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janumun · 4 months

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A Lemurian’s Guide to Love (LaDS Rafayel – General NSFW Headcanons)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Tags: oral and vaginal sex, body worship, fingering, praise kink, facial, hand kink, Rafayel shenanigans, allusions to spoilers for Rafayel’s myth dates, certain ASMRs and his character story Words: ~3k

Author’s Notes: The chokehold this man has on me (!!!) has led me to exploring Rafayel’s sexual foray as well as smidges of how I imagine his relationship to progress with his beloved in these headcanons.

Please take careful note of those tags and rating and proceed at your own discretion!

With that said, I hope you enjoy your read.

Rafayel has stood by and waited for you; over the course of several years — from that fated meeting and the result: a promise borne and broken — and through the descent of the sands of time.

And while he likes to consider himself a patient man — and to a degree, he has been just that; endurance incarnate over the course of those long, arduous years without his beloved at his side — when he does finally come across you, Rafayel finds his resolve ripple, and then gradually implode, into paper-thin fragments of yearning and fond desire.

From how Rafayel oft presents his public persona to the world — cool and dispassionate; a tepid smile on the ready for strangers who wish to garner his favour or attentions, one wouldn’t even think to scratch past that surface. The task of avoiding unnecessary engagements, especially since his return to Linkon City a few years prior, preceding his debut as an artist, is one he finds particularly cumbersome.

But during intimate moments, reserved for just the two of you, you see that exact same Rafayel — that handsome, charismatic artistic talent plastered, glossy, across covers of magazines and billboards — mould into silly scowls. A flair for the dramatics the minute he senses your attentions are not his alone for the taking. Ridiculous and feline-like in his excuses of demands from his ‘bodyguard’, to allow him her company.

After an endurance survived this incredibly long, he finds that in certain matters, he can no longer wait.

Great Lemurian entity he may be, but his habits fit firmer akin to a cat’s rather than any fish you’ve kept as a pet.

He likes to tease and prod at you, wind you up and then, burst into subdued laughter the moment you take his bait. He’s frighteningly adept at stringing you along to his whims, a certain boyish charm you’ve never seen him utilize on any of his vast majority of fans in public.

He loves to drag you out to impromptu sea-shell collecting ‘dates’ along the shores of Whitesand Bay, to capture the perfect pearlescent pink and silvers, to grind into paint on days he moans of “not having enough inspiration to paint’.

Tows you along for long drives in the vermillion convertible he was provided by Thomas, purchased from Rafayel’s private funds [the correct color he insisted on getting for the car before a poor Thomas was finally able to fulfil his request].

Had you both stranded miles away from home once, when he had a punctured tire and ‘forgot’ to ensure he had a spare to change, in case of emergencies.

And when you biked him back the rest of the way on a rental bicycle, you had the very nagging suspicion he wasn’t too upset about the mishap as he hummed an odd tune, seated behind you. Bodies close enough you felt the gentle vibrations of his voice deep within your bones, along with the steady movement of the tires hitting the paved road.

Truly a feline more than any amphibious creature.

A wondrous man, a delightful dissonance of character.

That very same man, when the two of you hold each other for the first time:

His digits scour a delicate path across your face, your jaw, down your neckline; Rafayel is incredibly, uncharacteristically quiet the first night you are his. Bathed a sterling blue under the watery gaze of the moon. Save for the thick hitch of his breath with the unveiling of bare skin, he is mute.

His eyes, however, a crisp indigo, seem to set an inextinguishable fire to the rest of your clothes.

He observes — engraves into memory — first with his gaze, and then, his fingers follow. Long, tapered digits mapping the shape of your breasts, thumb denting gentle at the peaks of them. A grip he tests, firm, against the supple flesh of your waist, flaring outwards into the soft squish of your hips.

He makes a sound then; incoherent, incomprehensible. Perhaps, an unconscious break of language into his native Lemurian tongue; the hoarse, barely compacted passion of it, however, conveyed to you in feelings.

You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Your first night is incredibly long, Rafayel shows you truly what it means to be made love to, you nearly weep of joy and pleasure.

He has waited, oh he has pined and wanted, for so long. It’s a surreal and soul shattering experience for him, just the blessing of you naked underneath his fingers alone, has all of Rafayel’s pretenses unravelling, all masks and facades falling away.

The first time, there is no teasing, no hiding.

Rafayel is immaculately thorough in his exploration of your body. His fingers; his preferred medium of following the swells and dips of his canvas — your body.

Unfortunately, and yet so very delightful for you; he takes his time sketching across your body throughout the night, providing no chance of rest or relief from the torrential waves of pleasure he crests through your body. His eyes trained fast on your face, for every slight quiver and break of you, witnessing your response to each single pinpoint of pleasure his fingers brush against.

Responding obedient to pleas of “oh, there, right there, Rafayel.”

This very first time, the sounds of you alone, moaning his name, could bring him to completion but he resists. Your pleasure, first and foremost, in his near-tunnel vision.

When the calls of his name upon your lips become unbearable, with the curve of his index and middle up into your warm wetness, Rafayel caves, like sand carried back into the depths of the sea, underneath the unrelenting break of waves. Long fingers indenting into pliant thighs as he cleaves them up and apart for unobstructed access to your weeping slit and presses a parched tongue to lap up your essence.

Curling his tongue up into your fluttering walls as his fingers dance against the tight bead of pleasure in between your legs, to the steady compresses of your thighs against the strength of his shoulders.

Rafayel adores and encourages your honesty in bed.

Ready to slow down when and if you tell him how overwhelmed you are. Takes you faster when you beg him to make you come with his mouth. All the while, that dark azure gaze is fixated upon you, the flush beneath them turned a deeper crimson with each sound of satisfaction he triumphantly plucks out of you.

Lashes descending involuntarily, only when you crest at the peak of your pleasure and flood yourself onto his waiting tongue. The taste of a delectable sea; he laps up every single drop of until he is sated.

And it is only when you implore Rafayel to put his cock inside you does he startle at the negligence of his body; hard and leaking, soiling the sheets beneath him.

When you finally, finally connect, painfully slow; the push comes without resistance offered, from how wet he has had you from his ministrations, for a good part of the night.

Rafayel has to struggle to breathe at the sensation of your warmth around him, tight, herculean control the likes of which he hasn’t ever had to scrabble for, ever in his life. To not just spill the moment he is inside you.

Her pleasure, I want to feel it. I want to make her feel good.

Still the sole thought behind that glazed, hot gaze. A moment of odd, emotional vulnerability when your eyes finally lock, your hands wandering now, to cup across his face.

And when he begins to move, Rafayel needs to feel each and every single part of you with every single fibre of his own. Fingers resuming their trek of their now favorite canvas as you murmur love and praise into his ears. The weight of a breast hefty against one large palm, the other with his fingers intertwined through yours as he propels into you.

Both of your releases, one and the same; as his eyes remain on the scrunch of your brow, just before he too falls, burying his face against the crescent of your neck.

Rafayel’s style of love-making is firmly passionate.

It is emotional, relieving and often times fun. He is incredibly adept at reading your cues and adjusting his pace according to your wants. Sex, in his mind, is an activity, as deserving of time and patience as his art — an intricate worship — and hence he usually requires the two of you have those several, long hours to spare before he gets to undressing you. Quickies, as such then, he isn’t a massive fan of.

Neither public spaces — a private dressing room at one of his events, requiring the two of you to be out within a certain time period — no matter how desperate or wanting he might be. Silencing your own protests with a long, hushed kiss and a skewed mischievous, flushed smile that has your heart quivering inside your chest. “Be a good girl now and wait,” he remarks before setting your disheveled collar back in order. The graceful sweep of his hand; for you to take, once you are done, ready to escort you out into the venue.

Open but private spaces, however, where you have time to spare and none to disturb, his private beach behind his home, is where you might find yourself spread wide across soft cloth. The cool waves of the shore lapping gentle at your tightly furled toes while Rafayel’s mouth works at the slick in between your legs. Truly his idea of a well-enjoyed romantic date.

On the note of basking in the benevolence of seas, Rafayel loves giving oral as much as he enjoys receiving it.

He isn’t incredibly vocal when it comes to giving voice to his desires, for having your mouth on him, often because he is more than happy [and engrossed] to have his mouth do all the talking (and lapping), while you luxuriate underneath the feel of his tongue and lips, like the [his] Queen you are. He loves servicing you to completion, no matter how much his tease of a foreplay may point to, otherwise.

It is only when your mouth takes him in for the first time, on your request do you make the delightful discovery of Rafayel’s little give-aways. The quiver of his fingers threaded firm through your hair. The clench of a fine toned abdomen, ripples of tight pleasure splaying across his torso.

“You’re doing so well, baby— hah, just like that. What have you done to me? You’re so good.”

The drop of his jaw, the fine, dark dusting of red smeared across his cheeks and ears. His slow, stuttered groans and pants. A deliberate suckle at his tip has him throwing his head back at the sensation, fingers spasming against the back of your skull. Your own resistance shattering and you take him in whole, the moan that chokes out of Rafayel’s throat in reward for your efforts is heaven enough, you keep returning for more.

Rafayel is loud and has no shame in showcasing his love and desire for you through the sounds he makes, just for you.

Part of the reason also why he prefers privacy to public displays of affection or quick sexual encounters. And he encourages just the same for you.

Be it the sounds of appreciation that leave his mouth, muffled and undulating, into your pussy or while he is inside of you, enjoying every single inch of your drenched, clenching flesh against his length.

“If you squeeze me that hard, I’m going to—”

Words fracturing apart into a long, stuttered moan he presses right against your lips. Foreheads slick with the sweat of your desires as he bears down against you. Bright blue gaze meeting yours — the gentle florid fringe of pinks — steeped in pleasure as his fingers curve about your jaw, pleading a kiss from your lips.

“My pretty girl.” A flushed devastating grin. “Let me come inside you. I want to feel the way your body clamps around me when I do. Gods, please.”

Rafayel is an immensely flexible lover. No rules are set in stone, no bedroom innovations entirely over-ruled before the two of you knock it at least once.

There is no sole lead; only the steps you weave in between you two, together. He is receptive to a wide variety of tastes and kinks; ever the most studious, eager participant, save for the rare personal boundary or two, he has set in place (see above: feelings regarding public sex).

Grasping your hand to fold a kiss against your palm as he moves within you. Bidding on sex-hoarse whispers to entrust yourself to his care while he sets to plunging your entire being into flames, pleasure so exhilarating you’re left grappling for air by the end of it all. All the while, he shapes his marks of adoration against your skin, soothing warmth to set nerves lax from all their previous exertion.

Or, when you ask it of him, supplicates himself — a willing, grinning participant — loving, puckish desire set to blaze within his dark eyes. Tracking each single move, the delicate fingers that sketch against his heaving abdomen, the hand that moves to enclose his cock in between eager digits and pump, slow: a delectable torture. And he responds in kind to your enthusiasm, if you leave his mouth unbound and able — sings for you as you so enjoy, in that rapturous voice you so adore. Lent a lascivious flavour from how his head rolls back across his neck in the throes of incoming release, the flush of him flooding down across his chest from how aroused he is for you to be doing what you are to him.

The sight of him in his entirety is enough for your own patience to wear paper-thin, drenched wet from the erotic picture he paints beneath you.

Rafayel’s house is a mess.

...Something he often brushes off as personal ‘creative choices’, declaring he finds a certain order to his disarray of things strewn about.

The colors he knows exactly where to pluck off the floor of his studio. A second draft of an upcoming painting, pinned underneath a [fish] magnet against the kitchen cabinet. A spare shirt draped across the arm of a sofa for when he wants to quickly switch out of pigment-stained clothes in between paintings.

However, he takes special care to keep his bedroom — or at the very least, on worse days, one sofa — in acceptable, spruced order. Especially so, after you start coming over to visit or stay the weekend, accompany him on days he holes himself up in his house, to pore over an artwork. Often so preoccupied, by the time he snaps out of it, several hours later: to a velvet sky outside and you scrunched up in an upright position, with your head coasting sideways at an uncomfortable angle, in your sleep.

The first and last time that happens as he carts you into his arms and off to his bedroom to tuck you into his bed and insists you retire to his bedroom on your own, the next morning, whenever you feel like dozing off. Making a point, then onwards to always have it ready and at your disposal.

For sleep and when you’re both not; tangled within each other and the sheets, cooling down from your highs.

Rafayel craves chaste physical intimacy post-coitus as he drags you into his arms, your breath warm against his chest. He despises being away from your comfort for even a moment’s breath; extra adorable and tetchy in his phase of dramatics if you try and squirm away.

Has startled you on one particular occasion; hunched, stark naked, by the door of the bathroom as you stepped out of it. A frown knit in between his brow, a disagreeable moue to that beautiful mouth and a simple, “I’m cold, warm me.”

An amalgamation of just how Rafayel is like and something else; deeper, you suspect it stems from unspoken fears of loneliness. There are nights you don’t quite understand, when his emotions run rampant and his need for physical affirmation and constant connection are strong; the man immediately soothed to rest the moment your hand is across his cheek, fingers caressing down the sculpt of his jaw. Tiring him at last into exhausted sleep. A vulnerability to his visage only you are allowed to stand witness to.

There is something so incredibly erotic about his girl when she lets him put his cock against her mouth...

Testing every single mental fortitude, he has ever had thrown up, walls of iron built over the course of centuries, crumbling at the feeling of your wet mouth against his length. Drawing him in before you swallow him, right to the base.

Taking his seed down your throat like the damn, amazing girl you are but if you pull back at just the right moment, firm fist bringing him to spill against your cheeks, traversing down the arc of your neck—

Rafayel’s thoughts frizzle into a numb void, mouth agape and panting. A scarlet flush dashed across the ridge of his cheekbones, his ears, to witness your face dirtied by smears of his cum. The sight truly untethers a carnal, primitive want in him, he isn’t able to fully parse himself.

Truly imprinted upon as the bride of the Sea God.

Your sexual sessions are more often than not, kicked off on sensual, fun notes and back-and-forths.

A stray jibe you might throw his way at one of his odd habits and he’s plucking you right off your feet. Nimble digits feathering down the expanse of your abdomen in retaliation before you’re reduced to giggles; both of your fingers catching at the other’s clothes in an attempt for dominance before you drift, natural, against the other’s mouth in soft, scheming smiles.

Or, when you reach to strike the firm muscle of his behind, the sweet, silly twist to his mouth right as he startles, an indignant, scandalized gaze he rolls your way. “Why, you—” Before you reach to grasp him by the collar and drag down towards your waiting, open mouth. Lips drawing wide into a smile as you feel his reciprocated urgent squeeze across your ass; the pads of his fingers tracing the lining of your panties beneath your skirt. “Don’t make me return the favor several fold, pretty siren.”

The bite of restive teeth he sinks into his lower lip as he hauls you up and against his rigid length. Before you reach forward, disengaging his lip, to suckle it into your own mouth. “Try me.”

The act itself leaning more into the romance of the moment and slow, deep thrusts into your body as Rafayel drifts against you. Mouthing every piece of spare skin in sight, affirmations and assurances as clear and heard as the moans that tumble from his lips.

Link to Master List

#lads rafayel #lads rafayel smut #ns/fw text #lads smut #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace headcanons #lads headcanons #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #rafayel #lads x reader #janussary

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genderfluid-insomniac · 5 months

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Mechanic Wukong and Street Artist Macaque with a poly reader

Artists: pedrinho_lmk (left) and @scotchy-pie-art (right)

Mechanic Sun Wukong

Originally met you when your car broke down for seemingly no reason on your way to work and called a tow company that took your car into his shop. Wukong’s always been a morning person, even though he loves sleeping in, so he’s working down his list of chores with a white tank top covered in spots of grease and oil.

Wukong usually has his hair pulled back and will ask you to tie his fluffy ginger hair back so it doesn’t get caught in any car parts or dirty from oil. Loudly purrs when you comb through his mane, carefully detangling knots and cleaning any bits of dirt or grit.

