#you all should like ... plot with me ... y'know ??

[mildcicada]

[killerplink]

Shameless

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Words: 10k

Plot: You're supposed to head straight home after the bar. You really are. But you're drunk, and needy, and so desperate for him that somehow you're in an alley getting absolutely wrecked against a wall.

The bar is dim and comfortably loud, some old rock song spilling from the jukebox while Jason leans back against the booth, arm draped along the backrest, watching you with a lazy smile. You're already two drinks and some shots deep—which, for you, is a lot—and it shows in the way you're slumped just slightly against his side, giggly and loose, eyes a little glassy under the neon glow.

He knew you needed this. Knew this week had been a fucking nightmare for you. And yeah, maybe getting you tipsy wasn't the most responsible move, but God, you're cute like this, all soft and clingy and running your mouth without a filter.

"Y'know," you slur a little, gesturing wildly with your glass, "that bitch from the subway? The one who kept pushing into me?" Your brows knit together in offended disbelief, like you're personally wounded all over again just thinking about her. "I shoulda knocked her fucking teeth out."

Jason has to bite the inside of his cheek, his grip tightening on his beer bottle as he lifts it to his lips. You're so damn small, and the way you say it, all dramatic and dead serious, makes it even funnier. But you're not joking. You slam your palm against his chest to drive the point home, which, to you, probably feels like a decent smack, but to him, it's barely a tap.

"Right?" you demand, eyes wide and expectant, waiting for him to back you up.

Jason clears his throat, desperately swallowing the grin threatening to break free. "Yeah, baby. Totally. Shoulda knocked her the fuck out."

"Exactly!" you nod so hard your whole body sways, and Jason has to steady you with his free hand to keep you from sliding right off the seat. "No respect. None! Who does that?"

You keep ranting, every slurred complaint punctuated with another dramatic gesture or a wild wave of your drink. Jason just sits there, half listening, half savoring how fucking adorable you are like this, all small and feisty, tipsy and dramatic, tucked into his side like you belong there.

He loves you so much it's fucking stupid. And it's only a matter of time before that sweet mouth of yours gets him into trouble tonight, one way or another.

By the time your third drink arrives, your body feels warm and heavy, head swimming in that sweet, fuzzy way that makes everything feel a little softer, a little funnier, and way hornier than it should.

Jason's sitting there next to you, all broad and solid, wearing that black t-shirt that stretches just right over his chest and arms, showing off all that ink. His thighs, thick and spread wide, are right there next to yours, and you can't help yourself—your free hand starts to wander.

You trace slow circles along the inside of his thigh, your fingers sneaking higher each time until your knuckles almost brush the bulge straining against his jeans. Jason tenses just slightly, the muscle under your palm jumping at the touch, but he doesn't stop you right away.

He's used to your drunk grabby hands by now, and hell, it's flattering how fast you get worked up for him. But his dick? His dick's got no chill, thick and half-hard already, and your teasing fingers aren't helping.

"Baby," he murmurs, his free hand curling around your wrist, stopping you gently. "Behave."

You pout instantly, squirming closer until you're practically in his lap, your big, glossy eyes locked on his like you're about to cry over it.

"Jay," you mumble, voice all soft and slurred, "you're so fucking hot."

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he takes another sip of his beer. "Am I?"

You nod. Hard. Like you're trying to convince him of a life-or-death fact. "Hottest guy I ever been with," you say, and Jason's ears go pink at the blunt praise. "Can't believe you chose me."

Jason's brow arches, that soft smile curving his lips. "What do you mean, pretty girl?"

You just shrug, lifting your drink to your mouth again, and miss it entirely, half your sip spilling down your chin, sticky and sweet. Jason sighs, amused, and reaches out with his thumb, gently swiping the alcohol off your skin.

That's when your grin turns wicked. Before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, pulling his thumb between your lips. Your tongue flicks against the pad before you suck gently, cleaning off the spill like it's the most natural thing in the world. But your mind? Your drunk, horny mind immediately derails into filth.

You wish it was his cock instead. Thick and hot, sliding across your tongue, stretching your lips wide, fucking your throat until you're gagging and drooling and swallowing down every messy drop of his cum.

Your thighs clench under the table, the sudden rush of slick making you squirm, a soft whimper slipping out before you can stop it. Jason's brow furrows, his beer halfway to his mouth.

"Baby," he asks, voice lower now, "you okay?"

You nod too hard again, the world tilting slightly around you as you lean in, your hand landing high on his thigh once more. "Wanna fuck," you whisper, way too loud for how crowded the bar is.

Jason barks out a surprised laugh, shaking his head like he can't believe you. But fuck if it isn't turning him on, how unfiltered and needy you get for him when you're drunk.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, tipping back the rest of his beer in one long swallow before setting the bottle down with a clink. "Okay, pretty girl. Let me pay the tab and we'll go home, yeah?"

You hum happily, already leaning into his side, and Jason's hand settles warm on your thigh, fingers tracing mindless shapes while his other hand fishes his wallet out. You're still thinking about his dick—hot and leaking, sliding into your mouth, fucking your throat open before he bends you over and makes a mess of your pussy. And you've got zero intention of waiting until you're home to get your hands on him.

Before you leave, you decide you need the bathroom, weaving your way through the crowded bar with Jason's hand at the small of your back, his touch warm and steady, guiding you even though you're not exactly steady yourself.

The bathroom is... well, a Gotham bar bathroom—dim, one flickering fluorescent light buzzing overhead, cracked mirror, graffiti covering the stall doors. It smells like vodka, faint piss, and one of those cheap lavender air fresheners, and honestly? You've pissed in worse. You handle your business, wash your hands, and catch your reflection in the smeared mirror.

You look... a little wrecked already. Cheeks flushed, lips glossy and a little swollen from how you've been biting at them all night. Your eyeliner's still holding on, but your hair's a mess from leaning into Jason every time you got touchy, and you always get touchy when you drink. Still, even a little tipsy and sloppy, you grin at yourself, knowing damn well Jason still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

You smooth your hands down your skirt, adjust your top, and stumble your way back out, only to immediately see her.

Some too-pretty bitch draping herself all over your man like she doesn't know he's taken, her stupid pink acrylic nails tracing up his arm, leaning way too close into his space like she's got a shot in hell.

And Jason? He looks exactly like you expect—bored out of his fucking mind. He doesn't smile, doesn't lean back, doesn't flirt. His body stays turned toward you, eyes scanning for you even as she talks, and the second you step back into view, his shoulders relax like Thank fuck you're back.

But you? Oh, you're seeing red.

"Excuse me?" you shout, voice cutting through the music and bar chatter like a fucking gunshot. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Jason groans under his breath—"Oh, shit." —but it's too late. You're already stomping toward them, small but furious, your heels clacking hard against the floor like you're about to fight for your goddamn life.

The girl barely gets a chance to blink before you're in her face, finger jabbing at her chest, your other hand pointing wildly at Jason like a woman unhinged.

"That's my man, you thirsty fucking skank. Go throw yourself at someone who doesn't have a girlfriend."

Jason stands immediately, his big hand wrapping around your waist, physically lifting you off the floor because you're already reaching for her hair, fully prepared to drag her across the bar.

"Doll," he says, low and firm, voice edged with both amusement and actual concern. "C'mon, pretty girl, let's go."

"No!" you shout, flailing in his grip like a feral little cat. "She—she touched you! You're mine!"

"I know, baby," Jason says, voice softer now, soothing, his lips brushing your ear as he starts hauling you toward the door. "I'm all yours, always yours, pretty girl, you know that."

The girl stares in shock, but Jason doesn't even glance back at her. His only focus is you. His loud, drunk, ridiculously hot girlfriend who's out here ready to commit assault over him, and damn if that doesn't make him feel a little smug.

Outside, the cool night air hits you, and you're still huffy, arms crossed tight, refusing to look at him. Jason tugs you into the nearest alley, far enough from the entrance that you've got a little privacy, and then he tips your chin up gently, making you meet his eyes.

"Baby," he says, soft and serious, "you know I don't give a fuck about anyone else, right? You're it for me. My perfect girl. Nobody else even exists."

You bite your lip, still pouting, but your heart melts, all fuzzy and warm at the edges. "Promise?"

"Swear on my life," Jason says, hand over his heart, even though you both know his heart's been yours since the day you stumbled into his world.

You sigh dramatically, leaning into him, forehead to his chest. "Okay," you mumble. "But if she looks at you again, I'm breaking her nose."

Jason huffs a laugh, arms wrapping tight around you, hiding his smile in your hair. "I know you will, doll."

Then it hits him. Fuck. He walked you both here. No car, no bike. And now he's got to get your tipsy, horny, fight-happy ass home on foot.

"Oh, this is gonna be a long walk," Jason mutters, but even with the impending chaos, all he feels is love.

Wild, messy, absolutely fucking insane love for his feral little girlfriend who'd burn the world down for him if he asked. Jason's big hand reaches for yours, callused fingers curling gently around your smaller ones, and you let him intertwine them, your palm snug against his, so much bigger, so warm, so him.

You look up at him, eyes still wide and pouty, lip poked out just a little, and Jason can't help it. He leans down, catching your mouth with his in a kiss that's meant to be sweet, but fuck, you're drunk and needy and soft under him, and it goes from gentle to hot and sloppy real fast.

You moan against his mouth, pressing up on your toes to get closer, tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting beer and Jason and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke. Your free hand slides between you, fingers tracing down the front of his jeans until you find his dick, thick and warm, already stirring to life the second your palm cups him.

"Jesus Christ," Jason mutters against your lips, breaking the kiss with a panting breath. "Baby, you're insatiable."

"Yeah," you giggle, voice all breathy and fucked out already. "I want you so bad, Jay."

He takes a deep breath, trying to get his pulse under control, even though his cock is already hardening under your touch.

"C'mon, baby, let's get going. We'll be home in no time, yeah?"

You shake your head so violently you nearly knock yourself over, and Jason's quick, both hands grabbing your waist to steady you, brows raised in that exasperated, fond way that makes you feel like the most spoiled little brat in the world.

"No?" he asks, amusement curling in his voice. "What do you want, then?"

You pout, full-on drunk girl tantrum loading, tugging at his shirt like a needy little gremlin. "I want your dick, baby."

Jason laughs, head tipping back, the sound echoing off the brick alley walls. "I know, baby. And you'll get it." He cups your face, thumb dragging across your lower lip, eyes warm and full of affection. "Home. I'm not fuckin' you against a dumpster in Crime Alley."

You whine, actually whine, stomping your foot once for good measure. "But I'm so wet, Jay," you mumble, words all slurred and pouty. "My pussy hurts."

"Baby," Jason groans, running a hand down his face like he's in actual physical pain from trying to be a good man right now. "You are killin' me."

"So fuck me," you say, all wide-eyed, like you've cracked the fucking code.

Jason breathes deep through his nose, hands settling firm on your hips, holding you just far enough away from his dick so you can't start rubbing all over him again.

"Baby. Baby. Listen to me."

"No," you cut in, dramatically folding your arms under your tits, cleavage spilling in your too-tight top. "You listen to me. You always wanna fuck me. Why not now?"

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about needing fucking therapy, before he cups your cheeks again, squishing them until your lips pucker.

"Pretty girl, I do always wanna fuck you. But if I fuck you here, in this nasty-ass alley, I will never forgive myself. And you, my sweet, drunk little menace, will complain the whole way home about how your knees hurt or your back hurts or how you got gum in your hair from leanin' against this filthy fuckin' wall."

You blink at him, brain working overtime to process all that, and then you sniff. "Fine."

"Thank fuck," Jason sighs.

"But I'm walking all sexy so you stare at my ass the whole way."

"Baby," Jason groans, sliding a hand down to smack your ass once, hard enough to make you squeal and giggle. "You're a fuckin' nightmare."

"A sexy nightmare," you correct, wagging a finger in his face before you twirl dramatically toward the sidewalk, hips swinging like you're on a runway.

Jason follows, shaking his head, but fuck if he isn't staring at your ass just like you wanted. Even under the dim streetlights, the sway of your hips is hypnotic, that short skirt barely covering you, and all he can think about is getting you home, spreading you out, and ruining you properly.

But first? He's gotta get you both back alive.

His hand settles on the small of your back again, eyes scanning every shadow, every rooftop, every alley you pass, because it's Gotham. And drunk, horny, dramatic as you are, you're still his most precious thing. The only thing he'd throw himself in front of a bullet for without a second thought.

"Stay close, baby," he murmurs, fingers curling in your waistband, keeping you just a little closer as you both make your way down the sidewalk. "Don't need you wanderin' off."

You hum, leaning into him for a second before dancing away, spinning in a circle because you're drunk and happy and feeling yourself, and Jason knows—knows—that if you weren't so fucking adorable, he'd have lost his mind years ago.

His hand stays wrapped around yours, big and warm and strong, fingers interlocked so tight it feels like he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. You're not even thinking about the way his grip has a slight edge to it, the way his shoulders stay tense, scanning every shadow you pass, every figure leaning against a wall or sitting on a curb. To you, it's just Jason holding your hand like he always does, but to him, it's the only way to stop himself from grabbing the nearest asshole staring at your tits and slamming their face into a brick wall.

Because yeah, you're loud. Laughing too hard at your own jokes, voice bouncing off every building as you tell him how much you love his biceps, actually grabbing his arm with both hands and smooshing your cheek against it like it's the only pillow you ever want again.

"Baby, I swear to God, I think your arm is bigger than my whole head," you giggle, fingers barely stretching around the thickness of his bicep.

Your cheek stays pressed against him, your lips practically kissing the fabric of his jacket, and Jason just grunts, biting back a smile.

He's trying so fucking hard to stay focused. You're walking through downtown Gotham, and even though you're getting closer to Bristol, you're still technically in territory where he knows half the guys on the sidewalk have at least one weapon on them.

But you? You're bouncing beside him in your cute little skirt, tits pushed up perfectly, heels clicking on the pavement, and every time you laugh, your nipples press against the thin fabric like a filthy little tease.

Jason glances down just once, and fuck, you're not wearing a bra. His jaw clenches so tight his teeth might crack.

"Jay, Jay—hey," you tug at his arm, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. He catches you before you fall, one strong hand on your hip, the other still holding your hand tight. "I'm okay!" you announce, way too loud, grinning up at him.

"Yeah, I see that," he mutters, tugging you closer so you're practically walking under his arm now. "Maybe let me steer, baby, before you snap one of those pretty ankles."

You just hum, leaning into his side, your arm wrapping around his waist, your cheek back against his ribs this time, and you barely reach his shoulder like this, even with the height boost from your heels.

It's obscene, really, how small you are compared to him, and Jason feels it everywhere. In the way your soft hand barely wraps around his fingers, the way your arm can't even get all the way around his torso, the way your chin tilts up so far just to meet his eyes.

It's making his dick throb again, especially with the way you keep pressing against him like you can't get close enough, your tits practically plastered to his side. And when your hand slips lower, over his hip, fingers skimming his belt? Yeah, his dick definitely stirs again, already half-hard in his jeans.

But Jason grits his teeth, eyes flicking down a side street where a couple of guys lean against a car, watching you both pass with a little too much interest.

He could end them. Real easy. But that means letting go of you for even a second, and in a place like this, that's too much time.

So instead, he focuses on getting you both to Bristol. Once you're there, it's different. Still Gotham, sure, but way less grime, way fewer threats.

"Baby, your biceps," you murmur dreamily, still snuggled into his side. "I wanna live here. Make me a bicep hammock. I could just... take a nap right here."

"Jesus Christ," Jason huffs, half-laughing, half-suffering.

His hand squeezes your hip hard enough to make you gasp softly, and your thighs press together instinctively, slick panties clinging to your skin.

And you know it's bad—for him, for you—because you can already feel how wet you are, panties soaked just from the feel of his hand and the size of his arm and the fact that Jason fucking Todd is all yours.

Every broad inch of him belongs to you, and you want him so badly your nipples ache, hard and sensitive, the cool night air brushing them through your top with every step.

Jason feels it too, the way your body stays glued to his, warm and soft and sweet, all that restless, needy energy radiating off you like heat. And even though his jaw stays tight, his eyes sharp and scanning for trouble, his dick is already thinking about the safety of your shared apartment, where he can fuck you in peace.

But finally, you make it into Bristol, and Jason feels like he can breathe again. Shoulders easing just slightly, the tension that's been coiled in his spine since you left the bar loosens a fraction, though he's still hyper-aware of every footstep behind you, every flickering streetlight, every passing car.

Gotham's quieter here, but it's still Gotham. And no sane person drives a cab through this shithole, especially not after dark, which is exactly why you're stuck walking home. Buses aren't much better. Either they're not running at all, or they're full of people Jason would rather not share air with, let alone a seat.

But you? You're not thinking about cabs or buses or safety at all. You're too busy scanning the sidewalks like you're searching for treasure, except the treasure you want is a dark, secluded little alley where your man can fuck you until you're crying.

And you find one.

You stop so suddenly he nearly stumbles into you, and you gasp like you just discovered the lost city of gold.

"What now, doll?" he sighs, already bracing for whatever chaos is about to spill from your pretty mouth.

Your grin is downright wicked, that playful, tipsy sparkle in your eyes as you grab his arm with both hands and start walking backwards toward the alley entrance. It's tucked behind some trendy little wine bar, barely lit, and Jason's already shaking his head, planting his feet like a stubborn brick wall.

"Baby," he warns, voice low, but you're having none of it.

"Jay," you pout, stepping back into the shadows, fingers curling around his belt to tug him with you. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease. I can't wait. I'm so fucking wet, I swear it's dripping down my thighs."

"Jesus," he mutters, but his resolve is crumbling fast, especially when you grab his wrist and guide his hand under your skirt, between your thighs, pressing his fingers against the damp lace of your panties.

Jason hisses between his teeth, jaw clenched tight as his fingertips press into the soaked fabric, feeling just how messy you already are. "Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers stroking you through the lace until you're trembling. "You really are dripping."

You nod so hard it's almost comical, hips rocking into his touch, and he curses again, pulling his hand back before he loses whatever sliver of restraint he has left.

"C'mon, Jay," you murmur, voice all sweet and syrupy as you press your body against him. "No one's here. I need you so bad."

He's so fucking weak for you. He always has been. With a low, rumbling sigh, he grabs your hips and lifts you slightly off the ground, keeping your heels from clicking against the damp pavement, his strength so effortless it makes you dizzy.

Your arms loop around his neck, lips grazing his jaw, and you whisper, "Knew you couldn't resist me."

"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, but there's already a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he carries you further into the alley.

And to both your surprise, it's not that bad. No reeking garbage, no questionable puddles, just a slightly damp brick wall and enough privacy to make this work.

Jason pins you to the wall gently, broad hands spreading your thighs, fingers curling under the hem of your skirt to bunch it up around your hips, and the cool air against your soaked panties makes you shiver.

"We're doing this fast," he murmurs, voice dark and low as he towers over you, his body heat sinking into your skin. "Then I'm carrying your ass home and fucking you proper, got it?"

You just nod, biting your lip as your hips wiggle, trying to press against him. Before you can fully grind up against him, Jason pulls you off the wall like you weigh nothing, his big hand splayed across your back, holding you up effortlessly with just one arm.

"Hold still, baby," he murmurs, though there's a flicker of fond amusement in his voice.

You cling to him, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, legs dangling slightly until he sets you down just long enough to shrug out of his leather jacket. Then he drapes it over your shoulders, the worn leather heavy and warm from his body heat, swallowing you whole.

"Don't want you all scratched up," he says, fingers brushing your cheek before he lifts you up and pins you back to the wall, his body following, pressing tight against yours.

