#dulcet shut the fuck up

[shotmrmiller]

When Johnny takes Simon to his home, and you open the door, Simon's heart stops beating. You direct that lovely smile he's fallen in love with at Johnny as you hug him and usher him inside. Simon's frozen in place, his body refusing to move, because gods, you're a fucking dream.

And then you turn your attention towards him, with ruddy cheeks and pink lips and a delicate neck he could easily wrap his hand around—

"You must be Simon!" and his cock starts to stir. All you said was his name, in that angelic voice of yours, and his blood started to rush to his groin.

When you move to wrap your arms around him in an embrace, he finally breaks from his trance and returns it. Barely. It's awkward— one arm coming up to inelegantly pat your upper back a little too hard, and the other stiff at his side. But you seem completely unbothered, just giving him one last squeeze and step back, holding both of his arms in your dainty hands, and you say, "It's great to meet the one that keeps my Johnny safe. Now, come on in, make yourself at home!"

Simon timidly walks inside, and closes the door behind him, and utters, "Thank you for lettin' me stay here."

The joyful laughter you let out sends exquisite prickles up his spine. "He actually speaks! I'm surprised, Johnny said it took a bit for you to warm up to others," and you give another stomach-fluttering giggle. "You're welcome here any time, Simon. Now let me take you to the room you'll be staying in."

Simon has to carry his duffle bag in front of him as you lead him to the guest room to cover the throbbing erection he's got. When you leave him to freshen up, he wastes no time in pulling his jeans down and taking himself in his hand, stroking firmly. When his imagination paints a picture of you wearing an apron while cooking a meal for him, his vision blurs as he climaxes.

--

Simon knows he's atypical. He has no real decorum. He tells piss-poor dark jokes, inadvertently stares at people when he's lost in thought— and since he's been here, Simon likes to shadow you.

But you don't seem to mind any of it. You laugh at his jokes, the ones Johnny never fails to scoff in disgust at, you tilt your head innocently towards him, silently questioning his intense gaze — and it's so fucking adorable that he's come to that look 8 times in the last 3 days— and you always ask him to reach for things that are out of your reach because you know he's around. (Johnny made a joke once, said that you're being haunted by a ghost, and the quip you replied with as you came to his defense had him dizzy.)

His favorite thing about you though, is how unafraid you are of him. You had rounded a corner and saw his skull mask for the first time, and had you been like any other woman, you would've been startled. But you hadn't been— If anything, you asked him if he wanted it fixed.

"I can see a couple of tears here, Simon. I can patch it up if you like."

It was so deliciously domiciliary that he counted each stitch of his mended mask with his thumb as he touched himself that night.

And then, through the thin walls of the home, he suddenly heard your dulcet moans. He quickly got up and put his skills to use— silently crossing the living room and leaning against the wall closest to your bedroom door.

The bed repeatedly creaked and every choked moan that left you, Simon heard clearly. He hastily took out his achingly hard cock, spit on his palm, and stroked himself to the rhythm of the slapping of skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fucked himself to the thought of him being the one in there with you.

He has no doubt that you'd feel heavenly. Your slick cunt swallowing his turgid length, walls almost painfully tight around him. You'd beg for him to hammer into you, relentlessly, mercilessly. You'd tell him to bite the crook of your shoulder once you were about to come around his cock, and when he actually hears you reach your peak, he rhythmically tightens and loosens his grip, imitating your fluttering walls. His toes are curling inside his socks, he's so bloody close—

And then Simon hears your lascivious voice murmur, "Come in me."

He bites his lip so hard it splits under the pressure as he comes. Tiny, hushed whimpers seeped from behind his mouth, as hot cum spilled onto his fingers, and trickled onto the floor.

The only noise Simon can hear now is his own shaky breath— the fun's over on both sides, it seems. He looks down, gives his softening cock one more stroke, wringing out the last of his seed, before tucking himself away, and sluggishly wiping his mess off the floor with his foot.

He quietly moves, heading back to his room, when he spots your laundry basket in the utility room.

Simon has never believed in luck until now when he's sniffing your knickers in the privacy of the guest room, and he realizes they've been worn. And by how strong the smell of you is, they've been used very recently. He felt like he won the goddamn lottery.

Wrapping it around his cock, he touches himself. Again. And when he comes, he makes sure to spurt his cum directly onto the gusset of the undergarment.

Come morning, when they're all stiff and crusted, he laments that he didn't lick them first, in a pitiful bid to experience a taste of you, before stowing them into a secret compartment in his bag. He makes a mental note to remember to do just that when he takes another pair.

Simon wordlessly makes a cup of tea later, hissing as the hot liquid comes in contact with the small wound on his lip, when Johnny approaches him.

"Mornin' LT."

A grunt is his only reply.

Johnny then shoots him a sly grin.

"Last night, ye weren't as wheesht, as quiet, as ye thought. But dinnae worry, Bonnie doesn't ken a thing."

He claps a hand on Simon's petrified shoulders. "If ye wanted a slice of the cake, ye could've just asked. I dinnae mind sharin'."

Simon gives him a borderline-demented look, puts his tea down on the counter, and clears his throat.

"When?"

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #johnny soap mctavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost smut #cod mw2

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: ITADORI

A/N: Quarterback Itadori with #20 on his jersey realizes he has a little (big) problem with a certain cheerleader turned Chem tutor (who also happens to be just a little bit older 🤭). Anon this one is for you! I hope you enjoy 💋

S/N: I’ve never giggled so much writing a piece. This one was so funny to me.

C/W: Aged up characters (19+), college AU, Mature, 18+

“ITADORI!”

Oh for fucks sake.

Yuji can’t drag away from the pyramid of cheerleaders right of center field.

“Coach?”

“IF YOU WANT TO WEAR A SKIRT AND BACKFLIP FOR THE BOYS THEN JUST SAY THAT?!”

His teammates erupt in a chorus of laughter. Coach Yaga is an ass.

Fact.

But he is also living, breathing, comedic relief.

“I would coach, but they aren’t my type!”

Yuji yells back, eyes still lasered to your back. He knows it’ll sear Yaga’s skin right off the bone.

Whatever.

What’s a few more seconds, right?

You are just so…hot.

In a mind-bending kinda way. An optical illusion. Or desert mirage.

A fresh water oasis in a destitute wasteland. Always just a few more steps away. No matter how long he’s been crawling on his knees.

His knees.

He’d kill to be on his knees for you. Diving head first into—

“SHUT THE HELL UP AND GET BACK ON THE FIELD. PINK TOP IDIOT!!”

“Yes sir!” Times up.

“Dude, she’s a smoke show.”

The team’s starting running back (#14) rests his arm on Yuji’s shoulder. Just as four bodies fling you so far against gravity it is questionable whether you’ll come down.

“She’s perfect.”

“And a junior.” #14 reminds him, tugging his helmet back over his head.

“So?”

“Okay, freshmeat. Someone’s got mommy issues.”

Yuji bursts into full belly laughter. Stealing one last glance at you before pulling his helmet on.

His teammates never fail to remind him that he’s the only freshman in Tokyo University history to make starting lineup.

Not to mention quarterback.

“#14, #20 IF YOU DONT STOP RUBBING DICKS ILL WEAR BOTH OF YOUR ASSES TO THE BONE THIS AFTERNOON.”

Yuji promptly takes position at center field. He knows better than to push his luck. Two-a-days are already brutal enough, he has no intention of making his life harder than it is.

But you do.

You are setting flames to the hoops Yuji has to jump through to get through study hall and afternoon practice.

