, kissing your favorite spots deep inside. You still seemed focused enough, so using his hands to hold you in position, he begins thrusting upwards.

Your breaths become longer and shakier, but you will yourself to maintain focus. The number of players was dwindling fast. He was bouncing you on his cock which normally left you empty-headed in seconds. But you needed this victory royale. You really were his girl.

He lets out a groan, leaning back against the couch cushions with his head tilted back. It wasn’t like he needed the win this time. He could let go. And so he did. He pistons his cock up into you faster by the moment.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Daddy there’s only two other people,” you whine in a plea for mercy.

“Almost there, baby,” he grunts. You honestly didn’t know if he was referring to your game or how close he was to cumming.

You don’t have time to think about that though because the circle is closing. You grit your teeth and grip the controller with all the focus you have left.

“Daddy, c’mon, I could win,” you whimper.

“I know, princess. You got this, pretty girl,” he mumbles while his eyes flutter. His abdomen twitches as he feels himself gearing up for release. “Tell you what. If you win this one, daddy’ll make sure you get a special reward later on.”

Now it is absolutely on. You can’t lose this. That’d be even more humiliating than the original rookiepillz incident. You’re dashing around the map as your boyfriend pumps in and out of you. It’s a difficult task, managing to hold off your release and try to win.

But soon enough you spot your targets. At the same time, it seems that Leon is reaching his. “Oh fuck, baby. So fuckin’ good. Daddy’s gonna fill you up just how you like,” he whimpers from behind you.

He bounces you, and you know your own peak is imminent. But you see the other players, and in an absolute miracle, you down one and then the other. The tv flashes gold with your victory as your body seizes with the white hot pleasure of release. Simultaneously, he unloads inside you, firing rope after rope into your tight cunt.

He fucks into you a few more times before actually coming back down to reality. You’re coming down too, melting back against his chest. He’s stroking your face when his eyes catch on the tv.

“Holy shit, you actually won?” he asks. His tone gives away that he’s actually impressed. and that’s your ultimate victory royale.

“Mhm, all for you,” you tease and lazily kiss his cheek.

“God, baby. Making me feel like the luckiest man alive right now,” he replies and reciprocates your small gesture of affection.

The two of you cuddle for a bit longer. You’re finished with the game, having finally gotten the win you wanted. And like always, he was such a sweetheart after, giving you kisses and praise, holding you close, even cleaning you up once he got up. Unfortunately, he had to go into work today, so it wasn’t long until he had to leave. He makes sure you’re content before he says goodbye with a kiss to your forehead.

Later that night though, you were alone at your place just as Leon was at his. You get a text. His contact lights up your lockscreen with the message “Get on Fortnite?”

You smile, hopping on your couch and turning on your console. You text back a “yeah hehe :)” He facetimes you, and you beam when you see his face, something you would have never thought possible when you met him. While you wait for everything to turn on and connect, you ask him about his day and how he’s feeling. He answers softly, heart melting at your interest.

To your surprise, when the game finally loads up, you have a gift. From rookiepillz himself.

“Leon…” you say excitedly.

“What?” he asks, playing dumb at first, “Just open it.”

So you do. You burst into laughter as Gojo appears on your screen next. “You’re so funny. I love you,” you giggle. It slips out so casually, he’s not even sure you registered what you’d let slip. He lets it go for now. He would tease you about it later. Right now, he was just so enamored with you.

As you prattled on about wanting to be the skin with the blindfold on and how he should get one for himself so you could match, he realized something. He’d lose every Fortnite match for the rest of his life if it meant he got you. His own personal victory royale.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S, I'm beginning you please write something about the new videos of Sebastian in the Gym. I need some smutty M/F action because I'm going ferral for those images 😩

related to all the content coming from Don's social media about Seb's return to the gym mafia

I already have a ton of requests to get to--which I do love, it's wild to have people want my writing so much, like, what the hell--and normally I get to them based on who's been waiting the longest but... the Seb content is so recent, I just have to get down with this 👀

(And I promise if you're not into x reader content, we'll get back to regularly scheduled programming soon! It just so happens that I got two x reader requests so soon after opening my ask box fully again.)

gif made by @/unearthlydust

Between the few moments it takes for the sound of keys jingling to register in your brain, hitting your ears muffled from outside, and the short time it takes for you to walk from your miniature modestly sized NYC apartment living room to the entryway, Sebastian has managed to unlocked the door, slide into your home, and... sit himself on the floor, apparently.