The kiss that follows is messy, almost desperate, like neither of you has any patience left, his mouth slanting over yours, tongue licking deep between your parted lips. You taste like alcohol and sweetness, like the cocktails you couldn't stop sipping, and Jason tastes like beer and heat and him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your mouth, and he rolls his hips into you, grinding his thick cock against your sopping cunt through your panties, the rough denim dragging against the soaked lace until you whimper into his mouth.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, forehead pressed to yours. "You're so fuckin' wet. I can feel it through my jeans."

"Then stop teasing," you pout, hips canting against him again, your thighs trembling from the sheer ache of needing him inside you.

"Oh, baby," Jason grins, all teeth, his hand sliding between you to push your panties aside, fingers dipping low to swipe through your slick folds, making you jerk. "Teasing's my favorite part."

"Jay," you whine, voice high and thin, your hips trying to chase his fingers as they stroke along your slit, purposefully avoiding your clit. "Please. Don't—don't tease, I'm so wet, I need you, please."

"Yeah?" He drags his fingers lower, tracing around your entrance, gathering up your slick, rubbing it slow over your throbbing clit until your whole body jerks again. "You need me that bad, baby?"

"Yes," you cry, voice pitchy and desperate, hands fisting in his shirt. "Need your dick, need you to fuck me, pleasepleaseplease—"

Jason hums low in his throat, eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he watches you come undone right in front of him. "Greedy little thing," he teases, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit until you're trembling against him. "So fuckin' needy."

"Because you made me like this," you snap, drunk enough that you barely have a filter, every single thought spilling from your lips. "You and your stupid big dick and your stupid perfect hands and your stupid hot face—"

Jason barks a laugh, cutting you off by sinking two fingers deep into your cunt with a filthy squelch that echoes through the alley, your protests melting into a soft, helpless moan.

"There we go," he murmurs, voice low and rough as his fingers pump in and out, stretching you open, slick dripping down to coat his knuckles. "Gotta open you up, baby. You know you can't take me if I don't stretch this sweet little pussy first."

You just whimper, hips rocking down onto his hand, your fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, your drunk little brain so overwhelmed by how good his fingers feel, how deep they reach, already curling to press against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

"Always so fuckin' tight," Jason mutters, thumb circling your clit as his fingers fuck into you, slow and deliberate.

You nod frantically, too far gone to do anything else, all your focus narrowed down to the way his fingers stretch and fill you, the slick sound of it obscene in the quiet alley.

"Think you can behave if I fuck you right here?" he asks, lips brushing your ear, fingers never slowing. "Or are you gonna be a noisy little brat and get us caught?"

Jason's fingers work your cunt like it's his job, those thick digits scissoring inside you, spreading you wide, your walls clenching down hard every time he drags them out only to push them back in knuckle-deep.

You're soaked, dripping all over his hand, slick and messy and obscene, and he fucking loves it. Loves the way you always need a little stretching, loves how no matter how many times he's fucked this pussy, you still go all tight and greedy on him like you're brand new every single time.

His thumb circles your clit, slow and deliberate, just enough to keep you right on the edge of frustration, never quite enough to let you fall over, and you whine, a long, high-pitched sound that makes him smirk.

"Jay," you slur, lips dragging over his jaw, sticky and soft, your fingers clawing at his back through his shirt, hips squirming helplessly against his hand. "Want your dick, baby, please."

"Shhh," Jason hums against your mouth, voice rough, fingers still fucking into you, that relentless rhythm making your thighs shake. "I've got you, baby. Let me make you cum first, yeah? Can't have you all tight and needy like this. You'll hurt yourself tryin' to take me."

"Don't care," you pout, sucking a mark into his neck, messy and wet, your tongue flicking over the spot before you nip at it, making him grunt softly. "Wanna be full, Jay, wanna feel you stretch me out, wanna feel you fuck me so deep, baby, please—"

"Jesus," Jason mutters, but there's no heat to it, just low, throaty amusement, like he can't believe how fucking desperate you get when you're drunk and horny like this.

He shifts his hand, fingers crooking inside you just right, dragging over that spot that makes you jolt, and you whimper, thighs clenching around his waist.

"Look at you," he breathes, eyes dark and hooded as he watches your face twist in pleasure, mouth all pouty and glossy, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to your temples from how hot you've gotten. "So fucking pretty when you're like this, baby. All fucked out and desperate for me."

"Because I love you," you slur, fingers fisting in his hair, tugging him down into a kiss that's all tongue and teeth, messy and clumsy and so fucking hot he groans into it. "Love your dick, love your hands, love your stupid face—"

Jason swallows your rambling with another kiss, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit until you're trembling, back arching, your whole body pressing into his like you're trying to crawl inside his skin.

"C'mon, baby," he whispers against your lips, voice low and dark and sweet like sin. "Cum for me. Make a mess all over my fingers, show me how bad you want me."

You sob—a high, helpless sound—as your cunt clenches down hard, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking freight train, your hips stuttering against his hand, slick gushing over his fingers and dripping down to his wrist.

"Good girl," Jason praises, kissing you through it, swallowing every little moan and whimper as his fingers keep pumping, working you through the aftershocks until you're twitching, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation.

"Too much," you mumble, slurring against his mouth, but he just hums, grinning against your lips.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, pulling his fingers from your spent pussy, shiny and dripping, your slick coating his knuckles and glistening under the dim alley light. He holds his hand up, spreading his fingers just to watch the strings of your arousal stretch between them, his lip curling into a dark little smirk. "Look at this messy little pussy, baby. You really are my perfect fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

You whimper, squirming against the wall, thighs trembling where they wrap around his waist, and Jason's grin only widens. "Can't get enough of me, can you? Drippin' just from my fingers. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna ruin you."

"Please," you mumble, words all breathless and slurred, your glossy eyes locked on his mouth like you're starving for him. "Kiss me, Jay."

He doesn't need to be told twice. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and hungry, all tongue and teeth and filthy little moans that make your head spin. You taste like your cocktails and him, and you drink down his groans like they're your favorite liquor, your fingers threading into his hair, tugging hard just to feel him grunt against your tongue.

His kiss is messy, wet, his teeth catching your bottom lip, tugging until you whine before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand stays firm on your ass, keeping you pinned, while his other works at his belt with practiced ease, the jingle making your pussy clench down hard around nothing. Your thighs squeeze his waist, your needy body rocking against him like you're trying to catch his dick the second it's free.

"Desperate," Jason teases, voice thick with amusement, but his own breath stutters when his jeans finally slide down just enough to let his dick spring free, hot and heavy, the flushed tip already smeared with precum.

He grunts softly as he fists himself, dragging his slick thumb over the head before he ruts against your messy cunt, grinding his cock between your folds until his length is coated in your slick, sliding so easily against your soaked, swollen clit.

"Baby," you moan, head lolling back against the brick, your eyes going half-lidded, all glassy and drunk on him. "Want you so bad. Please, Jay."

"Fuck, you're so needy," he groans, angling his hips just right so the thick head of his cock notches at your entrance, pushing in just a little, stretching you open slow. "Always so tight for me, baby. So fuckin' perfect."

You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, his back, his neck, anywhere you can hold onto as he starts to push deeper, the stretch making your mouth drop open, your eyes going wide as your cunt struggles to take him, even as slick as you are.

"Every time," Jason mutters, almost to himself, watching your face, your body, your perfect pussy swallowing him inch by inch. "Every fuckin' time this pussy fights me at first. Like you forget how big my dick is until I'm stuffin' you full again."

He doesn't even bother bottoming out at first, just fucking into you shallow and rough, enough to make your body bounce against the wall, enough to make you cry out soft and sweet with every thrust.

"Jay—" you whimper, too loud, but he slaps a big hand over your mouth, muffling you, his own jaw tight as he glares down at you.

"We're still in public, baby," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust, finally bottoming out in one stroke that makes your eyes roll back. "Behave. I don't wanna spend the night in jail 'cause my girl couldn't keep her pretty mouth shut."

You whimper against his palm, nodding hard, eyes still wide and glassy, and he kisses your forehead like you're not split open on his dick in the middle of a fucking alley.

"That's my good girl," he purrs, letting his hand slide down to grip your waist, both hands anchoring you now as he starts to move.

And fuck, he moves, lifting you up like you weigh nothing, only to slam you back down onto his cock, impaling you over and over, your messy little cunt squelching loud and obscene every time he bottoms out. Your slick coats his dick, smearing down his thighs, dripping onto the pavement, and he's fucking feral for it, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his temples from how tight you are.

"Fuck, baby, this pussy's made for me," he groans, his grip bruising at your hips, his cock grinding so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. "So fuckin' tight—so wet for me. Look at you, baby, takin' me so good. My perfect little slut."

"Yours," you slur, hands scrabbling at his shoulders, your head dropping back against the wall, throat exposed and begging for his mouth. "Love your dick, Jay. Love you. Love you so much."

"Love you too, baby," he grunts, barely coherent as your walls flutter around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he can barely pull back without you chasing him. "Love this messy little pussy. Gonna fuck you stupid right here, doll. Gonna make you cum on my dick, and then I'm gonna stuff you full of cum. Even if it gets me arrested."

The words shoot straight to your core, making your pussy clamp down around him so sweet and snug that Jason has to grit his teeth, his hips stuttering just for a second as heat flashes down his spine.

"Fuck—just like that, baby," he breathes, voice low, vibrating against your neck. "Keep squeezin' me like that, doll, you're gonna milk me dry."

The sound of your cunt taking him is fucking obscene, a slick, messy squelch every time he pulls out, followed by a wet, filthy slap as he fucks back in, balls-deep. It echoes off the brick walls, mixing with his ragged grunts and your soft, breathless moans, and it's so fucking dirty it makes his cock twitch inside you.

His hands cup your ass, those big, strong hands lifting and spreading you, kneading your soft flesh as he works you up and down his cock like you're weightless, his fingers sinking deep enough to leave bruises tomorrow.

The sweet scent of your arousal fills his nose, thick and heady in the cool night air, and Jason can't help himself. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep like he's getting high off the smell of your pussy.

"Always so fuckin' sweet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

His tongue flicks out to taste the sweat beading there before he sucks at your neck, hard and messy, leaving dark bruises like a brand. He soothes the sting with his tongue, a lazy, possessive stroke that makes you whimper and tighten your grip in his hair, tugging at the strands like you're trying to keep him exactly where he is.

He doesn't give a fuck if you pull every single strand out, doesn't give a shit if you ruin his scalp, because all that matters is the way your pussy feels. So fucking soft, so hot, clenching around him like you were made to take his dick. His thighs burn from the angle, his back sticky under his shirt, but none of it registers because all he can think about is how fucking good you feel, how perfectly you fit around him.

Jason knows, deep down, that this is fucking insane. He's not supposed to be fucking you in an alley in Bristol. Usually, he's the one talking you down when you're drunk and horny, steering you home with that cocky little grin, promising to fuck you into the mattress the second you walk through the door. But tonight, reason flew out the window the second you dragged him into the shadows, panties already soaked, begging for his dick like a needy little slut.

And fuck, how's he supposed to resist you when you look at him like that? When you sound like this? All soft, breathless little moans, spilling past your kiss-swollen lips as you clutch at him like you'll die if he stops? When your body trembles in his hands, your slick running down his balls, every ragged little breath carrying his name?

"Jason," you whisper, so soft and sweet it fucking kills him, your voice all wrecked from the way he's been fucking you open. "So big, baby. Feels so good."

"Yeah?" His voice drops, rough and husky, fingers digging into your ass just a little harder as he fucks you deeper, cock grinding against that soft spot inside you that makes you tremble all over. "This dick's yours, doll. Made to stretch this sweet little pussy. You're perfect, baby—fuck, you're perfect for me."

Your nails rake down his back, short little scrapes through his shirt that make his abs flex, and Jason growls low in his throat, biting at your neck, at your shoulder, anywhere he can sink his teeth into.

"So good, doll. So fuckin' tight. My messy little slut, all drunk and desperate for my dick. Gonna fuck you until you can't even stand, baby."

Your walls pulse around him like you're already close, your breath hitching in soft, uneven moans, and Jason groans against your skin, fucking you harder, faster, losing any semblance of control. His hips slap against yours, your slick painting his skin, his cock so soaked it glides into you with filthy ease.

"C'mon, doll," he whispers against your ear, voice dark and sweet, dripping filth like honey. "Be my good girl and cum for me, yeah? Let me feel you soak my dick. Let me ruin this pretty little pussy."

Jason's grip shifts, just slightly, and the angle hits different—deeper, somehow rougher, but the real kicker is how his hips grind up against your clit every time he bottoms out, his skin rubbing over that swollen little bundle of nerves.

It's not even intentional at first, just the natural press of his body against yours in this position, but once he hears the choked little moan you make, he fucking locks onto it like a bloodhound, making sure to grind against you every time his cock stretches you open.

Your head falls back, clunking lightly against the brick, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in closer, deeper. "Gonna cum," you gasp, voice thin, whiny and so fucking needy Jason feels his cock twitch inside you. "Jay—gonna cum, baby, please—"

"Yeah, you are," he rasps, kissing you quick and filthy, all tongue and teeth, biting at your lower lip before pulling back to look at you, all fucked-out and perfect. "Cum on my dick, baby. Make a mess all over me."

His thrusts turn deep and shallow, grinding against your clit with every stroke, the fat head of his cock dragging over that sweet little spot inside you until your legs start to shake. Your whole body tenses, back arching off the wall as your cunt pulses around him, gushing so hard it drips down his cock, slicking up his thighs and the inside of yours, messy and obscene and so fucking good.

"OhmyfuckingGod," you gasp, the words running together into a high-pitched moan, your body trembling in his hands.

You're loud—too loud—and Jason clamps his hand over your mouth again, shushing you in that low, dangerous tone that always makes your cunt clench.

"Shhh, doll. You wanna get us caught?" he murmurs, right against your ear. "I'll stop. I fuckin' will. I'll pull out and leave you drippin', you keep bein' so fuckin' loud."

You shake your head wildly, wide, desperate eyes looking up at him, your hands clutching at his shoulders like your life depends on it. You can't stop now, you need his cum, need him to fuck it into you so deep it sticks, so deep you feel him for days.

Jason knows. Of course he knows. Knows how much you love it when he pumps you full, knows how fucked-out and blissed you get when you feel him leak out of you, warm and thick and messy.

He's just about to give you what you want when—

The flash of red and blue lights paints the alley in sharp neon. You both freeze.

Jason's heart fucking stops, then kicks up so hard he can feel it in his teeth, every muscle in his body going taut like a wire ready to snap. Your eyes go wide, mouth opening in a silent gasp, fingers digging into his back hard enough to leave crescent marks through his shirt.

"Shhh, baby," he whispers again, this time more soothing than stern, his hand smoothing over your hip like that's gonna calm either of you down. "If you're quiet, they're not even gonna know we're here."

You nod fast, lip caught between your teeth, eyes darting to the mouth of the alley where the cop car slows, brake lights flaring red through the shadows.

Jason's heart pounds, his cock still buried balls-deep in your cunt, and this might actually be the stupidest, most reckless shit he's ever done—which is really saying something, considering his track record.

The car idles there for a beat too long, and you start to panic for real, breath coming too fast, your fingers clutching at him, but Jason dips down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his voice low and calm.

"Hey. It's okay, baby. They're just bored. Ain't got shit to do out here. They'll move."

And they do, after what feels like a fucking lifetime, the car finally rolls past the alley, the glow of the lights fading into the night.

"See, baby? Told you. We're good."

He grins, kissing you again, slow and sweet at first, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper, the kiss turning sloppy and filthy all over again. Tongues sliding together, your moans humming right into his mouth, his cock twitching inside you.

"Now," Jason mutters between kisses, "where the fuck were we?"

He starts moving again, lifting you in his arms like you weigh nothing, slamming you back down onto his cock, the force of it making your whole body bounce, your slick cunt taking him so easy now after you came all over him.

Jason fucks you hard, not fast, not hurried, but with deep, brutal strokes, splitting you open every time, grinding against your clit at the end of each thrust until your breath stutters and your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back against the wall.

"Fuck, baby," Jason groans, forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged, hands locked around your waist, holding you tight like you might slip through his fingers. "You're so fuckin' tight. You feel that, doll? Feel how perfect this little pussy fits around my dick?"

You moan, soft and breathless, nails raking down his back, and Jason fucking loves it. Loves how wild you get for him, how no matter how many times he's fucked you, you're still so damn tight around him.

"Love this pussy, baby," he mutters, voice thick and low, "love ruinin' you. My messy little slut, all drunk and dripping for me. Fuckin' perfect."

He can't stop kissing you, can't stop tasting your lips, your tongue, the little whimpers you feed him between kisses, his hips never slowing, driving into you over and over, fucking you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.

He knows you need to get the fuck out of here before the cops come back, before some nosey old lady comes out of that wine bar and catches you. But your pussy's too good, too sweet and snug, and if he doesn't cum soon, he might actually lose his mind.

Jason's pace shifts—rougher now, driven by that primal need to fill you up, to mark you inside and out, to make sure no one could even think about touching you after this. His thrusts slam into you with brutal precision, the thick length of his cock dragging along every slick, swollen inch of your cunt, stretching you wide around him, splitting you open over and over until your pussy feels raw and tender and so fucking full it's like you can't take a breath without feeling him buried deep inside you.

He knows you can feel every vein, every ridge, the blunt head of his cock grinding right against your cervix, and fuck, you're so wet. You're dripping all over him: down his thighs, pooling between you, every thrust making a filthy squelch echo down the alley. If anyone walked past right now, there wouldn't be a doubt what's happening here.

Not with the way your slick coats his cock, makes every thrust slippery and obscene, not with the way your breathy little moans hitch every time he bottoms out, not with the way his hips slap against yours, skin sticky with sweat and arousal.

Your thoughts are a fucking mess, the only things running through your drunk, fucked-out brain are Jason, dick, cum, more. You can't think past the way his cock stretches you, how perfect it feels to be pinned up like this, taken apart by him like you're nothing but a toy, his strong arms the only thing keeping you up. You swear you can feel him everywhere, like he's inside your bones, like the next time you take a step you'll still feel the heavy weight of him between your legs.

He kisses you again, messy and desperate, tongues sliding together, teeth clashing, spit slicking up your chin, but neither of you give a fuck. Your fingers knot in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him grunt into your mouth, and he swears he could cum from just this. From the taste of you, the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the soft little whimpers you spill into his mouth every time his cock hits that sweet spot.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, forehead pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple, "this pussy's so fuckin' messy. So fuckin' tight. Can barely move, you're clenching so hard. You gonna cum again for me, doll? Gonna make a mess all over my dick?"

You nod, whining, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes because it's too much—too good, too deep, too full—but you don't want him to stop. "Please, Jay, wanna cum with you, wanna feel you fill me up."

"Yeah?" His thrusts speed up, hips snapping into you hard and fast, dragging you down onto him like a ragdoll. "Wanna feel me cum inside this needy little pussy? Stuff you so full it leaks out of you? You fuckin' love it, don't you?"

You whimper, nails biting into his skin, legs tightening around his waist, and you're so fucking close, right on the edge, your whole body buzzing, heat coiling low in your belly, until one perfect grind of his cock against your clit sends you over, your cunt fluttering around him, sucking him in so deep.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," you chant, head falling back against the wall, eyes rolling back, body shaking in his grip as you gush all over him, slick dripping down his cock, onto the pavement, messy and obscene.