Why else would you wear those yoga pants?

They’re a second skin, for Christ’s sake.

Might as well be body paint. Outlining every tantalizing, serpentine curve. Pretty, full hips. Plump, tight ass. The mouthwatering, puffy rose between your legs just begging to be watered. By his tongue.

Yuji’s palm digs into his crotch. Trying to force his pulsating length from tenting up into the table. Cursing himself for changing out of his compression shorts.

“Hello? Yuji?”

Your dulcet voice echoes between his ears and curls around his dick. Jerking him back down to earth.

“Y-yeah? Hi.”

Yuji forces an acknowledgement through the sharp edges of his voice box. Sitting fully erect in his seat. Scrambling to find the pencil that was supposed to be mirroring your work on the whiteboard.

Because not only are you a perfect 10 on and off the field; you are a prodigy when it comes to chemistry.

And currently in the middle of trying to diffuse some of your excess knowledge into his very deficient head.

You toss your head back. Your laughter is definitely why tales of fishermen being lost at sea exists.

Light.

Breathy.

Soprano crescendo that’s rutting against the few folds in his brain.

“Why are you so distracted today, Yu?”

“Distracted?” His voice cracks.

“Ha—no, I’m not distracted. Sorry, walk me through it again.”

But before Yuji can retreat back into his daydream, you catch him in the Venus fly trap of your gaze. Tilting your head slightly.

Yuji swallows thickly. Frozen in place. Hand pushing down on his cock with all his might. As if you could see through the table.

Did you know he was staring at your ass? Can you tell how hard he is? Is there drool on his face? Shit, there must—

“Woah, the way the sun is catching your eyes right now, Yu.”

You take a half step to the side, allowing the full beam of light to caress Yuji’s already hot face.

A shaky hand swipes along the back of his neck.

“H-huh?”

“Your eyes are so pretty. Warm. Like hot chocolate with cinnamon.”

Your full lips curl into a soft smile. And Yuji bites down a pitiful whine.

“I—thanks.” You don’t hear him. Because he whispers through a wired shut jaw.

Yuji lets his erection tent up, grazing the table. He fists his base through his athletic pants. Ears fiery hot with embarrassment. His hand glides up and down his clothed cock without his permission.

Did you know?

That you snapped his self-control in half?

And shoved him into the darkest recesses of his mind?

Where his most depraved thoughts (and the King of Curses) lives?

Because all Yuji can see is the way your ass ripples and bounces while you scribble hieroglyphics on the whiteboard.

His mind’s eye is currently picturing him fucking you dumber than he is.

Fist full of hair in one hand. Both of your wrists behind your back in another. Mesmerized by the way your plump, fleshy mounds slam against his hips.

Maybe he’ll fuck you in front of a mirror?

So he can make you repeat how pretty you think his eyes are while he brands the shape of his cock into you.

Then he’ll tell you how pretty you are. Creaming all around his length. Drool raining down from your lips in sync with his thrusts.

Maybe he’ll stick a dildo on the mirror so he can watch your mouth get stuffed while he violates your insides?

You’ll look so pretty. When he fills you up with something warm. A little thicker than ‘hot chocolate with cinnamon.’

“Yu? Are you okay?” Genuine concern knocks his lust-drunk thoughts loose.

Yuji blinks himself back to this dimension. Chest heaving. Cramps blooming from his fingertips to his biceps from grasping his sex so hard. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s stained blood red. From chin to hairline.

“I-uh. Sick. I’m—I feel sick. Be right back.” He takes off to the male locker room at inhuman speed.

Yuji nearly doubles over the porcelain sink, glaring at his blown out pupils. Olive skin flushed like he just finished a marathon.

He can’t believe he was just groping himself like that in public. In plain sight.

All because you complimented his eyes?!

Who the hell is he?

“Sukuna, give it a rest.”

Yuji hisses poison at his curse. Because he surely wasnt responsible for those lewd actions.

“Oh, I’ll rest you PERMANENTLY you asinine little b—“

“I’m serious. Quit it.”

Yuji darts around the empty locker room. Accidentally raising his voice.

“Quit what, brat?”

“Quit…making me think..things like that.”

Sukuna’s bellowing laughter sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Deafening between Yuji’s ears.

“That’s all you kid. I’m only 10 fingers in. Don’t have that power…yet.”

Sukuna retreats to Yuji’s subconscious. Leaving him stunned. Disbelief crashing into him like tornado winds.

Yuji has never been a pervert.

Sure, he’s had crushes. But he knows how to control his impulses.

He might be dumb like one, but he’s not an actual dog…right?

Wrong.

Yuji dives into an empty stall while his teammates file in. Study hall is complete and afternoon warm-ups are starting soon.

And his neglected, weeping sex is clamoring for attention.

Missing it’s muse — your soft, curvy frame and the ways he wants to fill you.

One hand clamps over his mouth. While the other one tugs his pants down. Thick, heavy length springing free. Sticky and slick with his precum.

His head meets the cool wall. Hips thrusting against his fist. Broken whimpers pushing through the web spaces of his fingers that are digging into his cheek. Choking himself quiet so no one hears his pathetic hormone driven state.

“Mnnhgh f—fuck.” Muffled curses slip past his hand.

His cock is red and engorged. Angry from his abuse. But his hips can’t stop rutting into his hand. Picturing abusing your pretty, swollen cunt.

A hot tear rolls along his cheek, between his fingers. Salty on his tongue.

Curtains start to shade his vision and Yuji’s hands move to cup his bulbous tip. His muscular core tenses and strings of warm, thick seed fills his hands.

The world slowly starts to piece together. His heart rattling in its cage comes to a normal pace. Choppy, incomplete breaths gradually replaced with deep, relaxed ones.

Shit.

He’s in trouble.

Because he needs to pass chemistry to play football. And he needs you to pass.

But he can’t ever look you in the eye again after this display.

After one measly compliment.

How will he act if you bend over in front of him?

Or lean over a little too far?

God forbid you touch his arms or brush against him.?

Then a lightbulb goes off.

Yuji has the perfect solution.

He scrambles to clean up. Putting on his street clothes. Ignoring the quizzical looks from his teammates. He’s going to fix his little problem.

“Coach Yaga?” Yuji is met with an open office door and his coach’s nostrils flaring. Vein along his temple pulsing.

He draws in a steadying breath.

“I can’t play football anymore coach. I quit.”

“….YOU WHAT?!?!”

#jjk fanfic #jjk smut #yuji itadori #jjk itadori #itadori x reader #yuji itadori x reader #jujutsu itadori #itadori smut #itadori x you #itadori fluff #yuji smut #yuji x reader #jjk yuji #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji #jjk yuuji #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut #jujutsu kaisen yuuji #yuuji fluff #yuuji x you #jjk #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jjk x y/n #anime smut #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk spoilers

[harrysweasleys]

38. “stop, please don’t cry.” with Eddie Munson please and thank u bestie <33

a/n: EDDIE MY BELOVEDDDD i haven’t written for him in a little while, sad times. i miss him. thank you for sending a request!!! <3

proving it

Eddie messed up.

Big time.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him, anyone to rub it in. He just knew he fucked up.

That night, while you had been waiting at the restaurant, patiently, dressed in Eddie’s favourite maroon dress, he had been busy with a spur of the moment campaign. Completely forgetting that the two of you had dinner plans.

When he got home that night and saw his uncle’s button up shirt ironed on the back of the couch, his heart dropped. So low he swore it was in his feet. He grabbed the phone with shaky hands, muttering shit, fuck, fuck, shit, even though he knew you wouldn’t pick up.