Whenever you have a day off to stop by the shop he’ll purposely wipe off anything on his face with his tank top which shows bits of his bare stomach. He’ll use any and every excuse to take off his shirt, saying it’s too hot out or he doesn’t want to ruin his clothing which is already covered in oil and grease.

Wukong’s very strong already from training but his job only enhances that because cars are a couple of tons and he has a habit of sticking part of his tongue out when he’s focused which makes your mind wander.

A good part about your mate being a mechanic in addition to being the great sage is that with his powers he can find the issue with the vehicle quickly with the help of his eyes of truth which helps him end the day early a lot of the time and lets him get back to you earlier than usual.

You both love it when he throws and catches you in the air or carries you in an absurd but secure position partially to show off to others and you. You love it because it gives you butterflies and you’re never scared he’s going to drop you because he cares so much for you and he’s not that much of an airhead when it comes to you.

He's a great multitasker cause he can use his tail which comes in hand for both working and at home ;) Unfortunately, it is usually used for the various colors of paint splattered on a car, sometimes in a design or pattern, while his main focus is the engine or undercarriage.

Street Artist Macaque

Speaking of paint, Macaque is a well-known street artist who only leaves a special signature of his and so because of that he doesn’t have to worry about being recognized or harassed by police. All of his work is done with passion and originality, very rarely his art is on private property or people’s belongings and some are inspired by things he’s seen or people that are interesting to him (i.e. you).

However, a fair amount of his work is purposely painted on cars because he knows Wukong’s probably going to be the one to deal with it and adores the groans of agony from his frenemy. You’re kind of disappointed at his smug grin whenever Wukong throws a wrench or whatever is in reach of him at your boyfriend who partially deserves it and shouts an apology to the mechanic who greets you kindly.

He first met you when he was spray painting a unique design about a recent protest to raise awareness in his special way on a sidewall of a coffee shop when you walked out to take out the trash and saw him floating mid-spray as your eyes met his golden ones. You turned your head to call for your manager but got silenced by Macaque’s hand covering your mouth and gave him 2 minutes to explain, long story short you both intrigued each other and started to have dates discussing both of your jobs. Mainly he doesn’t solely rely on his work as an artist but also as a performer and combat instructor.

He does adore it when you sneak out with him to help with his art or to provide company as he paints although he’d much prefer you get a healthy amount of sleep each night even if he feels a bit lonely without you. Your health is a priority to him but if it’s during the day and in a more discreet place whether alleyway or back of the building he’ll bring you with him, often taking breaks to eat lunch while you both talk about certain aspects of that design that could be improved or highlighted.

You’re well aware of his artistic gifts because of the looks he gives you before you leave or anytime you’re near a work of his art and usually the crowd surrounding the artwork gives it away as well. It’s never expressed obviously that it’s you in the piece of art because if it was then you might be questioned about the identity of the rogue artist who is secretly your boyfriend and Macaque wouldn’t want that ever. So a lot of them have the symbolism of you and what he loves about you, some of them having somewhat clear images of your face if you squint and those are personally his favorites.

He assures you he’s very good at remaining hidden when doing his “illegal” street art because of his advanced hearing shadow powers so with both it’s very easy to make a quick escape if he hears the police or sees something that’d get him caught. It also comes in handy when you’re out with him if he’s ever in danger or if someone attacks since it means he can get you out of there quickly. This goes the same for if you run into trouble with him at night since you have self-defense and your boyfriend has helped by giving you tips on how to improve. He’s going to prioritize you if anything happens despite any claims from you and he won’t let anything hurt you regardless if it’s to get back at him or not.

Mechanic Sun Wukong + Street Artist Macaque (poly)

Surprise surprise you met both of them when they were trying to spite one another which as one could guess is when Macaque was trying to get back at Wukong so he spray-painted your car with a crude design and so you had to forget heading to work. That led you to Wukong’s repair shop and saw the very annoyed look on his face when he saw the trouble you were facing, especially since you both found the other very attractive eventually when he was able to remove the paint you both exchanged numbers. He threw out some obvious flirts about how beautiful you were and you couldn’t ignore how he was shirtless surely because of how hot it was showing off how toned and gorgeous he was.

Macaque however followed his “victim” through their shadow and relished in the annoyance he saw he gave the king, turning to see the no-doubt pain on his victim’s face only to see your divine face twisted in a frown and now regretting defacing your car. On the one hand, he was glad he met you but on the other, he already ruined your day and you seemed like a nice person. The fact that Wukong flirted with you only made him annoyed and he already wanted to know you more (after he apologized first of course), spiting him by becoming closer to you was a bonus now since he’d already planned to ask you out and now he had the perfect introduction planned. Shortly after you got out of work, he popped up beside your car and apologized in his own special way, flirting with you with a smirk proudly on his face and genuinely apologizing before getting your number.

Both of them ended up finding out they were attempting to date you and only tried to one-up each other in terms of winning your heart, making it a bit too obvious that you were the center of their affections and trying to make help understand you loved them both. You were able to get them both inside your apartment and sit them down to say that you loved them both dearly and couldn’t choose, all of you agreeing to a polyamorous relationship and ending the night in cuddles.

In your free time, you can often find both of your boyfriends playing their silly game of back and forth which leads to a repeated war of the whole thing. Meanwhile, all you want is to just be cuddled and not pay for excess repairs if it’s your car even with your boyfriend doing it free of cost. It takes little to convince them to give up their squabbles and give each of them kisses or any kind of affection and they’ll melt into your hands. Both of them will protect you from any harm (whether it’s from police from Mac’s illegal art or enemies who want to use you to get to Wukong) and it’s one of the few things there’s never any arguing on, focusing on your safety and taking care of the threat while the other makes sure you’re alright or hidden.

#lmk macaque #lmk x reader #monkie kid macaque #six eared macaque #lmk macaque x reader #macaque x reader #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid x reader #lego monkie king #lmk sun wukong #lmk sun wukong x reader #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong

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kingdumkum · 2 years

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WHAT ARE YOU THE GOD OF, AGAIN?

feat: Satan (1754) ∻ Asmodeus (1297) ∻ Beelzebub (1402) ∻ Belphegor (1533) synopsis: turns out, fallen angels can have more than one sin. cw: afab!reader | dom!Satan shouldn’t be allowed to play with toys but here we are; vouyerism (on behalf of the brothers but namely Asmo); exhibitionism (on behalf of Satan); brat tamer!Satan x brat!reader; humiliation; cnc in that reader doesn’t actually give explicit consent in this situation but it’s been given for situations like this before; Satan is a closet FREAK and i will be taking questions | kinda public sex (they’re in a closet); fwb; really rough sex; possessive!Asmo knows how to leave a mark; slight mentions of blood; feral!Asmo is something ELSE but I’m here for it | panty-stealing; panty-sniffing; perv!Beel; breeder ball Beel ain’t an agenda, it’s the truth; he’s kinda pathetic and lovesick in this but i fail to see how that’s out-of-character | facesitting (on Belphie); oral (f!receiving); overstimulation (f!receiving); soft!Belphie because writing him mean is really hard for me; it’s really just great to be Belphie’s tbh a/n: i... am shocked speechless at how many people enjoyed part one. this was so self-indulgent, but y'all have been so nice, so have a cookie ya filthy animals. the prince of demons and his angel and his human are next.

∻ Satan ↠ w r a t h ⤲ e n v y

While SATAN does his best to remain calm, to try and not just put up with his anger but control it, his sin is contagious, and more often than not, he inadvertently starts things. Sometimes without even realizing; most of the time with the sole intent to. It helps, he justifies, that he doesn’t have to be the only one angry all the time. It gives him a break, lets him be calm.

Let him regain control.

And control he has, as he plays with the settings of the vibrator nestled neatly in your cunt. A punishment from earlier, when you showed up to your private study session with Asmodeus in tow. Yes, Satan knows you didn’t invite him on purpose, and yes, he knows Asmodeus pulled the but I would fail without your help! card, as if he wasn’t around whispering inspiration into Oscar Wilde’s ear in the first place, but that didn’t help his barely-controlled rage when Asmo decided the best place for you to tutor him would be in his lap.

And you agreed.

Satan knew why, of course; it was your way of trying to get back at him for accidentally standing you up the other night. That wasn’t his fault though; he’d gotten so caught up in his latest work that he’d completely lost track of time, but he’d rushed over to Hell’s Kitchen as soon as he realized. Three hours late.

To where you were sitting with Asmodeus. Drinking, with Asmodeus–laughing, with Asmodeus.

Asmodeus, who promptly left with a brief kiss on your cheek and playful scolding of Satan for losing sight of something so precious, had the sense to not be seen again, and Satan managed to remain calm until your salads arrived, at which point you made note of how Asmodeus helped you picked the menu.

He did pay for the damages done to the bathroom (discreetly, of course; he didn’t need to be scolded by Lucifer for losing control again), and he thought the two of you had come to an understanding. One in which he’d stop making foolish mistakes like losing track of time, and you’d stop keeping foolish company.

Satan had underestimated how addicted you were to making him lose control, though. Almost as much as he was addicted to controlling you.

His face is as stoic as always, even as he watches your reflection in his goblet while nonchalantly flicking his fingers erratically over his phone’s screen. To his more oblivious brothers, who aimlessly talk about Beel’s upcoming game or Mammon’s latest photo shoot, Satan merely looks bored and yearns to return to the library from which he was so ungraciously dragged for dinner; to Lucifer, whose gaze flicks between you and Satan’s apparently apathetic facade, something sinister lies in his creation’s blank stare; and to Asmodeus, who cradles his chin between his palms as he leans across the table towards his older brother, suddenly realizes Satan’s far less interesting than you–you, whose face is flushed, whose jaw is clenched, whose eyes are shut so tight, Asmo knows you must be seeing stars.

And that’s before the smell of your arousal hits him.

With a deepening grin, Asmodeus takes a deep inhale–deep enough to catch Satan’s attention.

The toy stops moving.

With a whimper of protest, your lower lip starts to quiver. Your eyes slowly open, blinking back into reality; and reality being, Satan was about to make you cum for the second time that dinner, with all six of his brothers gathered around the table. You were close–you were so close, and you knew that, and Satan knew that, and–his teal eyes are narrowed in Asmodeus’s direction. His face barely changes; a tightening of his lips, thinning of his eyes, the pause of his hand. But when you whisper his name, hand stretching beneath the tablecloth to grip his knee tightly, he falls apart.

His stoic facade slips, and for a moment, Asmodeus’s smile slips, too–for there, in Satan’s eye, is something Asmodeus had thought to be too intimate for his brother to ever feel; something too tender for an Avatar of Wrath to possess. But it’s there, lurking in the shallow waters of his brother’s eyes as Satan’s stretch for the jug of wine sitting just beyond your reach brings his lips to your ear.

“Apologies, darling,” he murmurs in a tone so light, it wouldn’t be fair to call it air. “Let me make it up to you.”

You cross your arms over your chest and lean into the table, prepared to quip something back about how he better before a gasp slips out instead as Satan, quicker than you thought possible, pulls out the vibrator.

“Satan–” you hiss, but he silences you with a tense glare. One he makes up for by placing a heavy hand back on your thigh, fingers lazily trailing along the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, and despite the uncertainty biting at your spine, you nod. He’s never given you reason not to… ever. “Good. I think this could be fun.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you know better than to ask; the last time you tried questioning what the reserved demon wanted to try, you ended up tied to his bed, vibrator strapped to your aching cunt, for eight hours. Not that you minded that particular outcome, except for the fact you were running out of plausible excuses to justify your frequent absences… or hickies.

Satan’s lips twitch up as he fills your goblet, then goes to top his off. You see the glint of something heavy in his palm, then the splash of something making contact with the liquid in his goblet, then the realization of what he’s doing turns your blood cold as he offers his cup to Asmo.

“Want some?” he asks with perfect ease. “It’s particularly… sweet this evening.”

Satan’s smile could be considered cruel, and in his heart, he knows it is, especially with your shocked-still look of terror beside him, but… this was as close to a blessing as he could ever grant. He might never be willing to share you fully, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to let the others know what they’re missing; particularly Asmo. Particularly the only other demon who seems to be better at eliciting wrath than he.

Asmodeus takes the goblet with a coy grin, already knowing what devilish game his brother is up to. He lifts it to his nose, swirling what little liquid is left as he takes a deep whiff. His sultry gaze turns to you briefly before back to Satan, taking a deep sip. “Made it yourself?”

Satan leans back in his chair, fingers circling around your thigh and dipping beneath your skirt. You bite your lip and fist the hem of the thin material, already knowing that when Satan smirks, it’s not because you’re already flustered from his featherlight touch, but rather because you’ve soaked the cushion beneath you already.

“We did together, actually,” Satan corrects. Without warning, he dips a single digit into your fluttering hole, desperate to be filled after being so cruelly teased all dinner, making sure to gather as much slick as he can. “She’s quite the excellent chef. Everything she makes is… sublime.”

As if to prove his point, Satan withdraws his finger and slowly brings it to his lips. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, not just at the lewdness with which Satan wraps his pale lips around his finger, but at the deep laugh Asmodeus echoes as he dips a finger beyond the goblet’s gilded edge, as carefully as if he were stroking a lover. “Oh, truly,” he agrees, popping his finger into his mouth and sucking gratuitously, “I’ll have to have both of you cook for me some time. I wonder what wonderful things you might be able to make for me, hm?”

Satan starts to frown, and your heart starts to race. With thin lips, he replaces his hand beneath your skirt, but gone is the reverence he was stroking you with before; now, he dives in like a drowning man. Plunging two fingers into your depths, not caring at the way your whole body tenses as you fail to keep your breathing steady, all while maintaining eye contact with his younger brother.

“That’s up to her, I suppose,” Satan muses, angling his palm so it grinds against your puffy clit with every deep thrust, “she doesn’t like cooking for just anyone. She needs the right ingredients, you see. High class stuff. Not sure someone like you would understand, little brother, considering the usual… chefs you employ.”

In other circumstances, you would be fuming at the casual way the brothers discuss you as if you aren’t even there. You’d also probably be in a right enough mind to scold Satan for slipping Asmo your vibrator without actually asking, or at the very least tell Asmo off for being such a brazen flirt–but your mind isn’t thinking that far ahead. It’s all you can do to keep up with the pleasurable way Satan is moving inside you, filling you more fully than any toy ever could, pressing against your core as if this were something he was made to do. Your brain is hazy with pleasure, body even more so, to the point where you don’t even notice Asmodeus passing the goblet to Mammon, teasing the back of the white-haired demon’s head as he’s promised this’ll be his new favorite drink.

Your nails dig into Satan’s arm as he brings you past the edge. He lets you bury your head in his shoulder, softly settling an arm around your shoulders as he murmurs, “good girl.” He tells Asmo that you’re just overcome with emotion about the way your book ended, and he tells Lucifer it’s none of his business when the elder demands to know the name of such an offending book, and he tells Mammon he may absolutely not have the recipe, because that’s a secret between just the two of you.

He does this all while still steadily pumping his fingers in and out of you, bringing you to yet another silent orgasm that leaves tear-stains on your cheeks. By the time Satan’s decided he’s had his fill, his fingers are pruning, his lips are coated from his near-constant finger sucking, and his goblet returns empty.

“Come on, darling,” he says after you’ve had a chance to catch your breath, “we’re out of wine. Shall we go make some more?”

∻ Asmodeus ↠ l u s t ⤲ w r a t h

The sound of skin-slapping-skin is the only thing to be heard in the cramped janitor’s closet ASMODEUS pulled you into just five minutes ago. Your hands curl against the wire shelves as you pitifully try to keep your whimpers in. Not that Asmo helps with that, though; not with the aggressive way he’s slamming into you, thumb constantly rubbing your clit in a way he knows drives you insane, sending you jolting forwards into the various cleaning solvents and potion ingredients you did not find romantic whatsoever. His grip on your hips is bruising, but every time you try to straighten, he’s instantly able to shove your shoulders forward and grab your hip once more before you’ve even processed what he’s doing.