"Fuck—there you go, baby. Fuckin' soak me," Jason groans, his rhythm stuttering, hips jerking, grip bruising around your waist. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

And then he's right behind you, cock throbbing, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, hot and heavy, pumping against your cervix until you can feel it everywhere, until you swear it's gonna leak out of your mouth.

His head drops to your shoulder, mouth open against your skin, breath ragged as his hips keep moving, slow, deep thrusts fucking his cum deeper into you, even though it's already dripping down his dick, slicking up your inner thighs.

But he's not done—not yet.

You barely catch your breath before he starts moving again, overstimulated and tender, but his dick's still hard, still hungry, and he loves you like this. Drunk on him, too dumb to think about anything except the way he fills you up, the way he uses you like his personal fucktoy.

"Jason," you slur, clinging to him, nails digging into his scalp, his back, anywhere you can reach, "too much—too much—"

"You can take it, baby," he purrs, kissing you again, softer now, but still deep, still filthy. "Know you can take it for me. One more, yeah? Be my good girl."

And fuck, of course you're his good girl. Of course you'll give him one more.

He pounds into you harder, faster, sloppy and desperate, the sound of skin on skin mixing with the wet squelch of your cunt, the sweet scent of your arousal thick in the air, his nose buried in your neck, sucking messy bruises into your skin as his fingers grip your ass, kneading and spreading you, watching the way his cock disappears inside you over and over again.

Your thoughts are gone, totally fucked out, only able to focus on the way he fills you, the way his cum squelches out around his cock every time he thrusts back in.

And Jason? Jason's fucking feral, eyes locked on the sight of his cock splitting you open, cunt so swollen and puffy, all slicked up with both of you, and all he can think about is how fucking perfect you are.

"Look at you, baby," he whispers, voice low and reverent, fingers sliding between your bodies to rub your clit, even though you're already so sensitive you're trembling. "My perfect little pussy. Made to take me. Made to get fucked dumb, stuffed full of my cum. My sweet girl."

And that's all it takes, one more twist of his fingers, one more deep thrust, and you're cumming again, body jerking in his hands, cunt milking him for every last drop.

Jason kisses you through it, drinking down your whimpers, your soft little cries, soothing you with his tongue even as his hips finally slow, his cock still thick and heavy inside you, keeping every messy drop right where it belongs.

"Good girl," he breathes against your lips, forehead resting against yours, hands smoothing over your hips, "my perfect, messy girl."

Your body is deadweight in his arms, completely boneless and blissed out, every limb heavy with exhaustion and the sweet, drugged haze of post-fuck bliss. You're still trembling, but not just from the aftershocks. The cool night air prickles at your exposed skin, goosebumps pebbling over your arms, your thighs, the still-damp mess between your legs.

Jason feels it immediately, the way your soft, bare skin shivers against his, and it sends a twist of guilt through his gut—fucking you into a fucking alley like some horny teenager. But truth be told, it was your idea.

But before he can even say anything, your hands cup his face, small fingers curled around the rough edges of his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and you kiss him. It's slow this time—messy, sure, still tasting like beer and sweat and something sweet that's all you—but it lingers, softer, deeper, your tongue curling into his mouth, tracing along his teeth, savoring him like you need to commit the taste of him to memory.

You're still trembling, but the heat between your bodies eases it just a little, your fingers combing through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp as you melt into him, the kiss lasting long enough that his dick gives a lazy twitch inside you again, still hard even after he just filled you to the brim.

Finally, you pull back, lips red and swollen, your face glowing with the kind of fucked-out bliss that makes his chest ache with pride.

He smirks down at you, brushing a strand of hair off your face as he mutters, "You're fuckin' insane, pretty girl."

You giggle, that sweet little drunken giggle that makes his cock twitch again, and your head tilts back against the wall. "I thought I was gonna die without your dick, baby."

He groans, shaking his head, but there's no real exasperation there, just affection under the rasp of his voice. "Yeah, like I said. Fuckin' insane."

But you're already nuzzling into his neck, soft lips brushing his skin, your breath warm and sleepy against his throat. You smell like sweat and sex, all wrapped up in that sweet scent that's all you, and his arms tighten around you without thinking.

His lips press to the side of your head, lingering there as he murmurs, "C'mon, we need to get you home, yeah?"

You pout, face still buried in his neck. "Can't move. 'M tired. And cold."

"I know, baby," he soothes, one big hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I know. I'll carry you."

You scoff weakly, lifting your head just enough to squint up at him. "We're far from home."

"So?" he shrugs, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't act like you weigh a ton of fuckin' bricks."

You giggle again, arms going slack around his neck as you settle more comfortably into his hold, cheek squished against his shoulder. Jason's hands ease under your thighs, holding you up as gently as he can while he slowly pulls out, your slick warmth clinging to his cock, your messy cunt fluttering around nothing as his cum immediately starts to drip down.

You whimper softly at the loss, fingers curling into his shirt, but before you can complain, he's already reaching down, sliding your panties back up over your swollen cunt. Not to keep you modest—no, that ship sailed about four orgasms ago—but just to keep as much of his cum inside you as possible. He watches the way the lace darkens immediately, soaked through from the mess he made of you, and his cock twitches again in the cool air.

He sets you down carefully, but your knees buckle instantly, legs still shaking too hard to hold you up. "Jesus, baby," he chuckles, steadying you with one arm as he tucks his cock back into his jeans, adjusting them like he didn't just ruin you against an alley wall. "Gonna have to work on your stamina."

"Don't be mean," you pout, swaying a little as he smooths your skirt back down over your thighs, not that it covers much, but at least it's an attempt at decency.

Then he grabs his jacket from your shoulders, wrapping it around you properly this time, tugging your arms through the sleeves before zipping it all the way up. It's way too big, swallowing your smaller frame whole, and the sight makes him laugh. Your fucked-out face peeks up at him from inside the oversized jacket, makeup smeared, mascara smudged under your eyes, lips still swollen and shiny with spit and his kisses.

You pout harder at his laugh, but it only makes him grin wider. "Shut up."

"Never," he says, scooping you back into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. You try to protest weakly, but he shushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just let me take care of you, baby. Bet those pretty little feet already hurt in those heels."

And you can't even argue because he's fucking right, and honestly? Being carried sounds pretty nice right now.

Jason's grip adjusts as he walks, arms cradling you tighter to his chest, your body boneless and pliant in his hold. You're so out of it, head resting against his shoulder, lips slightly parted, soft breath warming his skin every few seconds. His jacket drowns you, the sleeves hanging past your hands, and he can feel the damp heat between your thighs seeping into the fabric where you're curled against him.

You're a mess, hair sticking to your forehead, skin sticky with sweat, makeup smudged in every direction, and his cum still leaking slowly down your thigh, leaving shiny streaks against your skin. But fuck if you aren't the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

He carries you easily, years of strength training making your weight feel like nothing. His feet move on autopilot, familiar with the route home, but his mind? That's a fucking mess.

Because Jason Todd doesn't do this. Doesn't fuck his girl drunk in a dirty alley with the risk of cops busting them. He's the one who's usually dragging your ass home before you get yourself into trouble, lecturing you about safety, tucking you into bed with water and painkillers. But tonight?

Tonight you begged so sweetly, moaned so filthy, kissed him so needy that all his common sense evaporated. And now he's here, hauling your wrecked body home, knowing you're gonna be sore as hell tomorrow—all his fault. And he can't even bring himself to regret it.

The door creaks softly when he shoulders it open, the apartment dim and quiet, and by the time he crosses the threshold, you're completely asleep against him. Your breath is soft and steady, face smushed into his neck, lips still a little wet from those sloppy kisses you couldn't stop giving him.

He sighs, kissing the top of your head before carrying you straight to the bathroom, flicking the light on with his elbow. The bright light makes you stir, a soft whimper leaving your throat, but you don't wake until he starts peppering little kisses across your face. Your nose first, then your forehead, then your cheeks, until your lashes flutter, and you blink up at him, all confused and sleepy and perfect.

"We're home, baby," he murmurs, voice soft.

You look around, eyes squinting at the light, brow furrowing as you take in the bathroom. "Huh?"

It's so adorably confused, so genuine, that Jason can't help but laugh.

"Yeah, doll," he grins, setting you down on wobbly feet. "We made it."

You sway a little, legs still weak, and he steadies you with one hand while the other shrugs his jacket off your shoulders, tossing it over the counter. Then he sinks to his knees, big hands cupping your ankles as he carefully unbuckles your heels, sliding them off one by one.

His palms rub over your skin, easing the ache, and he leans in to press a kiss to your calf before standing again. "Feet hurt?"

You nod sleepily, arms looping lazily around his neck, and he smiles. "Told you."

He gets the water running, warm but not too hot, and undresses you like you're made of glass, peeling the sweat-damp top and skirt from your skin, sliding your panties down those shaky legs, until you're bare and glowing under the bright bathroom light.

His own clothes come off fast, jeans and t-shirt kicked into the corner, and then he's guiding you under the spray, his big body crowding in behind you, keeping you steady.

You whine, soft and pitiful, as the water hits your oversensitive skin. "So tired," you mumble, cheek pressed to his chest.

"I know, baby," he soothes, hands moving quickly—gentle but efficient, washing away your makeup, the sweat and cum and alley grime, fingers gliding between your legs, over your thighs, along your back.

Every protest, every sleepy complaint, gets kissed away—a kiss to your shoulder, your temple, your lips. By the time he's rinsed you off, you're barely awake, your body slumping against him as he wraps you in a towel and carries you straight to bed.

You hit the mattress face-first, towel half hanging off, and you're out like a light in under five seconds.

Jason watches you for a second, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Hopeless."

He tries—he really does—to dress you at least in one of his shirts, but you don't even budge, and honestly? If you wanna sleep naked, who the fuck is he to stop you? Less work for him in the morning. He tosses the towels back into the bathroom, pulls on a pair of boxers, and slides into bed beside you.

The second his body heat hits you, you roll into him, face pressed to his chest, soft thigh hitching over his hip like you can't stand to have any space between you. His arm curls around your waist automatically, palm sliding up the curve of your ass, along your back, tracing lazy patterns across your bare skin.

He's still thinking about you, about tonight, about how the fuck you've got him wrapped around your little finger so tightly that one pout can ruin every ounce of self-control he's got. And it should piss him off. Should make him wanna teach you a lesson. But instead, it just makes him want to ruin you again, until you forget your own fucking name.

"Insane," he mutters into your hair, mouth curling into a grin.

But you're his insane, and that's all that fucking matters.

[ddejavvu]

hiii may i please request smitten!reader x sirius black where reader likes to squish his cheeks, play with his hair, and pepper his face with kisses ?

Sirius should relish the feeling of your hands tangling in his grown-out locks, but the second he feels your hand snake into his tresses he yelps akin to his animal counterpart.

"No, no, not the hair!" He pleads, but it falls on deaf ears as you use it to tug him backwards against you. He'd been scribbling something in James's notebook, probably a raunchy drawing of some sort, but his quill falls to the grass in defeat as he slumps into your arms.

You wrap them around his throat, ensuring he's sufficiently trapped before enacting your terrible plot against him. You start with his forehead, the smooth skin that's closest to your mouth, puckering your glossed lips and landing kiss after kiss against him. He squirms, before you've even gotten to his cheeks, and you feel your lip gloss wearing off more and more with each smooch. It's not tinted but it shines in the light filtering through the trees above you, sparkling against his reddening face.

"Darling, I- I can't breathe!" His voice is muffled as you kiss at his nose, and you only redouble your efforts in an attempt to prevent him from speaking at all.

His friends snicker at his misfortune but don't attempt to fight you off where you've got your arms locked around Sirius's shoulders. They know it's useless by now, and you move on to terrorizing his pink cheeks with the last of your lip gloss. It's barely there anymore, and you use it up pressing a fat kiss to the apple of his right cheek. His nose is scrunched in discomfort but you know he's faking it because he hasn't fought you off yet. If he really wanted to, he could tear himself out of your grip and leave you laying on the forest floor, so you know all of his dramatics are just for show.

"Am I done?" He asks tentatively, as you release your hold on him, your lip gloss no longer spread over your lips but now glistening on Sirius's skin.

"You're done." You decree, letting him sit up from where he'd fallen helplessly into your lap, "You're lucky I didn't bring my lip gloss with me or I'd reapply."

"I've gotta hide that tube," Sirius grumbles, but his cheeks still have a pinkish hue as he rips at grass beneath his fingers, "My face hurts, y'know? You squish it around and it aches for days."

"Oh, big baby," You gush, reaching out to pinch at his cheeks. He whines like someone much younger than he is, and you let him wrestle you away, "Things could be worse. I could've been wearing lipstick. Would you like that next time? Bright red lipstick?"

"I'll stick with the gloss." Sirius decides, reaching up to smudge some off of his cheek, and popping his thumb into his mouth, "At least this stuff tastes good."

"Like marshmallow." You lick the bare remnants off of your own mouth, "But the peach one is better."

"I like the peach one." Sirius muses, "It's not too sticky to wash off of my cheeks."

"Lucky for us, this stuff's like glue," James snickers, slapping a dirty handful of foliage against Sirius's glossy cheek before he even knows it's coming, "C'mon Moony, let's stick leaves to his face!"

"No! Prongs," Sirius groans, taking off in a run through the forest as James gives chase. The two run laps around you and Remus, but James has a chaser's build and gets Sirius tackled and pinned easily.

"Get ready, Padfoot," James grins down at his supine friend, dirt and leaves gathered in his fists as Sirius struggles in vain, "I kiss rougher than Y/N does."

[totalrager]

Bill prefers a more hands-on approach when it comes to gaming.

cw: set between late 90s/early 2000s, fem!reader, r is not a #gamergirl for plot purposes, ooc to the max bc bill isn’t allowed within 50 feet of the opposite sex :P

Nailed to the wooden door, painted in bold, red letters, is a giant sign that reads ‘NO GIRLS ALLOWED’.

“You break a single thing in here, and I’ll call the cops, I swear to god.”

“Great, anything else?"

“Touch my comics, and you’re dead.” 

The threat rolls off your shoulders as quickly as he said it.

It’s been like this ever since you walked through the front door.

After getting a call, at 2 a.m. might you add, Bill had been real adamant about you coming over; something about his usual visitors being 'too busy doing other stupid bullshit' and wanting to show off his mad skills at a new game he'd purchased.

Had you not been on the verge of falling back asleep, you would've called him on his shit and made him admit that he really just wanted to see you.

Regardless, and in hopes of putting an end to the semi-rantish call, you said yes.

Bill, having finally gone through his extensive rule list and coming close to having you sign a contract, unlocks the wooden door and pushes it open; the worn-out stairs squeak loudly as the two of you make your descent into the dark room.

As if it were second nature, he felt around in the air for a moment before yanking on a dangling cord. The only source of light reveals his magnum opus.

The basement was exactly as you pictured it.

Hanging on almost every wall that didn't have a giant bookshelf pushed in front of it, several shelves were bearing multiple miniature knick-knacks and large posters featuring what you assumed was every single sci-fi movie to have ever existed.

Towards one of the corners of the room was a beat-up table covered in a fictional map, surrounded by over a dozen mini figurines; a battle having clearly taken place the night before.

But what stuck out to you the most was that it was noticeably clean.

Y'know, for a guy.

Aside from the clutter of personal belongings that bordered on a novice level of hoarding, there was not a single speck of dust.

No crumpled papers, bits of plastic, fast food wrappers, or anything. You could be mistaken, but you’re almost positive he vacuumed, too; Hell, even the tiny waste basket shoved next to the couch was empty.

Was this all because you were coming over? Did he want to make a good impression? 

The thought alone sends your guts aflutter with some bizarre version of flattery.

As your gaze flits all around the room, you feel a heat radiating from your host’s laser-focused gaze aimed directly at your face.

“What?”

“You look… different.”

Okay, so what if you actually put some effort into your appearance, doused yourself in your favorite perfume, and put on your nicest pair of jeans?

It’s not like you wanted to look somewhat decent for the guy you were maybe-kinda-sorta seeing or anything; even if said guy couldn’t give any less of a damn about how you looked.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn’t see through your thinly-veiled ruse, “I always look like this. Are you just now paying attention?”

God only knows the amount of ridicule the little weasel’d dogpile you with if he found out you got all ‘prettified’ just for him.

Plus, his ego would over-inflate to unprecedented levels and take out all mankind like a modern-day version of the meteor that ended the reign of dinosaurs.

Luckily, with one last eye flicker and a low, noncommittal ‘hm’ from the back of his throat, the brief subject is dropped.

Guess you both did some light primping.

He moves further into the room, not before throwing back a witty 'You should take a picture; it'll last longer.'.

“I can’t help it; it’s not every day my pookie bear lets me into his holy sanctum to play with his little toys.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, earning a disturbed sneer in return.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Pookie bear?” you feign innocence. 

“Yes, that. Only pussywhipped normies use that cutesie crap and I refuse to subject myself to such standards.”

“Whatever you say, snookums.”

“I so loathe you.” Bill let out one last aggravating sigh before busying himself with the gaming system he’d mentioned over the phone.

As he connects a couple of wires to his TV, you awkwardly hang around for something more to do, settling on picking at a hang nail just to have something to busy your hands with.

The solution comes when you make eye contact with a nearby shelf, a couple of out-of-box action figures practically beckoning you over.

“Ooh! What if we each grabbed one and made them kiss and junk? Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

You snag a figure that had a very Baywatch David Hasselhoff-y vibe with puffier hair and a gun strapped to his hip and deepen your voice, holding it up close to Bill, “Listen to the chick, punk. She’s got the right idea.”

A certain lasso-handling heroine is also thrown into the mix as you adjust your tone to be more smooth and confident.

“I agree, Please help me declare my undying love for…” You pause for a moment in an attempt to recall the gunslinger’s name, “that guy.”

Bill scoffs 'unamusingly' at your childish display and (lightly) swats the hand holding the intergalactic smuggler away from his face, “Like Han Solo would ever be caught dead making out with a woman who wears her panties out in public to fight crime.”

“Pssh, He’d be lucky if Wonder Woman even glanced in his general direction.” 

He pauses, “How do you know who Wonder Woman is?”

“Can’t tell you; it’ll take the mystery out of our relationship.” (You thumbed through a stack of comics when he wasn’t looking.) “Are you going to show me how to play or what?”

As if on cue, the TV’s noisy static blaring through the speakers smoothens out to a more upbeat and inviting tune, making way to display the psychedelic home screen of one Mario Kart 64.

You let out a delighted ‘oooo!’ before plopping down next to your kinda-sorta boyfriend on his circular carpet as he fiddles around with two controllers, ensuring that both are fully functional and cooperating.

Bill messes around with the game select screen, making sure to pick two players before moving on to the character select screen, the more exciting of the two.

There are eight options for you to choose from, ranging from a human plumber to... you want to say a punk dragon with a mohawk? 

Before you can make a decision, you're given some unwarranted advice: "You can be peach, obviously."

“Are you saying that because I’m dainty and pretty like her?”

“Uh, no. She’s pink and the only girl.”

As appealing as that sounds, another character had already caught your eye. “Forget that. I want to be the green dino thingy.”

“Yoshi? Out of the question, I already chose him.”

“No way, I want him!”

“No, fuck off! I picked him first!”

“BILL, PLEASEEE!”

“Get off of me!”

———

After the two of you take the time to have a well-rounded and productive discussion ("STOP THROWING CUSIONS AT ME!"), you come to an agreement.

“Whatever, I wanted to be Toad anyway.” He eventually concedes.

A triumphant giggle bubbles past your lips, earning a heatless scowl from Bill, as the game finally, finally begins.