He’s messed up quite a few times before, but he’s never been this panicked. By messed up, it’s always been things along the lines of; he forgot there was an exam, he forgot to put gas in his uncle’s car. Never with you. Never to hurt you.

He felt like the biggest douchebag in the world, and Eddie knew a lot of douchebags.

“Please pick up, please pick up,” he muttered to himself, eyes squeezed shut as the dulcet tones rang through the phone. The longer they went on for, the more Eddie was certain you wouldn’t pick up. That you were sitting there in your bed, gorgeous hair splayed across your pillow in that dress that damn near brought Eddie to his knees.

“Fuck,” he cursed, slamming the phone and hanging up the call before he rushed to the bowl by the trailer door, scattering through everything to find his keys. He wasn’t even sure if he was wearing shoes or not as he rushed out the door, barely getting the car started before he was slamming his foot on the gas and reversing like hell out of the trailer park.

He probably wouldn’t admit this to you because he knew you’d scold him, but he was definitely speeding and definitely not stopping fully at his stop signs as he charged over to your place. Even though he arrived in record time, it felt like the longest drive of his fucking life.

As he pulled into your driveway, he realized how clammy his hands were. He was nervous. Utterly petrified. Because you — you were the best thing in his life and he fucked up.

He was shaking as he got out of the car and looked up to your bedroom window. Your light was on. You were up there.

Eddie was used to sneaking in and out of your bedroom, but never like this. His heart was beating so fast he was certain his ribs would be bruised. He was practically stumbling over to the lattice against the wall of your home, worried he’d fall off once he started climbing.

Once at the top, he peeked into your bedroom to make sure you were alone. And sure enough, you were. Sitting on your bed in a large hoodie with your legs under the blanket, you sat staring up the ceiling.

It crushed Eddie’s chest and he couldn’t help but knock on the window right away. He really had no time to waste.

You jumped, nearly falling off the bed as you clutched your hand to your chest, glaring over at the window with squinted eyes to see who was there. You relaxed a bit when you saw who it was, but your features turned into an expression of annoyance in less than a second.

“Come on, baby, please let me explain,” Eddie’s voice was soft, but it was easy to hear through the window of your quiet room.

You stood off the bed and walked over, arms crossed after you unlatched the window.

“I’m only letting you in so you don’t fall to your death. That would be awkward to explain.”

Eddie was grateful as he opened the window and hopped inside, out of the chilly Hawkins night air and into your bedroom. He had been here many times before and he knew it down to every last detail, but he couldn’t even be bothered to look around. His eyes were on you and only you.

His breath was snatched from his lungs as he noticed the slight redness around your eyes.

“Are you going to stand there and stare?” you flipped yourself back down on the bed and looked up at him, “Why didn’t you show up to dinner? I looked like an idiot, Eddie. I’m pretty sure the old couple next to me were talking about how sad it was the whole time. They wouldn’t stop giving me pity looks.”

Eddie’s hands were still shaking as he made his way over to your bed and sat on the opposite end, not trusting his own legs to keep him up at the moment. He was about to collapse.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice came out raspy as he tried not to blurt out a hundred apologies at once, “I’m so, so fucking sorry, baby. I don’t know what happened. I just got so distracted and the guys were pressing about this campaign and—,”

“It’s fine.”

Your voice sounded so quiet that it stopped Eddie right in his tracks. He had planned a hundred things to say to you on the ride over, and each one had ended with him practically on the ground begging for your forgiveness. He didn’t expect this. For you to be brushing him aside and pretending like you weren’t hurt. Hiding your feelings from him because you were so upset.

That, he thought, hurt more than anything.

“No, it’s not,” he pressed on, wanting to lean across and hold you so close, “It’s not okay. I’m the world’s biggest idiot. I really am. I’m so sorry. I swear, I will make it up to you. A hundred dinners. I’ll take you out for a hundred dinner dates and… and I’ll even bring flowers each time.”

You let out a small laugh, and reached up to rub your eye so quickly, Eddie almost missed it.

“No,” his voice cracked as he lost all sense of restraint and leaned over, hand under your chin and scooping you close to him, “No, stop, please don’t cry, I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I’m mad,” you leaned into his touch, warming his heart, “But I’m not crying.”

He pulled away from you just a tad, raising his eyebrow in an I-don’t-believe-you kinda way.

“Not crying anymore.” You corrected.

That didn’t make it any better, but Eddie didn’t say that. He just pulled you against his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re everything to me, you know that, right? You’re everything and I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you tonight. I really don’t know how it could have slipped my mind. You’re the only thing I’m ever thinking of, especially when we’re not together. I was thinking of you all day and I just… I really don’t know how I could have missed it.” He was talking to you, but most of these words were really just his internal thoughts. He still can’t believe he forgot date night.

“These things happen, Eds, it’s fine,” you fiddled with the hems of your sleeves, toes wiggling in your fuzzy socks. His heart did a little jolt at the nickname.

“Yeah, but I don’t want them to,” he spoke so quickly he thought you might not even understand him, “I want you forever. I really do. I can’t imagine my life without you and if this is the end, I get it. I don’t blame anyone but myself, but I just wanted to be good for y—,”

“The end?” your eyebrows were furrowed as you cocked your head to the wide, “End? I’m not going to break up with you.”

His reaction was visible. His shoulders slumped in relaxation and his chest let out a massive exhale like he had been holding his breath since he arrived. Even his eyes warmed up and colour returned to his previously pale cheeks.

“Oh, thank god,” he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, “I was so scared. I thought I had unforgivably fucked up.”

He reached out his hands to rub them along your legs, the sweatpants warm to the touch from being cocooned under the blanket for probably a good while. It was comforting. On the way over, he had a moment of worry that he might never get to feel your touch or your warmth again.

He almost crashed the car.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You did fuck up,” you pointed a finger at him, but there was no hostility in your glare, “But it’s not a relationship-ending mistake.”

He nodded, “I know. I know. But all that matters to me is that I have the chance to redeem myself. To make it up to you.” His voice was still shaky with nerve, but the raspiness had faded away. He was calmer. Reassured.

“Better get started, Munson,” you leaned back into the bed and tucked your legs under the pillows, “I’m expecting a shower of affection and love for the next little while.”

He chuckled, taking off his shoes (that he did actually have on) and sliding into bed next to you, “I’m pretty sure that’s more thrilling for me than you. But I will gladly and willingly show you how I feel about you every second of the day.” He reached under the blankets and grabbed your hand, cold fingers linking with your warm ones, “Can’t have my princess forgetting my love for her.”

You grinned at his words and he felt kind of like the grinch in that scene where his heart grows three sizes larger.

Eddie would never get enough of you and he was going to spend his whole life proving it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson one shots #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fic

[anamenooneowns]

Urges

Summary: Jennifer is always greedy for you.

AN: i rewatched jennifer's body last night so i wanted to make a spicy fic. its just our cannibal, succubus girlfriend loving up on her chubby girl. enjoy!

Pairing: Jennifer Check x Chubby black reader

Warnings: Dub-con (not previously consented demonic hypnotizing), no use of y/n (Angel isn't your name, it's a nickname), fucked grammar, degradation, biting, smacking (like once), cursing, almost caught, possible voyeurism (not really just tryna cover all the bases, these also sound like porn tags)

MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

This wasn't good. No- it wasn't good at all. This was terrible, in fact. What the fuck were you thinking? Anyone could see you here.