“Perfect fucking pussy, sucking me in so goddamn tight,” Asmo growls, letting his free hand trail down your spine to grab your hair. With a sudden jerk, he yanks you backwards, his breath hot against your ear as you fail to suppress a pitiful moan. “Stop pretending like this is too much, angel. This–is–your–fault.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about, he can tell; and it makes him even angrier. It’s not exactly a secret that Asmo has a… soft (or rather, hard) spot for the human exchange students, but there were a few demons that didn’t care. A few pathetic, weak, disgusting demons who thought they could try and steal you away–

He has no right. He’s not stupid, he knows he has no official claim to you. He’d known that since the day you met, and he remembered it when you snuck into his room and shly asked if he had any advice for how to be safe when it came to demons, and he forced himself to tell you, over and over, that he was the Avatar of Lust, and a mere human could never be enough to fully saite his appetite.

So why is he the one who can’t seem to move on?

He was the one who wasn’t searching for something serious, just like he was the one who promised, if you’d let him take care of you, nothing would change. That you’d be friends first and foremost, benefits on the side, no strings attached. No expectations, other than cumming so much you lose count; and no feelings. Except unadulterated pleasure, of course.

It’s a pattern Asmo’s been able to do since the dawn of time, and as the Avatar of Lust, it’s worked out just fine. And then… you, with your soft smiles and softer touch and the way you look at him and see him. Not his beauty, or his charm, or his cock, but–him. Asmodeus, your Asmodeus, only yours–

“Bet this drives you fucking wild, doesn’t it?” Asmo whispers. His tone matches his pace; rough, deep, and full of the things he can’t actually say. “Knowing you’ve got–the Avatar of Lust–pussywhipped–”

Your walls flutter around him, but it’s the low moan of, “Asmo, please–” that causes him to pause. He’s fully sheathed inside you, pulling you back into him as far as he could as he presses his chest to your back. Roughly, he bites at the skin on your lower back, slapping your ass when you yelp and try jumping away.

“Stay. Put.”

Another bite, this time on your hip, earning yet another yelp–but you manage to suppress your jump with a tremble, keenly aware that whatever mood Asmo’s in is not one to be trifled with.

Another, on your other hip; another, moving up your spine; another, between your shoulder-blades–

Asmodeus keeps you impaled on his pulsing cock, the long member twitching inside with every pitiful yelp you release when his teeth make contact with your tender skin. His hands run up and down your sides before coming to cup your breasts, gently teasing your nipples until the pain of his bites blurs into the pleasure from his fingers.

“Asmo–Asmo, please, I–” you try begging him to move, begging him to pay attention to your clit again, begging him to let you cum–but he won’t have it.

“Oh, so now you remember my name?” Another bite, this time on top of your shoulder. You barely register his words. Asmo snatches your chin and forces your head back. His eyes, usually so full of kindness, are nearly black with rage. Your eyes flutter shut when he snaps his hips into yours, and your whines are pathetic when he stills once more.

“Look at me.”

You can’t. You won’t. You’re tearing up from frustration, and if you open your eyes he’ll see you cry, and if you start crying he might stop fucking, and you don’t want that. Not when he gets like this–when he treats you like you’re his.

This bite breaks skin.

Middle of your throat, right above the pulsepoint he so easily could’ve sliced with just the barest twitch from either of you. Warm liquid slowly trails down to the hollow of your throat, but you don’t know if it’s blood or spit from the messy way Asmo makes out with your neck.

He watches you while he does, pulling back to lick from the nasty bruise that’s already starting to ache all the way up to the corner of your mouth.

“All I had to do was remind you, hunh angel? You don’t need anyone else, yeah? Just me, baby. Just me, just need me-” his voice is soft with desperation, pressing needy kisses to every inch of your face he can reach. His grip on your breast and jaw turns bruising, but you don’t care. You love being marked by him; the pretty patchwork of blues and greens serving as a reminder that your time with Asmo is real.

“Just--just you, Asmo. Just need–you.”

He doesn’t know if you mean it, but he can’t find it in him to care. Not when you start rocking back on his cock, freely crying as you continue to beg him to make you feel good.

For a moment, Asmodeus has the sadistic urge to leave. To step back, walk out like nothing happened, and leave you in such a state of want you’ll never think to forget him again.

But then your hand finds his on your chest, and you interlock your fingers while you press a gentle kiss to the palm still clutching your cheeks, and you mumble, “only ever want to be yours, Asmo. Make me yours.”

He can’t breathe, first because he was in shock and then because his lips find yours so quickly, he doesn’t get a chance to. His hips move slowly, minimally grinding into yours as your makeout turns sloppy, only turning into full thrusts when the pleasure gets to be too much and you have to break away from his kiss for air.

“All you had to do was ask, angel. You know I’d do anything for you. But since you seem to keep forgetting, guess I better figure out a way to make you remember, yeah?”

He starts sweet. Sweet as the kiss he presses to your forehead, sweet as the way he caresses your cheek as his hips start to gain traction–but quickly turns bitter when he doesn’t stop. When his hips pick up to the brutal pace he’d initially set when he first dragged you in, slamming against your already bruised thighs without mercy. When the hand on your cheek goes down to your throat, and the other snakes its way down to your clit and tweaks in all the areas but the one you need.“No one else can make you feel like this, you got that?” Asmodeus whispers–though it sounds more like a hiss, with how tight his jaw is. “No one can fuck you like me, so don’t–fucking–bother–it’s just me, angel. You’re–just–mine–”

∻ Beelzebub ↠ g l u t t o n y ⤲ l u s t

BEELZEBUB thought he knew better.

Well, not thought; he does know better, and not because Belphie told him so or he watched Mammon get punished for this before, but because this isn’t like him. This–insatiable need, this gnawing pain in the bottom of his stomach that won’t go away no matter how hard he tries. At least with his sin, the last few millennia had taught him how to manage it (a binge here, a binge there, eating constantly in-between, working out whenever else to try and keep his mind occupied), but… this? This?

He’s never felt like this before. So–empty. Hollow. Weak.

His urge to eat you raw might break him.

He knocks softly on your bedroom door, despite knowing that you’re currently in the mess with his brothers. You’re probably laughing at some corny joke Mammon made, offering to split your rice with Satan, letting Belphie rest his head on your shoulder–Beel’s next knock splinters the wood.

Crap. He’ll have to fix that, before he goes back. Thank Diavolo he’s built up a bit of a reputation for breaking things, though, so it quickly shuttles to the back of his mind as his gaze lands on what he’s here for.

What he should leave alone.

What he can’t.

A small pile of laundry, overflowing from your hamper, poking out from behind your closet doors.

He should not be here, but his body betrays him. Again. Like the way it did when you came down to breakfast in a shirt that was so obviously not yours, apologizing to Asmodeus over and over for letting your laundry get away from you and praising him for letting you borrow from him in the meantime.

Beel broke his spoon. Belphie gave him a new one. Beel promptly broke that one too, when you sat down across from him and asked if he had any laundry you could do, seeing as how that might be all you get to do this weekend.

He didn’t plan on letting his mind wander to what else might be dirty, just as he didn’t plan to nearly get run over on the way to school because he was so caught up in wondering if you even had any underwear left, and he certainly did not intend to run back to the House of Lamentation to rifle through your dirty laundry for just one infuriating pair of your panties.

Just one, he reasons as he cautiously glances into your hamper. He hopes it’ll be right on top, that he can take a pair and race to his room and get one good orgasm (or two or three or however many it takes to get you out of his brain), then return them before you’re ever the wiser.

So how did he end up in his bathroom with six pairs in his pockets?

Oh. Right. Because the pair on top were lacy and black and had him salivating, even before he pressed them to his nose for a deep whiff; and then he caught sight of a white pair, just beneath your school skirt, and he figured two is a safer bet than one, and then he thought he saw a red pair with polka dots and he’s always been partial to red, and then–

And then, and then, and then.

It’s the story of his sin; to never be satisfied, never be full. How he managed to stop at six when the image of number seven (an orange thong that he nearly ripped in half trying to unhook from a pair of tights) he’ll never know; how long he’s been on the bathroom floor, hastily jerking his hefty cock with low groans of your name also escape him; but he does know it’s worth it.

He takes a deep sniff of the lacy black pair he’d first pulled; the most recent. The ones that smell the most like you, and not just the fading clean scent of your detergent or the lingering waft of your soap, but you. He wonders if you masturbated in this pair, or if you naturally stain each panty you wear. He wonders how you masturbate, if you prefer to strip naked and take your time or if you’re desperate like him, if you can’t wait to fully bare yourself like him, if you’re a freak like him–

Beel groans and sticks his tongue out, trying to control himself but failing as soon as the tip of his tongue makes contact with the cool seat of your dirty intimates. His cock throbs in his palm, and no matter how many slow, heavy, hard drags he makes up the girthy length, he is left feeling needier than ever.

And then he gets an idea; a sick, twisted, perverted idea that makes him feel even grosser than before, an idea he can’t ignore as the heat in his stomach starts to convulse. He picks up another pair (he knew it’d be good to take multiple), the white ones he’d had to wrestle from your skirt, and he grips them tight in hand.

He hesitates for a moment. Holds his breath, staring at the pale fabric in his hand as if he doesn’t recognize it, as if he hadn’t just stolen it, as if he wasn’t imagining what they’d look like on you and nothing else–

He groans. Loud, without care, desperate as he stuffs the black lace so far into his face it nearly goes down his throat, while his other hand wraps your white pair around his cock. They’re… soft, and a little cold, but if he closes his eyes he can pretend it’s you rubbing them against him, and if he breathes deep enough he can pretend you’re doing this after sitting on his face the way he dreams you would.

He’s never been this hard. Never so receptive, even to his own touch. The way the cotton of your undies glides against the precum dripping down his cock is softer than the clouds in heaven, and he swears he could cum like this; sprawled out on his shower floor, still half-clothed from his desperation to be close to you, your panties wrapped around him. He imagines what you’d do, if you were here, with him–not with his brothers, but him. Because he’s the one who has this piece of you, only him.

But… what would you do, if you came home early and found him? Would you be as disgusted with him as he is with himself? Or would you offer him a fresh pair, stripping bare as you fall to your knees, offering to let him taste from the source–

Beel cums. Hard. White splatters along his RAD uniform, gathering heavily against the dark material and saturating the lower-half of his button up. Thick spurts fly through the air, some landing as high as the tile beside his head, before steadily pooling at the base of his abs. He pants, mouth still covered by the remnants of you, eyes still shut to the thought of you. His hand goes lax, letting the now-damp fabric of your white panties dab slowly at the copious amounts of cum now dripping down his hip.

His heart beats as fast as if he’s just completed a workout, and for a brief moment, he feels full. As if you–the mere thought of you, in fact–is enough to fill the missing pieces of him.

Until his DDD buzzes, and he sees a picture of you and a sleeping Belphie, and reads your message asking where your tied-for-first-favorite snuggle-buddy wandered off to, and his stomach growls. His lip curls in a sneer that morphs into a growl of frustration as his dick starts to swell, his eyes instantly drawn to where your breast presses against Belphie’s sleeping bicep.

It’s not fair, and it’s not right, and Beel knows better. He knows you’re happy to share, that there’s enough of you to share, that he should just fucking share–

But he doesn’t.

He keeps this for himself, this secret of raiding your hamper. Of keeping a piece of you close, always tucked away in his back pocket, and not just because it makes dealing with the random hardies easier. He might not be able to admit his feelings, but he can have this one piece of you for himself.

Why else would you be sure to leave his favorites right on top?

∻ Belphegor ↠ s l o t h ⤲ g l u t t o n y

Death should be an old friend to a creature like BELPHEGOR. Death should be something he’s able to greet with open arms, to plainly discuss the state of the world and how fleeting such things like eternity can be–but Death is not. Death is now as unfamiliar to Belphie as Love, and this is not a relationship he wishes to change anytime soon.

Although, with your legs wrapped around his head, tongue lapping at your folds as he glides your hips across his soaked lips, he knows he could greet Death with a smile. He might even be able to tear Death to shreds, for all the vitality your essence seems to bring.

He’s lost track of the time he’s spent between your legs. Enough so that even the sheets on either side of his head are saturated, and not just from sweat; but not so long as the painful ache in his stomach has yet to subside. He’s yearning, in a way he hasn’t done since the Fall, for something he hasn’t had since the Fall.

For Love.

For you.

He can think of no better way to show his love than this; bringing you to the apex of pleasure over and over and over again, until the cry of his name becomes synonymous with this feeling of fullness that engulfs you every time Belphie latches on to your clit.

His technique is the same; gentle kisses along the inside of your thigh before whispering against your cunt, tongue flicking out every-so-often to catch your sensitive bud. Sweet musings you often can’t hear, but aren’t addressed to you. Sweet sentiments you sometimes make out to be, “such a pretty girl f’me,” and “what a mess you’ve made today, pretty,” and the worst–“you’re my perfect pussy, aren’t you?”

You whimper as his open-mouth kisses get closer to your heat. Slowly, you try rotating your hips to force Belphie to land a kiss where you need him most. Instead, he bites your clit.

With a gasp, you shudder and instinctively try rolling your hips backwards, but his hands latch on to your waist–not even your hips, but your waist–with enough force to keep you pinned.

“M’not done,” he mumbles. Spit slides down the swell of his cheeks, matting in his inky locks. His tongue languidly flicks at your folds, and he snickers when you squeak.

“Belphie,” you plead, “either do something or let me go, please–’

“Do something?” he asks. He peers up at you, and the sight of his violet eyes just barely peeking out from between your legs, the entire lower half of his jaw hidden from sight by your sex, has whatever little strength was left in your legs give out entirely. A smug smile curls his pale lips, and he bites your clit again.

“Belphie!”

You try squirming away, but the vibrations from Belphie’s chuckles feel heavenly. He knows what he’s doing when he presses his lips, still thinned in a smile, against your overstimulated nub, gently rubbing back and forth to ease the sting from his teeth. “You should’ve learned by now, little human, to be more careful with what you wish for.”

He blows out a puff of air, warm and cold and euphoric and tortuous all at once. Tears start to pool in your eyes, and the hands that once rested against his velvet headboard come to cradle either side of his face.

“P-please,” you choke, “please, Belphie, I–I need–”

“You don’t know what you need,” he dismisses, and instead of explaining, not because you’re a dumb human, but because you haven’t spent enough time in this existence to know, you don’t have the curse of knowledge that I do, and this is the least I can do to make up for all that I’ve done, so let me teach you to not just know what you need but how to take it, he gives you what you’ve been asking for.

Slowly, deeply, he begins licking around your seeping hole, collecting as much of your nectar as he can. His hands wrap around your thighs to help spread your lower lips, grinding you against his mouth every time you try to breathe. His nose brushes against your overstimulated bundle of nerves, never quite catching the hood but putting enough pressure to keep you on the edge of oblivion.

“I know what you need,” Belphie mutters into your thigh. He sucks a light bruise into your skin before diving back into your folds, humming as happily as if you were the one sucking him off, instead. “I can give you what you need, pretty girl. Want me to? Want me to make you cum?”

“Yes–” you gasp. Your hand knots in his hair, trying to direct that running mouth of his to somewhere more useful–and he lets you. He lets you guide him to where you think you need him most, gently lapping at your folds, alternating between kissing your sensitive clit and guiding his tongue as far into you as he can reach. His fingers trail lightly along the pudge of your leg, nails irritating the skin enough to raise little welts but not enough to hurt, palms applying enough force to keep you exactly where he needs you.

Because he does. Need you, that is. Even if he can’t say as much out loud; even if he doesn’t know how. But this is his confession, can’t you tell? That he lets you use his face as your personal throne, ride him for your personal pleasure, control him for your personal gain. No one, not even Lucifer, has been able to tame the sleeping giant–so shouldn’t the fact that you could mean more than any words could muster?