You watch as a quick runthrough of the track displays itself: a hilly, rainbow-y mess set deep in outer space; cartoon logics, who were you to argue.

As the countdown begins and the competitors rev up their engines, a previously forgotten problem makes its way to the forefront of your mind. “Wait- Bill- I don’t know the controls!”

“Can’t help you, gotta win.”

And the race is on!

As he moves freely around the map and plays out maneuvers only capable of being done by someone who already knew every trick in the game, all you managed to do was move forward a couple feet, change the camera angles, and then crash straight into a wall, where you remained until the end of the race as Bill, as expected, effortlessly places first.

To add insult to injury, right before crossing the finish line, one of the last remaining CPUs nails you with a projectile. "Oh, come on!"

He lets out a victorious and annoyingly mocking cackle as the rankings are given, placing you at dead last, right underneath a literal ape.

You jut your bottom lip out in disdain, “Does unfairly beating me make you feel good about yourself, Dickey?”

“It really does. Thanks for asking.”

"Jerk."

"It's not my fault you're so bad at this."

“I am trying my-“ a sudden warmth descends upon you as a pair of flannel-covered arms wrap themselves atop of your own, “-best.”

He’s initiating contact! holy shit, holy shit, don't make any sudden moves or he’ll get spooked. Oh my god!

Bill ‘hand-holding is for douchebags’ Dickey was willingly pulling a slightly less messy version of the pottery scene from Ghost; all in the name of showing you how to play a game meant for kids.

During all this overthinking, he's also pointing out each multi-colored button and its designated purpose. 

So it's possible he doesn't consciously realize the very intimate hold he has on your right now.

Oh well, you'll take what you can get.

Is that aftershave you're smelling? Since when has he ever worn that?

“-button to perform slides on turns so you don’t lose any speed, but it’s a move for more advanced players, such as myself, and I doubt you’d be able to do it correctly.”

Wait, how long has he been talking for?

Any sound tumbling out of his mouth sounds exactly like it’s coming from one of the offscreen adults in Peanuts.

"You’re holding it wrong.”

You blink. “W-what other way is there? I don’t have three hands.”

“The controller's only meant to be held by the middle and right part.”

You nearly swallow your tongue as Bill maneuvers your hands, which were getting embarrassingly clammier by the second, into the correct position.

He then chooses another track, one that was covered in cows, and the countdown begins once again.

Except this time, once the little guy on the cloud makes it to one, instead of focusing on winning and jetting off to remain ahead of the other racers, his cart remains at a standstill next to yours. “Okay, press A to go.”

That should be easy enough to find!

One measly little A shouldn’t be an issue.

You stare down at the controller, and a beat of awkward silence hangs thickly in the air.

“Uh...”

Unseen by you, Bill rolls his eyes. “Are you new to the English language? You’re hopeless.”

He presses your thumb down, and by some odd miracle, Yoshi is finally moving forward, this time without hitting any barriers.

Like the world's most annoying teacher, he helps remind you again and again what button serves what purpose, all while keeping his hold on you.

While it initially flustered you, you started to get used to the added heat and focused on actually winning.

When he feels that you've finally got a grasp on the controls, he gives you full-reign of the controller and drops his arms; although, Bill doesn't seem to go too far, simply choosing to hang them loosely around your waist.

You don't think much of it, too preoccupied dodging a few cows whose life mission was to be run over.

"Stupid asshole," you murmur angrily under your breathe as a green plumber bumps into your kart and nearly sends you veering off course. 

The race gets even more intense when you finally manage to catch up and riding the red plumber's ass for first. 

"Throw it already, he's right fucking there!" Bill encourages, his grip tightening from excitement.

Your arm jerks to the right as if the movement will help Yoshi avoid a banana placed by the unfair CPU racer. "I'm trying, I'm trying!"

"Then throw the damn shell!"

"Stop backseat driving!"

With the checkered finish line in sight, you make the last ditch effort to twart your opponent and toss the green shell.

You both watch with bated breath as it hits the white fences along the sides like the world's most annoying pinball, inching closer and closer to its intended target before it finally makes a-

"Direct hit!"

At the absolute last second, Mario is sent toppling over like the giant tool he is, making a clear path for Yoshi, the ambitious little dinosaur, to take first place.

"I did it!" The wide grin on your face nearly splits your face in two as Yoshi lets out his victory... cheer?

You don't dwell too much on it.

Maneuvering yourself around and then tossing your arms around his neck, you relish in the small, dare you say, proud expression displayed on your boyfriend's face,  "Did you see that?" 

This time, you can see when he rolls his eyes, "Duh, I was right here." 

"How does it feel to be dating someone with better gaming skills than you?"

"Please, I could've played better than that in my sleep."

"Is that a bet I hear, Mr. Dickey?" You twirl a lock of his auburn hair in between your fingers.

You're not sure exactly when it clicks, but the sudden realization of the extremely close proximity he's placed himself in brings an abrupt end to the light teasing between you two.

Bill's entire face turns a brilliantly bright cherry red as he scrambles back over to his side of the floor, accidently knocking you on your ass and stammering the whole way, “T-tell anyone about this and I-I’ll just say you were c-coming onto me.” 

Initially, you thought that you accidentally overstepped your boundaries and caused him some grief, knowing how weird he is with physical contact, all of which is thrown out the window when he keeps glancing over at you.

You snicker, "Don't worry, I liked it too."

He sucks his teeth in what you took as dismissal, "whatever."

The tiny smile he's fighting so hard to stamp down says otherwise.

He quietly grabs his controller and returns to the map selection screen, scrolling through the submenus until he finally settles on one.

You take the silent hint and reach for yours, keeping your distance and refocusing on the screen.

As the two of you settle back in, Bill not-so-subtly scooches himself closer to you, tensing slightly when his leg makes contact.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, you just slump further into his side, leaning your head on his shoulder.

It takes every fiber in your body and then some to not squeal in pure ecstasy when he returns the small gesture by squishing his head on top of yours.

"YEAHHH, EAT SHIT!”

“WHEN DID YOU GET A RED SHELL?!”

extra:

"Hey, freak. Have you seen my sewing kit? I got a couple grudges to- what the hell?”

Jane watches in complete shock as the whirlwind formerly known as her brother frantically shoves pile after pile of trash into a large bag.

There’s a couple more just like it in terms of size piled up in the corner; right beside them is a discarded feather duster and a tangled-up vacuum cleaner.

"I didn't touch your shit," Bill calls over his shoulder, "can't you see I'm busy?"

“Since when do you clean?”

Her only answer is a grumbled 'mind your damn business' as her brother proceeds to dump last night's leftover campaign fuel into the overstuffed garbage bag in his tight grasp.

"Is it for a girl? It's a girl, isn't it?"

The younger Dickey takes a moment to soak in the fact that her brother, the selfish bastard that couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about other people, was actively making an effort to try and impress another human being and allowing them to step foot into his ‘nerd cave’.

You really can’t make this stuff up.

"Y'know,” she drawls after a moment of complete silence, an almost cat-like smirk stretching itself across her pale cheeks, “for a while there, I thought you weren't interested in girls."

"Oh, for the love of- GET OUT!"

[witerh]

Learning Cowboy Hat Etiquette || re:di boyfriend!leon

NSFW!

warnings: soft/dom, porn with some (no) plot, fluff and dirt, bites, p in v, sex on the couch, face sitting counts, ride on the tongue, aftercare, leon is mean, he doesn't talk much, leon kinda corny

notes: omg i can't wait for the trailer (which should be) where capcom show us at least jill and leon and my fingers will forget what a vacation is + sorry for mistakes in the drabble i was drank O⁠_⁠o

rating: explicit

summary: a borrowed for you hat and some curiosity of yours about leon's bull riding days brought you both to the point that you don't know etiquette cowboy hat at all. he will fix it.

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask suddenly, turning your gaze away from the tv and the shitty movie they had opted for that evening.

“Miss what?” he leans back, studying your face with a glowing curiosity and pretending to be a fool for you. “Lemme a hint for old man.”

“Rodeo.” you shrug, draping your legs across his lap.

“Hmmm, sometimes, I guess. Why are you asking?”

You had often wondered how much of that part of his past sculpted this body, the way it pushed and pulled and flexed and rippled. Had his years of fighting buck for buck been responsible for the perfect, hard lines of his abdomen? Tanned juicy biceps? The thick ropes of muscle in his arms? In the dark, you wondered shamelessly if it was responsible for the fluid rut of his hips when he fucked her.

“Just wondering. You don't really talk about it much.”

“Well, not sure I mentioned it, but getting kicked in the head repeatedly tends to take the fun out of things.” the corner of his lips twitchs, fighting a self-satisfied smirk at his own joke.

“What do you miss most about it?" It is earnest, the way you press. He shifts on the couch, the chatter of the movie fading idly away. There is something more to the coy look you are wearing, something that made him swallow thickly despite himself.

“I dunno,” his laugh was wary, and he folds his arms close to his chest. He feels, somehow, there was an expected answer, one he is beholden to without knowing. “I dunno. I guess I miss that moment where it just clicks, y'know? You get the rhythm of it, and it doesn't feel like fighting anything, just working with it.”

As he speaks, his features softened, blurred by dreamy memory of a time long enough ago that the rose-colored tinge has nearly disappeared.

“Oh. I thought you would say winning,” you admit with a shrug. “but I guess that's cool too.”

His laugh showers over you, curving your lips contentedly. You lean over to kiss him before standing from the couch and vanishing through the doorway, a breeze perfumed with sunlight and vanilla left in her wake.

He crooks an arm behind his head, thought cinching his brow. Though he is attempting to determine the gambit, decode your game, there simply isn't time before you sauntered back towards the couch, hips taking liberties as they sway. You are clad only in a tee shirt and black panties, slung low on your hips. He draggs his sight up your body, from the long, tender spanse of your legs to the breathtaking flutter in your hips, and finally up to your luminous face. On your head, he nots in sheer delight, is his hat. You toss him a sly glance from beneath its wide. He thought about how much he wanted those smirking lips pressed to his.

“You know, you're breaking all kinds of hat etiquette, sweetheart,” he tuts, the growing strain in his voice rival only by the strain between his thighs. “wearing another man's hat is a no-go. And inside too.”

“I think you could make an exception for me,” you purr, lithe footsteps bringing you directly in front of him. Your lowered register lands on his ear like a sedative, he can feel himself melting and moulding to your mercy. And you are right—an exception can be made, one he is quite willing to concede.

“Well you know what that means then, don't you?” he smirks, fastening his hands to the sloping curves of your waist.

“Tell me.”

"Means you're all mine, sweetheart." he ushers you towards him, your thighs coming to straddle either side of his lap, feverishly painting the hollow of your throat and the curve of your neck with kisses.

"I can live with that. And besides," you manage between sighs, "what else am I supposed to wear when I ride?"

He didn't have to search for meaning in your words, the roll of your hips over his promised wickedness of the highest order. He groans, the edges of his voice running raw. Grip tightening possessively around your waist, he bucked his hips against yours.

“I'll give you something to ride, honey.”

The pulsing at your core was desperate, need dousing your with each snap of his hips. You ground against him, greedy for the friction, greedy for the eager rise you could feel beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

When he crushed his lips to yours, knocking back the brim of the hat, their kiss was ravenous as a man starved. His fingers slipped up your ribcage, brushing over the curves and contours up to the round of your breasts, a rising pride in his gut as he cupped them, as he felt the peak of your nipples beneath your shirt. He drew one hand higher still, curling it around your neck. His index finger and thumb rested beneath either side of your jaw, poised above your scrambling pulse, his palm pressed to the flushed skin of your throat.

“Think you can take it?” he gruffed, tightening his fingers only slightly, just enough to make your blood quicken, to make your breaths turn ragged and lurid.

“Please-”

“Show me you can handle it,” he inclined your chin towards his face. “show me you can take it.”

You ground against him again, breathless and desperate and hungry. The tug of cotton between them made her whine, the thought of what it kept from your almost too much to bear. One of his hands had anchored at your waist, thumbing the peak of your hipbone and urging with each clothed rut. You whimpered, the words stolen from your as a new flood of desire found its way between your legs. Need was making speech impossible, incoherent mumbles all you could manage. You needed this. Needed him. Needed something to soothe what was careening through your veins like a drug.

“Need some help there?” he chuckled, the gravel in his voice only serving to pull at the threads that made your come undone. Gently, he eased you off, just long enough to rid himself of his shirt, then his pants and the boxers beneath. You were marvelled for a moment at the etched columns of his body, the flexed sinew of his thighs, perfect, tanned skin over fortified muscle. It was enough to make your throat run dry.

Stepping out of your underwear and shirt, you discarded them altogether and clambered back into his lap. The searing line of his hardness was nestled maddeningly beneath your, the staccato of his heartbeat thrumming between their skin.

“Last chance to back out,” he rasped, the solid planes of his body trembling with the effort it demanded to not fuck her straight into the couch. He had to keep his mind steadied on the game at hand, intoxicated by the thought of bygone wins that she so lovingly made him recall.

“I can take it, Leon..." you brushed it off, the ember of lust flickering in your eyes were enough to illuminate his most salacious fantasies.

“Prove it.” he goaded, a broad smirk running recklessly across his cheeks.

Breaching the tightness of your heat, you were already soaked as you took him to the hilt with a feverish whine. Tossing your head back, the tendrils of your hair brushed against your shoulder blades. The hat tipped precariously from your head, and you threw a hand up to clasp it desperately, unable to hear the low, lewd groan he rewarded your with.

You were every fantasy he had ever had made real; hips sweeping against his, lips parted in a euphoric cry, breasts so tantalizingly close he could nip and suck if he tried. But truly, it was the sight of his damn hat on your head. You were a dream. A vision. Something he was almost certain he would have to wake up from, but as he felt the flutter of her walls around him, he knew it wouldn't be any time soon.

“God, baby, you're so tight,” he growled covetously.

You had no control of the indelicate sounds falling from your lips like rain. The only anchors you knew for certain were the sculpted taper of his hips, and the faded, lended hat. It spurred in your a stubborn determination to ride out each and every thrust and aftershock, to clutch a win forged from his own lust.

“Still with me?” the words were little more than a strained groan as he prodded, delivering a wicked thrust that made the fingers of one hand root into the couch cushion behind his head.

“Mhmm...” you are humming, lucidity fleeing with each lope of your pulse.

Thoughts were drowns by the vicious snap of skin against skin, the scent of sweat and sex and whiskey and leather that makes the air around them dense. He felt the air knocking from his lungs at the obscene, divine feeling of unsheathing only to the tip before slamming into the warm, tight clasp of your pussy once more. The drag of his length through your silken walls, his languid withdrawal only to the sensitive, swollen head, drove him wild. It conjured raw, animalistic thoughts; ones that any other time would be chased off by more chivalrous sensibility.

You want to let your thoughts scatter away like stardust, to be carrying off by the carnal bliss, but a thread of competitiveness kept your bound to your goal. You still, after all, have to win. You roll you shoulders, expelling a candied sigh as you rearrange your features into a wanton glower. Some lever in your have been pulled, one that offer resolve in tandem with its unfettered lust. You demand the reigns with each push and pull of your hips, dominating the rhythm that he, until now, have been leading.

He wasn't sure when he had yield to your, when he had allowed the control to slip from his fingers like grains of sand, but he knew he wasn't regret it. Beneath his skin, white-hot pinpricks began to rise. With each thunderous roll of your hips, each sensuous flick, he was contending with his undoing. The valley between your breasts have blossomed in a flush, crystalline specks of sweat like dew rising above the skin.

He leaned forward, dropping his head to trace your sternum with his tongue. The hot, wet trail invited a whine from your, one that made your grip at his hair and pull his face flush with your skin once more. The rise and fall of your hips against him had reached a fever-pitch, the crash of his pelvis against your clit threatening to break your in two.

You were on the precipice, the pulsing ache in your sex shooting like fireworks throughout your body. All he had to do was push, and you would tumble. You were unaware, however, that they were standing atop the same peak. Her assertiveness, the silhouette of your from beneath the familiar brim, the smell and feel of your all around; he was hopeless.

Unwilling to forfeit to his undoing, he steeled, motionless for a moment.

“Hey-” you hissed, prepared to admonish him for breaking the rules, however unspoken they may be, but he unlatched from the shallow of your collarbone to offer your a wolfish grin.

“Let's see you ride something else,” he drawled.

Tilting your head, your brow furrowed. It was difficult to untangle his words from behind your hedonistic veil, but he had already shifted them. He now laid beneath your, having positioned your knees beside his ears.

Though the move was partially out of preservation of his pride, he still found himself craving the sweetness between your legs. A campaign, now, to devote himself to drawing pleasure from your with his mouth, with his hands, like a religion.

You felt the gunpowder in your veins start to ignite with the first long, flat stripe of his tongue along your slit. His glinting eyes were visible from between your thighs, his sight catching yours dangerously. It twisted something in your gut, the steady gaze he maintained while he devoured your. Your knees hugged his ears as his palms braced the round of your ass. Beneath your, his arms were firm, keeping your pinned under his wicked mercy.

Relentless teasing against your entrance made you cry out, the wildfire scorching your body threatening to consume your whole. A delicious pressure sparked as he pressed into your heat, fucking you with his tongue. You keened against the contours of his face, feeling the brush of his teeth at your clit. Her hips jerked, chasing pleasure as it teased and ebbed from his lips. He nipped and suckled and taunted, sending static through your veins. Dismissing a hand from your back, he slipped it beneath your thigh to roll a thumb over the bundle of nerves, tongue lapping hungrily at your dripping sweetness.

You have never felt your molecules turn to vapor before you met him, you have never been reduced to a supplicant, wanton wreck until he first captured your beneath his practiced mouth.

“Shit-” you seeth, writhing and wheeling as he working your swollen bud deviously with his hand. It is a petty distraction from the way he is laving at your glistening pussy with such rapt attention that it cost you the air in your lungs, the thought of anything in your mind other than his name, primal moans ripping from your throat. You have finished with a sharp gasp and a celestial ringing in your ears. Victory flooded down his cheeks and over his lips, wetting his rough bristles, honey and warm.

Even from across the length of your body, between the dip of your quaking thighs, he could see bliss storming features of yours. You are becoming untethered from orbit, spend and exhaust as he orchestrated another orgasm that crashed over like the dark of nightfall. It was cruel, he knows, to drives you to you brink once again, still in a free fall from your previous climax.

“All mine. All fuckin mine...” his lips leave yours for a moment before bitting down your bottom lip.

You were far too gone to even acknowledge his words, focusing on your release rather than anything he was saying.

“So impatient...” he groans roughly, moving his fingers in you to collect your juices, slowly and gently taking his fingers out of you, making you let out a small whimper.

But boyish ego was captaining his mind, taking command of his body, and he drops his hand to part your glistening folds. Spread open for him like a perfect bloom, his tongue once again dipped into your cunt. The bright, heady taste of her pull a shameless moan from the depths of his chest, its reverberations shooting through your. He wanted to worship and revel and languish in your forever.

You have lost count of the times bring your to ruin, though somewhere in your mind you begrudgingly ascertained he has won. Not that it mattered. Not when he had filled you and stretched you with three fingers, crooked as if in beckoning. Not when be was coaxing pleasure from each and every cell in your body, proclaiming his triumph in each whine, sigh, moan, and sob. No energy could be spared to think about their trite game, not when his mouth, hot and adoring, was fixed to your pussy.

How you remain upright, you cann't begin to say.

You feel limp, spend, giddy, but you know you cann't afford to be done just yet.