But as Jennifer's tongue slid up through your folds, parting them like Moses did the goddamn Red Sea- it was the best decision you've made in your life. Her plump lips pursed around your swollen clit, gathering spit to the front of her mouth to rub over the throbbing nub over, and over, and again. Your leg was thrown over her shoulder, and for a girl so skinny, it was surprising that she didn't falter at your weight pressing down on her at all.

It was your fault that you looked so precious wearing the crop top that you had taken from her closet. The spandex pressed your tits together while creating a delicious spillage she was quickly developing a taste for in Biology. And now she was having her fill in the gym locker rooms when you were both supposed to be practicing a new routine.

"Jen- Jen, fuck," you mewled. It was hard to focus on the door where anyone could come in when she was doing that thing with her tongue. "Any... anyone c'n come in."

Jennifer pulled away to laugh at your slurred words, rubbing your clit with her thumb to keep you just at the edge. "Oh, they can come in, can't they, Angel?" she mocked your moaning voice. "Then I guess the smart thing to do would be to shut your whore mouth, right?" the drop of her voice was cold and sudden.

Your sucked your trembling bottom lip into your mouth, stifling your tears at her nasty words even though your nipples were twisting into thick, hardened peaks against your cheer shirt. Her eyes locked onto your chest and she pushed your shirt up with her free hand, a dulcet noise coming from her throat as your heavy tits fell out of them. 

"Fuck." she huffed out a laugh, rising from her haunches slowly as she pressed kisses up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. "For someone so scared they're gonna be seen, it feels like you're just getting wetter and wetter," she hissed in your ear like a dirty secret.

Jennifer punctuated her sentence with a sharp smack against your pussy, eliciting a squelch that sounded so nasty- so lewd that your knees buckled. 

It took a moment to realize that you never hit the ground. Then another to register that Jennifer Check was holding you, above the ground, against the lockers, as if you were weightless. She dropped to her knees now, settling your legs over her shoulders to return to licking the honeyed sweetness you were dripping. All for her. The feeling of her mouth and fingers pleasuring you made your concern slip from your mind, head nodding off as the rise of your orgasm coiled and got hot in your belly.

"Ohgodohgod- wanna cum. Jen.. Jen, lemme cum, baby- please."

Collective laughter in the hallway almost distracted you. Almost. Jennifer's teeth sharpened and she moved her face away from your cunt to bite your thigh, smiling when you cried out in pain. "If you wanna cum, then you keep those eyes on me, Angel. Or maybe you want them to see us, see how good of a little slut you are for me, letting me eat your pussy out?"

It was adorable how you shook your head even though she could hear you chanting 'yes' in your mind. All the times she wondered where your head went off to before she was cursed had been answered. The scenarios of the salacious, perverted things you wanted her to do to you and vice versa made her write a checklist in her diary at home. This was just number five that you and her would both be crossing off soon.

It was when you started hearing the words of your fellow friends and cheerleaders that your diverted your attention again. Jennifer growled and pulled away, slick dripping down her chin, lipgloss smudged. "Angel. Look. At. Me."

Your pretty brown eyes locked onto hers and the sparkle in them started to fade as you fell into her hypnosis. Her demonesque eyes dilated at the sight of you, jaw half-open and eyes lidded as you looked down at her. 

 There we go, now you gotta work for it yourself, sweet girl.

You carded your fingers through Jennifer's hair before stopping at the back of her head, rolling your hips forward. Jennifer moaned as your eyes rolled back, riding her face at an angle where your clit bumped against her nose with every hump. She sucked your inner folds into her mouth, teasing their lineation with her tongue to scoop your cream into her mouth before letting them go. 

The doorknob twisted and turned from across the room but it didn't open. A muffled collection of groans echoing in the hallway from sweaty and tired cheerleaders at the jammed door. It made her want to laugh at how you were getting a much different workout in here.

When your hips started stuttering and frustrated whines spilled from your swollen lips at missing her nose from rutting so desperately, she grabbed the undersides of your thighs. God, you were so warm and soft. The feeling made her hungry. And the second she felt her teeth shift and sharpen, cheeks thinning to accommodate an unhinged jaw–she slammed the door on the feeling. Looking back to your soulless, brown eyes she couldn't- wouldn't succumb to her newly cannibalistic urges.

Instead, she focused on how she could have cum alone from how sopping wet and sticky your pussy was as she pushed her ring and middle finger inside your walls. It felt like hot silk as she curled them inside of you, slowly letting go of her reigns on your mind. The light in your eyes flickered on and your brows drew together, a sob leaving your lips as you looked down at her glacier blue eyes. Did you black out? 

When she put her mouth back on your cunt, you quickly agreed that you did because who wouldn't go unconscious from such good pussy eating? 

"S'right there- stop, Jenny, wai-wait!" you babbled, trying to tuck your hips back, away from her dangerous mouth.

Whatever the noise she made though, something guttural and warning, stilled you as chills ran up your spine. Your body shuddered, head tilting against the lockers and eyes rolling back as you squirted into her waiting mouth. 

She drank as if she had been deprived of water, refusing to waste a drop before crooning, "My pretty Angel," between breaths of air. She made out with your pussy as soon as she caught her breath, swirling her tongue through your swollen vulva until you were wet with her spit and whining.

"Alright, I'm done. C'mon, Angel-baby," her voice was softer as she lowered your legs to the floor, wrapping a thin arm behind your waist because she didn't trust you not to fall. 

Your eyes fluttered open when she started peppering kisses over your neck, and the kisses stopped once your eyes latched onto hers. "C'mon, I'll walk you back home, s'not safe to be alone."

You didn't argue that she would then be alone, knowing that she'd brush your concerns off with a mind-numbing kiss. And you also didn't say a word when you watched her tuck your panties into her bag unabashedly. 

When you walked into the hallway it was clear, and confusion clouded your face. Jennifer didn't have to look at you to know you were confused about what happened to your cheer squad coming toward the locker room.

"The door was jammed silly, duh." Jennifer said. "You know we always get lucky when we're in public like this," her hand crept up your skirt and you squealed as she squeezed the fatty flesh.

"Jenny, anyone could have seen my ass!" you whispered angrily, lips scrunching into a pout.

She stopped walking and grabbed your jaw, kissing you in the middle of the empty basement. Her tongue pushed into your mouth, impatient- everything was always impatient with Jennifer. Your gasp is swallowed as she presses her tongue against yours, the potent taste of you being dressed over your tongue. Pulling away, she swipes your bottom lip and collects the string of saliva connecting your mouths to pop it into her own. "They wouldn't live another day to even talk about my girlfriend's pretty ass."

You rub your lips together, moisturizing them with what was left of Jennifer's strawberry flavored gloss. Finally, you sweetly say. "Well then.. I guess it's okay."

God, you really were an Angel. Always willing and okay to let Jennifer do whatever she wanted.

As you both kept walking, Jennifer's hand rubbing your ass, she decided you didn't need to know that she literally would tear someone limb from limb for you. Or that the door to the locker room wasn't actually jammed and she had locked it from the start, the key shoved in her bra.

It was late when you and Jennifer finally got off of facetime, you insisting that she at least do this for you the moment she dropped you off so you could see her get home safely. You grabbed your pajamas which was really only panties and a tank-top you stole from your girlfriend before going into the bathroom.

You peeled off your cheer uniform, and that's when you felt it. Hissing, you turn to the mirror in your bathroom and raise your leg.