His head is reclined back, resting on the wall. Conversely, his legs are folded up, knees bent, his arms resting on them. He has yet to attempt to start to take his shoes off. Clearly, he walked in--or maybe he crawled, you muse to yourself, smirking--and immediately put himself down on his ass.

A chuckle leaves you at the sight of him. But, there's more breath contained in the amusement-colored sound than you'd like to admit. As you tilt your head down to take him in, you excuse your stare with a question, "Don work you over good, baby?"

You stare more while he thinks about his answer, processing, clearly frazzled from whatever mild torture Don put him through this time, not just working out but working out on film, meaning they stopped and started and stopped and started and had to refilm sets and probably ended up doing double the work planned. He took a long time today.

You saw him when he left, but the sight of Sebastian is much different now when his shirt is soaked through with sweat, the thin, breathable fabric clinging obscenely to the hard, lean shape of his body. His collar, err, the collar of his shirt is more stretched than you remember, exposing just a taste of his collarbones. Something in you whispers salaciously to pull it down more until you hear the seams start to give way so you can drag your teeth against the sharp lines of his collarbones, leave him gasping, so you can smooth your lips down the defined line between his pecs and feel his heart start to pound as if he's back on the treadmill. He must've been pulling at his shirt collar, dying to get out of his clothes, too hot. He probably even stripped himself out of it at some point. The thought makes you shift your weight where you stand from one foot to the other, cocking your hip, barely resisting the urge to cross your legs and squeeze your thighs together, thinking of, picturing really, all his tanned, smoothed skin, his muscles seemingly more defined after each session with Don. More and more firm under your teasing fingertips.

From your place a few feet away, looming, you watch him swallow. The rolling, contracting motion of his throat unfolding in slow motion, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Seb?" You have half the mind to prompt him again, your lips curling into a wider smirk despite yourself, preoccupied.

You're beginning to feel like a cat toying with a mouse...

"Yeah, yeah," he murmurs, swallowing again, thunking his head back against the wall slightly as if to wake himself up. His hair is damp and wavy from the session, the texture fighting against his cut and style, frizzing up as if it wants to play, too.

He's so fucking cute.

Unbearably attractive and cute.

Sitting down there, his chest isn't exactly heaving, but he's not casually breathing either; still sweaty and flushed, his body is clearly begging for oxygen, leaving him at its mercy to completely fill and empty his lungs. As his chest expands, your eyes can help but wander down to the outline of his nipples through his clinging, painted-on, almost transparent shirt; they're hard and pointed, right there high on his pecs, so exposed.

Drawn in, you take a step closer to him, dragging your teeth over your bottom lip. Your boyfriend, spontaneously becoming a puddle on your floor... oh, no, whatever will you do?

"Don's gonna kill me someday," Sebastian finally manages, adding on, "I'm so tired," and host-to-god pouting up at you. Then, as if that isn't enough, he blinks at you. Those big eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd suspect he was batting those eyelashes at you. You do know better. You know he is.

Even when he's turned to liquid, too hot, too melted and tired, he's a tease. Brat, maybe, is a better word...

At least you don't mind soaking him up. Mopping him up? Either way, between the two of you, there's something there, something ironic about the way he melts, turns to molten liquid, anyone else would expect it'd be you, getting wet, and... yeah. A wider grin splits your mouth. You don't care if you look a little predatory, perhaps unhinged with desire. It's Sebastian's fault. Coming home. Sitting there. Looking like that. He's a sitting, slouching duck.

Realistically, he needs a shower. He's sweaty, and he smells like more than deodorant and laundry, how he did when he left, but you don't give a shit. You know what you need.

"I don't wanna get up," he huffs, hiding his hopeful smile by licking his too pink lips as you prowl another step closer.

Goddamn.

Again, you step closer, coming to stand in front of him. Standing over him.

"Then don't," one of your eyebrows creeps up, a challenge and raising an expression that makes you look imposing. You know it does simply by the way Sebastian reacts to you--his muscles relaxing even more, slouching into the wall a little more, his breathing getting just a touch heavier. He's so statifyingly easy.

A sigh slips out of his statically parted lips--the cherry on top.

"Too tired to get up?" You ask, "poor guy, stuck on the floor, hmm? Your muscles all sore, helpless andd--" your teasing words trail off as you move, gracefully moving into action, tapping his left wrist where it's balanced on his left knee with the pads of your fingers, patiently waiting not long at all for him to allow his sneaker-covered feet to slide odediently across the wooden floor. It leaves his legs straight, spread into an easy v.