With what resolve remain and much to your chagrin, you pull free of the work of his mouth and shuffled down on the couch. You align the begging tip of his cock with your entrance and gasp brokenly as you lower yourself, letting him drive home in your. You are sensitive in ways you have not feel before, it dance with pain like a lover, the ache igniting the pleasure, the pleasure fanning the ache.

The buck of his hips are gentle, he has been flirting so dangerously with his own climax long before you bury him in your once more. He is taken by the sight of yours gingerly meeting his pace, hat still perch on your head, eyes glimmering with something beyond love. You are what he has been waiting his whole life for, even if he hasn't known it. When your hand find his cheek, brushing along his temple as you push your hips over his, he feel the coil beginning to snap, wound too tight by your heat, by your love, by your tenderness.

When he comes, it was with a bliss so entire that he was silent for a moment. It is only when the final wave of his orgasm subsides that he finally dragged in a rabid, shattered breath. He is certain you could hear his heartbeat through his sweat-beaded skin, though you can feel it in his groin, feel it hammering against of yours where they were still joined.

He finally surrenders, drawing his softening length from your with a mutual howl. You, in turn, slip the hat from your head on the floor, suddenly overcome by a pervasive vulnerability. You fit yourself into the space beside him on the couch, nuzzling against the crook of his neck with a sated smile, covering your nakedness with whatever the borrowed hat would cover.

“So... who won?” you ask suddenly, the toll of their escapade evident in the grain in your voice.

“Well, me, of course. Who can win beside me, huh?” his grin is rugged.

You swat at him playfully, rolling eyes. “Let's call it a draw. Is... is that how it works?” you giggle, delirium infecting your mind.

He kisses your forehead, the damp line of hair. “No. But I win either way,” he chucked your bottom lip, tilting your face towards his. “Because I have you, my lovely girl.”

[s-lorelei]

I personally feel like Harry Potter is one of those franchises that's been practically corrupted by its fandom.

The fandom should respect the author, but doesn’t.

The fandom has people in it who say:

"I don't trust JKR with her own Intellectual Property."

"She doesn't know anything about the Marauders. The world and characters belong to us now."

"She would just make all the Marauders straight, white, and cis." (Not everything has to be gay? Wtf)

It's HER story. None of you children (or adults with immature minds) have any right to say that she doesn't know her characters. If she hadn't written them in the first place, you'd have nothing to do, would you? There would be no wolfstar or jegulus or marauders era to begin with.

And you guys do understand that Regulus is fucking dead, right? James and Lily got married. Remus and Tonks had Teddy. Sirius was too focused on the delusion that he thought he got his best friend back (through Harry) to give a shit about Remus. Evan Rosier was never important to the plot. Lily is actually an important character. "Pandora" Lovegood doesn't exist in the books (her name is never mentioned except on Pottermore), and, no, she isn't Evan's twin so stfu. Marlene McKinnon is mentioned once (and it's implied that she married a man). Y'all can't even get Dorcas Meadowes's name correct.

The amount of canon-divergence absurdity in fanon culture is appalling.

...

Name mention counter (in the books):

Marlene McKinnon: 1 (twice if you consider "the McKinnons" as a mention)

Pandora Lovegood: 0

Evan Rosier: 1

Dorcas Meadowes: 1

Grant Chapman: 0 (because he is an OC/self-insert)

Mary Macdonald: 1 (in a flashback)

...

Like- there is absolutely no miniscule amount of evidence that Wolfstar could've ever been anything other than old friends. I wish you guys could see that and stop making up plots and delusional headcanons. (And just because headcanons are what "you believe/think about a character" doesn't mean they don't have to be logical and actually fit into the canon story, so I don’t wanna hear it.) 🙄

And before you tell me "if you don't like it then don't read it"— I don't "read it." I don't read ATYD or Crimson Rivers or Art Heist or whatever other fics are out there that you've decided is canon now. I read the real story, y'know, the seven, very much canon, books. And I was gonna read ATYD, but once I found out how y'all treat it as the Holy Grail of the 1970s Wizarding World, I decided it wasn't my cup of tea because I want to read a fic that is canon-compliant, that doesn't push every hot character into a gay relationship, that doesn't have explicit sex involving minors, that doesn't have self-inserts..

Thanks for reading all this if you did.

(This is me venting because I hate so much of fanon and I'm about to crash out.)

If you don't agree or have nothing nice to say about this post, move along and kindly do not engage. Thank you.

[g-k444]

I take you to a party. After dinner we gather round a coffee table and decide to play poker. You are cleaning house and start getting cocky. Taking everyone's money you start flaunting it. You pop to the kitchen to get some refreshments and behind your back the rest of plot revenge. We start cheating and all of a sudden you are losing. Rinsed off all your money your pride gets the better of you so you start betting your clothing. Heels off and lost. You kneel barefoot. You lose your earrings next and then its the bracelet. Soon you're down to your underwear but you refuse to stop. You lose again and have to get your tits out. You cant cover them with your hands and cards so you give us all a show. Once you lose the panties you keep playing, offering blowjobs and your holes as payment. Eventually we decide you are so cheap that any loss constitutes free use from everyone at the party. You get gangbanged and thrown out naked. Left to walk home. Should have quit whilst you were ahead

y'know one thing game that turns me on more than aaaaaanything is pool.

such a simple game - but godfuckingdamnit - does it make me wet when i have to bend over the table to position my cue stick over my knuckles - knowing that whoever is in front or behind me either has a view of my ass when i arch my back, or from the front where they can see my tits overflowing from the tiny top i purposefully wear to show off my cleavage

Because really, pool and snooker and billards are games that men like to play... which makes it all the more fun for me, because i know just how much they love when some fresh young thing asks to play - looking like i have 0 thought in my head of what the think of me

I'm just waiting for the day that during one of these games someone decides to suggest that we make it a game where we strip or where they fuck me over the pool table for each game i lose

im not really even that good at pool.

but that's all part of the fun - because then my partner gets to just run their hand over my arm and push into my body behind me, guide me and show me the movement to hit the ball instead of jabbing the air stupidly

pool, snooker, poker - you give me a game and use my holes - and i'll be the happiest girl in the world <3

[redr0sewrites]

⚠️A/n: short, filthy, and self indulgent. literally no plot just straight up smut. also happy late birthday Aizawa !

⚠️Cw: smut, riding, semi-public sex (in his office), degradation + praise, pwnp, orgasm denial, overstimulation, dacryphilia, afab!reader

⚠️dividers

"yea? s'that feel good?" your voice is hushed against his warm skin, and his cock twitches at your tone.

Aizawa lets out a strangled groan beneath you, hips jerking up to meet yours. firm hands dig into your hips, struggling to pacify himself as you bounce up and down on his cock. the chair beneath you creaks from your shared weight, and your thighs squeeze tight around his waist.

"you should get back to work, sir," you tease, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "wouldn't want your students to see you like this, hm? getting fucked in your own workplace.. who would've known that Eraserhead was such a slut.."

"shut it," he hisses, burying his head in your neck, inhaling your scent. "you were the one who suggested this.. if anyones the slut its you, not me. now quiet down. fuck, i could lose my job over this..."

"that just makes it- hngh,,, all the more fun, hm?" you whisper, pressing sloppy kissess to his neck as you rock back and forth on his dick.

"fun, huh?" Aizawa purrs, pulling away and leaning back in his chair to watch you squirm in his lap.

"y-yeah, fun. you do know what that is, right old man?"

"ffuck, you've got a filthy mouth, y'know that?" Aizawa sneers, and his hands immediately grip your waist tight enough to bruise. in one swift motion, he lifts you up almost entirely off his cock- before slamming you back down and watching you moan. he keeps up the brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours until soft uh uh uh's from between your lips and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room.

"someone ought to teach you some manners," he hisses, admiring the way your cunt swallows his cock with every thrust. your juices gush around him as you clench, arousal overcoming you with each roll of his hips. a calloused hand reaches between your two bodies to rub circles on your clit, and Aizawa watches with practiced composure as you begin to crumble above him.

"feels s'good sir," you slur, leaning down to bury your head in his neck as your cunt squeezes around him. "m's'close," you shiver, and Aizawa nods before pressing a kiss to your temple.

"i know baby, i know. you can last a little longer f'me, can't you?"

you nod, breathless and teary eyed as he increases his pace, hips snapping against yours impossibly harder than before. the pleasure is mind numbing, and you arch into him as your clit pulses beneath his thumb. nimble fingers continue to stroke your pearl as his free hand crawls up between your shirt to palm your bouncing breasts. he squeezes a nipple between two fingers, watching as your brow furrows in pleasure.

"p-please, 'm gonna cum, i can't hold it any longer-"

"you're going to wait, or i'll stop," his voice is threatening, and you shiver at the thought of him pulling away. Aizawa notices, he always does, and leans in to capture your lips in a filthy kiss. his demeanor switches to be more comforting, almost confescendingly so, as tears begin to form at your waterline, the pleasure becoming all too much to handle.

"c'mon, baby, doing so good f'me, just last a little longer, hm?"

you whimper, and Aizawa's cock twitches inside you. he lets out a low string of curses and his pace picks up, signifying that he's just as desperate as you are.

"c'mon, honey, we'll cum together, okay? you still with me?"

you nod, moaning desperately as he continues drilling his hard cock into your cunt. the burning pleasure in your gut is practically unbearable, and his fingers, which had momentarily paused, return to circling your clit. his ministrations push you over the edge, and he nearly growls in your ear as you cum undone.

you tighten around him like a vice as your orgasm washes over you, and Aizawa twitches inside you once, twice, three times before his own orgasm overtakes him.

"shit, fffuuck honey," his hips jerk up against yours involuntarily, and he continues thrusting for a few more seconds, prolonging both of your orgasms' until overstimulation begins to creep up on you.

"A-aizawa, s'too much!"

"you can take it," he grits his teeth, pressing you down harder against his length. his pace is unrelenting, and your eyes roll back as every nerve in your body seems to light on fire.

"hngh! can't!" you mewl, tears now streaming down your face. Aizawa groans at the sight, his cock still impossibly hard. he can't deny that your tears only turn him on more, and he thrusts into you with a new purpose- he wants to see you sobbing. of course, Aizawa wants nothing more than to comfort you and keep you safe... but your whiny voice and tear stained cheeks make his cock throb.

"aw, don't cry," he murmurs, voice low and husky. "just give me one more, yea? you can do that f'me?"

"o-okay," you mewl, already feeling the coil in your stomach tightening again.

"yea, look at you, s'good f'me, my pretty little darling," he whispers, leaning in to kiss your tear stained cheeks. "you close already?"

"mhm!" you nod frantically, nuzzling into him as he chuckles.

"go on baby, you can cum," he grunts, and you do just that. you fall apart on his cock, mewling and sobbing as pure orgasmic bliss consumes you. Aizawa comes undone at the sight of your pleasure, spurting his release deep inside you. the feeling of him filling you up only turns you on more, and you give a few more exhausted rolls of your hips before collapsing against his chest, purely exhausted.

"are you okay?" he mumbles, voice dry. he gently lifts you up from your position slumped against his chest to slowly pull out of your aching cunt. you whine at the loss, thighs trembling from overstimulation as his fat cock rests against your thighs.

"mhm, jus' tired... do you have any more shit to do?" you grumble, and Aizawa chuckles.

"i think the grading can wait for tomorrow."

you blink, looking up at him with a tired smile.

"so can we go home now?"

"i thought you'd never ask."

GRAHHHHHHHHHH HES SO FINE I NEED TO CHEW ON HIM

[maybankslover]

felt good about you- drew starkey

drew starkey x actress!reader

the third and final part

part one - part two

warnings: angst, mention of sex, mention of infidelity, sluyt shamming, odessa, everything is for the plot

summary: felt good about you from another perspective

playlist: felt good about you by gracie abrams

a/n: I don't like this

drew's point of view

she is different, this woman madelyn introduced me to. i know i have to end whatever i have going on with her.

and i do it after my third date.

"i think she's the one 'dess." i say to my friend who is naked beside me.

"i feel good about her idiot but don't you dare forget me." she says kissing my lips.

"she can't know about us, don't wanna lose you. y'know." i say turning around to sleep.

"nah for sure." i hear her say before i drift to a deep slumber.

my mom and my friends love her. i love her, i feel so good about her.

i know the things people say about odessa, about me and her but if she never finds out it'll be alright. she's just my friend now and we are moving in together, the last chapter is closed.

"odessa will be coming in the weekend baby, her filming in new york just ended." she smiles at me and i feel weird. maybe i shouldn't bring her to our home.

"alright, make a list of what it's needed and we'll go to the grocery."

her legs are around me before i even have a second to think when i open the front door. i look towards the kitchen and find those wide eyes looking at me as i drop her to the floor.

i watch as they indroduce themselves.

"got yourself a maid starkey." odessa says laughing before walking off to the patio.

the eyebrow she crocks my way, has me apologising in an instant.

"she's a particular sense of humor baby." i give her a kiss to the lips before walking out too.

"you don't care if i sit next to him right?" i hear her say when y/n is about to sit down next to me. "it's been a while since we've seen eachother."

i should've say something but i did nothing.

"not at all." she smiles at her before moving to sit next to madelyn who looks at me with an angry look in her eyes.

i should've say something when she kept ignoring my girlfriend in front of me.

i don't feel good about this and i know she doesn't either.

"i don't like her." she says to me when we go to bed.

"who? odessa?" she nods yes. "why?" i know why.

"apart from her ignoring me and making backhanded comments all night, did she really need to touch you all damn night?" she's furious. "i'm not crazy jealous and you know it but it was too much drew."

"baby she's like that probably didn't even realised she wasn't paying attention to you." she rolls her eyes at my words. "and i'll try to keep her hands far from me next time if it bothers you. come to bed it's late." i try to make her calm down but all this is a mistake.

it was a mistake to get her inside our home, i don't know why i can't let her go.

she sighs and allows me to wrap my arms around her once she's settled next to me.

"i love you sweetheart."

and i don't know why i keep doing it if it doesn't feels good. why am i cancelling another date to go be with her.

"drew are you kidding me? it's the second date you cancel in less the two weeks." she exclaims, her makeup already done.

"she's leaving in a month baby and we didn't see each other for a least a year." i say picking up my keys from the living room table.

"then why can't i come too? she's been in town for two months" i nod no.

we shouldn't even be having this conversation because she doesn't feel good about it and i should be making her feel good about it.

"it's just a us two kind of thing." she bits her lip to contain the ammount of insults that she wants to throw my way.

i watch her as she walks up the stairs without a response.

i know she's trouble and i don't stop it. i don't know why i can't stop it.

she's right, i have her perfume all over me when i get home. we shouldn't even be having this conversation.

i shouldn't be making her have that look in her eyes.

the look that she doesn't feel good about this, us.

and shit hit the fan when she sends me a message one night, a message that should've ended all type of conversation in this lifetime with her.

text

dess 'i can't sleep'

dess 'used to sleep so much better with you.'

"baby..." i see the look in her eyes and I'm biting my tongue hoping she doesn't end's up being the love of my life from when i was young.

"why the fuck drew"

"we- we used to sleep together." i sigh closing my eyes.

"sleep together like in the same bed or you used to fuck her?" when i don't answer she knows the answer. "you got a girl you used to fuck inside my fucking house, you see a girl you used to fuck and you didn't thought to tell me?"

and i say the stupidest thing i could ever say.

"no one else knew and we're just friends now." she stands up and walks away. "y/n/n" i say following her.

"you're not talking to her anymore, not seeing her anymore. you got it?" my eyebrows snap together.

"you can't be serious, she's just my friend." she throws her hands in the air signiling she doesn't care.

"figure it out but i won't tolerate it."

and she's right, she's right to not feel good about it.

and she's right.

and i don't know why i lie to her. why i keep talking to her as a dirty secret.

that's why it doesn't feel good, she's a dirty secret and i should've known better than to lie to her.

i should've known better than to keep something that wasn't even exciting.

i hold my breath for her reaction when odessa approaches at the gala. my whole life can crumble down by this interaction.

i follow her into our home like a lost puppy.

"i don't want you here tonight." she says as we walk into our bedroom.

"y/n/n you got to understand." her dress pooled at her feet. what she needs to understand? not even me has an idea of what she should understand.

"i'm done understanding. go sleep to the couch, another room or call her and go to sleep with her for all i care." she chuckles. "i'm such an idiot, you must think i'm such an idiot."

"that's not true." i exclaim. "i'm sorry i shouldn't have lied to you." but there's nothing i can say to make her feel good about this.

"i'm not gonna listen to your excuse tonight." she takes the pins out of her hair and threws a pillow my way. "get the fuck out."

i knew better than not listen to her.

in the emptyness of the hallway i hear her cry. i don't know why she forgives me.

"i don't know why i did it." i took her hand in mine the following morning. "i'll talk to her in front of you if that's what it takes for you to forgive me."

i'm doing what i should've done months ago but the should doesn't exist anymore. there's only the reality that i might have break our bond forever.

she nods and takes my phone from me, calling her without giving me one more moment and watches me through the whole call.

"it's that slut isn't it? she's making you." odessa said from the other side of the line.

"don't direspect her. it's not her, it's you and not knowing about bounderies."

she's the one to press block in every single thing i have her on.

"i used to feel good about you and you took that away from me." she says cleaning her eyes with the back of her hand. "i used to feel good about us and all the plans you said you wanted with me."

"i do want those plans with you y/n/n." i say, my anxiety growing by the minute.

how could i be such an idiot when all i had to do was make her feel good about it.

"you sure have a nice way of showing that, you put it all in risk by not cuting ties with her." i nod. "why is she so important that you lied to me for four months."

"i don't know." i should know but i don't have an answer because i don't know.

"that's the thing, you should know. you should know to put me first, to put us first." she sighs. "if you don't know then all this." she moves her hands in a circle, hinting the house. "this is half of something and you're half isn't in it."

i feel her detaching herself from me even as we lay in bed with the moon iluminating the room.

"do you know how much i love you?" i whisper into her neck, her naked body pressed against mine.

"yeah. i love you too." and i pray those words are still real even if i don't deserve them anymore.

i hope she can feel good about us again.

i hope she can feel how much i'm trying to make her feel good about me again.

i catch her staring at me while we chat with our friends, the morocco night heat was showing up but i don't take my arm from around her and she doesn't move away from me.

maybe she feels good about us again.

but the thing is i shouldn't have made her feel bad about us.

i should've stopped the attention from someone i didn't love just because it fulled my ego.

maybe she feels good about us again.

i think she feels good about us again.

"i do." the white veil adorning her hair and the big smile on her face gives me the satisfaccion.

she feels good about me, about us.

please reblog!!

taglist: @chenslucy @gillybear17 @imliterallyamirrorball @nichmeddar @gillybooboo @julczimozart @bellbottombabe @silkylovey @droppedyourhnd @jaydaaasworld @congratsloserr @carrerascameron @m1santhropicc @wearemadeofstardust0 @chiaraanatra @rlalliehayes @ijustwanttoreadlols @sunny1616 @theoraekenslover @isaidoop @ethanthequeefqueen @rafesdrew @loverdrew @frankoceanluvr11

[wonderjanga2]

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four (here)

Chapter Four

"I can't believe you bought an apartment just to store food." Jill said as the two of you stood in the doorway to the new apartment of Sam Franzelli.

A.K.A you.

"Well, it isn't just to store food, y'know. We could use it as a secret base." You walked in, looking around. It was a small studio apartment. It was perfect. As of now, it was kinda of barren though. Maybe you could both decorate it? Buy some cool thingy-ma-bobs? Paint a wall? Have Jill possibly get some of said paint for said wall on her cheek which you could wipe off with your thumb, causing the moment to be suddenly charged with tensio—

You’re getting off topic.