It felt like an icy hand clutched your heart as you looked at the ellipsis of small holes decorating your inner thigh. The oxidized reddish-brown blood was smeared all over it and there was only a one-word question that flitted through your mind.

Jennifer?

#jennifer check #jennifers body #demon lovin #demoness #x reader #x black fem reader #x black!fem!reader #x black reader #x black plus size reader #x chubby reader #fxf smut #fxf #jennifer's body #x black!reader #black fanfiction #fanfic

[pursuitseternal]

Tensions break in this NSFW update to “In the Monster’s Shadow:”

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 1.7K

Summary: left to her own devices and freedoms, Shadowheart finds solace alone in the gardens of the Palace… until she realizes that being alone isn’t what will soothe her. But he might…

CW: angst with feelings, vulnerable and inebriated Ascendant, outdoor smut, PiV, regret with true feelings

Previous Ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 5…

⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️🖤⚜️

Sunlight. Warm, pure, unadulterated sunlight. It finally made Shadowheart smile, feeling at peace, and she could forget the walls of the palace where she was… Well, she hesitated to say trapped now.

She had so much freedom now, her room remained in the cellar, as he called it. Not dungeon. And she could explore the grounds freely, the walled garden brimming with flowers and fountains and little tucked-away benches was by far her favorite. Even if she could hear the din of life from the Upper City just on the other side. It was her sanctuary, bathing in the spring sun. Whatever limit he had on her magic extended out here too, since of course she tested it out immediately.

Strangely, it didn’t bother her. Not when he had made such a beautiful place… not when there was so much sun and fragrance and tranquility. And besides, she hadn’t seen him in days. Almost a tenday by now.

She hated that annoying tug in her gut now, his words haunting her still from when last she saw him. The only one… he had called her.

“Ugh,” she grunted at herself, at the way it made her feel… special. That self-loathing tried to gnaw at that ember that just wouldn’t snuff out. That feeling she found in that moment of being… wanted… appreciated… desired…

“No!” She yelled at herself, covering her small, pointed ears as if she could shut out her inner thoughts. “Fuck you, Astarion,” she hissed to herself.

An inane giggle sounded from behind her… from the direction of the palace. “Fuck me? Oh, so now, she’s asking for it to happen, is that it?” That velvety voice was thick with alcohol, his usually exact and dulcet tones sticking on his slurring tongue.

She spun her head around, her tight braid whipping her own body as she faced him. Sure enough, goblet in hand, Astarion slunk near-silently from some double doors in the side of the palace. “How long have you been watching me from your lair?”

“You’re one to accuse me of lurking… given you had to go traipsing around my walls and battlements…” his fingers of his free hand grabbed for her braid and twisted it around his palm, “not the only one curious about the Ascendant, but certainly the only one foolish enough to end up here…” His voice dropped low and he leaned over her seated form, his breath rich with fragrant wine.

“You… reek…” she hissed, pinching her nose and sliding away from his looming presence.

“Like wealth… power…” he rolled his shoulders to flex his muscles and spilled his pricey wine in the process.

“You smell like the Elfsong used to after closing…” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, sliding away from the splatters of red wine.

That made him draw up short, his eyes struggling to focus at the mention of… those times. His gaze grew distant, that constant tweak at the corner of his eyes softened.

Shadowheart paused, holding her breath for a moment before she whispered, “Do you remember how those nights were the best… music whining from the tavern below, Halsin whittling animals…”

She watched his jaw clench and release about five times. “Karlach… making up dances for us to all try…” His eyes shut tight, as if he forbade them to show his turmoil, his weakness, or maybe even tears. “Those days seemed so much…”

“Simpler?” Shadowheart offered, not even noticing that her body leaned closer towards him. Her eyes scanned that refined black silk shirt, the way it clung to his muscles and frame, the way it tucked into the band of his stitched scarlet trousers.

“Defenseless,” he suddenly turned his head sharply to meet her soft green eyes. His gaze was that same bloodied shade of crimson, that same piercing intensity. “We did so many foolish things just to bury our fear,” his voice dropped to a snarl, haughty tension in his neck returning stronger than ever. “And now, I never have to be afraid again.” He gave a confident toss of his head, sipping from his chalice as his fingers went white around the stem.

“You seem so sure of that,” Shadowheart couldn't help but tease, that same prickly tone from their days on the road. “I think it’s better to be afraid in good company like we used to than to bury it down deep alone, never…”

His lips silenced her. The clatter of his cup broke the stillness of the garden as he kissed her, hard and fast and possessive. She squirmed at first, noises of surprise muffled under those thick and wine-tasting lips. It felt so good… he was probably too drunk to remember anyway, the thought passed her mind as she decided to kiss him back.

His hands grasped at the back of her head, pulling her inescapably from his working mouth. She tasted blood, though hers or his, she couldn’t tell with all the sucking and nipping they both did. His hands, almost claw-like and strong, pulled her flush against him, the thin silk of his shirt betraying the heat of his own skin, a heat she knew was matched by her own as it blistered through her own light chemise. He swayed roughly, his balance compromised, and all it took was a little shove from her hands on his chest to land them both in the grass at their feet.

He broke from her kiss looking up with hazy, lust-clouded eyes, his hand wrapping around her long braid as he smirked. With yank, he pulled her closer, her body seeking the warmth and pressure of his between her thighs. That one breath was all they took.

Mouths locked again, all fangs and pants and sighs. He tore into her shirt, ripping it open enough for her breasts to catch the sun. A snarl on her lips, her fingers deftly freed his cock from its confines. No thoughts, it was just heat and need in her veins and shared on his breath as she hiked up her skirts and sank onto his cock. Fangs bit her lip, keeping her bent over him even as she rode him. Her pants of pleasure defend her own ears, the loud wet sounds of their bodies joined making her spine tingle with lust as she finally let him claim her this way.

There was no logic, no coherent sensation in her mind. Only heat and desire as the floodgates of their lust and need shattered at last. Tendays of pent up desire finally pulsed and released, coursing through both their bodies.

The world spun around him, Astarion grunted at the force of her bucks, his body unfamiliar with unbridled lust of late. It had been… Well memories escaped him. Thoughts escaped him now that he was buried deep in that warm, wet pressure. Her breath was hot in his mouth, her blood on her tongue delicious… the grass on his back, the weight of her body. His tired eyes stayed shut, lost in the waves of sensation.

For that moment, they were back in the Emerald Grove, their own little piece of nowhere. Two hands gripped at his shoulders… rolling playfully… the skin of her fresh neck pressed against his eager lips and fangs.

Blood poured into his mouth as he clamped down on her neck, starved as he was for her essence, for attention… for touch. He groaned as he took all of her in, through his mouth and his cock. Her mouth hung slack in constant sighs of pleasure, her hips rolling to match his punishing pace. Nails, legs, hair, hands… she was everywhere and all his. Waves built between them, the perfect synchronization of their hips and pants as they fucked in the dirt.

Thighs clenched around his hips, shirt torn asunder, Shadowheart hung on for dear life. Bright sun warmed her flesh, but he was scalding, burning her up with that long-craved friction of his body on her, inside her. Shattering, bursting, she came, unashamedly twitching and writhing and moaning in her too-long-denied ecstacy. It was tantalizing and dangerous… not unlike when she watched these same lustful choices play out so long ago.

But gods, it felt better than it looked.

Especially the part where his hips snapped harder than ever, his lips barely freed from drinking her down as he growled right in her ear. Three more erratic thrusts, and she knew he filled her, his body collapsing and shuddering and grunting. A few pants of air still thickly laced with their desire passed between their lips, a slight smile on his face as he shifted slightly.