Perfect.

You step neatly over him with one foot, positioning yourself to get into his lap without fret. Settling in easy as anything. You've had plenty of practice here. Still, he gasps when the back of your thighs and ass make contact with his body, separated by your own clothes and his soft, blue shorts. He's already hard. You can feel the heated line of him, pressing insistently against you. A deeper curl of heat hooks into you, pulling you toward him, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders.

"--what ever are we gonna do about your delicate condition?" You pick up where you left off, cocking you head to the side at the same time that you lift a deft hand to cup his jaw, petting along it's sharp cut, "what ever am I gonna do about it?" You think out loud, correcting yourself.

Sebastian let's out a shuddering exhale.

"No thoughts?" You tease, gripping his cleft chin insistently. Not tightly, but firm.

"N-no," he concludes, even though you can feel him squirming underneath you, hardly reining himself in from grinding up against you. He wants something. But he's not going to ask for it, he likes it better when you decide what to do with him anyway.

"Hmm," you take a moment to really think, still struck by how attractive he is. Even gym-sweaty and a little gross--especially gym-sweaty. It's a good fucking look.

Inspiration strikes.

You let your hands fall from his face, relishing inside at the soft sound he makes, so weak for your touch, and instead blaze a path down his throat to his collarbones that wing out into his shoulders, down his arms, then back up.

"I ever tell you how handsome you are?" You look up from where your fingertips catch on his shirt sleeves.

Immediately, the bridge of Seb's nose is red, back to that post-gym glow and then some. Underneath you, his strong thighs tense, reacting viscerally to the praise. Enjoying.

You huff something of a laugh. He's just so precious. "Is that a no?" Your hands keep moving in parallel with your lips, exploring him all over again; he's spread out just for you, so you might as well. Jesus. You can't resist squeezing his arms as you scoot higher on his lap, really pressing your hips together as you feel him up, his muscles still pumped and hard after use. "'Cause you are, you're gorgeous," the words come out rougher around the edges than you mean, something snapping, arousal igniting from sparks to a smolder.

As red as he already was, his color flushes darker, eyes darting away. Shy.

"You're so fucking handsome, so pretty," you bring your squeezing hands up, pressing into his muscle enough to make the ache in them resurface as you take ahold of his shoulders.

Another noise bubbles up from Sebastian's chest, both a reaction to the words and to the sensation. He's always enjoyed pleasure with an edge--if not a soft, throbbing ache than outright pain. Sharp and overwhelming, stealing his breath, leaving him without the ability to focus on anything but how good it feels. How much it hurts. How hot and irresistible it is. Between lapping waves, pulses, of heat low inside you, you feel Sebastian getting hotter, too. Parallel. His dick twitches beneath you.

You feel wicked.

You haven't even done anything yet! Just told him the truth. And it makes you dangerous, knowing so much truth and being unafraid to say it to him. To pull each reaction, so sensitive, out of him without mercy.

"I can't believe it sometimes, y'know, honey?" You slip your hands down his back, hot between the wall and his shapely trapezius muscles, his well-sculpted shoulder blades, the line of his spine, and farther. The smoothed muscles of his back, sides, and chest m strain as his lungs expand, sucking in air, feeding the fiery combustion you know is thriving in his gut.

You reach the small of his back and push into the curve of his spine until he arches with you, falling against your chest. His lips brush your chest just below your collarbone, high above your breasts, but you feel your nipples tighten anyway.

"Yeahh," you sigh, letting your head fall back with the weight of your skull, "'s unbelievable."

His humid breath soaks through your clothes, nuzzling into you. God, you wish you fucking took your clothes off before you got into his lap because, Jesus Christ, how are you going to leave now? Your hips buck down against the line of his erection, and your hands dig into his sore muscles harder.

"Oh!" He exclaims in a sharp exhale.

Just for that, heated, you roll your hips more intentionally against him. Just a few times. You know you both have the same thoughts crowding your minds, dirty--the last time you did something like this. Except, last time, his arms were spread, wrists tied back to the headboard, back to the sturdy frame, sitting up with you in his lap, bouncing, your tits in his face, in his mouth, his wet tongue and soft lips and sharp teeth, his sweet sounds muffled as you took pleasure from him. His cock deep inside you, curved and thick.

Now, easily, he curls forward to give you space to touch him. Eagerly wilting or blooming, you can't say, too distracted. Either way, he surrenders so beautifully.