Point is, you both should totally decorate the place. You’ll take Jill shopping with you later.

"You mean an evil lair?” She murmured warily. “I'm assuming we're going to be plotting murders in this place." She walked in after you.

"Jill, if you think about it too much, you're gonna get that traumatized look in your eye." You chided as you both came to a stop in front of what was actually going to store your food.

"What look?" She sounded offended.

"You know which one." You replied as she gave you that slightly traumatized look you’ve been seeing a lot lately on her face. You gave her a pat on the cheek before turning your sights on the item, missing the both flustered and bewildered look she gave you for that action. She also looked to the item that was going to be used for [Name]’s food storage.

"And you also bought an ice cream freezer to keep bodies in." She said, looking like she was imagining all the future murders and getting more and more pale with each image that popped into her mind.

"Yup. All we need now is someone evil, deserving, won't be missed, and under 18 cubic feet.” You almost rubbed your hands together like a supervillain. Good thing you aren’t.

Jill paused and slowly looked to you. “We aren’t gonna kill your dad.”

“…Not what I was going to say, but it is extremely interesting to me that that’s where your mind immediately went.”

She gave you the most suspicious look. “I have no idea how that guy even trusted us, especially you, to have this place.”

That guy, was the skeevy, balding landlord. You remembered the interview like it was yesterday. Which it was!

//Flashback//

The man rubbed his oily mustache as he looked between both you and Jill. Neither of you knew how to dress for this, so you both ended up in extremely businesslike wear.

Jill in a pantsuit. Nice.

The landlord didn’t look pleased though. Likely because he was sitting across two teenagers, which under normal circumstances, wouldn’t even be able to afford an apartment. You didn’t blame him for that, after all, it’s not like the guy would know you could actually pay for it. Or at least use your father’s money to pay for it.

“Name one reason I should even consider renting you both an apartment…” The man trailed off to look down at the paperwork in front of him. “… Mx and Ms Franzelli. Are you both siblings?”

“Married—” You started, ignoring the look Jill gave you for saying that.

The man cut you off before you could continue talking. “Is that even legal?” He asked, looking between the two of you once more.

“I’m… sure it is somewhere.” Jill said, turning her look onto the landlord. “But as for why you should consider giving us the apartment, we can pay.”

“With what money?” The greasy man asked condescendingly.

“This money.” You placed your father’s black card down onto the table. You held it under a finger.

The man glanced at it. “That’s fake.”

“No, it isn’t. We could do a type of up front payment if you’re so unsure.” Jill offered with a super serious expression that made you feel tingly.

“Fine. Five hundred dollars. Now.” The man demanded, probably thinking they couldn’t pay.

“You got one of those card paying machines?” You asked, trying to mimic Jill’s seriousness.

“Of course.” The man sneered.

//Flashback End//

It was actually a couple days later, by which point you were starving, that you finally came to the idea about who to kill.

See, the two of you were walking back to Jill’s apartment when all of a sudden, a police car pulled up and two officers got out of a car to shoot at a random man walking down the street. When the man went down, the two cops arrested him and threw him into the back of the car, probably to bleed out and die.

“Jill. I know.” You said with a little bit too wide of a grin.

“Know what?” She looked to you, definitely disturbed by said grin.

“I know who my meal’s going to be.” You sounded a little excited. You thought that was valid considering you hadn’t eaten in a couple days.

“What?” She somehow sounded both panicked and relieved.

She pulled you all the way to her apartment and all but threw you onto her couch. Hot. Wait no.

“Explain.” She had her hands on her hips as she looked down on you with eyes that very clearly demanded answers.

“Okay. So remember how we saw those cops?”

“Yeah?” She obviously didn’t know where you were going with this.

“Okay, so when I saw those cops, I thought good. Then I thought that the opposite of good was bad. Then I remembered that the people I’m gonna eat are gonna be bad people. Then I realized that most people who are bad are criminals and who arrests criminals?” You sounded like you were rambling, but you swear you had a point.

“Cops.”

“Cops! Right. And who also throws criminals into jail?” You spoke with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Also cops?”

“Right! So then I thoug—”

“How about you just tell me what your idea is?”

You frowned and then sighed dramatically. “Fine… I wanna go pay someone’s bail and then eat them.”

She looked like she was about to say something to that. “Wait… that’s actually kind of smart.”

“You sound so astounded by that.” You murmured.

“I am. And once we bail them out, we can take them here or wherever else and kill them. And when they don’t show up for their court date, we can just say they skipped town!”

“And no one’s gonna give a shit cause we’re in Gotham!”

“Yeah!” Jill also sounded a little enthusiastic as she spoke. You weren’t going to comment lest she look traumatized again.

The next day, after taking a cab to Gotham City Jail, both you and Jill stood inside of the building talking to the officer at the behind the a gate between the three of you. The man sat at a desk, typing at the computer every now and then.

“ID?” The tired looking cop held a tired hand out for it.

“Uh… well here’s the thing…” You trailed off as your eyes trailed down to his name tag. “Mr Lopez.”

The man rose a brow.

“Why don’t you just take a look yourself?” Jill sighed and slipped it to him from in between the bars’ gaps. The man looked at it.

“You’re both seventeen.” The man drawled, handing it back to Jill. “You can’t pay a bail unless you’re legal, I’m assuming you knew that?”

“Well, yes, but we’re close enough, aren’t we? Can’t you just let this one slide?” She asked, probably worried that if they couldn’t get somewhere from here, you’d end up jumping a random person.

You slid a Benjamin through the bars. “Besides, we have a little something to sweeten the deal.” You’d always wanted to say a line like that. You sounded so cool.

The officer working the counter stared at the bill for a long minute. After a while, you both thought he might snitch and call his boss. That’d be really really bad too! Bribery? On your record? No! The man eventually pulled a pen out from somewhere, probably his ass, and marked the bill. That seemed to do nothing as the pen didn’t mark it. Mr Lopez still slid the bill into his shirt pocket. “Fine.” He looked around. “Come here.” He gestured with his hand as he pressed the button for a door nearby to open. When you both stepped through, you realized you were both in the room behind the metal bars. You both approached him. He pointed to the computer.

“These are everybody with available bails to pay. You said you were looking for specific people, right? No family, friends, did something real bad?”

“Yup.” You said as you and Jill nodded a little dumbly, surprised he was actually helping.

Mr Lopez tapped the keyboard, the clacking going on for a bit before he pointed to the screen once more. “I can’t say much about friends, but these three have no family, and each committed some kind of premeditated murder. Does that count as bad enough?”

“Yes sir.” Jill said, looking between you, Mr Lopez and the computer rapidly.

“Then these are your options, I suppose.” The officer relaxed into his chair, staring at the screen as he folded his hands over his stomach.

You and Jill gave each other a look.

“Which would you say is the worst?” Jill asked hesitantly.

“Oh. Caleb Patrick all the way. He murdered four children, ages 6 to 12. A real sick fuck.” The officer spat, glaring at the screen. At least it was nice to know the man didn’t condone murder, unlike bribery.

As for this cuntstick of a murder…

“We’ll take him!” You exclaimed, clapping your hands together as you stood straight up.

This guy was perfect!

After the completing the paperwork and handing Mr Lopez a few more Benjamins, the wait for the jerkoff’s release felt like forever. It was during that wait that you told Jill to go ahead to Franzelli’s apartment to set the thing up. Y’know, the standard murder stuff? Place tarps everywhere, throw on a raincoat, block any exits besides the one you and this little kid murdering fuck are gonna enter through.

“I’m not gonna just leave you to deal with this guy alone.” She whispered to you as you both sat in some shitty chairs, waiting for the guy.

“But you have to get the place ready!” You whisper-yelled back. You didn’t want blood to stain Sam’s new floors!

It took a lot of arguing back and forth until you finally convinced her to go. Coincidentally, as soon as she left, the prick came in.

“Mr Patrick!” You stood, forcing your best, nicest smile.

“Who the fuck’re you?” The cuckhold of a man, snarled.

“I’m the one who bailed you out of jail.” Your eyes trailed down to look him over. No ankle monitor for this guy? You didn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed in that failure from the justice system. Then again, him having no ankle monitor makes this a whole lot easier.

That man seemed confused about that. “I don’t know you though. Why’re you doin’ this.”

“Well, you see Mr Patrick, me and my associate who left earlier, are apart of a reformation program!” You exclaimed, the happiness not forced anymore as you thought of all the ways you were going to eat him. “The people we work with are reformed into the best person they can be. Murder? No more murdering! Thievery? No more thieving! You get the idea. We’re going to show you to your new apartment. Come now.” You grabbed his arm and dragged the man along. “Chop! Chop! Mr Patrick!”

Getting into a cab with a kid killer was something you never thought you’d be doing. Nor did you think you’d ever be making “pleasant” conversation with the man to pass the time. You supposed it was easier to do that when you were fantasizing about eating the man’s earlobes.

The onion rings of the human body.

When you and the man finally went into Sam’s apartment complex and went into Sam’s apartment. It was nicely wrapped.

“The place is so… siranwrappy.” The shitbag muttered.

“It’s to keep the place clean of any dust.” You said, unable to stop a smile from crossing your face at the sight of Jill huddled in a corner in her rain coat waiting until her moment to pop out.

You talked more with the piece of trash until she finally spoke, causing the dickwad’s head to turn to her. With that, you immediately and quietly rushed away to put on your own raincoat.

Jill entertained him until you ran over, not bothering to be quiet anymore to jump on the man’s back and rip his throat out with your teeth.

When you were finally done with him, the two of you took to stuffing him into the freezer. When it was all over and you were now mostly covered in his blood, Jill gave you the biggest hug ever.

“I’m so glad he didn’t hurt you or something while I was gone.”

Sam’s a gender neutral name right?

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry @nyra-42 @horror-lover-69 @chemicalwindexbottle @sadslasher13 @mintynilla @otakusimp1 @1abi @exactlynumberonekryptonite @ceramic-raven @depressed--therapist @nisarelle

[hyewka]

𝙗𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙮 𝙨𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙢 | c.bg

synopsis: wanting to try a new sexual route with your boyfriend but not knowing how to approach the situation drives you to beomgyu—your best friend since the dawn of time, under the rule of what you call a buddy system.

warnings: sub!gyu, dumbification, basically infidelity but they don’t really fuck, butt plug

tags 🏷️ @b3omitus @beomiracles @bambammtori @jakeslvt @subby-men-forever @iijustread @strwbrryjaem @rikiwaify-blog @yyeonzi @skz-smut-reader @kyuuuie @fairfootedflekk @badwicht @handsomejin25 @itaehynz @soobabby

No matter what angle you look at it, it’s weird. You wouldn’t even think of asking for a favor so indecent if it wasn’t—well if it wasn’t him. And maybe that’s the blaring problem.

“What’ya thinking ‘bout?” Beomgyu muffles, mouth stuffed. You quirk your lip, kicking him under the table. "Don't talk with food in your mouth idiot."

He immediately shuts his mouth, but doesn't miss the chance to retaliate and return the kick, only he aims poorly and hits the table leg instead.

You snort, suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. It takes you right back to when your biggest problem was hiding a bad report card from your then-overbearing parents and trying to find knock-off drug store products to cover your gross pimples.

A simpler time when all you saw was your best friend across from you, wedged into the booth at Shake N Shack, stuffing his mouth with fries, sauce on the edge of his lips as he rants about some latest absurd conspiracy theory he had stumbled upon online.

“So?” he pulls you out of your reverie, looking up at you once he’s finished chewing. His eyes dart nervously between you and his plate as he swallows the last bite when you keep silent. “Why’re you really here? You haven’t been around much lately.”

You scoff, crossing your arms defensively. "I can't just visit you for old times' sake?"

He exaggeratedly winces. "Damn, already demoted to a nostalgia trip?”

You sigh, feeling a pang of guilt despite the lightheartedness in his tone.

You know Beomgyu— like the back of your hand, like the way your favorite song plays in your mind, you know how he hurts and how he likes to cover it up. Ever since you started dating Youngjae, you’ve completely abandoned him, and so his words hit harder than they should.

“You know what I mean,” you mumble weakly.

“Do I?” he replies, tilting his head. “Last I checked, people don’t usually show up at someone’s door at ten-thirty PM during a thunderstorm just to reminisce for “old times sake”. Are you here to drop some kind of plot twist on me? Did you kill someone? Is this an alibi visit?”

You let out a frustrated groan—leave it to Beomgyu to be as annoying as humanely possible as you try to get him to forgive you for your sins. "No, I didn't kill anyone. I just…I’ve been caught up with y'know like...everything and-”

You pause, glancing at your feet as you try to find the right words, the ones that make this moment make sense. You’d gone over this moment in your head a thousand times, but now, in front of him, it all seems so much harder to say.

“And?” he prompts.

“And in the middle of all the stupid exams and projects, I had this epiphany. Like, holy crap, when was the last time I actually saw my best friend? The one person who gets all my dumb jokes, who knows all my weird habits, and somehow still puts up with me.”

His face visibily softens and he nods slowly, picking at the crumbs on his plate. "Epiphany took a long ass time.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. Without thinking, you stand up from your seat and walk over to him. He looks up just in time for you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. It only takes him a moment before he completely melts into the embrace, his arms circling your waist. “I missed you, you dork,” you whisper into his hair.

He leans into you, seemingly satisfied. “That’s all I get?” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your shoulder, but there’s no mistaking the smile in his words. “A quick hug after you’ve been ignoring your best friend for, like, forever?”

“You’ll get a little present later, besides you love me too much to stay mad.”

He nestles his head against you, his grip around your waist tightening just a bit. “Yeah, I really do.” he murmurs.

The Buddy System.

You don’t know if that rollercoaster is any good? The Buddy System. Beomgyu can go on it and tell you if he thinks it’s possible for you to ride without throwing up right after. Beomgyu’s feeling squeamish over that plate of food? The Buddy System— you’ll try it out for him and accurately determine whether it’s gyu-gestable or …not. Years of practice has had you know exactly what his picky habits can allow him to consume.

Those are the more normal instances you’ve used it, there were other peculiar times like when Beomgyu asked you to test out the temperature of his bathwater—with your elbow, like you were checking a baby’s bath. He stood there, fully clothed, watching you as you leaned over the tub, dipping your elbow into the water with the seriousness of a professional thermometer. “Too hot,” you’d say, adjusting the faucet until he gave a nod of approval.

Actually, now that you’re really going over every instance you’ve used it, you think all of the weird ones were Beomgyu’s doing.

Like the time when it was the summer of senior year, the last summer before you went off to college, Beomgyu had recurring nightmares and was convinced that if you fell asleep holding his hand, you’d somehow end up in his dream and could “fix it” from the inside. You tried to explain that dreams didn’t work that way, but he wouldn’t budge. So, there you were, two grown teenagers, lying in a dark room, hands clasped like some kind of paranormal experiment. It didn’t work, of course, but Beomgyu insisted he slept better knowing you were “on the job.”

So therefore…asking this of him would just…even it out, right? Right?

Beomgyu sits up abruptly, causing the carefully arranged pillows to collapse around him, and a few stuffed animals to topple over onto his lap. His eyes are wide, and his voice cracks as he practically yelps, "What?"

Holy shit, who are you kidding.

“This was the little present?”

You shift uncomfortably in the small, now even more cramped space, suddenly wishing you could burrow into the pile of blankets and disappear. “It’s weird, I know, like really weird and it’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought—”

You take a deep breath. “I just—I want to try it with him and—I don’t know, maybe it won’t feel good and-"

“You thought I’d be the one to—” he waves the box around, his voice higher than usual, “—to test this out for you?”

“I mean, buddy system, right?” you offer weakly, your confidence crumbling completely. “We’ve done other things for each other… not like this, but…” your voice trails off as you fidget with the edge of the blanket beneath you.

Beomgyu just blinks at you. And in the long, awkward silence that follows you realize how absurd your request sounds. Hey, can you try out this butt plug for me because my faith in this relationship with my boyfriend is so fragile I’m afraid I might ruin it completely by doing the normal thing of suggesting and exploring different ways of pleasuring each other? Don’t forget that it’s a butt plug! I’m asking you to insert something up in your ass. Up your ass.

The fairy lights cast soft shadows on his face—he’s staring at you, but you’re too caught up in your embarrassment to notice the way his gaze lingers just a little too long, or how eventually, his expression softens.

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Does he know you’re here?”

You freeze, caught off guard. “Who?”

“Your boyfriend,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Does he know you’re here? With me?”

“Uh, no… he doesn’t,” you admit, shifting uncomfortably again. “I mean, it’s late, and I just wanted to see you. It’s not a big deal, right?”

Beomgyu swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the stuffed bear in his lap, which seems to be staring back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. “Yeah… right. No big deal.”

The silence stretches on, thick and awkward, until finally, he lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Okay,” he resigns. “This is, hands down, the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me to do, but… yeah, okay. I’ll do it.”

You blink again, not expecting him to actually agree. “Wait, seriously?” A huge smile breaks across your face as you lean forward, your excitement palpable. “I can’t believe you’re actually saying yes! Oh my god, Gyu, thank you! I thought for sure you were going to think I was crazy and—”

But then, almost as quickly as your excitement flared up, it dims slightly, and you glance at him with a more serious expression. The guilt’s creeping up. “You know you don’t have to do this, right? It’s been a while since we’ve hung out and I mean, I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you or anything—”

"Are you holding a gun to my head?”

“No, but-"

“Then I’m fine,” he says, though his voice softens as he adds, “Seriously, it’s okay. I’ll do it. Who cares.”

You pout looking at your best friend because for the millionth time in your life, you feel that familiar warmth in your chest at the reassurance that no matter what, Beomgyu’s always there to back you up.

“You’re the best, Gyu. You don’t even know it yet, but you’ll probably be responsible for our wedding,” you say, sighing dreamily, “I’ll make sure to shout you out.”

Suddenly, his expression changes. He frowns deeply, and before you can process it, he grabs the nearest plushie—a soft, squishy bear—and hurls it at you with a grumble. “Yeah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Your mouth falls open at the bear hitting you square in the chest. The audacity! But before you can even think about launching a counterattack, Beomgyu is already on the move.

In one swift motion, he snatches up the pink box, waving it above his head like a white flag of retreat, quickly scrambling out of the fort, the pillows and blankets collapsing behind him in his rush to escape.

You take back everything nice you’ve thought of him thirty seconds ago.

Beomgyu’s cheeks are a bit pink when he comes back twenty minutes later, and you notice it when you look up from your phone, where you’ve been meticulously studying the app’s settings. He looks uncharacteristically bashful, avoiding your gaze as he settles back in with you— the fort looking almost as good as it did before Beomgyu nuked it and ran away.

“Did you put it in?” you ask, trying to gauge his reaction.

He glances at you briefly before quickly looking away, the blush on his cheeks deepening. "Yup. Lubed it up pretty well."

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "Did you really, or are you fucking with me?"

Beomgyu's response is immediate, and a little too defensive. "Do you want me to show you my asshole or something? I have it in!"

"God, okay!" you say in exasperation, throwing your hands up in mock surrender.

Your mood takes a complete flip as you grin wickedly, wiggling your phone, the app open and ready. "So... ready for the fun part?"

His eyes widen slightly, and you catch the way his breath hitches as he realizes what you mean. His cheeks flush even more as he swallows hard. "Wait, you're not actually gonna…”

There isn’t any incentive for him to lie but you still don’t fully believe him. You’ve heard that first times have guys struggling a little, he’d be a lot more fidgety than he is now. You narrow your eyes as you glance from your phone to his face, experimentally turning up the setting to its highest volume, just to see if he's really telling the truth.