Belphie doesn’t know what he wants to watch more; the way your oozing sex begs him for more, or the way your eyes are glazing over as you desperately try to keep eye contact with him. He starts to frown, but before he can pull away and ask why you’re staring at him like that–like you think you know what you need, like you don’t believe him, like you don’t need him–you’ve caught his wrists in your hands and pinned them by his head.

He could’ve stopped you, if he really wanted to, but his curiosity gets the better of him. Slowly, you slide down his body, face contorting at every catch of your slick clit against the rigid planes of his body, until you come to rest squarely atop his hips. His cock is erect behind you, thighs sticky with a release you hadn’t realized he’d even let go of, but it’s his lips that get your attention.

His pale, full, sticky lips, covered with your juices, parting slightly as he asks, “what are you doing?”

“You said I don’t know what I need,” you answer softly, placing more weight on your palms, keeping him pinned. You lean forward, letting your eyes drag along the sharp lines of his jaw, lips hovering above his. “I probably don’t. But… I know what I want, Belphie.”

He doesn’t trust himself to answer. His heart races in his chest, which he keeps remarkably steady, even as he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of your breasts pressing against his bare chest. Your fingers tighten around his wrists, and he finally meets your gaze.

Belphie’s throat goes dry. His lips part, and you take that as the perfect opportunity to kiss him. Softly, sweetly, the same way he’d been pressing kisses to your core. You take your time tasting him–tasting yourself, staining him–tongue swirling against his, breasts rubbing against his chest, his throbbing cock finding refuge in the slick staining your thighs.

He thinks he’s found it for real, this time; love. To have, to hold, to keep forevermore. He thinks this might be real, that you might be the best dream he’s ever conjured, that being awake might be worth more than just endless pain, so long as you stay with him–and then the memory of Death floods his thoughts. Death, who stole the last one he loved, who tried taking Beel from him, who’s no longer an old friend but an ancient foe with your name awaiting his collection.

Belphie tenses beneath you, then flips you over. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, thinking all the nightmares away in favor of focusing on the dream beneath him.

“In case it wasn’t clear, I’m saying I want you, Belphegor, now and tomorrow and all of tomorrow’s tomorrows,” you laugh, and Belphie’s heart absolutely shatters.

You can’t lie, not to him; and you can’t know what you’re saying, not about him. You can’t want him, not when Death wants you too, and Death will always win.

But… he can have you tonight, right? And–tomorrow, if you’re still here, and maybe even tomorrow’s tomorrow, if Death doesn’t steal you first. So shouldn’t he make the most of it?

So instead of answering, he presses a trail of soft kisses down your sternum, keeping his gaze fixed on the way your skin disappears beneath his lips. “M’not done with you,” he repeats, and he dives back in.

| Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan | Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon |

tag list: @weebaboobs | @anxiousmomfriend | @my-perfect-machine | @leechlips

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neet-elite · 8 months

Text

Hazy Daze — (SDV) Sebastian

Pairing: Sebastian / Reader Genre: Smut 18+ WC: 3,996 Warnings: Drug use, exhibitionism, voyeurism, submissive Sebastian, dry humping Synopsis: He just can’t help himself, fixation holding strong to his heart as he looks at you with half closed eyes, his chest thumping with a slow consistent rhythm of want. Anyone else would be able to easily give a name to what he’s feeling, but he’s too in awe to fully recognise it himself. Or well, maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to. Far too content with looking, not wise enough to act.

A/N: I've been incredibly busy in-between writing my own novel, redecorating my whole room, moving and building furniture, as well as private and family matters. In any case, I finally managed to finish this piece! I hope it's okay!

He just can’t help himself, fixation holding strong to his heart as he looks at you with half closed eyes, his chest thumping with a slow consistent rhythm of want. Anyone else would be able to easily give a name to what he’s feeling, but he’s too in awe to fully recognise it himself. Or well, maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to. Far too content with looking, not wise enough to act.

Selfishly, he’s put himself in a situation where he’s completely unaware of his surroundings besides you. That is to say, he can’t take his eyes off the way your hair falls to frame your face, committing every strand to memory in an effort to keep a clearer picture of you in his head for when you have to leave him tonight. The thought of which causes his heart to tug for a moment, until he finds that he can’t stop himself from smiling at the full laughter you belt out, the lines in your pretty face at the genuine joy you express. He’s fucked if you ask him what you’re laughing about, head empty beyond the thought of how cute your outfit is and how well you suit the style. There’s not any activity in his dumb mind that doesn’t include you and how pretty you are, and how unfair it is, and how he simultaneously loves your shirt and wants to remove it in equal measure. And sure enough, slowly, his eyes trail over you from head to toe, and then back up again, repeating the process for God knows how long as you smoke a new blunt in front of him.

He’s happy your schedule was free enough to hang out tonight, enjoying the view of his crush taking up space on his bed, like you should always be doing.

It’s unclear to him just how long he’s been staring, lost in how red your eyes are after another inhale, his own vision blurred by the obscuring smoke as you exhale and the half lidded gaze he watches you with. And yet still, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He just can’t stop staring, his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek in flirtatious annoyance. How dare you be so pretty, he thinks to himself. How can someone be so cute and so oblivious about it at the same time? Deep rooted infatuation growing tight around his chest as you hand him the blunt, his reactions slowed due to hot boxing himself with you, as well as a selfish need to keep staring. He can’t wipe the grin from his face, not even as your gaze drops to his lap, your expression falling in tow.

For a moment, he doesn’t hear you say anything, too happy with taking another hit and holding it in, chest puffed out as he lags behind your actions. It’s not something he does on purpose, exhaling the smoke with control and slowly swatting it out his way just in time so that he can see the pretty smile return on your face. That’s it— he’d be quite pleased if this is how he spent the rest of his night. Watching, leaning back against his bed headboard as you sit cross legged at the other end. You don’t even have to talk to him for you to be the best way for him to spend his time; your company is all he needs. All he wants, really. But he won’t decline some conversation as he sees your mouth fall open a little dumbly, a throb of cute catching his breath for a second.

“Hey, Seb…” You finally grab his full attention, and he eventually meets your gaze after a few sluggish seconds. It’s not his fault, he’s high as a kite and in love— the stupid dopey grin on his face evident of both those facts. That, and the way he melts into your voice, leaning forward a little at how soft and lethargic you sound, a hum crawling up his throat to signal that he’s heard you. He can’t muster up anything stronger when his head and vision is full of you.

Hearing you clear your throat catches his attention some more though, and anxiety wells up in his chest. More than anything he wants to prolong his time with you, wants so badly to ask if you’re okay, if you’ve had enough or if he’s somehow upset you. Anything to keep you by his side. But he takes too long to voice his concerns, and what he hears you follow up with is— “Are you… Touching yourself?”

The way you ask it so matter-of-factly sends a shock through him, a sobering second coursing through his body as his eyes immediately fall to where you’re staring right between his legs. The hand he thought was unoccupied is currently stroking his cock, a rock hard tent in his tight pants on full display as he continues to pet himself gently despite the depravity of it all. He clearly hadn’t noticed he was touching himself to the mere sight of you, especially given that he doesn’t stop immediately upon seeing the perverted evidence right in front of him, and the recognition of such blatant degeneracy only serves to turn him on some more. It’d be easy to blame it on the weed, but it’s clear even to him that he’s this dirty deep down, the drug in his system only lowering his inhibitions enough to openly show you his desires too. His body heats up in response to the cute giggle you sound as he rests his palm flat against his cock, equal parts ashamed and excited to be hard in front of you as he gasps into his touch. The blunt is discarded in the ashtray in favour of more pressing matters, like his cock against his jeans.

“S-sorry.” He stutters out, not because he is, but because he feels like he should be. He’s still too self serving to look away from you as a sheepish smiles makes its way onto his face. “I didn’t—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” You quickly reassure him, and he squeezes his eyes shut tight for the first time tonight to stop himself from outwardly moaning at how kind you’re being. Surely you should be disgusted, right? You should treat him like the dirty little pervert he is; touching himself in front of you so overtly? Awful, disgusting, perverted little—

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Oh, that makes his cock twitch. A greedy groan escaping his smoke dried throat despite his best efforts to remain somewhat restrained while his hand once again plays with himself at your command. Or, at least he thinks it’s a command. It’s difficult to tell when he’s so high and his judgement is clouded by how much he wants you, but when you don’t stop him he figures he’s guessed correctly. It all feels a bit surreal to him, a wet dream come true. He’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t loving your attention, your carefully picked words directing his actions, following your lead like a lost puppy. Like his body is working on autopilot, unaware of what he’s doing until it’s too late— that’s the kind of effect you have on him.

He’s slow with it. A gentle tug up and down, letting his palm circle his leaking tip every now and then just to elicit some moans for your enjoyment as he goes back to staring. It’s what he does best he thinks, been watching you ever since you came to the valley. Always stalking, keeping a close eye on you as you go about daily life. It’s a bit concerning just how much he adores you, how even in this moment he’d do anything just to keep your eyes on him for a change, basking in the way you look so innocent as he rubs one out for you, how you asked so sweetly for him to continue, his eyes rolling back for just a second as his hips jut against his palm in a seeking for more. More contact, more watching, and more being watched. He can barely contain himself already, his fingers twitching against the constraint of his tight jeans, itching for a chance to grab at himself more— but he’s been patient in waiting for you for this long, so he wills himself to wait a little more no matter how frustrating it might be. There’s no way of knowing just how long he’s already been touching himself, and so he does his best through his drug addled mind to try and stay focused, but you make it so difficult for him with your pretty smile.

It’s due to his incessant staring that he catches your tongue poking out, a playful lick of your lips as you too stare back at him; though not at his face. Down between his legs where he paws at himself with no shame or end simply because you said so. And he can feel in the pit of his stomach a weight; a want to perform well for you. It’s always been there, he knows, but the weed has made it easier for him to show you, and perhaps easier for you to accept. His cock throbs at the thought, leaking over himself from the light touches he gives it.

Your voice is low at your next command, but he hears you loud and clear. The previous brain fog disappointing with each stroke of his cock, every little gasp you let out convincing him to pay more attention. “Faster.”

He’s all too happy to oblige.

His legs instinctively stretch out upon your next request, opening wide so that he can get a better grip of his cock as he plays with himself, a quick up and down to leave him panting before you. Still he stares right at you, wincing into how good he feels to be a dirty pervert right in front of you. And not only that, but to have you encourage him, with your words and with how you look at him in what looks like a mix of shock and excitement. He’s been careful not to give off creep vibes to you before, but there’s no denying it now: he’s nothing but a no good degenerate, and you’ve caught his eye. Still he’s desperate. And greedy, more importantly, to test your limits.

“Can I, uh… Get it out?” He struggles with his words, half gasped and mumbled through gritted teeth of pleasure.

“You wanna?” You question him back, and it’s embarrassing just how much he adores your cocky attitude.

Though no words escape him, he nods his head slowly, caught up in the feeling of rubbing his slit with the heel of his palm and wanting more freedom to display how rotten he truly is.

But you make him wait, a teasing smirk on your face that shoots a wave of excitement down his spine, causing him to straighten his back out and inadvertently showcasing the ever growing wet spot you’ve caused him to make. Because really, it’s your fault he’s acting up like this. Who can blame him for popping a boner when you look so pretty, taking up space on his bed like you own the place, looking down at him from your holier than thou position at the foot of his bed while he performs to your pleasing. It’s intoxicating, a bit too much so for him as a needy whine escapes his throat, all cracked and high pitched to communicate how much he’s really struggling right now. It feels good, but he wants to feel better, and only you can offer him such reprieve.

It’s hot how the only way he gets a proper response out of you is by leaning forward, tugging lightly at your top to remind you of his existence, another low moan pulled out of him at the cute giggle you regard him with. Annoying is what he thinks, how you so easily turn him on by treating him like this; like a lowly pervert, how lucky he must be to gain even a little of your favoured attention. “All right,” You finally offer him, gently removing his hand from your clothing like it was dirty, and his cock pulses in his hand in response to the sickly feeling building in his tummy. “Show me.”

You don’t have to tell him twice, his earlier slow reactions now replaced with a frantic effort to remove his clothes, lifting his hips up just enough to tug his tight— and now wet— jeans off to reveal his boxers, all stained and the fabric stretched thin over his stupidly hard cock. He looks down to take in the sight of it with you, wincing at how you can practically see his whole cock without even removing his boxers, more globs of precum leaking out and down his length as he shivers into the cool air, into the way you check him out like a voyeur, as if you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you. He’s just less inclined to hide it now.

A moment later and his underwear is off, peeled from his sticky tip and carelessly tossed to the side, falling with a thud to the floor. In the back of his mind he hopes it wont stain into the wood, but he can’t fully care about it as his hand instinctively latches to his tip again, quickly snapping his attention back to you to witness the cute expression you wear at seeing his cock for the very first time. Pride wells in his chest as you smile above him, your gaze unwavering as he drags his fist down his length, tightening at the bottom and pulling back up— a repeat of the motion to slick his whole cock up in copious amounts of precum as a soft squelching sound fills the air.

Deep down he knows he should be embarrassed about how eagerly he tugs at his cock, how much precum leaks from his tip down to his balls, collecting in a neat pool between his legs as his pace quickens up and down, fisting himself so enthusiastically that the bed creaks under the weight of his snap wrist— but he’s not. If anything, this is the most turned on he’s ever been, and all because you’re simply watching him. Your name coming out in a moan from his lips, his greedy gaze fluttering shut at just how good he feels before you, letting his hips fuck up into his tightly closed fist a few times. It’s the power imbalance that gets to him the most. The knowing that he could easily overpower you, pin you down and take what he wants… But he doesn’t. Instead, he pathetically fucks himself off for you because you asked, restraining the want to shove his cock deep inside one of your holes only because you haven’t told him to yet, and that’s what’s getting him off right now. The deep perverted want to be wanted, to be watched as he shows his love for you in the most obscene way, fist fucking himself at such a speed that his hips try to follow suit with snap thrusts up, but his timing and pace is all mismatched and feverish. The way you lean back to take the sight of him in only causes more lust to pool in his tummy, prompting him to follow suit with his cock in hand, half leaning over you with his other hand by the side of your hip. He stumbles a little, too busy continuing to jerk off as he climbs on top of you and moaning in response to your laugh to pay attention to his balance.

He can’t tell if you’re genuinely making fun of him or find him cute, but it doesn’t really matter when either option gets him a little closer to cumming anyway.

“Please.” He gasps, his hips rutting against thin air and into his closed fist, hovering right between your thighs and above your clothed cunt. He’s so close he’s convinced he can taste you, panting over you like a dog in heat— and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

The cute questioning tilt of your head in response to his pathetic pleading goes right to his cock, his fist halting at the base to squeeze a few times in an effort to hold off for you. It’s bad enough that he’s acting so perverted right now, he can’t afford to also cum too quickly.

He reiterates a raspier please, his head hanging low in horny shame for how beyond hope he is at this point, begging for you like you own him. And you do, evident from the way he still just hovers, remaining above you pumping his cock until you say otherwise with only his hand for company. Precum drips down onto your clothes, and he sucks his teeth at the sight. An apology laces his tongue, but he refuses to sound it— you look too pretty covered in him.

“What is it?” You ask him, tone innocent and harmless and dirty, because you know what you’re doing to him, watching him hump himself stupid while your knowing smirk coaxes his cock to jump for attention. “What do you want, Seb?”

Suddenly, words fail him. A million and one sentences fighting to be the one heard, causing his brain to stutter— but not his hips. He’s a bit stunned if he’s honest, never expecting you to give him a choice in the matter, happy to instead take whatever you’re willing to give him. That’s how needy he is, how much he wants you. And now that he has the opportunity, he’s at a loss.