“I’ve missed…” he started to whisper before his eyes snapped open. That softness evaporated, cracking over with resolve and anguish and rage in an instant. He scrambled off her, his voice instantly cold and cruel again. “Get inside, Princess,” he growled as he turned his back, stuffing his cock and shirt back inside the band of his trousers. “That was more than enough of a session for you today.” He rounded, merciless in his gaze as she scrambled to close her blouse. “I’ll ignore the fact your twisted words tried to manipulate me into…”

“What?” She spat, scrambling from the dirt. “Me? Manipulate you?” She scoffed with all the ire in her soul. “That’s rich, not to mention a lie.” Hands clenched into fists at her sides, and she longed to cast any of her spells, just to get at him. “You know what’s really sad, Astarion, really pathetic?” She seethed as he glared at her from the doorway to his study. “All this time, you aim to torture me, give me pain and make me submit, and yet, by doing so, aren’t you just pushing yourself deeper into your own torment?”

He said nothing, muscles in his jaw clenched painfully tight. “You’ll pay for such insolence when next I find you.”

“You can try, but you know I’m right, Vampire. You torture yourself far worse than anything you could do to me.”

Her accusation hung like frost in the air, a coil of tension that snapped tight between them. And in that moment, she could have sworn that glimmer of longing shined in his crimson eyes.

And before he could say another word, he rounded on his heel and retreated back inside again.

#astarion x shadowheart #ascended astarion #ascended Astarion x shadowheart #shadowstar #in the monsters shadow #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion baldurs gate #baldur’s gate astarion #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 #bg3 romance #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #shadowheart x astarion #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart

[iguessweallcrazyithinktho]

𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 • 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦

The rain fell against the window of the car creating a dulcet sound. You were sitting in the passenger side while Jude was in the driver’s seat. A soft silence hung amongst you both as you stare out at the rainy outside.

You had come to an empty parking lot to have your date after your plans got ruined due to the nasty weather.

“I love these little moments with you.” You finally spoke, leaning back against the head rest, tilting your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. You couldn’t help the smile that forms on your face when his eyes meets yours.

Jude smiles right back at you, “yeah?”

All you could do was nod as you shut your eyes.

“ I wonder how I get so lucky to have you in my life. You always treat me like I’m the only girl in the world and it feels so amazing. I don’t deserve you.”

“that’s because you are the only girl in the world to me.” Jude says.

You opened your eyes, listening as him continue.

“I’m the one who’s lucky. Look I got the prettiest, smartest girl to ever exist right in front of me. To be honest I never thought I’d ever be in love, but the moment I saw you I knew that wasn’t true. You’ve changed my life for the better. Waking up next to you, hearing you laugh at my stupid jokes, seeing how you light up at my existence when I come home, those are the things I look forward to every single fucking day. If you could see yourself through my eyes you would be in love with yourself. I don’t want any other girl because the girl for me is right here.”

A smile forms on your face. You wouldn’t be lying if you said you weren’t fighting back tears.

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with. I Can’t wait to have kids with you, can’t wait to grow old and still be obsessed with you.”

Jude Took your face in his hand. He runs his thumb across your soft skin while he stares into your eyes with his gentle ones.

I hope that in every lifetime, you are there with me. I’ll find you and love you over and over again because you’re the only person out there for me.”

You felt his lips on yours before you could say anything. Your hands found his shirt pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

When you pull away you look at Jude. “ I hope I find you in every lifetime too.”

-----

A little blurb I wrote the other day

#Jude Bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #Jude Bellingham fluff #Jude Bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham blurb

[sminiac]

Song Mingi x designer!reader

Description: Slightly suggestive, mutual attraction, Mingi being such a lover boy :,(

Extra: This has been rotting in my drafts so I decided to finally get rid of it, maybe possibly a pt.2??? Bf!Hyunwoo in the works btw😋

“I often think of the pretty girl who made sure I didn’t look like a fool before being sent out.”

That was all it took for the drastic change in your life to take effect, currently, a whopping 3 days after Song Mingi’s confessed attraction to you, you’ve managed to obtain a side of your life that never would’ve opened up without him and his stupid mouth that he just couldn’t keep shut.

You don’t know where the clip was pulled from, too stressed out to care, but it caught at the quick lick of a flame that Ateez’s fanbase couldn’t restrain from feeding into, too curious about the man’s type to respect the privacy of a mere fashion designer whose name hardly surfaced in the industry of Idols despite catering to their lack of uncoordinated outfits.

This was by far the most bizarre thing to happen during your career, and you were only trying to keep all of the outfits you pieced together from falling apart at the tips of your calloused fingers, but of course, one of the girls who worked at neckties and pressing out any loose pieces of fabric had to call you over to help so they could jump ahead of the time crunch before the men had to leave for the stage, and of course it was the man with black and silver hair, a deep voice and attentive eyes who you were pulled to.

The velvet length of his tie continuously slipped from the hold of your shaky hands, and he was suddenly not so talkative for the camera angled at his face once your hands came into contact with what little skin that peaked out from under his crisp button down.

The only words he got from you was a hasty “Good to go.” Before he was dragged out of the room, your back turned to him before he had the chance to catch a glimpse of your face, but the weight of your dulcet pitch in his ears was carried around with him for longer than intended, if it was his choice he would’ve stayed, without a doubt, but now… he wishes he wasn’t so quick to admit his affections aloud once he had seen the amount of people who inevitably found your social media accounts. It made the skin over his nose wrinkle, a tight twisting feeling in his chest once he’d seen your comments flooded with a repeated quote and his name attached to the end, it made him feel like his heart was being wrung out, and he was especially concerned once he’d come to find out that you not only had a boyfriend, but a boyfriend who was prevelent in the acting industry.

So when you entered the room, feet heavy against the floor and a scowl on your face, he knew that he was the one you were looking for.

“Song Mingi.” You call, your tone flat and hard to distinguish of any emotion, not even giving him the pleasure of nuance to possibly, stupidly convince himself that you weren’t upset about what happened in the YouTube video that was posted to ATEEZ’s channel.

“I’d like to talk to you for a second.”

Mingi’s surprisingly compliant, he doesn’t exhale a defiant breath as you pull him into an empty room.

The man leans his weight onto the surface of a table placed in the middle of the room as you push the door closed, sucking in a few prepared breaths before you turn around.

“I’m—”

“I’m sorry.”

Your brows flit closer together, skin creased with a quizzical frown at the sudden apology you were prepared to walk out of the room without by the time you were done with him, you heard the things he said to the camera, the tone of voice he spoke in, his mannerisms, it all concluded that of a womanizer.

The thing you were expecting was a smug grin on his face and a recommended word of appreciation for even being glanced at in a desirable manner, not a sputtered out apology spoken so softly.

“Fuck— I’m really sorry, Y/n.” He pursues the curiosity of your feelings with a step closer, his hand reaching for you but still he’s hesitant to touch. You refuse to indulge the ache that curls into the spot above your collarbone that’s inflicted by the existence of your name pushed from his tongue, already raptured by his raspy voice despite only managing out a short sentence, leaving you deficient, eager.

Something about it feels intimate, a stranger, calling you by your name dipped in such a raw desperation for you to hear him out before it’s being expelled from the edge of his teeth.