"I look at you, and, mmhh," you clench your thighs around his waist, tight, when he kisses the hollow of your throat lushly, almost panting into what he can reach of your skin, "I-I'm pretty sure I'm losing my goddamn mind because nobody just looks like that."

Speaking of, you already miss his stupidly attractive face, and so, without hesitation, your fingers thread themselves into his thick, wavy hair and peel him off of you, your heat fuzing you together. He goes with a silent moan, mouth hanging open.

"Yeah, look at that face," you tell him, tipping your head down to stare openly, directly, hungrily, tugging at his hair. The way his eyelids droop heavily, shadowing his darkened eyes, is wildly attractive, lulled so effectively by the praise and light pain. Not even pain, just sting. Again, you've not done anything. Barely anything, yet...

Oof.

Here he is, drunk on it.

Yet another hit of electricity strikes you, leaving you rocking in his lap, grinding minutely against him, as slow as the ache inside you can take. The smoldering embers start to crackle. Fanned and growing.

"Fuck believing it," you purr at him, now dragging your nails against his scalp so he shivers with the tingling, teasing sensation, the sting much stronger now, "I can't take it," your other hand smooths down his chest, feeling the well-earning, hard muscles. "It's not good for me, Seb. You have too much pretty, baby." He makes a wanton sound that embarrasses him more, judging by the way he quivers and lets go of another helpless, punched-out gasp.

As a reward, you circle one of his nipples with your thumb. He shivers harder. Pleasured and teased. Then, worse, you grind harder, your insides knotting up. Tightening. You can feel the sticky wetness of your arousal really beginning to dampen your panties. You're both going to need a shower after this.

"I don't know how we get anything done," you sigh," letting go of his hair to massage his chest muscles, just this side of harsh, you want him to feel the tender ache.

A murmur of your name falls from his open lips after he licks them, leaving them shiny and too alluring. The desire to sit on his face rises inside you so intensely it's fucking violent. You want.

Fuck.

Flames crackle and dance through your body. Hot. Deep. Echoing and making you feel the heat again and again.

"Doesn't matter what you're wearing, what you're doing. But, ugh, God, when you're in pre-production mode," indulging yourself, you wriggle, restless with the erotic images flashing through your mind's eye, "working out and--" a sighing, hot noise falls out of you, letting the rest of your sentence fall away, distracted again. Reminded of how he looks right now. Today. Underneath you. "You look like a statue, you know that?"

He peeks up at you through his lashes, biting his bottom lip and, fuck, what're you supposed to do but go for blood? As much as you want him to believe every word, there's something about the shyness, too... that big-eyed, unsure, but oh-so trusting stare. It's like a dagger of erotism straight through the heart. A deadly weapon, you swear, those eyes, cutting you open and filling you with molten desire.

Fingers teasing his nipples, circling, rubbing, pinching you let his breathless sounds underscore more praise, "you look like you belong in a museum with a special plaque, just for you, begging people to mind their manners and not touch."

"I don't--" he half-chokes, half-wines.

"You do," you insistently flick one of his nipples, showing your teeth when he really, actually whines. "It's not their fault, though, Seb. Is it?"

Obediently, he shakes his head just once. Hard. Barely able to look away from you for a moment, even if it's just to answer you.

"One look at you, and they forget themselves, don't they?" You kiss his high, sharp cheekbone, relishing in his blushing, feverish heat. "They just want a piece of you. They'd touch and grope and eat you up if they could. I mean, fuck, just look at yourself, baby--"

He looks down. You know all he sees is your hands on him, you in his lap, you don't mind. Still, you coo at him, "good boy." If for nothing else than to feel his heart beat wildly against your palms feeling up, groping, massaging his chest. His heart working hard to surge lust-thick blood to his cock. He must be aching worse than you are. All you can think about is how wet you're getting, how tight your chest feels, how much you want to touch yourself and, goddamnit, you know what-?

Arching your back--growing hotter with his hoarse groan of desire, his gaze heavy on your tits--you manage to tear a hand off of Sebastian's body. Instead of him, you put it on yourself, sliding your fingers down, down, down from under your boobs to your stomach and lower. Caressing yourself.

Sebastian's breathing speeds up, his eyes locked onto your every move. Fervently watching despite the fact that you're fully clothed. The attention is heady.

Finally, arriving at your destination--slowly, teasingly, you slide your hand beneath the waistband of the fabric entrapping you, seperating your bodies so thinly and yet so devastatingly, too. So close. So far.