It seems you understand just how stupid he is too, the feeling of your hand wrapping gently around the tip of his cock and pressing lightly, pushing his length against your clothed cunt making him groan. You’re so soft with it in comparison to his immediate rough thrust forward, pushing his wet tip against your front and dragging himself back down to stain you with pre. It’s involuntary, but he can hardly complain with the whines that spill from his lips, biting down on them to shut himself up enough to thank you meekly. He might not know what he wants, but he’s thankful that you do— especially as your hand remains snug to his cock, adding extra pressure and keeping him pinned to your cunt as his hips rock back and forth, both hands planted firmly by your side to give him enough purchase to mimic the actual act of sex he so desperately wants.

His voice comes out in a muffle, hidden behind whined moans. “Oh, God—”

“Yeah? Is this what you wanted?”

All he can do is nod, the casual conversation you have with him while sounding so unaffected yourself causes his hips to buck faster under your slick coated hand, his body threatening to buckle on top of you as he ruts against you with such speed that he’s moving you slowly but surely towards the end of his bed with each thrust. Anyone else in his position would probably find the whole ordeal too mortifying, being caught and then subsequently made a fool by reacting to your teasing— but he’s far from anything normal. A perverted shell more like, driven only by his cock as he seeks to show you just how much he needs you, how he thinks of nothing else day to day but you, how only you could have him acting so perverse.

As if it wasn’t obvious from how his leaking cock soaks through your clothing now, and the thought of his precum mixing with your own slick drives him insane; causes his hips to falter as a broken moans falls from him. He needs that more than anything, to know this his dumb expression and rock hard cock is getting you off just as much as your tight grip and watchful eyes do for him. Stroking himself off using your hand, attempting to rub his tip against your clothed clit to elicit any sort of sounds from you, but even the minuscule little gasps you’re unable to hide from him are enough. “Good—” he huffs, focusing on your tits to catch the small movement hidden behind your top from his thrusts. “Feels so good.” He manages to praise you, a whimper quickly following as your thumb presses against his drooling slit.

Matching the bed squeaks are little thumps of the bed itself hitting against the floor, his cock fucking against you rougher as his hips drive against you thoughtlessly, an innate need to finish at the forefront of his mind when you offer him a condescending hum. “I’m—” he goes to say, voice caught in his throat for a moment, but that’s all you need to pick up on him and he loves it.

“Close? Yeah. I know.”

Fuck, he’s so in love. Or, maybe he’s just a little too horny to know the difference. It doesn’t matter, his cock continues to twitch against your sticky hand and his hips continue to thrust, his head dipping low in an attempt to hide his assumed shame while a lewd smile forces its way to his lips. It just feels too good, you feel to good, even if all you’re doing is offering your hand and some patronising tones. God, he’s such a pervert for you, and he hasn’t the mind to apologise for it.

Especially not as his lifts his cloudy head up to meet your eyes once more. A stupid move, he knows it the second he sees your red glazed over regard staring right back at him, one more fuck forward and he’s cumming all over your front. Thick ropes shoot out as he gasps your name, over and over until it he’s got no breath left, letting his cock continue to rub against your clothing until he’s fully spent and you’re covered white from cunt to chest. The little bit he’s managed to get on your face causes a breathless laugh to escape him, though no apology is found. He only stops humping himself off once the overstimulation kicks in, and the drugs in his system overwhelm the amount of lust he feels. It’s the most he’s came in a while, and he struggles for a moment to find his grip on reality again.

Tired. Spent. He awaits the oncoming clarity he often gets after jerking off, removing himself from his on top of you position and falling back against his bed, laying there to catch his breath. The fact that you refuse to speak first gets to him, not in an annoyed way, but rather he finds it all too attractive to have you bully him even after he’s shamelessly exposed himself to you like that, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you after all is said and done.

“Thanks.” He states simply, a rasp in his voice from all of the moaning he’s just done. It feels good, he thinks.

“Mhm.” You smile at him, a lazy look that he finds much too cute for the current situation.

And yet even as he sobers up from the experience he doesn’t feel the usual disgust. His state of nakedness isn’t a bother, and his chest even tightens when he catches you glimpse down at his cum covered cock, and then your ruined clothing. He should probably give you something else to wear, but all he really has is his hoodie.

Ah, he just knows you’d look so cute in it too… His cock immediately reacting to the thought with a jerk. One you seem to notice too as he hears you scoff.

“Let’s smoke before going again, okay?”

He can’t argue with that.

#sdv smut #stardew valley smut #sdv sebastian smut #- writing

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kanmom51 · 1 year

Text

Time to wrap up and close shop.

3 years.

That takes us back to when?

2020?

I guess it is time for me to say my goodbyes, accept that JM and JK are not together and that Tae and JK are married.

But...

Before I go, I guess I have a few questions...

Can't help but wonder when this happened and how exactly Tae agreed to marry JK after JK sucked on his soulmate's ear and tattooed his soulmate's name on his hand.

Was it before or after Tae's soulmate sucked on JK's neck and JK, his husband then already (?) paraded said hickey around for all to see, caressing it so lovingly and proudly?

Kind of wondering how this marriage is working back in 2020-21 with JK and JM living together.

So, Taekook married while JK is keeping on holding JM?

And bridal carrying JM in LV.

And telling JM he loves him out loud and the finger hearts.

Always the finger hearts.

Wow, what a show JK was putting on...

Talk about dedication.

Hiding out in a dark corner touching... JK probably knew the camera was coming, he had to. Same with his arm on JM's waist.

And talking about waists... was this really necessary?

And all these latest lives. It must have been Tae's way of supporting his soulmate. Must have been. No other explanation why his hubby would be acting like a love sick puppy every single time JM showed up in the comments, or dedicate a full 90 minute live to JM.

See that smile?

Definitely put on, and all for the love of his beloved husband, who, btw didn't publicly congratulate his soulmate himself for his first solo album, or for his record breaking achievements. Nope. He sent JK to do it for the two of them.

Ok, I guess the joke is over.

Because if I don't stop here there might just be some that will actually think I'm serious.

Taekookers are reeling. They are devastated and throwing punches in every direction possible.

This one, TKK being married for 3 years is a new one. Well, sorry, I lie. Not first time I've heard the marriage story. The 3 years is new. The level of delusion here is wow, hard to describe. The story I heard was of marriage in LV, adoption of 2 little American kids, living with Tae at home. Sorry, with Taekook at Tae's. These beautiful children they adopted in LV and are now raising together.

So yeah, there's that level of delusion.

Now with Taenni out and public we have new stories.

We have the denial, of course, with the stories about cosplayers, all disproven (these fuckers stooped so low they stole a woman's photos claiming her to be the Jenni cosplayer only for her to go public about it).

And then you have those that are still towing the line and claiming it's all a publicity stunt.

Cause yep, the 2 super popular idols in the 2 biggest Kpop bands in the world need to have a supposed relationship to boost either of their popularity and help their careers.

Fucking morons.

a. Seriously? These two need that to boost their publicity. These two rival companies working hand in hand to create this fake relationship going on for over 18 months to what? Have Tae go from 58.8 million followers to 58.9 million. Talk about a failure of such an elaborate plan... Lest we forget about the hate Jenni has been getting all this time from TKKs all this time. Definitley a publicity stunt.

b. I'm infuriated at how ignorant these people are. Because with even minimal understanding of Kpop culture they would know that for an idol to go public with a relationship there is a price to pay. Idols don't have the right to have private lives. They don't have the right to have relationships, especially not in the prime of their success. the very few who had gone public with their relationships in the past had done so before marriage. They apologised for having a personal life.

Moon Hee Jun, Taeyang, Chen, Bobby.

The fact that there are so few of them should be an indicator as how this really is not a career helping move.

Having a personal life, being in a relationship, being emotionally unavailable for your fans is not a publicity stunt in Kpop. It can be a career killer. And even if it doesn't kill the career, it definitley does not promote it, quite the opposite in the short run.

And Tae, well he's already paying a price. We already saw all the angry fan messages about how they were betrayed by him, about how he's supposed to be theirs. Putting him together with JK is an easy fix, it's not realistic, it keeps him available for them (well in their twisted minds).

So yeah, definitely not a publicity stunt.

And then you have those that are turning on him. Well on the whole maknae line, because why not? Why not bring JK and JM in on this if you can (especially JM, right)?

The ones that are mad that he is in an actual relationship with another woman, the scorned.

The ones that are now angry claiming the maknae line were queerbaiting.

Like wtf?

How in the fucking hell were TKK queerbaiting?

Real genuine affection for the others? Yes.

Fanservice? Heck yeah.

Tae is the king of fanservice and teasing and flirting with the members. He loooooves it. And some play along more than others. As a matter of fact JK is one of those that plays along the least. But again, TKKs lack the brain capacity to watch original content and see that.

The hugs and affection and closeness isn't put on. It's genuine.

As for JM and JK, well they aren't fucking queerbaiting. They are just literally f***ing.

When Taenni did this, went public (and again, this was their choice of doing, walking hand in hand by the Saines river, identifiable managers walking 5 steps behind, Tae stopping to give autographs to fans),

I knew this would come back to hit us too. But you know what? I don't mind it. I love Tae and Jenni for this. They are very brave, both could pay a price for it. Tae is literally telling us all, the industry and the fans, that his personal life takes precedent. I love him for that.

We talk about BTS being the trailblazers, and this is the start of it....I hope.

#Taenni #Tae and JK #Tae and JK are not were never and never will be a couple #They are definitely not married #and those that are going on spaces and saying they are are living in the same world where Larry are married with children living HEA

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soulofapatrick · 1 year

Text

Picture Perfect - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel is helping your dad refurbish your house, getting to your room and Joel knocks over a box with a bunch of private stuff and a picture of him shirtless on top

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: smut oral f!receiving; age gap (reader is 23 and Joel is 41)

Notes: dedicated to @chaotic-mystery for introducing me to the dbf!Joel genre

Y/N’s POV

I should’t be watching Joel, in my room, sweat glistening on his tanned skin in the summer heat. He’s currently shirtless, muscular arms flexing with every movement as he wields his tools, chest sculptured yet so soft at the same time. He moves so fluidly and with confidence, every movement deliberate and precise like it’s all second nature to him. I have known this man for years, having become my dad’s best friend not long after we moved to Austin, Texas and dad joined Joel’s construction company.

Dad and Joel grew so close it wasn’t a surprise when he became a fixture at our table, coming over for dinner once a week with Tommy - his cheeky and flirty younger brother - in tow. I remember admiring Joel’s larger than life attitude, booming laughter that would fill up the room and a sense of humour that would have dad reprimanding him despite how all of us were trying not to laugh.

As I grew older I couldn’t help it but began to notice things about Joel that I hadn’t before and he quickly became the object of all my late night needs, no one else attractive enough to really capture my attention. I know how dirty and wrong it is, to fall for my dad’s best friend as he’s old enough to be my own dad but the way his muscles rippled under his shirt when he worked or how his shirt clanged to his skin when he got all hot and sweaty from the summer heat… a girl had needs and Joel is a perfect specimen. I had tried to push the thought away for months, thinking it was a silly crush but then I started to notice more and more.

The way Joel would look at me across the table, deep honey eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than he should, feeling a spark of electricity shoot through me. He’s been making more excuses to come over more often and help Dad with the renovations until Dad just hired him and Tommy. He’s invited me to dinner at his a few times and I’ve declined, worried if we start something we won’t be able to stop. That playful smirk and the gentle touches as he passes me, body brushing against mine and leaving me breathless, making my resolve slip further and further away.

That’s why I’m currently watching him, leaning in my doorway with two glasses of ice coffee in my hands and unable to speak or tear my eyes from him as he’s beautiful. He’s wiping the sweat from him forehead with the back of his hand and I notice the silver slivers of scars decorating his strong arms from all the construction work. He’s told me stories of how he got some of them before. He’s suddenly moving, rising to his feet and it’s like the world slows when his elbow catches a small shoebox and the contents scatter across the floor. The coffees are placed on the nearest surface before I’m scrambling forwards to gather the contents before Joel can take a good look at any of them but Joel’s already there. He’s grabbing the one thing I didn’t want him to see: a photo of him.

He’s rising again, turning to me with an eyebrow raised and an amused expression on that godly face. Those honey eyes twinkle mischievously and the corners of his lips quirk into a playful smirk until he sees the horrified look on my own face. His gaze softens a little and there’s something else there - a hint of desire as he takes a step closer to me with the picture still in his hand. The intensity of his gaze has my heart trying to skip a few beats and my cheeks flush with heat as there’s no way I can talk my way out of this one. He knows exactly what it is and what was in that box along with the picture.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here sweet girl.” Joel’s speaking, voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. There’s a playful edge to it, something else to it, something that makes my heart soar with hope that he might feel the exact same way as I do.

I go to speak, come up with a witty response but it dies on my tongue when Joel takes another step forwards until my back hits the wall and he’s crowding around me, hands resting on either side of my head. His breath ghosts over my face, hot and heavy, and the smell of the sweat on his skin mixed with the scent of his aftershave and musky cologne makes me weak at the knees and wet between the legs. The smirk on his face lets me know he hears the soft whimper that leaves my lips as I try my very hardest to keep my hands to myself as Tommy is still working in the next room. The sound of him hammering and sawing making me oh so aware of how close Joel is right now. What would Tommy say if he saw us like this?

Joel’s eyes are dark and intense when he looks at me, lips curving up into a bigger smirk as he asks, voice low and teasing, “So, what do you have to say for yourself? What would you daddy think of his little girl getting off to an image of his best friend, hmmm?”

“W-what do you mean?” I choke out, voice barely above a whisper and not very confident as desire and nervousness washes over me when I look up at him.

He’s leaning in even closer, breath hot against my ear, “You know what I mean,” He growls, lips brushing against my skin and sending shivers down my spine, “That picture in the box. You get off to it, don’t you?”

My heart races even faster with anticipation, knowing what’s coming next, one of his large and calloused hands moving to cup my jaw and draw me into the kiss. It’s desperate and needy, hands finding his shoulders and grasping onto hi tightly while one plays with the hairs at the nape of his neck. I can feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, the muscles in his back rippling as he pulls me closer, both hands moving to my hips and gripping them firmly as he presses his body against mine. The kiss is electric and intense, shivers rolling down my spine and I can feel a heartbeat but I’m not sure if it’s Joel’s or mine, my body responding to every touch.

His tongue slips past my lips when I let out a gasp, a small sound echoing his low moan when I tug at his loose curls, needing him closer and needing more of him. The kiss turns more passionate and all-consuming, fuelled by months of pent up desires. The intensity is building between us and I want more, I need more, whining when he has to pull away so we can gasp for air. His hands slide from my hips and down my thighs to the edge of my skirt, the rough pads tracing lightly up the insides of my thigh as he moves his lips to my neck. My body is on fire, his breath hot against my neck and fingers moving achingly slowly to where I want them. I’m tilting my head back and spreading my legs further to give him more access and he takes advantage of the opportunity. His fingers hook my panties to the side to slide one teasingly through my folds while his other trails kisses down my neck and collarbone, each touch igniting a deep and primal desire that is almost overwhelming.

“J-Joel, please.” I’m gasping out, the rough pad of his fingers making a singular quick and tight circle over my sensitive clit. He’s smirking into the skin of my neck, one hand slamming over my mouth as I cry out when he pushes in a finger to the knuckle without a warning. He curls it, hitting that sweet spot immediately and I’m moaning around his palm, hips rolling down when he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second one as that coil begins to tighten in my gut.

“You gotta be quiet sweet girl.” He coos in my ear before pulling back so he can watch the way his fingers disappear into me and how much my legs are shaking as I can barely believe that this is actually happening. Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend, is looking at me with that same desire and want as he sinks to his knees. I keen at the sudden emptiness, having to cover my own mouth when he sucks those fingers clean and letting out a low sound, his eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, “Patience darlin’.” He’s smirking again, one hand holding my hips against the wall as they buck into the air, searching for needed friction.