“Clearly you’re just so captivating that I didn’t even think twice about being vocal about you, and your boyfriends probably pissed that some douchebag was publicly fawning over his girl in the most public setting possible.” His hand raises to rub against his cheek, stressing the skin into a flourishing hue of pink you’re just able to see through the clouding of darkened colours from the lack of sun. “God— such a fuckin’ idiot, I should know better, y’know? Almost six years into this and I’m still pulling shit without any care for the severity of the effects it could leave.”

“Mingi.” You step closer as he relents from his position, seemingly chasing after him, trying to slip through the cracks of a wall he attempts to build around himself.

“And I brought all of this unwanted attention to you, surely this isn’t how you wanted this to go, you should have the attention because of how incredible your work is, not because of me— and your boyfriend, fuck, I just know he hates the comments he sees under your posts, I know because I wou-”

“Mingi.” Your hand takes hold of his forearm, it’s density comes unexpectedly as you squeeze it reassuringly, the suit you first saw him in certainly covered up more than you’d thought. “It’s, it’s okay. Really. And I really wish you’d stop referring to that asshole as my boyfriend.” You voice is a small thing compared to your much bigger actions in being the first to physically reach out.

His jaw slackens, lips pulling apart.

“Ex…” he reiterates. “your ex?”

“Yeah,” you laugh with a sense of bitterness resounding throughout your chest, “his ego couldn’t bare the truth of someone other than him finding me attractive.”

“Then he’s an idiot.” Mingi’s quick to interject, but just as fast as his words slip from the caging of his lips his teeth sink into the flesh, unknowing if somewhere deep inside of you his words sting by the insult thrown so carelessly around, you weren’t even friends, hardly an acquaintance, he needs to get himself into check before you do.

You chuckle, slotting yourself beside him. “Look, I did come here to scold you, but I think I don’t have the heart to anymore. Not after what this weeks had in store for me so far.” Your fingers toy with each other in your lap, attempting to keep your eyes from straying away, knowing they’d find Mingi. “What would I have said anyways? It’s kinda stupid, cussing out a guy you find attractive just because he thinks you’re attractive.” Although you speak openly, it’s more to yourself.

His smile is soft, and the tensity he previously felt has already melted away. “You’re just stressed, I get it, there’s probably more to it than I can see.”

His fingers twitch against the edge of the table that he grips as they inch closer to yours, you can see it in your periphery, feel the warmth, yet you feel like your own hands are cemented in place no matter how bad you want to reciprocate.

“Do you,” you inhale an uneasy breath, refusing to look at him. “do you still think that I’m pretty?”

Waiting for an answer makes your stomach drop, a sense of nostalgia swarming your head, he makes you feel like you’re back in high school, and he’s hardly done a fucking thing.

“‘Course I do, I’ve never had that feeling before just by looking at someone, you’re just so awfully unforgettable.” His hand now completely covers yours, his pressure light, conscious of keeping his weight off of you.

Finally, your head turns towards him, eyes peering up, wide and curious. “What feeling?” You ask softly, almost a whisper.

“Want me to show you?”

#song mingi #song mingi x reader #ateez #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez mingi #ateez mingi x reader #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #ateez scenarios #mingi scenarios #mingi my beloved

[lovesickletters]

💜𝒩𝒮ℱ𝒲 𝒜𝓁𝓅𝒽𝒶𝒷ℯ𝓉 － ℱ𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓇ℴ𝓁𝓁𝒾， 𝒜𝓈𝓂ℴ𝒹ℯ𝓊𝓈💜

Fizzarolli - Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

What doesn’t get him going is a more apt question. The horny entertainer is a true resident of the lust ring, and definitely shows it. There’s hardly a moment that goes by without at least some part of his mind set on what would make his darling moan loudest. But if you wanted a sure answer, one thing you can generally rely on is playful, sexually-charged banter. Lighthearted flirting that dances the line of being obscene and subtle at the same time always gets gets his engine going without fail. Whether it’s bratty teasing or vaguely flirtatious implications, as long as it’s snappy and horny count him the fuck in.

Asmodeus - Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh he is fucking *Loud.* Whether he’s pounding you into the ground or getting tangled up in the bedsheets himself, he likes to be very vocal about his pleasure. Between the lewd sounds sure to fill the room, he’s a big fan of letting every wet pant and dulcet moan sound as loud as possible, alongside using the lovely low ringing notes of his voice to tease and degrade all the while. Petnames, insults, the most colourful language you’ve ever heard in your life alongside many words you’ve sure you’ve never even heard before. Not even a gag could shut him up for long, if he lets you use one. His grunts and groans are just as prevalent as his words, and twice as loud. If Fizz is joining the two of you, you can bet he’s not shutting up for a while either.

#fizzaroli x reader #robofizz x reader #asmodeus x reader #asmodeus hb x reader #🥀𝓃𝓈𝒻𝓌🥀

[tokuteasings]

every day, love me more

Everyone shut up it's Yuzuki's fukcing birthday so i HAD to write something for Rita bc I fucking DESERVED THIS

Sure this is written with Syne in mind but like...fuck it. brain worm wont leave me. This started off as a SyneRita fic but I got too embarassed to post my shit so fuck it

Warnings: S...S...S....suggestive and uh....uh....dont look at me-

When the years dull, the colors becoming grey snow and forever losing their beauty to eons of time… All of it becomes null. Perhaps that is what their birthday is. A cold nullity that froze their heart and causes it to rot their senses. 

But it’s so warm here, warm with every kiss that takes their breath away; heated little cheeks against dulcet sheets and toes curling at the way she touches them.

Was it possible for their love’s body to dance like this? Waltz upon their form with grace that rivals poetry upon the finest of lips?

“Happy birthday, my lord.” they whisper against their skin, the pulse pounding within their own skin. The lord of ice whispers their beloved’s name into godly air, bucking up against the form above them. “Let me take care of you…my lord." it's gospel to your tongue, a royal decree that does not even need to be ushered from anyone's psyche.

Not as Rita is merely melting at every single touch their love gives them. "D-Don't...." the lord whispers, pale hands gripping the shoulders of their dearest. "D-Don't...stop-!" a tongue lapping at the newest little mark that will be covered once more (it is sadly fate itself) but it is knowing that those marks will remain upon their skin that makes the thrill... All the more worth it.

Rita will soak up this love for all of time, every day if they must. Lower and lower does the paramour skitter, sashaying until they feel Rita keel and whine and beg...

Every day, they will prostrate themselves for their lord.

Head between legs, until the king screams.

Justice and death upon Rita's lips becomes screams of utter pleasure... And that is love in itself.

#rita kaniska #ohsama sentai kingohger #super sentai imagine #super sentai x reader #super sentai #ousama sentai kingohger #syne: to the dancing and the dreaming #tale's lil peeps #thirsty thots #LISTEN NO ONE LOOK AT ME PLS #EVERYONE SHUT UP OKAY #I WANT TO RAIL RITA ON THEIR DAMN THRONE AND DO THE SAME TO MYSELF #MUTUAL FUCKENING- #this is terrible why did i write this #i am bashing my head against my desjk

[ace-of-zaun]

Pas de Deux pt. 7:

Silco x f!reader, 6.7k words, SFW

CW: obsessive silco, yandere/kidnapping (please see part 1 for the full series warnings!) 

Chapter warnings: graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence, hangovers, emotional manipulation, angst, self-doubt, fluff, references to past abuse, references to murder

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 8 | PART 9

-

The first sensation that overwhelms your dulled senses, as your body pushes itself to groggily awaken, is the pulsing headache at the front of your skull. 

You let out a quiet groan, lifting your head slightly to place a hand where most of the pain is residing, only to slowly realise that whatever you’re laying on is gently moving underneath you. 