The reaction is immediate. Beomgyu's eyes widen in shock, and blood rushes to his cheeks, turning him a deep shade of red. His whole body tenses as he grips the blanket beneath him, his breath hitching.

"Hey! Turn it down! It—it-fuck!" he stammers, his voice strained and breathy as he squirms in place.

You quickly dial back the intensity, watching as he takes a few deep breaths, trying to recover. You didn't mean to push him that far, but now there's no doubt in your mind that he wasn't lying. He really did go through with it.

"I didn't think it'd be that intense," you say, genuinely concerned. "Are you okay?"

He hangs his head low, nodding.

You can't help but giggle at his reaction, though you feel a little guilty for pushing him so hard. "Sorry, I just had to make sure."

He gives you a look that's somewhere between a pout and a glare, still clearly embarrassed. "Well, now you know. It's definitely in, and it's definitely working."

You ruffle his head. "Alright, I won't push it any further. Just let me know when it's too much, okay?"

Beomgyu groans, his voice dropping a little, betraying a note of something more than just embarrassment. "Why do I let you talk me into these things?" he mumbles, mostly to himself.

You ignore him, grinning as you observe him, slowly turning up the vibrations to a slow, steady hum. “Notes? How does it feel?”

Beomgyu stiffens, his eyes widening as the first wave of vibrations hits him. "Oh... my god," he squeaks, his voice shaky and a bit breathless. "This is... this is so weird."

You narrow your eyes. “Bad weird or good weird?”

He looks at you, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, as if he’s not quite sure how to articulate what he’s feeling. “It’s just… weird, okay? Full. Like, not bad but… not normal either. It’s… it’s like—ugh, why are you making me explain this?”

You fold your arms, deciding to push him a little more to get the information that you actually want. “Is it, like, ‘I can get used to this’ weird, or ‘please stop this right now’ weird?”

Beomgyu huffs, clearly flustered. “I don’t know! It’s… kind of both? Like… it’s weird, but maybe kind of good? I don’t know!” He’s squirming now, obviously uncomfortable but not entirely hating it either.

“So…you’re saying you’re into it?” you tease, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin, wiggling your brows playfully.

The words slip out before you can fully think them through, the playful energy between you both making it easy to forget the boundaries that normally exist. Especially considering that you have a boyfriend of seven months waiting at home.

You’re too far gone to care.

His eyes widen even more, his blush deepening as he quickly shakes his head, shuffling away from you a bit. “N-no! I mean… not like that, I just—” His voice trails off, and he swallows hard, clearly struggling to find the right words.

You bite your lip, gradually increasing the intensity, curious. His expression tightens, and a soft, involuntary moan escapes his lips before he can stop it.

"Okay, okay, that's... that's enough!" he says, his voice a mix of panic and something more, his breathing coming out in quick, uneven gasps as he clearly tries to hold himself together.

Interesting.

A slow smirk spreads across your face, “Just a little more,” you coax. “You’re doing great.”

“Fuck, stop teasing me!” he whines, but his voice is breathier now, and there's a definite edge of something more in the way he looks at you, his pupils slightly dilated.

You watch him, the way he tries to keep his mouth in a thin line, a façade that crumbles the moment you notice the way his left leg shakes— you’re intrigued. You've never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so out of control—and it's both unsettling and fascinating. If there’s a possibility this is exactly how your boyfriend would act with something up his ass, you’d spend hundreds on a collection.

You clear your throat, realizing its been silent for too long. “So?”

He’s fast to catch on. “I—I don’t hate it. I think it’s hitting my prost—holy shit, d-did you just turn it up again?”

You hesitate, your gaze shifting away from his. “No…” you mumble, the lie unconvincing even to your own ears. The accusatory stare he gives you is impossible to ignore, burning through your feigned innocence.

Eventually, you give in, sighing in defeat. “Alright, only to a different rhythm. Is it worse? Should I—”

You pause abruptly when you see his reaction. Beomgyu’s eyes tightly screw shut, his jaw clenching and for a moment, you worry that you’ve pushed too far, that this time you’ve actually overstepped. But then he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“If it was worse, you would be pure evil but uh—no, no, it’s okay. It’s… better.”

You can’t let the genuine relief washing over you run its full course because you feel a spark of something more exciting running down your spine. You gulp— the hot, stuffiness of the fort becomes increasingly unbearable by the minute. “Better?”

He nods, though his movements are slow, deliberate, like he's testing the waters before fully committing to his answer. "Yeah... better," he repeats, his voice more certain this time. His eyes flutter open, and a cute, determined face replaces the more bashful Beomgyu you were getting pretty comfortable playing with.

For the second time tonight, an awkward silence overtakes you both and he leans back against the pillows, fiddling nervously with the drawstrings of his hoodie, his fingers picking at the fabric as if trying to find some distraction.

The silence stretches on until suddenly, Beomgyu moves. Without warning, he starts to pull at the hem of his hoodie, yanking it up and over his head in one swift motion.

“Whoa, whoa, what’re you doing?” you blurt out as you watch him toss his hoodie to the side, leaving him in just a thin undershirt. You’re completely caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the sight of his flushed skin and tousled hair making your heart, for the first time, race.

For …Beomgyu.

He looks back at you, sheepish. “It’s hot,” he says simply.

You blink, still processing. “Yeah, but…” you trail off, realizing you don’t really have an argument. The air’s pretty darn thick and stifling.

“Okay, fair enough,” you say finally, trying to play it off with a casual shrug. “I mean, it is pretty warm in here.”

“…Right.”

You’re acting weird. Even Beomgyu’s noticing. You’re losing the upper hand.

“Uh, th-there’s another setting,” you stammer, quickly looking down at your phone in your hand, avoiding his gaze. “Wanna try it out? To see which one feels better.”

He hums in approval, his response casual, almost nonchalant, like he's confident nothing can catch him off guard.

But that confidence doesn’t last long.

The second you make the switch, his body jolts, a gasp slipping out before he can stop it. “How…how is it?” you ask anyway.

Beomgyu’s response is more of a whimper than anything else, his lips parting as he struggles to form coherent words. “It’s…oh god…it’s—" His voice catches in his throat, and it happens again. Loud and unrestrained. This time, it’s unmistakable.

Beomgyu's eyes widen in horror as the sound leaves his lips, his hand flying up to clap over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle any more noises. His cheeks flush a deep, burning red, and you can see the sheer embarrassment etched into his expression as he tries to hide his face, mortified by his own reaction.

You didn’t plan this. Not at all. But you cannot for the life of you even get yourself to feel an ounce of guilt for the way your underwear uncomfortably sticks to your heat.

Your gaze drops lower, and there it is-the clear strain in his pants, “Uh…Gyu…?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flicker back up to his face.

Your mind is spinning, caught between disbelief and the sudden rush of arousal that floods right to your lower abdomen.

Beomgyu doesn't respond immediately. He's too busy fighting his own body, his breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps as he tries to regain some semblance of control. His hand remains firmly over his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut as if he's trying to will himself to disappear, to erase the moment that just happened.

It's overly dramatic, of course-classic Beomgyu, always a tinge extra when he's overwhelmed. But instead of finding it annoying like you might have at any other time, it strikes you as incredibly…endearing.

The way his reactions are so genuine, so unguarded, makes him seem almost innocent in a way that tugs at your heart. He looks like a confused, flustered puppy than anything else.

The way he's covering his mouth, is almost comical in its futility-especially when another small, muffled whimper slips past his fingers. “Beomgyu,” you call out, your voice soft but insistent. “I need you to look at me.”

"I-I can't—" he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to form coherent thoughts. "This is... it's t-too much..."

You tilt your head, “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No! Just... I don't know..." he breathes out, his voice strained, as if he's not entirely sure what he's asking for. “Please.”

Something stirs within you, and before you know it, you’re moving closer to him, reaching out your hand to rest on his arm—you think it’d help comfort him. But he only takes that opportunity to bury his head in your neck a few seconds later.

Your heart pounds in your chest but you try to not give it any more attention. You’re supposed to be here for your friend.

“You’re doing so well, Beom,” you whisper, your voice steady and reassuring as you gently rub his arm. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s just us here—you can let go. It’s just me.”

A soft, almost cute whimper escapes him as he nods against you, his breath warm against your skin.

Beomgyu's eyes flutter shut, and you can tell your words are having an effect on him, his resolve crumbling with each passing second, the twitch in his pants making it clear he’s barely holding on. “It’s okay,” you reassure.

Maybe it’s not. But you technically weren’t doing anything physical—it’s not wrong on your behalf, right? But as you rub your thighs subtly, trying to relieve something, that guilt is just as incessant.

You watch the way Beomgyu’s hand moves—hesitantly at first, as if he's not sure what he's doing or if he should even be doing it. But then he turns his head up to look at you, and you’re once again, caught off guard. His eyes look like they’re searching for something, focus shifting from one place to another. And you’re left feeling like you’re under a microscope, until it seems like he found what he’s looking for because his fingers finally brush against the waistband of his pants.

“Are you—are you sure this is okay?” he asks softly. And you nod. Almost too fast.

Maybe you should close your eyes. If not for the respect of the relationship that you’ve completely forgotten of once you had Beomgyu in your arms, at least for your best friend’s pride.

Actually, you don’t think he minds. If the strangled groan that comes out his pretty lips were anything to go by. He fumbles for his hard, aching cock, flinging it out and stroking it furiously almost the second he gets his hands on it and your eyes only manage to widen at the sight.

For lack of better words, you gawk.

“It’s not disappointing or anything, huh?” he tries to joke, but his breaths too strung out, too gone for even that.

Your mouth dries. Far from it.

This is the one time your boyfriend comes to mind in a while, and its not favorable. Beomgyu’s not bigger—he’s not small either, but that’s not your focus—rather the pearly bead that bubbles atop of the tiny slit, the head a deep pink, the way its veins pulses as his pace falters at your silence. That small bead of fluid oozing down his shaft, tracing the lines of the delicate veins. The curves, every little detail. He’s perfect. More perfect than you’ve ever seen.

It seems you took way too long for Beomgyu’s liking and self confidence so he looks elsewhere, “Is…it?”

You blink, almost forgetting your predicament, lost in your admiration of him. "No, no, of course not. It's—it's pretty," you reply, your words tumbling out in a rush as you try to reassure him.

But instead of calming him, your words have the opposite effect. His shoulders shake, and suddenly, he's burying himself back into your shoulder, his hand completely abandoning his cock. "H-hahh-" he pants, his breath hitching as he begins to hiccup, overwhelmed by his emotions.

“Are you—are you crying?”

“You just called my dick pretty,” he seems to sob a bit more at that, soaking your shirt, feeling the dampness spreading across your chest. “You hate it. It looks bad.”

You're at a loss for words, completely thrown by his reaction. You struggle to pry him off you, your hands gently but firmly gripping his shoulders as you try to pull back just enough to look him in the face. "What?! No!" you exclaim, your voice rising with urgency. "Pretty means pretty. Fuck, don't cry, it's perfect, Beomgyu. It looks perfect, I swear."

His hiccups slow as your words sink in, and you can see the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. He sniffles softly, wiping at his tears with the back of his hand, his breathing gradually becoming steadier. As the emotional intensity lessens gradually, you with no control of your own, redirect your attention to his poor cock. It’s rock hard. He looks like he needs some soothing so you think to do the sensible thing. The…right thing?

Beomgyu lets out a small, shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood despite everything that's just happened. "Man... I think this plug’s really messed with my vulnerability or something," he jokes weakly, his voice still wavering as he tries to regain his composure. “Had me crying pretty fas—"

His rant pauses at a hilt. He meets your gaze as you fully wrap your hand around his shaft after he just witnessed you quickly spit on your palm.

He doesn’t question it. At all. In fact, the moment your hand’s on him, there’s no hesitation in the way he spreads his legs wider, his pants responsively moving down to pool around his ankles.

A soft, whiny sound escapes him, and he leans into your touch, his eyes drooping, face contorting cutely. “O-oh…I…I..”

“Shhh, I got you pretty,” you whisper. His cock’s soft to the touch, and wet. When you glide your hand up and down, even slowly, it makes an unpleasantly wet, dirty sound.

He’s very reactive to the endearing nickname that feels almost too natural slipping out of your lips of all people. “P-pretty..” he repeats, sighing, almost dazedly. A complete goner.

You squeeze him and he lets out another needy, low moan and wraps his arms around your waist. Your heart pounds at how clingy he is, it feels like it’s about to burst. "Ahhh...f-fuck…” He moans against your neck, a highly pitched sound only a woman could make, feeling a trail of saliva traveling down from the corner of his mouth.

You almost cum untouched at the sight of him, at the pretty, almost perfectly described as heavenly sinful sounds he’s making. A sheen of sweat has formed on his forehead, his hair damp at the edges, and it somehow makes him look better.

His body tenses beneath your touch, you can feel the warmth of his skin, the sweat slicking his brow, and the way his breath catches in his throat. Then, suddenly, he lets out a choked cry, his voice breaking as he bucks his hips just slightly. The movement is involuntary, desperate, as if his body is moving on its own, seeking out the final bit of friction it needs.

And then it happens.

Beomgyu gasps sharply, his body going rigid as he reaches his peak. He shudders violently, his chest heaving as he shoots strings of his load, the warm, sticky fluid spilling out. You react quickly, instinctively guiding the release towards him, watching as it lands all over his tummy and a bit on his chest.

You're struck by how quickly it happened—how you'd only had him in your hand for a few seconds before he came. His chest heaves, his breathing ragged and uneven as he slowly comes down from the high.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of his breathing, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady himself.

Finally, he looks down at the mess on his stomach and chest, a soft, almost sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

And for whatever reason, that has an effect on you. He looks so endearing in this moment—his lips slightly parted, his lashes brushing against his flushed skin, his hair perfectly tousled and falling over his eyes—

You're completely lost in the sight of him, practically mesmerized by how perfect he looks and your mind starts to drift until suddenly his voice breaks through your thoughts.

"Did you hear me?" he asks. "Doofus, turn it off. It's starting to make my asshole sore."

Your romantic daze shatters like glass.

Blinking rapidly, your face transforms into a shocked scowl, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once. "Wait, what?" you stammer.

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at you, clearly expecting a response. But as the moment stretches on, your brain lags behind as you try to process what he just said.

Then it clicks.

"Oh, right!" you gasp, fumbling with your phone as you quickly find the app and turn off the plug, mortification creeping up your spine. What an absolute bust.

a/n: well well well. in the first draft he was made to eat his own cum but i felt maybe this fic wasnt the one for that😊😊 Unfortunately for some, fortunate for others🤔 anyway tell me how u enjoyed beomgyu getting his ass stimulated in a poorly made fort lol

[genericpuff]

in light of what i reblogged earlier re: expecting people to engage with the actual source material of fandoms before trying to participate - while Rekindled is on hiatus, y'know what you should do?

Go read Lore Olympus.

The Originals series, the pilot episodes, all of it - or, at least as much of it as you can.

Not because I think you should force yourself to read something that you don't like.

Not because I think it deserves all the accolades it still gets to this day.

But because that thing you don't like might have had some great ideas and concepts and it was with those ideas and concepts that I was able to create Rekindled.

Because that thing you don't like might actually have stuff you like in it but you never found out because you never engaged with it past the antiLO/ULO communities.

Because that thing you don't like is something I used to like so much that I was willing to spend the last 2+ years of my life creating something new out of it, and will probably spend 2+ more years continuing to do so.

I know that's a HOT TAKE coming from me of all people, but there's so much stuff that I see people commenting about Rekindled that deadass would not exist if it weren't for LO, and Rekindled itself has grown to a point that we've now taken on readers who've never even touched LO. Wilder still that I'm fairly certain we have a few readers who didn't even know LO existed. The longer Rekindled goes on, the more it deviates from the original work as the plot changes and moves away from what LO tried to do, subsequently the more disconnect will grow between those who understand its context and those who don't.

And I'm talking beyond the obvious stuff like the S1 plot tweaks and trying to mimic Rachel's older art style, I mean the real nitty gritty stuff that's meant for the fans and haters alike, the references, easter eggs, panel redraws, borrowed designs, and inside jokes that go as far back as the pilot episodes that you wouldn't be able to fully understand or appreciate without having read the source material-

(there are sooo much more than this but I'd hit the image limit before I even got through half of them LMAO and there's one in particular that hasn't happened yet but I'm really hoping people pick up on when it does because it's probably my favorite out of all the parallels I have planned ;0 and if you're someone who HAS read the original comic all the way through and knows all the references and detailse, I hope it's at least making for some fun easter egg hunting LOL)

None of this is to diminish our own efforts to create something unique out of Rekindled, both through its art and writing - there are a lot of original ideas and concepts that we've made for it that we're really proud of and frankly really grateful that we came up with before Rachel LOL (Gorgon Ramses is ours! Big boy Dionysus is ours because we beat Rachel to the punch in his debut! Charon is ours! Muahahahaha-) but some of you compliment things with Rekindled that I'm concerned you don't realize aren't original ideas on our part-💀

I'm all for dunking on LO, but I'm also all for free thinking and my free thought is that you should absolutely read LO so you can form your own opinion of it separate from that of my own. You don't have to pay for it, you don't have to give Rachel and Webtoons your hard-earned money, the DailyPass system might be annoying but it does let you read 2 free episodes a day, all the way up until the finale which some webtoons don't even let you do (some of them force you to pay for the final episodes). With AdPass you can read even more. Shit, if you really can't access it but you're tech savvy enough to understand how magnets work (cough cough), I'll help you out.

Get through as much of it as you can, at the very least the first season and the pilot episodes. If you really can't stomach much more of it beyond that, then obviously don't force yourself to, but at least then you'll be able to form a more concrete opinion based on what you've actually read.

Lore Olympus absolutely sucks ass in more ways than I can count, none of what I'm saying here is a glowing recommendation of it as a piece of media. But Rekindled wouldn't be what it is - it wouldn't even be - without it. And that alone should make engaging with the source material worth something to anyone who enjoys Rekindled for what it is, and what it isn't. I hate what LO became - and what it ultimately always was as soon as the rose-colored glasses fell off - but I love what it used to mean to me still to this day and I love what it still provides for me through Rekindled.

There is, after all, a reason why it is called Lore Rekindled ♡( ��‿◡ )

[umbrella-show]

Hello 🤗 just wanted to say I really love your work, and I have a request (if requests are closed and I didn't see, then I apologize)

I was wondering if you could write some romantic yandere head canons with shadow milk cookie (or if you are able to write for burning spice cookie and mystic Flour, you can add them too) with a corrupted beast! Reader who is like nightmare moon from my little pony?

The reader has her personality, the same hair, the horn and the wings etc. and their castle/palace is in the middle of the forest, all day everyday is night. And when the beasts + reader get imprisoned, you could maybe write how the reader was instead imprisoned in the moon (like the show, y'know?)

It's a lot, ik, and you can ignore this if it's too much or not descriptive enough. Have a good day/night 👋

Okay so I haven't seen mlp so I'll try my best to get their personality right.

You were imprisoned with the beast after their corruption, the witches forcing them to watch as extra punishment for their actions.

First off, Shadow Milk cookie would be PISSED that the witches had imprisoned you in the moon, far far away from his prison in the Silver Tree.

If you were going to be trapped, it should have been with him!

He had screamed your name, fought in his cage, extending his arm out as if he could somehow reach you.

Alas, you were sealed within the moon, forced away from him and the other beasts.