“Joooelll!” I’m whining, curling my hands in his hair and pulling and he’s chuckling, a deep rumble in his chest as he complies, hooking a leg over my shoulder. I groan in frustration when he blows cold air onto my wet heat, a moan slipping from his lips when I tug on his hair again before he’s licked a bold strip between my folds, sending a jolt through me. As soon as he starts he doesn’t let up, tongue delving into my fluttering core as far as it can go before moving on to swirl around my clit and sucking hard before going back to thrusting his tongue and it makes me see stars. My legs are shaking at I get closer and closer to euphoria, my hips grinding down on his face and his nose bumping my clit just right. His name is falling from my lips like a whispered prayer and his hands are on my ass, nails digging half moons and keeping his face pressed between my legs as the elastic band snaps and I’m seeing white. I can’t tell if I’m crying out, my whole body convulsing at the power of the orgasms, Joel’s large hands the only thing holding me up as he keeps going. He helps me ride out my bliss, not stopping until he’s swallowed up every last drop and fuck he looks so dirty when he pulls back.

Joel’s honey are almost black, pupils blown out and his chest is heaving. His face and beard glistening with my juices and his weathered cheeks are flushed red but despite it all there is a warmth and openness to his expression that has me breathless. It’s as if he’s wanting me to understand that this is more than a one time thing, he wants it to be more than that and fuck, so do I. He’s helping me get my panties and skirt back into position when the door flies open and I’m shrieking.

“James is back with dinner!” Tommy rushes out, finally taking in the scene he walked into and his russet eyes widen. Eyes flickering from where I’m leaning against the wall, chest heaving to where Joel is still on his knees with my slick still covering his face as if he’s unashamed of what just happened between us. I expect Tommy to turn and run to tell Dad but instead a cheeky smirk forms on his lips as his eyes brighten, “Didn’t know you were so-”

“Shut up Tommy,” Joel speaks, voice playful yet firm as he pulls himself to his feet and wiping his face on his discarded shirt, “Tell James we’ll be down in a second.” Tommy chuckles, throws a wink in our direction before bounding out the room and shutting the door behind him. My cheeks are burning and I can barely look at Joel when he turns back to me.

“Hey doll,” He’s hooking a finger under my chin, tilting my head up to meet his soft gaze. The look in his eyes is intense and serious, making my stomach flutter with nerves, especially when he speaks, voice low and husky again, “I want more sweet girl, I really do. But right now your dad’s waiting for us. We can talk about this tomorrow, yeah?”

I’m nodding, heart racing with anticipation for tomorrow and worry about how am I going to be able to face my dad downstairs? Joel was between my legs only minutes ago and now we have to go have a friendly meal like nothing happened? Joel’s silencing my thoughts when his lips meet mine in a sweet and tender kiss that speaks volumes of his affection for me. It’s a kiss that promises more to come but also reassures me that he really does care for me deeply.

As he pulls away, his hand lingering on the small of my back, and I can't help but lean into him. It's as if we're in our own little world, and nothing else matters. Tomorrow can wait; for now, we have each other, and that's all we need until he’s reluctantly breaking the moment but stepping back and pulling on his shirt.

“Come on, your dad awaits sweet girl.”

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

The Last of Us Masterlist

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 3 months

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So…it seems that the only company interested in hiring Meghan Markle as a brand ambassador is (drum roll)…Soho House! I’m shocked, I tell ya, shocked! Yep, the very same Soho House chain/brand that’s allegedly in financial freefall due to an unsustainable business model. I mean, Soho House = unsustainable business model. The Harkles/Archewell/Sussex.com/faux royals = unsustainable business model. They share history. H&M and Soho House are a trashy match made in heaven! The Sux have been very busy merching Soho Houses the last few months, with Markus in tow (and, uncharacteristically, very visible) in Canouan (that Caribbean island jaunt), Vancouver, Austin + every DM article also throws in a “sweet nod” merching plug for the OG Soho House London where the lovebirds first met on a Markus-pimped hook-up blind date. What goes around, comes around. Or as H would say, it’s the Circle of Life!

********

The Sussexes and Soho House are so intertwined that it wouldn’t surprise me if (or when) one goes down, the other will too.

It’s fitting that they all need each other. Markus and Soho need Meghan because she’s the only celeb willing to be linked to Soho House these days. (Private clubs started going the way of the dodo bird during the pandemic.) Meghan needs Markus and Soho because they know all the dirty secrets and if they’re desperate enough (or she pisses them off enough), they can sell her dossier to the highest bidder.

Here’s why she’s merching/promoting Soho House these days.

#submission #sussexes

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mimilind · 1 year

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Sent to Middle-earth - Part 2

♡ ♡ ♡

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2800

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

♡ ♡ ♡

2. The Elvenking’s Palace

As you already knew, King Thranduil’s palace was delved underground, but it was a lot larger than you had thought. You went over a bridge and through tall, ornate gates, coming into a vast hall. Smooth pillars held up the ceiling far above, and the floor consisted of pinkish stone tiles. The air smelled fresh; not at all cellar-like as one might think.

A grand staircase took you down deeper into the hill, and in all directions extended corridors with many doors. The central corridor was wide and almost resembled a street. Wax candles in niches along the wall spread a cozy light.

The corridor ended in front of another set of double doors, which were finer than those that had taken you into the hill. They looked to be made of copper, perhaps even gold – in this light it was hard to tell – and were decorated with a pattern of ivy leaves. Two guards bowed for Legolas and politely opened the doors.

You realized he had taken you directly to the throne room, and felt both honored and nervous. The Elvenking seemed like a scary elf!

The spacious hall inside was full of elvish courtiers, speaking to one another in subdued voices. In the center of the room, a high throne with a pair of enormous antlers drew your attention, and even more so the elf seated there. He looked majestic and proud – and exceedingly handsome, with silver blonde hair reaching well below his shoulders and a crown of autumn leaves and berries on his head. His ageless face had a somewhat bored expression, but when Legolas and you entered, his dark eyebrows shot up in surprise.

You hobbled forward on your crude crutches, feeling very conscious about your simple garb and messy hair, still with some remaining tendrils of spider silk attached. When you stopped below the throne, you bowed awkwardly, the best you could do with your damaged hip.

“Greetings, my lord.” Legolas bowed a lot more eloquently. It surprised you that he would speak and act so formally in front of his own father, but perhaps this was the norm for royalty.

“Legolas.” The king acknowledged him with a nod. “Your mission was successful?”

“It was. We destroyed three nearby nests, and killed all spiders in the area. However, the southern outskirts are a lost case – they are too infested by now.”

The king sighed. “I fear you are right.”

“Anything new happened in my absence? How is the prisoner?”

He frowned. “Still complaining and wailing incessantly, to the extent where his guards had to take him outside. At least up in a tree they only have to listen to him at a distance. How typical of that meddlesome wizard to place him in our care.”

The Elvenking still had not even looked at you, and you were beginning to feel like the third wheel.

“My company and I can relieve them,” said Legolas. “If you have time later, may I have a private word?”

“I have time now.”

Thranduil rose. You had to stretch your neck to look at his face, and not only because of the height of the throne – he was absurdly tall. Gracefully descending the stairs, he left through a smaller door on the other side of the throne with Legolas and you in tow. You noticed the king wore a silver coat sparkling with a scatter of tiny diamonds, and an assortment of expensive looking rings gleamed on his long fingers in the candlelight. His appearance very much contrasted with his son’s unadorned tunic and hose in forest green colors.

The king led you to what you assumed were his private quarters, an elegant apartment which reminded you of an old-fashioned living room. The furniture was stylish, and on the wall hung tapestries and oil paintings with various forest-related motives; flowers and trees, mostly.

When the door closed behind him, part of the stateliness left the king’s wide shoulders. After removing his crown and coat, he poured himself a goblet of ruby wine from a decanter on a side table and sunk down in a comfortable looking chair. Legolas and you remained standing.

“What is this then,” Thranduil asked, indicating you with a glance.

“Someone I saved from a spider.” Legolas told him your name, and explained how you had fallen down from the web and broken your hip. He asked his father to allow you to stay here until you were fully healed. “Since it was my fault, I feel responsible.” For some reason, he did not mention that you had come from the future. Perhaps he too found that unnecessarily complicated.

Thranduil shook his head tiredly. “You never change, do you? First it was that sick hare, and then the abandoned elk calf, and now a human with a broken leg. What will it be next, Legolas? A dwarf?” He sipped his wine.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t associate with dwarves.”

You kept your mouth shut about a certain Gimli, son of Glóin, whom Legolas apparently had still not met. What time were you in? Before or after The Hobbit?

“That’s a relief, at least.” The king’s gaze moved to you for the first time, and you wondered what he thought of what he saw. “Alright then,” he said at last. “You can stay. But only until your leg is better.”

After that, Legolas and you rather hurriedly left. “As you can probably tell, my father and I are very different. We don’t get along very well,” he explained.

You agreed; apart from an attractive physical appearance, they did not have much in common.

Legolas took you to a guest room, after showing you the way to the healer’s quarters where you would go each morning to be examined. Your room was small but cozy, with a comfortable looking bed, and a wooden tub behind a panel.

“I assume you want a bath? I shall summon the maids.”

“Yes please. Thank you.” You greatly looked forward to finally getting rid of the remaining web.

Bathing in a time where plumbing was not invented involved much work. A score of elf maids carried steaming hot buckets into your room until your tub was full, and afterwards they emptied it in the same time-consuming way.

One of the maids took your undershirt to be washed and mended where the spider stinger had pierced it. When she tried to take the tunic, you stopped her. “Not that. It’s clean.” You did not want Legolas’ scent to be washed off from the garment.

After you had bathed, and brushed your hair and put on clean clothes (Legolas tunic again, of course), you felt a lot better. Your stomach wound was almost completely gone, and your hip felt stronger too.

There was a silver mirror in your room, and for the first time since you came to Middle-earth, you could see yourself in detail. The family you had stayed with the past year had been simple folk; the parents hunters, and their adult daughter a weaver. They had had a copper mirror, which only had shown you in a vague, discolored form.

Scrutinizing your appearance now, you discovered slight changes from your old self – nothing extraordinary, it was still the familiar you – but everywhere you looked, you found minor improvements. Small flaws which had annoyed you had been corrected.

Chuckling, you proudly turned this way and that before the mirror. Perhaps coming here had not been so bad after all!

A knock took you out of your self-admiration, and you hobbled over to open. It was Legolas, inviting you out. He had still not tired of hearing about the future, and since his company would do some prison guard duty outside the palace, he thought your presence would make the tedious job more bearable.

Glad he enjoyed your company, you followed him and the other guards into the forest.

A group of elves sat under a large, solitary beech tree, clad in the same forest green garb as the newcomers. Upon your arrival, they happily gave up their seats, stretching their legs and arms as after a long vigil.

“Where is he?” Legolas asked, peering through the greenery.

“Somewhere far up. We are tired of chasing after him, so we just let him stay there.” The elf shrugged. “We will be leaving now then. See you tomorrow.”

You stretched your neck, but could not see the prisoner either; he had climbed into the uppermost branches and the foliage covered him well, but his voice drifted down to you. He was grumbling and mumbling to himself, and every once in a while letting out a series of nasty coughs. It made you think of an old man with asthma, and you wondered what he had done to make the elves imprison him.

Legolas and his company had brought cold supper and a wine skin. Resting your backs against the smooth trunk, you passed the food and drink between you, while talking amiably about nothing in particular.

From the movies, you had thought elves arrogant and disdainful towards other races, but this was not true of these people. They were fun and cheerful, and included you in their conversation like you had known each other for a long time.

Thus the evening passed very pleasantly, and you remained there well into the night. It was early in the autumn and mild, even after the stars came out, and the wine had made you not a little tipsy. The elves seemed affected as well, and their light laughter filled the air.

Two of the guards began to sing, and you decided to move closer to Legolas while they weren’t watching. Just a bit. And perhaps try some innocent flirting? Yes. Great idea. It could be no harm in that – drunk people were often flirty, so it was a good excuse if he would prove not interested.

“Do those mean anything?” you asked, reaching out to lightly touch the thin braids which held his hair back from his temples. “You all have a similar style.”

“It’s to show our Silvan ancestry. I am Silvan on my mother’s side, and Sinda on my father’s.”

“Interesting. The people I live with plait their hair in another pattern – that must mean they are Sindarin then.” You had not removed your hand, and he seemed not to mind that your fingers felt his soft strands. You wanted to continue to his face, but that was probably too much, and too soon. Reluctantly you let your hand drop into your lap.

“Probably,” he agreed, meeting your gaze. His eyes were large and blue, shaded by long, dark lashes, and you felt drawn into them, mesmerized – like a hare before car lights. You wanted him to run over you. Crash into you.

“Can you make one on me?” you murmured. Your hair was longer than it had been. Since coming here, you had not cut it, because in Mirkwood nobody did.

“You are not Silvan.” His lip turned up slightly. You loved his smile.

“Make a human pattern then,” you suggested.

He glanced at his companions, as if making sure they were still busy singing, and edged closer to you. “Turn around.”

You happily obeyed. When you felt his fingers on your temples, a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. He worked fast with the braids, but when he had finished, his fingertips lingered. He traced the round shape of your ear. “Curious,” he mumbled. He was so close behind you that his breath tickled against your cheek.

“What’s curious?” Your heart pounded in your chest. You wanted him to keep touching you. Everywhere.

“You heal like an elf… but have round ears.” His finger had reached your sensitive earlobe, creating a tingling sensation which spread throughout your body. “I like round ears,” he added, barely audibly. “Exotic.”

You turned around, and found his face very close to yours. His cheeks were flushed, which was easy to spot on such pale skin as his. You did not think it was because of the alcohol.

Tentatively you touched the pointy tip of his ear. “Hm. I’m quite the opposite…” you murmured.

Nobody could say where you would have gone from there, had you not been interrupted just then by the cracking of a branch in the nearby underbrush. Swiftly Legolas turned towards the sound, and around you, the other guards stood to attention. Something was approaching.

With a loud growl, a gang of dirty, rough creatures broke through the thicket, with their curved swords raised and sharp fangs bared. Orcs!

The guards and Legolas did not waste any time, and the wine they had consumed apparently had no effect on their archery skill. The charging orcs were met with a score of arrows, instantly felling the first line. Unfortunately new ones came after them, quickly taking their fallen comrades’ places. There were too many, and it did not take long until some were too close for bows. The elves then drew long daggers, and switched to close combat.

The metallic clash of weapons rang in the air, mingling with the angry growls and shouts from the orcs. You had been so shocked by their coming that you had remained frozen where you sat, but now you tried to crawl out of the way on all fours.

An orc caught your boot, and you desperately kicked up with your other foot, ignoring the piercing ache in your hip. His lip broke in a flood of blood and he backed away. Then Legolas jumped between you, and embedded his white dagger deep into the orcs chest. The creature sunk down in a heap, blood oozing out in a pool beneath him.

As quickly as the melee had begun, it was over. The last of the orcs fell, and the night became calm and still again, with only the occasional owl hooting nearby.

“Well done, comrades,” said one of the guards, wiping his dagger clean on the soft grass.

“Anyone hurt?” asked Legolas.

Nobody was, except for lesser nicks and cuts, and all the orcs were dead. Their corpses lay scattered in the grass, filling the area with their hideous stench.

You covered your mouth, desperately trying to hold down your supper.

“How are you?” Legolas gave you a worried look.

“A bit queasy. And I may have kicked a little too hard with my bad leg.” You gingerly prodded your hip. A spear of pain shot up and you whimpered. “Yes. I probably did…”

Legolas said a word you had not heard before.

“Was that a curse? And if so, can you teach it to me? Right now I feel like swearing.”

He obediently said it again, and you repeated after him. “It does feel better now. Teach me more of those, will you?”

One of the guards jumped down from the beach. “The prisoner’s gone.”.

Legolas said the ugly word again. “It must have been planned. The orc attack and his escape… too convenient.”