Under your shorts and panties, you can really fucking feel how hot you are for this. For him. So aroused it's humid. Sticky, wet heat. You feel it, and Sebastian hears it--the second you start to touch yourself, the lewd sounds announce it. Both the tempting noises of your fingers sliding down your pulsing, swollen slit, finding where you're soaked to bring the slickness up and rub tight circles around your clit, electric, lush, and the ripped-out noise of a moan.

Oh, God.

Your fingers tease yourself, touch yourself, and press against your clit, stealing your own breath from your lungs. Rather than clenching your thighs around his solid waist, you let your legs spread wide, easing a gratifying, punched-out moan from Seb.

Your breath catches as you think of what it'd be like if were naked right now, he'd see everything, the rhythm of your fingers as you pleasure yourself, the sight of your pussy, wet and hot and plump, aching for him, so ready. Without clothes, you could spread yourself wider, too. Show him more. Then, it'd be so easy for him to slide into you, too. It'd feel so good. Thick and, "mmmmguh," you moan, wordless. Pressing harder, grinding against your hand more than you grind down against him, pleasure ramping up.

Sebastian has started to pant harshly, interrupted by stuttered starts and stops of words. Probable begs to be allowed to touch you inside or choked-off wishes to fuck you. Feel you around him--his fingers, his cock, anything.

Anything.

Abruptly, too horny to stau put together, you think about his abs. Yeah. The way his abdomen goes taut and hard with the jerk of his hips, muscles flexing, and then your thoughts spiral further. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking about being wet and slipping and sliding, grinding against his stomach, above his cock, taking pleasure but giving nothing to him. Relishing in how he arches and pleads under you, pushing into you--folding against you. He doesn't get anything while you get everything. Controlling him. Gorgeous and strong and all. Leaving him so hard and engorged, the veins in his cock emboldened, the throb of his pulse when you finally take him inside of you, clenching, moaning through your gritted teeth, feeling it as he fucks you, pushing back, taking more of it, taking it--

Your eyes open, only now aware they were shut in the first place. Now could you? You just have to look at him.

You're so hungry you can't resist sliding your fingers down and pressing one, then two inside yourself. Quick. You're so wet. Soaked. Fingering yourself faster, you cry out, bucking against your own hand to catch the heel of it, needing pressure on your clit as the heat of your orgasm builds deep inside you. Tight. Hot. Pleasure knotting up deep inside you and making more wetness drip out of you. Your panties might as well be ruined. You don't care; you want it even while your thighs quiver.

"Seb!" You moan, squirming as he stares, eyes glued between your legs, watching you as if you are naked, so seduced by how you've put yourself on display, unable to stop the show now that you're so far in, so deeply effected by him, his pretty face and unreal body. Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian, your mind reels. "L-look at me," you gasp, as much of an order as you can manage when you're so close.

He does.

You moan.

"Th-that's it, sweetheart," he couldn't blush harder if he tried, "that's it, lemme see all that face, oh, oh God," your nails bite into his hip, needing something, anything to hold onto as it builds up, it builds, and builds, it's coming! Coming--breaking.

Breaking.

Tripping over his name and falling into more praise, "guh-god, you're so fucking pretty, I, mmmgh, I, fucking, fuck, I can't stand it. You're so hot. Jesus, Seb, do you know what you do to me? L-look at me and wh-what you do to, to me, oh, Seb!"

You orgasm wetly. Loudly. Wailing through gritted teeth. Body shuddering--shattering in clenching waves.

Ohh.

The look on Sebastian's face when you finally manage to rip your eyes open again--the overwhelming sensations slowly fading despite your chest still heaving from your release--is devastating. He looks drunk. Dumbfounded. Stupid in the best way.

All over again, you quiver. That expression, so thick with lust, dives down, hitting you straight between the legs--combining, deadly, with the sensitive last dregs of your orgasm, leaving your toes curling.

It's so goddamn arresting that all you can do is steal your hand from between your legs, fingers glistening, sticky wetness dripping down your palm toward your wrist, and hold it out toward him.

An offering.

One that he takes sweetly, mouth is hot and wet, velvety, around your fingers. Sucking. Licking. Groaning at your taste, swallowing, and taking it deep into him.

Breathy, you ask, "are you recovered enough to join me in the shower?"

As you tease with your words, you can't be bothered to be coy any other way, so you shove your fingers deeper into his lush mouth. He doesn't choke, but his eyes water regardless. And the sound that comes out of him, muffled and broken, might've been a sob.

Aw.

You can't resist when he cries, pleading and worked up so hard. Guh.

If you made it to the end, thanks for reading, lmao 😘