Years passed, and while you were never corrupted like your friends when you were imprisoned, you were forced to watch the world go on without you.

It caused you to grow bitter, resentful of the cookies beneath you. They were able to live on, to enjoy their life while you were forced to helplessly watch.

You had eventually become corrupted, vowing to cover the sky in eternal night and bring misery and pain to all. If you couldn't be happy, no one could.

You waited, seethed, plotted your eventual return.

And your patience paid off.

Shadow Milk cookie was the first to break free from the tree, freeing the other beasts in the process.

Of course, he didn't forget about you. When he burst out of the giant split in the tree, he looked up at the moon.

A huge smile spread across his face. He could practically feel your misery, your indignance, your ever burning rage.

Oh, this was going to be a show for the AGES!

After Shadow Milk cookie's first attempt at retrieving his soul jam failed, he switched gears.

He decided to lay low for a bit, gather his faithful followers to put on a new show that was sure to not fail!

And you were one on his stars.

Of course, freeing you would be no problem for him. While the magic containing you in the moon was weaker than the magic that contained the beast into the Silver Tree, he knew you couldn't escape all on your own.

And so, with a sprinkle of magic from him to boast your strength, you had felt the constrictive chains holding you down break.

You had emerged, spreading your dark wings out as your gave a hardened stare towards Shadow Milk cookie.

"Ooooh!~ I looove the new look! Ah, me and the others always knew dabbling in a little darkness would do you some good. And, by the looks of it, we were right, of course we were!"

"I see you've become even more insufferable then when I last saw you."

"Sheesh, grumpy pants! Have some appreciation. I AM the reason you're finally free, am I not?!"

"..."

"See! Now, c'mon, come closer to me, my dazzling star!"

"No."

He is EXTREMELY clingy. Whenever he's around you, he's always touching you in some way. Interlocked arms or even sitting on your shoulders when he's feeling especially cocky.

He finds amusement in your seriousness and stoicism. He likes to purposefully annoy you to get a reaction out of you.

He is around you 24/7, trailing along with his boisterous voice as you try to find a way to get some peace. Of course, he won't allow that.

Life in the Spire of Deceit isn't the worst. Just extremely boring. You are forced to wait as Candy Apple cookie lures those worthless ants here in order to steal back his Soul Jam, and completely reign his full power.

You constantly voice your complaints, growing increasingly agitated as more time passes.

"Why do we need your full strength back to plunge the world in eternal darkness?! In fact, if we do it now, when they least expect it, it will be easier to take back the other half of your Soul Jam. There is NO POINT for this useless waiting!"

"Aww, is my stunning little nightmare still a little cranky from their thousand year slumber?~ We will make eternal night right after I take back what’s rightfully mine, mkay? Besides, I got a REAL good performance planned, I pinky promise it'll be entertaining!"

"...As long as it doesn't take long."

"See!~ I knew you'd come around!"

He likes to dance with you under the stars. You two perfectly in sync, the cracked moon above a reminder of your freedom. Whispers of deceit flow gently through the breeze of the eternal night.

While you two have very different personalities, you can compromise with shared goals. Bringing utter chaos and darkness to Earthbread.

The Beast of Deceit curls himself around his star, his actor, his dazzling nightmare, as inferno of chaos beneath burns bright. All of those pesky gnats fall to their knees at their feet, bright blue strings around their limbs compelling them to crumple forward. Darkness, as black as tar, expands through the sky, shielding the sun's light from ever reaching the surface. Shadow Milk cookie cackles manically, grasping you tighter than ever, for you two had finally won.

[s6ngbird]

pretty little dove — coriolanus snow ༘❀⋆

♡‧₊ warnings — nsfw, p in the v, pretty much no plot, unprotected sex, kinda dub-con(?), coryo being mean

♡‧₊ pairing — peacekeeper!coryo x fem!reader

♡‧₊ a/n — erm i'm still new to this whole warning stuff so lmk if i forgot stuff 😭

masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

when coriolanus came to district 12, he had one goal in mind, to find lucy gray

but now that he was here and had seen lucy gray again, he realized he didn't much care for her anymore

his eyes were now set on you, a poor district girl who was just trying to steal some food to feed herself until he caught you

and you fled, checking every minute or so behind you to make sure the peacekeeper wasn't following you

and you didn't see anyone thank god, you didn't know that coriolanus had let you off the hook this time but he knew he was going to have you either way

what you didn't know is that over time, as you started getting mysterious packages with food, was that coriolanus had been watching you and memorizing your schedule 

some might call it stalking, but to coryo, he was just watching out for you

who knows what could happen if he left you alone, what if some creep started stalking you?

you decided to cross the district line one day, after being told by lucy gray about how nice and peaceful it was

as you walked through the tall grass, picking up a flower and looking its pretty colors, it reminded you of the certain peacekeeper who had let you go that one day and how blue his eyes were

your happiness is cut short though, seeing a shadow fall over you and looking up to see that it was the certain peacekeeper 

“you want to explain yourself sweetheart?” he said, crouching down so that he could be eye to with you

“i was just trying to have some peace, y'know the district isn't the best place?” you said, not scared of him, why should you be?

he chuckled, moving a piece of your hair and standing up

“i like you, but you know acting like that and crossing the district line is going to get you in trouble, hm?” 

you stood up and smiled at him

“well i'm glad you were the one who caught me” you say, getting ready to leave before coriolanus kisses you hard, catching you off guard and quickly pulling away

“well i’ll see you later dove, don't let me catch you here again” he said with a smirk, and with that he left

you were stunned, unsure what that was, you had never realized that it could be possible that a peacekeeper could like a district girl

but hey there's always a first time for everything 

just like being fucked for the first time, out in the forest against a tree by the same peacekeeper who had warned you not to cross the district line again

and of course you paid no heed to his words, why would you? it's not like he was going to personally hunt you down if you did

wrong.

you also thought that he didn't like you and just wanted to turn you in

also wrong.

he was currently kissing you hard, his tongue exploring your mouth as one of his hands was rolling your nipple between his fingers, after he had ripped your thin shirt off

you cried at first when this all happened but then you felt his cock enter your soaking cunt you fell silent

this would be the first time you had ever been fucked before and it was obvious to coryo

“shit dove, loosen up for me will you? you’re so fucking tight, gripping me like a damn vice” he said, after getting his whole cock in while you kept clenching

you didn’t say a thing, you just tried to relax, but then he started moving at an unforgiving pace, breaching your cervix every so often as you gripped his shoulders, digging your nails through the fabric 

your legs started shaking and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks and coryo noticed this, laughing as you continued to slam into you, chasing his release 

he licked up your tears, reaching a hand between you two to rub your clit in order to make you come faster

coryo might not be the best man, but he’s willing to make sure you also get some pleasure through him (he just wants you to enjoy it so he can do it again later)

he fucks into you harder, kissing you over and over again to distract you from any pain or discomfort he might be causing you 

you start to feel something building up and it scares you since you had never had the experience of being fucked by anyone, let alone someone like coryo

“oh my fucking god” you feel a knot snap as you come undone on his cock, your legs shaking even more as you cling onto to coryo for dear life

he holds you up, his touch is gentle which is quite opposite of how he fucking you and laughing at your reactions

“no more please” you say, feeling tired as coryo continued to slam into you, eliciting broken moans from you 

his hips stutter and you feel something warm coat your insides, the color draining from your face as he pulls out, still holding you up and shoving his fingers in to make sure all of his cum stays in

you let out a moan as he does but he quickly takes his fingers out, shoving them in another hole, your mouth, making you taste his cum

“yeah…lick it up you dirty little slut, you gonna be mine now hm?”

[27spoons]

https://www.tumblr.com/27spoons/773801512373780480/what-if-i-said-i-wanted-nat-to-ride-my-strap-while?source=share

Now think about this scenario being high with her😭😭😭 it would be 100x messier, lazier and definitely more intense :( she would be such a whiny, needy mess, babbling about how good it feels and how much she loves you so much<3 Nat who LOVES being complimented and completely melts when you call her a good girl, especially if you do it in that sickeningly sweet voice while you grab her hips to help her keep the rhythm while riding your strap-on and at this point she's not even riding anymore, it's more like she's just grinding herself on your lap and delighting in the way the silicone tip rubs sooo good against her g-spot.

Nat would cum and make a complete mess and would probably fall asleep so quickly afterwards, all curled up and cuddly next to you in bed

I'm sorry I might have gotten a little carried away ;) but I totally understand you and I think about this more often than I should

u did NOT get carried away PLEASEE send me more thoughts like this... me personally when i smoke weed there's a 50/50 chance i end up horny bc of it... so..........

anyways have some writing bc i like this thought very much

but also... i got carried away with this. i was just gonna do headcanons or something butttttttttttttttttttttttt we love smut in this blog

High | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/gn(afab)!reader

wc: 1420

warnings: porn/what plot, smut (afab!reader), intoxication (marijuana), strap-on referred to as "dick" and "cock", not proofread we die like jackie

"You always look good when you wear that, y'know?" Natalie grins at you, watching your form lay flat on the bed, "Sexy." She giggles to herself, grabbing the joint straight from your lips and placing it between her own, taking a long pull. "And the weed definitely helps." She moves to climb onto the bed, resting one hand on your sternum while she holds the joint in her other. "Open your mouth."

Nat places the joint back between her lips, taking another pull before leaning down and pressing her lips to yours, gently exhaling the smoke into your mouth for the… well, you aren't sure how many times it's happened tonight, but it's happened a lot.

You breathe the smoke back out when she pulls back, and then her lips are on yours, and the joint is discarded. You aren't quite sure what happened to it, but you really don't care. You can always buy new bedsheets if a hole is burnt into them.

Nat's hand slides up from your sternum to gently cup the side of your throat, her hips pressing down slowly against your stomach, almost instinctively. You can feel her warmth, her heat, slowing grinding against you.

When her lips trail down from your mouth to your jaw—then neck, where she bites down on the flesh of your throat more than a few times—your hands rest on her hips and push them back until her bare pussy comes into contact with the piece of silicone rested against your stomach. 

"Mm," Nat hums against the side of your throat, "not even gonna warm me up first?" 

You scoff, one hand moving to grip her thigh, relishing in the feeling of the soft flesh underneath your palm. "We've been smoking all day. You always get so unbelievably wet when you're stoned. I don't even know if we'll need lube."

"Oh, we probably won't." She grins, one of her hands sliding between you, hands wrapping around the shaft of the purple dildo. "But I know you like it when it's extra messy." The breathless giggle that escapes her is downright sinful, and you watch with rapt attention as she rubs the tip through her slick folds. 

You curse under your breath as you watch the wetness begin to collect on the silicone cock, and you swear the way she lines it up with her pussy and slowly teases her entrance with the tip might be one of your favourite sights of all time.

Despite the fact you can't break your eyes from it, you make no move to force her down, letting her explore her own wetness. So, you run your hands up her body, almost in a worshipful manner. You tell her this often, and she calls you stupid every time, but you say it again, "You-you're-you—" You have to take a breath and steady your breathing, already getting worked up just from the imagery you're being provided with. "You-you're—" You force a breath, heart racing as you try to find the words. "Fuck. You're so fucking beautiful."

Nat lets out a low, warm laugh at that, "You're so dumb." But the way her skin flushes at the comment shows you the truth behind her words. 

The blonde moves one of her hands back to rest on your chest, leaning over you slightly as you watch the tip slowly push into her, adjusting around the girth of the strap-on. "Oh, holy fuck." You whisper as your jaw falls slack in pure, unbridled lust. "Holy fuck." You're not very vocal; you never have been, but when it comes to watching Nat slide down on your dick? It's a little hard not to be more than appreciative. 

"Y-yeah?" She lets out a breathy laugh, hips coming to rest fully against yours as the entire length of the toy bottoms out inside of her dripping pussy. "Like the view?"

"You know I do." A hand runs up to cup her chest through that red bra you love so much, thumb running across a hardened nipple through the fabric. "Always look like such a good girl when you take me so well."

The comment causes Nat to twitch her hips unconsciously, her clit grinding deliciously against your pelvis. "Yeah, you like it when I call you a good girl, don't you?" You mumble out, hands on her hips as you start to move them on her behalf, "Well, I like seeing my good girl ride my cock." 

"Oh, fuck yes," Nat murmurs back to you, her eyes falling shut as she slowly begins to move herself up and down the length. 

Now, Nat has never been loud either, but, when she's high? That's a completely different story. Low, breathless sounds spill from her mouth with every undulation of her hips. 

You can't help yourself when you reach onto the nightstand with your free hand, grabbing another joint and placing it between her lips, "The weed's good." A flame sparks to life on the lighter you hold to the tip of the perfectly rolled joint, and Nat takes a few long, slow puffs as she rides you.

"It is good." Nat offers on the exhale of the smoke, taking another long drag before shotgunning the smoke with you once, twice, and a third time before discarding the joint into the empty water bottle that rests on your nightstand. "But this is better."

The weed makes its way to Nat's head, the extra buzz doing wonders on how the strap—you—feel inside of her. These low, breathless moans spill from her mouth as she leans forward, pressing her chest against yours as she continues to rock her hips, urgency slowly increasing with every movement.

When her breathing starts fading into small whimpers, you bend your legs at the knee and press your feet flat on the bed, thrusting up into her.

"Fuck, you're such a good girl." You murmur into her ear, "Always taking my cock so fucking well. Riding me like you need it." You slap her thigh with one hand as you continue to fuck her. "So fucking sexy." A far cry from the flustered stuttering at the beginning, "And the sounds you make? Fuck, baby."

Nat whimpers again, babbling something about how good you feel, her hands pressed into the mattress beside your head, not even bothering to do anything more than grind pathetically down onto your lap, the tip of the toy brushing just perfectly against her g-spot with every roll of her hips.

She's practically drooling against your shoulder at this rate; whimpers and moans are breathed into your skin, every perfect movement causing her pussy to pulse around the silicone in an attempt to draw you in deeper still.

You wrap your arms around her to aid in the effort of holding her where you need her to be to keep hitting that spot that has her seeing white behind her eyelids. 

Her sounds slowly shift into breathless grunts as she gets closer and closer to falling over that edge, but it's not until you whisper, "Such a good girl" into her ear that the dam breaks, and with a strangled, broken cry, she clenches down around your cock and comes.

The movements she makes as you help her ride the waves of her orgasm are lazy and unhurried, but clearly still chasing that pleasure that had her seeing stars and thinking of nothing but you.

Eventually, her movements cease, and it's with a small, displeased whimper that she removes herself from your length and lays down beside you, immediately curling into your chest and seeking the comfort only you seem to provide.

"We should clean up, you know." But you wrap an arm around her shoulders anyway, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Gonna be all sticky if we sleep like this."

Nat hums to herself and rests a hand on your hip as her eyes fall shut, "We can wash up later."

"You're gonna be the one bitching about it, you know."

"Mhm." She makes no move to leave her position on your chest, "And you'll deal with it anyways." She slings a leg over yours, clinging you to a koala would a tree. "Always do."

You roll your eyes but don't dispute the claim, "Whatever. You get clingy when you're high."

"Mhm." Is the last thing she offers before falling asleep, and drool begins to pool almost immediately as she does.

She always did look cute in her sleep.

a/n: i was held at gunpoint to tag @cassioo in this btw AND i got carried away w the word count.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Memories ✧

Plot: Satoru come to apologize after an argument.

You stalked back into the apartment, jaw clenched and shoulders tense after storming out of Jujutsu High earlier. You couldn't get that infuriating image out of your head - Satoru beaming that stupid, annoyingly charming grin while playfully teasing and fawning all over Utahime with those shameless flirtatious antics of his.

The mere memory had your fists clenching, a flare of heated jealousy twisting in your gut no matter how much you knew you should trust your boyfriend.

After all, you'd been inseparable ever since those tumultuous high school days when the three of you - you, Satoru, and Suguru - were as thick as thieves.

At least until Suguru went rogue, leaving just you and Satoru to grow even closer in the wake of losing your other best friend to the darkness.

You'd argued so viciously last night after witnessing that scene, slinging bitter accusations at Satoru about shamelessly flirting with Utahime right in front of your eyes.

He vehemently denied anything untoward, of course, but that only fueled your heated shouting match until you'd finally given up in disgust.

Hence why you'd spent a restless night alone on the couch, stewing over the entire mess while your stubborn ass of a boyfriend likely snoozed away obliviously in your bed.

Just thinking about it made you want to scream.

"There you are," drawled that maddingly familiar voice from right behind you.

You stiffened at the unexpected proximity of Satoru's presence, unable to resist sneaking a glance over your shoulder. Great, he just came back from Jujutsu High.

Sure enough, there was your boyfriend towering over you wearing that carefully neutral expression behind the concealing fabric of his ever-present blindfold, hair artfully mussed.

Just the sight of him immediately rekindled that simmering spark of frustration and hurt inside you.

Without a word, you whirled around to stalk towards the kitchen, fully intending to avoid this confrontation altogether.

Until Satoru's hand snapped out to encircle your wrist, halting you mid-stride.

"We gotta talk about this, babe," he stated in a low rumble, reeling you back against the solid wall of his chest before you could protest.

You huffed out a sigh but didn't struggle against his gentle yet insistent grip as Satoru bent at the waist, face ducking to tuck into the crook of your neck as he sagged against you vulnerability.

His tall, deceptively lanky frame molded flush along your backside, radiating body heat through the thin cotton of your top.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled thickly, voice slightly muffled against your skin but still clear enough for you to pick up the rare hints of contrition lacing those two simple words.

"I didn't mean to... get so carried away with Utahime. It's just... she reminds me so much of how things used to be, y'know? Back when the three of us were always together. With Suguru. And the others."

Your throat tightened at the dejected, almost childish tone as realization clicked into place.

Of course he missed Suguru, despite everything - the three of you went through hell and back in those days.

Their bond of brotherhood had been unbreakable until that bitter, bloody end.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, smothering the residual burn of jealousy as you let out a shuddering exhale.

Satoru's shoulder's slumped further against your back, almost curling around you as if seeking shelter and forgiveness in your embrace.

With a rueful half-laugh, you turned in the loose circle of his arms to properly face him, hands gentling on the slopes of his shoulders.

"You're such an idiot," you murmured, barely above a whisper yet still rife with soft affection. "I get it, I do. As long as that's all it was..."

Strong arms circled your waist, tugging you infinitely closer as Satoru finally lifted his shrouded gaze towards you.

Despite the lack of eye contact from behind that immutable blindfold, you could feel the intensity of his stare searing into you.

"Of course it was," he rumbled gruffly, the usual cockiness beginning to bleed back into his deep timbre.

"You know you're the only one for me, baby."

His wandering palms skimmed brazenly up the curve of your spine, sending a shiver up your nape.

You gave him a light smack on the chest in playful chastisement even as the first genuine smile since yesterday's argument tugged at your lips.

"Better not forget that, jackass," you teased, nails scratching lightly against the nape of his neck - a spot you knew drove him crazy.

Satoru sucked in a sharp breath, fingers flexing indents into your hips before scooping you up and off the floor in one sinuous motion.

You couldn't contain the small squeak of surprise as your legs instinctively latched around his narrow waist.

Satoru wasted no time sealing his mouth over yours in a scorching, thorough kiss that immediately made your insides melt into liquid fire.

"Mm, not likely," he murmured smugly against your lips between fervent nips and caresses of his wicked tongue.

Suddenly you were moving, stumbling towards the bedroom with Satoru's lust-darkened aura flooding the apartment.

"Need to make up for last night... among other things," he purred silkily.

You could only manage a breathless giggle in anticipation while surrendering yourself to the fiery promise blazing behind those words.