“It seems so, aye,” the guard agreed.

“You and the others try tracking him down. I have to tell my father.” He winced slightly when he said the last part, clearly not looking forward to that.

The guard bowed, and soon all of them were gone on silent feet.

It felt strange that only a moment ago the guards had been singing and drinking wine, enjoying the night, and you had flirted with Legolas. How unfortunate the prisoner would choose this night for his escape!

Another thought struck you, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid. “It was Sméagol.”

“The prisoner? Aye.”

“I should have known this,” you mused. “The guards won’t catch him. Instead your father will send you to Imladris where you tell it in Elrond’s council, and from there you leave with the Fellowship…”

You felt Legolas' surprised gaze at you, and realized you had said that loud.

“You knew?” Then his eyes widened. “It’s written. Of course. You’re from the future, this is your history. Am I right?”

You nodded. It was a simpler explanation than trying to explain about Tolkien and his books. “I didn’t know I was in this time, or I would have told you sooner.”

“And my father will send me to Imladris? It sounds unlike him, though. He does not particularly like Elrond.”

“Yet, he will.”

“Let us test this.” He took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Wait. My crutches.” You picked them up from where you had dropped them in the excitement, and could not hold back a low moan when you bent your leg.

“Oh, your hip. Sorry. I forgot…” He looked worried. “Let me check it.”

You rolled down your hose and exposed the area. It was swelling again, but less than before.

“Damn orc.” He frowned, gently touching your sore skin. His concern was heart-warming, and you felt a glow in your chest at his tender expression.

“It will get better. I heal quickly nowadays,” you assured him, pulling your hose back up. “Let’s go to your father now.”

His face fell. “Aye. He will not be happy.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas x you #legolas fanfic #legolas fanfiction #lotr #lotr fanfiction #modern girl in middle earth #hurt/comfort #flirting #Sent to Middle-earth #thranduil #lee pace #orlando bloom

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autofixtowingnz · 8 months

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Navigating Roadside Emergencies: The Comprehensive Services Offered by Towing Companies

In today's fast-paced world, where we rely heavily on our vehicles for daily commuting and travel, unexpected breakdowns and accidents can happen at any time. When you find yourself stranded on the side of the road, a towing company can be your lifesaver. But do you know exactly what services these companies offer? In this blog, we'll explore the wide range of services provided by a towing company Auckland to help you better understand their vital role in keeping our roads safe and accessible.

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Roadside assistance is a valuable service for minor inconveniences that can quickly get you back on the road.

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These services are essential for getting vehicles out of challenging situations.

4. Transport Services:

Vehicle Transport: Towing companies can transport your vehicle over long distances, whether it's a classic car or a newly purchased vehicle.

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A cheap towing Manukau company caters to those who need their vehicles moved from one location to another without driving them.

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Private Property Towing: Towing companies can remove vehicles parked illegally on private property.

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Towing companies work closely with law enforcement and property owners to enforce parking and safety regulations.

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These services are crucial for industries that rely on heavy equipment.

7. Specialized Towing:

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Specialized cheap towing Manukau services cater to unique vehicle needs.

In conclusion, towing companies offer a wide range of services beyond just towing broken-down vehicles. They play a crucial role in ensuring road safety, helping stranded motorists, and providing transport solutions for various vehicles and situations. Knowing the full scope of services offered by towing companies can help you make informed decisions during roadside emergencies. Whether you find yourself with a flat tire, locked out of your car, or in need of long-distance vehicle transport, a private towing company is there to assist you and keep our roads safe and accessible.

#towing company Auckland #private towing company #cheap towing Manukau

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serviceerw · 1 year

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Motorway Breakdown Assistance | 24 Hour Towing | Auto Towing

Motorway breakdown assistance - Are you looking for a reliable towing company in Manukau? Look no further than Autofix Towing! We are the leading private towing company that provides all kinds of towing services in Auckland. Whether you need your car, truck, van, trailer, or any other vehicle towed, we have got you covered. At Autofix Towing, we understand how important it is for our customers to get their vehicles safely and quickly from one place to another. That’s why we use only the latest equipment and technology when providing our services. Our team of experienced professionals will ensure that your vehicle is handled with care and transported safely without any damage or delays. If you ever find yourself needing a tow in the Manukau area then don't hesitate - to contact Autofix Towing today! We guarantee fast response times and quality service at competitive prices

#rental car towing #24 hour towing auckland #towing company manukau #private towing company #cheap towing manukau #motorway breakdown recovery #winch out service

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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We should ban TikTok('s surveillance)

With the RESTRICT Act, Congress is proposing to continue Trump’s war on Tiktok, enacting a US ban on the Chinese-owned service. How will they do this? Congress isn’t clear. In practice, banning stuff on the internet is hard, especially if you don’t have a national firewall:

https://doctorow.medium.com/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography-33aa668dc602

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

My guess is that they’re thinking of ordering the mobile duopoly of Google and Apple to nuke the Tiktok app from their app stores. That’s how they do it in China, after all: when China wanted to ban VPNs and other privacy tools, they just ordered Apple to remove them from the App Store, and Apple rolled over:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/11/foreseeable-consequences/#airdropped

That’s the completely foreseeable consequence of arrogating the power to decide which software every mobile user on earth is entitled to use — as Google and Apple have done. Once you put that gun on the mantelpiece in Act I, you damn betcha that some strong-man backed by a powerful state is going to come along and shoot it by Act III.

The same goes for commercial surveillance: once you collect massive, nonconsensual dossiers on every technology user alive, you don’t get to act surprised when cops and spies show up and order your company to serve as deputies for a massive, off-the-books warrantless surveillance project.

Hell, a cynic might even say that commercial surveillance companies are betting on this. The surveillance public-private partnership is a vicious cycle: corporations let cops and spies plunder our data; then the cops and spies lobby against privacy laws that would prevent these corporations from spying on us:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/25/nationalize-moderna/#hun-sen

Which makes the RESTRICT Act an especially foolish project. If the Chinese state wants to procure data on Americans, it need not convince us to install Tiktok. It can simply plunk down a credit card with any of the many unregulated data-brokers who feed the American tech giants the dossiers that the NSA and local cops rely on.

Every American tech giant is at least as bad for privacy as Tiktok is — yes, even Apple. Sure, Apple lets its users block Facebook spying with a single tap — but even if you opt out of “tracking,” Apple still secretly gathers exactly the same kinds of data as Facebook, and uses it to power its own ad product:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

There is no such thing as a privacy-respecting tech giant. Long before Apple plastered our cities with lying billboards proclaiming its reverence for privacy, Microsoft positioned itself as the non-spying alternative to Google, which would be great, except Microsoft spies on hundreds of millions of people and sells the data:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revenge

Tech’s surveillance addiction means that Tiktok’s own alternative to the RESTRICT Act is also unbelievably stupid. The company has proposed to put itself under Oracle’s supervision, letting Oracle host its data and audit its code. You know, Oracle, the company that built the Great Firewall of China 1.0:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2010/01/selling-china-surveillance

We should not trust Tiktok any more than we trust Apple, Facebook, Google or Microsoft. Tiktok lied about whether it was sending data to China before:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/emilybakerwhite/tiktok-tapes-us-user-data-china-bytedance-access

And even if it keeps its promise not to send user data to China, that promise is meaningless — it can still send the vectors and models it creates with that data to China — these being far more useful for things like disinformation campaigns and population-scale inferences than the mere logs from your Tiktok sessions.

There are so many potentially harmful ways to process commercial surveillance data that trying to enumerate all the things that a corporation is allowed to do with the data it extracts from us is a fool’s errand. Instead, we should ban companies from spying on us, whether they are Chinese or American.

Corporations are remorseless, paperclip-maximizing colony organisms that perceive us as inconvenient gut-flora, and they lack any executive function (as do their “executives”), and they cannot self-regulate. To keep corporations from harming us, we must make it illegal for them to enact harm, and punish them when they break the law:

https://doctorow.medium.com/small-government-fd5870a9462e

After all, the problem with Tiktok isn’t the delightful videos or the fact that it’s teaching a generation of children to be expert sound- and video-editors. The problem with Tiktok is that it spies on us. Just like the problem with Facebook isn’t that it lets us communicate with our friends, and the problem with Google isn’t that it operates a search engine.

Now, these companies will tell you that the two can’t be separated, that a bearded prophet came down off a mountain with two stone tablets, intoning, “Larry, Sergey, thou shalt stop rotating thine logfiles and, lo, thou wilt data-mine them for actionable market intelligence.” But it’s nonsense. Google ran for years without surveillance. Facebook billed itself as the privacy-forward alternative to Myspace and promised never to spy on us:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

The inevitabilist narrative that says that corporations must violate our rights in order to make the products we love is unadulterated Mr Gotcha nonsense: “Yet you participate in society. Curious. I am very intelligent”:

https://thenib.com/mister-gotcha/

Of course, corporations push this narrative all the time, which is why American Big Tech has been quietly supporting a ban on Tiktok, which (coincidentally) has managed to gain a foothold in the otherwise impregnable, decaying, enshittified oligarchy that US companies have created.

They have conspicuously failed to call for any kind of working solution, like a federal privacy law that would ban commercial surveillance, and extend a “private right of action,” so people could sue tech giants and data-brokers who violated the law, without having to convince a regulator, DA or Attorney General to bestir themselves:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/01/you-should-have-right-sue-companies-violate-your-privacy

Instead, the tech giants have the incredible gall to characterize themselves as the defenders of our privacy — at least, so long as the Chinese government is the adversary, and so long as its privacy violations come via an app, and not buy handing a credit card to the data-brokers that are the soil bacteria that keeps Big Tech’s ecosystem circulating. In the upside-down land of Big Tech lobbying, privacy is a benefit of monopoly — not something we have to smash monopolies to attain:

https://www.eff.org/wp/interoperability-and-privacy

Not everyone in Congress is onboard with the RESTRICT Act. AOC has come out for a federal privacy law that applies to all companies, rather than a ban on an app that tens of millions of young Americans love:

https://www.businessinsider.com/aoc-first-tiktok-congress-ban-without-being-clued-in-2023-3

You know who agrees with AOC? Rand Paul. Yes, that absolute piece of shit. Paul told his caucusmates in the GOP that banning an app that millions of young American voters love is bad electoral politics. This fact is so obvious that even Rand fucking Paul can understand it:

https://gizmodo.com/rand-paul-opposes-tiktok-ban-warns-republicans-1850278167

Paul is absolutely right to call a Tiktok ban a “national strategy to permanently lose elections for a generation.” The Democrats should listen to him, because the GOP won’t. As between the two parties, the GOP is far more in thrall to the Chamber of Commerce and the rest of the business lobby. They are never going to back a policy that’s as good for the people and as bad for big business as a federal privacy law.

The Democrats have the opportunity to position themselves as “the party that wants to keep Tiktok but force it to stop being creepy, along with all the other tech companies,” while the GOP positions itself as “the party of angry technophobes who want to make sure that any fun you have is closely monitored by Mark Zuckerberg, Sundar Pinchai and Tim Cook and their pale imitations of the things you love about Tiktok.”

That’s not just good electoral politics — it’s good policy. Young voters aren’t going to turn out to the polls for performative Cold War 2.0 nonsense, but they will be pissed as hell at whoever takes away their Tiktok.

And if you do care about Cold War 2.0, then you should be banning surveillance, not Tiktok; the Chinese government has plenty of US dollars at its disposal to spend in America’s freewheeling, unregulated data markets — as do criminals, petty and organized, and every other nation-state adversary of the USA.

The RESTRICT Act is a garbage law straight out of the Clinton era, a kind of King Canute decree that goes so far as to potentially prohibit the use of VPNs to circumvent its provisions. America doesn’t need a Great Firewall to keep itself safe from tech spying — it needs a privacy law.

Have you ever wanted to say thank you for these posts? Here’s how you can: I’m kickstarting the audiobook for my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon’s Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they’re DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A modified vintage editorial cartoon. Uncle Sam peeks out over a 'frowning battlement' whose cannon-slots are filled with telescopes from which peer the red glaring eyes of HAL 9000 from '2001: A Space Odyssey.' Topping the battlements in a row are Uncle Sam and three business-suited figures with dollar-sign-bags for heads. The three dollar-bag men have corporate logos on their breasts: Facebook, Google, Apple. Standing on the strand below the battlements, peering up, is a forlorn figure with a Tiktok logo for a head. The fortress wall bears the words 'RESTRICT Act.']

#rand paul is right actually ugh ugh ugh #politics #oracle #restrict act #privacy #privacy without monopoly #tiktok #commercial surveillance #trade war #bytedance #apple #google #facebook #meta #usausausa #generational warfare #electoral strategy #pluralistic #aoc

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smol-guppy-wuppy · 2 months

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Mermaid au info dump time!!!! Not really a properly written thing but rather a rambly mess but hopefully y'all get the gist... This literally only started because of this one time I drew leon as a merman for mermay lol. ALSO!! I AM WORKING ON OTHER CHARACTERS FOR THE FANTASY AU. RN I'M WORKING ON ANOTHER OC AND JILL SO STAY TUNED FOR THAT!

Info dump below!

Quinn and Avery (my other resident evil oc, Quinn's best friend) babysit Sherry because they work for the Berkins (her family) as assistants before their own careers take off (Quinn 21, Avery 19). So they decide to take her to the beach (it's a private one owned by sherry's family/the company they work for idk). And while they're there they're messing around, being loud, and just having fun!

Now some friends down below were also doing something similar and heard the ruckus above. Claire (Leon is already friends with all the main racoon city people at this point, so claire, chris, jill, rebecca) decides to investigate and pokes her head out of the water.

Sherry is the only one who notices her but by the time she points it out to Quinn and Avery, she's gone. So they pay it no mind but Sherry is determined to see what it was so she heads towards the water. A particularly nasty wave knocks her off balance and she gets swept in with a shriek which alerts them.

Upon seeing this, most of the merfolk swim away, afraid of catching more attention than necessary but Leon stays. He ends up securing Sherry just as Quinn dives into the water to get her. So now Quinn sees this strange man under the water who's holding Sherry and they lowkey freak out before Leon just calmly hands her to them. They're like. stunned for a moment but are quick to swim back up with sherry in tow.

After they make sure she's okay, they decide that that was enough beach for the day. Quinn didn't mention what they saw but Sherry raved on about how she saw mermaids while she was under there (Avery assumes it was just her seeing things because of lack of oxygen).

So after they get Sherry home and tell her parents everything, they decide that Sherry isn't going to be around water like that for a while, which Sherry isn't happy about but yeah.

Later when Quinn and Avery go their separate ways, Quinn decides to go back and investigate. They end up calling out in hopes of being heard and thankfully they were! You can see that as art here (leon's design is more updated there)

Upon hearing their calls Leon hesitantly pops out of the water, curious as to why they were back there. Quinn just goes and says they wanted to thank him but also ask a few questions about him and what exactly he was.

So they talk for a while before Quinn has to leave and that goes on for a little while. Them visiting in secret and just chatting and getting to know each other ya know?

But soon Quinn stops visiting and Leon doesn't know why. The reason is that Quinn ends up leaving for school for a while which leaves Leon to think they got tired of him.

But like 6 or so years later, Quinn comes back to that same beach where they met (re4 looks for the characters at this point and leon is a little sad and emo because of some stuff he had to deal with idk what specifically yet but basically the same ol re4 leon just a little less intense lol).

They didn't think Leon would be there but they wanted to relive the nostalgia of being there.

They end up reading on the pier while humming to themselves before they find themselves growing bored. Soon enough they decide to go for a swim and end up stumbling across a small opening in the rocks under the water that they'd never noticed before. It piques their curiosity, so they go and explore. They manage to squeeze themselves through and end up in a cave beautifully illuminated by some kind of bioluminescent algae.

Quinn notices that there are several different pools inside the cave including the one they had arrived from. Upon noticing them, they assume they're each connected to other points of entry. With a spark of curiosity they decide to look around the cave more, but before they can proceed further, a large splash catches their attention.

Their attention shifts to the direction of the noise and they spot a figure emerging from the water. The figure turns and spots them and the two of them immediately freeze.

It's… Leon? (Turns out the cave is his own secret spot he likes to go to in order to be alone with his thoughts)

It's a silent staring contest for a while until he's like. Is that really you? And Quinn is immediately touched that he remembers them while Leon well. He's happy they remember too but also he's really upset that they left for so long without saying anything.

So Quinn goes on to explain that they left for school to be a proper marine biologist and that they wanted to study sea life. But he gets all huffy and is like. I'm literally sea life??? Why couldn't you stay to do that here??? And they have to further explain that. isn't how it works.

Leon is still a bit salty over the situation, but they both eventually come to an understanding. So the visits continue with Quinn promising that they won't be leaving again (at least not without telling him). Eventually the two introduce each other to their friends and stuff and fall in love at some point and yeahhh I'll probably figure out more stuff eventually idk

#leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanart #resident evil oc #art stuff #leon kennedy #resident evil au #resident evil art #leon kennedy x oc #leon scott kennedy

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ripdragonbeans · 11 months

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Take Your Pick

SugarDaddy!Aegon x reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! 18+

Warnings: SMUT!!!! piv, oral (m and f receiving), semi-public s*x, slight choking, slight hair pulling, daddy kink, overstimulation (I think???)

let me know if I missed anything!!

It's my first smut! Thank you @khaleesihel for the request ❤️❤️❤️ love our conversations

Divider by firefly-graphics

The divider is a little nod to 2010ish fanfic lingo (ayyy ff.net)

Getting something from Thistle and Spire is now a dream of mine

"Aegon, can I have this one?" You looked at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes you could muster.

You and Aegon were at one of your favorite lingerie stores, Thistle and Spire. Aegon turned around from a set he was looking at and inspected the one in your hands. He reached out to feel the sheer, lacy fabric between his fingers. "Hmm, it's cute, kitten." Aegon took your set, and the one he was looking at earlier, and leaned in to whisper in your ear. "How about you pick out two more and you can give me a little show in the back?"

You couldn't help the shiver that ran through your body, resulting in a pool of excitement in your stomach. Even though you were very much getting turned on, your excitement of getting lingerie won and you did a little happy hop. You all but skipped away further into the store with Aegon in tow. He couldn't help but smile at your eagerness.

Your playfulness was what caught his eye when he first saw you. When Aegon initially put out the notice for a sugar baby he just wanted a mind-blowing fuck every now and then. But, with you, he came to genuinely enjoy your company. It made buying things for you easier for him, seeing your little dances and jumps of excitement whenever he shops with you.

As you made your way through the shop you found two more sets you adored. The first one was the Freyja Bodysuit and the second was the Verona Set. You plucked them from their racks and skipped back to Aegon.

"I found these two, Aegon!" You exclaimed. You were just so damn excited about this.

Aegon handed you the two sets previously picked out, the Medusa bodysuit and the Smokin Mirrors set. All four of them equally sexy.

Aegon gently took your hand and led you to the changing rooms, "Do me a favor and model these for me, kitten." His hand slid up your back and to your shoulder as he smoothly pushed himself inside the room with you and quietly closed the door.

"Aegon, this is a public store? You can't be in here with me," you whispered. As much as you'd love for him to see every moment you were well aware of the workers and other potential shoppers.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, my kitten. I promise it's completely private." He stroked your hair and kissed the top of your head. "Now that we're alone, kitten, what do you call me?" He gave you a sly grin.

Looking up at Ageon you felt the pressure start to build. You put on the sweetest face, full of innocence and lust. "Sorry, Daddy. I was just getting a little nervous."

He took your hand and brushed his lips over your knuckles. "It's okay, just show these off and we're all good, I promise." He pulled you in by the waist. "And if you're good I'll reward you when we get home."

Your knees became weak but you refused to let them buckle beneath you. "Yes, daddy," you said. Whenever Aegon pulled you close you couldn't help but breathe in his scent and get slightly drunk off of it.

Aegon crossed his arms and leaned against the door as he watched you undress. You took your time getting out of your clothes, a black skater skirt and graphic shirt knotted at the bottom with dark red thigh high socks and black vans. You slipped your shoes off and was about to peel off your socks when Aegon stopped you.

"Keep those on, kitten. You always look so damn good in those," he said huskily.

Giving him a sly smile and looking up at him though your eyelashes, you slowly rolled your sock back up.

"Like this, daddy?" You gave him the most innocent of looks.

"Perfect, kitten. But you still have more to do."

You turned around so your back was facing him and unclasped your bra. It was your deep red lace bra with flowers embroidered on it. As it fell to the ground you slowly bent down a bit to grab the first set. Every move you made was slow and deliberate. Feeling Aegon's eyes roaming your body always gave you a rush of excitement.

The first set you put on, the Verona Set, hugged your body perfectly. It was a corset style bodice with sheer black fabric. The lining was thick and bold, outlining and extenuating your curves perfectly. Black roses bloomed from the bottom of the cups and flowered just over your nipples. The thong dipped low but came up high with the black roses.

After you clasped the back, you turned to Aegon. "Do you like it, daddy?" You asked.

"Give me a little turn, I want to see it all," Aegon softly demanded.

He was slowly bringing in his dom voice and it did not go unnoticed by you. You complied and gave him a turn, once again making sure to go slowly so he could drink in everything.

"Gods, you look so good and you still have three more sets to show me," he grinned.

You could see the list in his eyes and knew he was holding back.

You carefully took off the Verona Set and slid into the Medusa bodysuit. After seeing an ad for this pop up every now and then, you made a promise to get it. The Medusa bodysuit was all sheer nude except for the four snakes that slithered up your sides and over your tits. The heads of the tallest snake on each side also hid your nipples, which were slowly getting harder. They were aching to be touched but you held yourself down.

Aegon looked at you and reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Fuck, I wouldn't mind you turning me into gold if it meant touching you. Like her, you are far too beautiful to be a goddess."

Clasping your hands behind your back, you twirled a bit in place waiting for him to say more.

"This one is just as sexy as the other, kitten. If it keeps up like this you might get four new things today."

Turning around, you let Aegon help you slide out of the suit. His hands caressed the sides of your body as he pulled it down. He kissed down your neck and shoulders before reaching your back and stepping away. Aegon knew that if he stayed too close to you he'd lose it.

Unlike the Medusa bodysuit, the Freyja Bodysuit was a little more complicated. There were side clasps but you needed Aegon to help you out. As soon as he did, he took his spot back against the door to get a better view of you. It was a delicate off the shoulder silhouette, once again with sheer black fabric. Its back was completely open and the front had two center keyholes with two rings, both connecting the opposite sides of the keyholes.

When you turned to Aegon his eyes were wide.

"I want to rip this off of you so badly, kitten," he growled. "You're being such a tease."

"I wouldn't be such a tease if I didn't have to give you a show, daddy," you countered with a smile.

"Trying to be cheeky, kitten?" He pulled you in close. You could feel his breath in your neck as he whispered, "Keep it up and see what happens." Aegon roughly let go of you and gave you a quick slap on the ass. "Last one to show me and then we can go home, I promise. Although, I'm not sure about that reward, you got a little mouthy there, kitten."

You turned around with your eyes wide, "That's not fair!"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, that's what happens to little kittens who tease their daddy," he smirked.

You huffed as you unclasped the suit and put on the last set. As you held it you knew Aegon wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of you. The Smokin' Mirrors set had three pieces, a high waisted thong, a bralette, and a shrug. Black flames burned from the bottom of the cups to just above your perky nipples.

As you put the shrug on you pretended to struggle and turned to Aegon. "Daddy, I think I need help," you said with the biggest doe eyes. "I just need you to do the clasp around my neck." You looked up to give Aegon room to clasp it. Every breath you took was heavy and you were sure Aegon could feel your heart racing.

Aegon's hands rose to the base of your neck as he grasped both sides of the shrug and pulled them together. He couldn't help but run his hands over your arms and down your body.

"You are so fucking beautiful, kitten," he whispered.

Smiling at him, you leaned into his touch. You pushed your chest up ever so slightly, trying to get him to touch you where you wanted him the most.

A smile tugged on the corners of his lips as he finally brought a hand up to brush your nipple. A whimper left your mouth as he circled the sensitive bud with his thumb and gripped your waist hard with the other hand.

"And you're all mine," he growled.

Aegon's lips crashed into yours. No gentless, just pure, aggressive passion. One hand pawed at your breast while the other roughly grabbed your ass. He traced your lips with his tongue before forcing himself inside your mouth. As you pushed against him you could feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

"Don't you see what you do to me?" He said when he pulled back. "You drive me fucking crazy. You and your lingerie and your little show you put on."

The hand on your breast moved up to your neck, unclasping the shrug. Once the shrug was off, his hand gently wrapped around your neck and applied the tiniest bit of pressure. A quiet moan escaped your mouth.

"Oh, you like that, kitten? You want daddy to take you here?" He released your neck and went back to massaging your breast.

"Yes, yes, daddy please," you cried.

Aegon silenced you with a kiss. "Quiet, kitten. We wouldn't want anyone to find us, would we?"

You shook your head as you desperately tried to grind against him. He leaned in for another kiss but turned away so you kissed his cheek instead.

"Be a good little kitten and strip for daddy. Take everything off except those thigh highs," he commanded.

You took a step back and made a show out of stripping. Swaying your hips back and forth, you ran your hands up your body to play with your breasts before unclasping it and letting it fall to the ground. Aegon grunted in approval as he saw your perky nipples, straining from the coolness of the room and the arousal taking over your body.

Stepping over the bralette, you bent over to pick it up and give him a complete view of your ass. You were about to stand up and take off the thong when a strong pair of hands pulled you so Aegon's chest was flat against your back.

He kissed down your neck and bit down on your shoulder.

"You're being a tease again, kitten. I think you need a reminder of who I am."

He took a small step away from you as he undid his belt. Your eyes were glued on his hands. You loved that belt, whether it was used to tie you up or to smack your ass. Even watching Aegon take it off sent shivers down your spine. Once the belt was gone you dropped to your knees and pawed at his jeans.

"Does my little kitten need daddy's cock?"

"Yes, yes, please, daddy. I want to taste you," you all but begged.

Aegon let you pull his jeans and underwear off, revealing his thick hardened length. It was red at the tip and leaking a bit of pre cum, which you happily licked up. His head got the attention first, being sensitive and all. You loved how it looked, so ready to be taken in by your mouth. Your lips circled the head as you licked the tip.

Aegon groaned, "I already told you not to be a tease, kitten." He pulled your head away and dropped his role for a second. "Three taps on my thigh and we stop, okay?"

You nodded your head, "Yes, daddy."

He grinned. "Good, go back to my cock like the whore you are."

You put your lips around him once again and slowly started to bob your head. You couldn't take all of him in, so whatever you couldn't get with your mouth you used your hand wet with spit.

Aegon tried his best not to thrust into you but he couldn't take it anymore. His hands grabbed your hair to steady you as he started fucking your mouth. You closed your eyes and tried to relax your jaw.

"Breathe, kitten," he reminded you.

You took a breath through your nose as he picked up speed.

"Fuck, you take my cock so good. You're so good to daddy," he gasped. "Can't wait to feel your tight pussy around me."

You could feel him in the back of your throat, deliciously opening you wide. He pulled out of your mouth and helped you up to your feet before slamming his lips onto yours. His hands danced along the edge of the thong. You whined and moved your hips trying to get him to touch you through the thong. Instead of his fingers caressing you, you got a slap to your clothed cunt.

"Patience, kitten," he said between kisses.

You groaned again but stopped moving your hips. Aegon smiled against you as he finally slid the thong down your legs.

He held the soaked thong in his hands. "Did sucking me off really make you that wet, kitten? You ruined such a nice piece of lingerie," he chided.

You stood in front of him bare. "I'm sorry, daddy," you said in a small voice.

"Don't worry, daddy will make it all better," Aegon smirked as he dropped to his knees.

Grabbing your thighs, he nudged your legs apart and looked up at your glistening cunt.

"I'll make you forget your mistake, kitten, I promise."

You gasped as he laid an open mouthed kisses on your folds. His tongue darting out every once in a while to stimulate your clit. All of his attention was soon on that pearl and you had to bite your knuckle to keep yourself quiet.

"I wish I could hear those pretty sounds," Aegon said between sucks. "When we get home I'll make sure they're loud."

He slowed down just enough for you to think you'd be fine removing your hand. As it fell to your side Aegon shoved two fingers into your pussy and continued his assault on your clit.

"Daddy - Daddy, please," you strained out.

"Please, what?"

"Fuck - please - fuckkk."

Aegon pulled away from your clit to look up at you. "Finish on my face, kitten," and he dove back in.

Pleasure was building up inside you, your hands were tightly balled into fists. When your knees started to buckle, Aegon grabbed your sock-clad thigh to keep you up. You could feel him go faster, you knew he wanted to finish hard. Your head leaned hard on the wall behind you and your fist came back to your mouth. If it wasn't for the support of the wall and Aegon below you, you would've fallen with how hard your orgasm was.

Aegon licked up the rest of your arousal the raised his fingers for you to clean them.

"You're such a good kitten, aren't you?" He praised. "Now that you've cum on my face it's time for me to fill you up." He stepped away from you. "On your hands and knees, kitten," he smirked.

Obediently, you got on your hands and knees. You stuck you ass up and wiggled it at him out of anticipation.

"Look at you, so excited to take my cock," Aegon said as he fisted his cock.

When you felt him rub his length up and down to gather you slick you couldn't help but whine and try to push back against. He was quick to grab your hair and lean over to you.

"You will take what you get. No one likes a greedy kitten," he whispered.

Aegon didn't give you a chance to respond after letting you go. You felt the magnificent sudden stretch of your pussy as his cock tore you apart. He gave you a moment to catch your breath before picking up the pace.

His hands were gripping your hips as he whispered praises. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well. Gods you're perfect, you're perfect and you're mine," he said between pants. "Tell me you're mine."

You barely registered what he told you to do because he was hitting that sweet spot so good.

"I'm - fuck. Fuck, daddy I'm - fuck please!"

"Words, kitten. I asked you to say something."

The pressure was building. Heat continued to pool within your stomach and Aegon's balls were smacking your clit with every thrust. You couldn't think, you could barely talk. He always got you drunk on his cock.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy please! Fuck, daddy, I'm yours. I'm all yours and I love your cock," tears were starting to run down your face.

"Good kitten," Aegon grunted. "Now cum with me."

Digging his fingers into your ass, he picked up his pace, fucking you deep and hard. Nothing made sense to you, nothing except for Aegon. He kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again. You loved it when he was hard with you and loved it more when he finished inside you. Thank the gods for birth control.

With one last thrust, the coil inside you broke, pleasure raging through your body as Aegon shot his load into you. He fell forward but caught himself with both hands on either side of you. You came down your high but the small twitches of his cock kept you sensitive.

As he pulled out you couldn't help but pout and whine over the loss of his cock inside you. Aegon helped you up before putting his underwear and jeans back on. After you shimmied into your clothes Aegon hugged you from behind and rested his chin on your head.

"Guess we'll have to buy all four sets, huh, kitten?" He asked.

You blushed and melted into his touch, "I guess we will." You pulled out of his slightly to hold your hands behind your back and sway from one foot to the other. "Thank you, daddy," you said with a smile.

He picks up the bodysuits and sets, making them look nice and neat, before opening the door for you. As you walk towards the check out counter he leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek but lingers a bit longer.

"Tonight I want you to wear the Verona Set, I want to tie you up while you're wearing that."

You glanced at him and smiled, you couldn't wait to get back home.

#hotd #bean fics #modern house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #modern!aegon #modern!aegon x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x you #aegon x y/n #sugardaddy!aegon #modern au #sugar daddy au

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