You frown. 

It’s not until you make a feeble attempt to stretch that you’re alerted to the position you're currently in. You’re not actually lying down at all. You’re upright and sitting on something.

With an almost Herculean effort on your part, you finally peel your heavy eyelids open, wincing as the light hits your eyes, only to squeeze them shut again the moment you recognise where you are.

You’re in Silco’s chair. On Silco’s lap. 

Fuck. 

The monster himself chuckles from somewhere above you, accompanied by the tightening of his arm around your waist, ruining your brief hopes that he might still be asleep. 

“I know you’re awake, my darling,” his voice rumbles, eerily similar to the way it had done the first time you’d woken up in his arms. 

You groan again, this time more loudly, as you reopen your eyes to squint up at him.

He looks down at you, clearly amused by your dishevelled state. 

“What happened?” you finally ask with a croak.

Silco wordlessly produces a half-empty glass of water from behind you which you accept without question. 

“Somebody was very naughty and decided to drink all of my expensive bourbon in one go,” he tells you, an irritating little smirk on his lips. 

The memory flashes up in your brain as you take a sip of water, but when you try to recall the rest of the previous evening, it’s all a little fuzzy. You remember lounging with Silco on the mezzanine, and drinking more alcohol than you’ve had in years, but the rest of it is more sensory based rather than any concrete images.

The sultry swing of the music, the rumble of a voice speaking to you in low, dulcet tones, and of course, the almost delectable feeling of Silco’s waistcoat against your flushed cheek.

You look down at said waistcoat, suddenly realising that Silco is dressed in the same outfit as he was last night. Except now, he looks infinitely more ruffled. 

His tie is gone, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. But perhaps most worryingly, Silco’s hair is all mussed, like someone has run their fingers through it multiple times…

Concern slowly creeping up your aching spine, you place the glass back on the desk and try to stand up, but find Silco’s strong arms tightening around you once more. 

A quick glance up at his face reveals just how pleased he looks, especially as his eyes shamelessly begin to roam your body.

That’s when you spot your shoes on the floor beside you and your jacket haphazardly tossed to the side of the room. 

No. You wouldn’t have. You know you wouldn’t have done anything with him, even if you were blackout drunk.

But the smug way Silco is peering down at you makes you doubt otherwise. You find yourself asking, even though you desperately don’t want to know the answer.

“Did we, uh… did anything happen?”

His smirk widens to a lopsided grin until your face visibly drops in panic, causing his smile to falter. Silco carefully tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Nothing happened, my sweet,” he tells you, his tone incredibly serious. “I would never take advantage of you like that.”

Thank the gods for that. You’re not sure what you would have done if your body had betrayed you whilst your brain was temporarily indisposed.

Silco appears to know exactly what you were going to ask next because he continues unprompted.

“After you finished both of your drinks and stole most of mine, we came up to my office where you insisted on sitting right here and running your hands through my hair.”

Well, that would explain why his greying hair looks so bedraggled and why you’re sitting on his lap. Still, you couldn’t imagine yourself instigating something like that without at least some influence on Silco’s part. 

“I tried to get you back to your room but you refused quite profusely, and who am I to deny my beautiful little angel?” he continues, smirking at you as he begins to affectionately trace your jawline with his thumb. 

Part of you wonders why he didn’t carry you to bed or, at the very least, put you on the sofa when you’d passed out. But the other part of you understands that he probably relished in the idea of you fawning over him, as well as feeling comfortable enough to fall asleep on him again. 

Internally, you curse your past self. 

That’s it, you’re never drinking again. Not for all the gold hexes in the world. 

“Gods, that’s so embarrassing,” you mumble, running a hand over your flushed face. 

“Not at all, my love. I for one found it really rather endearing,” Silco says. 

You battle not to roll your eyes. Of course he found it endearing, he’d probably find it endearing if you threatened to set him on fire. You can almost hear his smooth voice calling you his ‘little firestarter’.

“Well, I should probably get myself showered and changed,” you tell him, finally managing to pry yourself from his arms as you push to stand from his lap.

Silco reluctantly lets you go, but not fully, resting his hand on your waist to steady your numb legs. 

Once you’re feeling more stable, jacket and shoes now in hand, you begin to trudge your way to the door, before your sluggish brain remembers to play your role of The Nice Girlfriend. With your fingers on the door handle, you turn back to the desk, only to find him already looking at you expectantly.

“Thank you for looking after me, Silco,” you tell him, smiling weakly as your stomach begins to swirl with alcohol-induced nausea. 

“Of course, my darling,” he replies sincerely, before a wicked smirk adorns his face as if he’s just had the most mischievous thought. “After all, I have been known to be rather sweet when I want to be.”

Your expression curls into a confused frown.

Was he still drunk? Who the hell would refer to the Eye of Zaun as sweet?

The door clicks shut and you stumble back down the hall to your bedroom, still undoubtedly perplexed by his statement, but you’re soon distracted by the aches and pains of your hungover body. 

It’s not until you’ve closed your bedroom door, placed a chair behind it, gotten undressed, and are washing your hair in the shower, when comprehension finally smacks you in the face. 

You’d told Silco that he was sweeter than your husband ever was. 

You almost trip and fall over at the jarring memory of your own slurred, shouting voice, forcing you to sink down to the shower floor as water pours down your now-trembling body.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

What possessed you to say that of all things?

Your hand slaps uselessly against the tiles of the floor as you cry out your cursed frustration, your other hand pushing the wet strands of hair from your face. 

What would he do now that he knows you were married? Would he be furious with you? Would he lord it over you or use it to manipulate you? 

You pause for a moment as confusion spreads through you once again.

No, that doesn’t seem right. If you’d confessed the night before, Silco would have had hours to process your declaration. 

So the question was, now that Silco knew one of your biggest secrets, why wasn’t he hounding you with questions, or being his usual insane self? If his cheeky little statement when you’d left the office was anything to go by, he’d seemed to find it funny more than anything else. 

You desperately pray to every god you believe in and every god you don’t that he’d somehow not heard the bit where you’d mentioned your husband. Or that he’d just taken it to be drunken nonsense and was making fun of you. 

You cannot afford to mess this up because of one careless, drunken statement. 

-

As the days pass, Silco doesn’t mention your night of indulgence again, nor your reckless moment of oversharing. 

And try as hard as you might, you cannot for the life of you remember what happened during the time you were in Silco’s office, meaning you may well have accidentally revealed more sordid details about your past.

But Silco acts as if nothing has happened, which you (rather desperately on your part) take as a good sign. 

Life continues as normal, your time now shared almost equally between practising your ballet routine and spending time with Silco. That is, until the evening Silco informs you that everything is ready for you to visit your house in Piltover.

Over dinner, he carefully tells you what to wear, what time you will be going, how close you need to be to him for the entire trip, blah blah blah. You barely listen to him in favour of mentally finalising your own plans to get the pills from under the bathroom sink without him noticing. 

Now, less than twenty four hours since your briefing, you find yourself climbing into a carriage outside The Drop, dressed in dark clothes and an overcoat at Silco’s request. 

Silco climbs in behind you, his thigh seemingly glued to yours with how close he decides to sit next to you. And with two knocks on the roof, you’re finally on your way Topside to visit your house, months after being abducted from it.

It almost feels surreal as you cross over the bridge, another carriage full of guards following close behind. You can’t help but recall that feeling of pure dread you’d felt when Oswald had accompanied you across the River and into Zaun. 

If all goes well, you’ll only have to make this journey once more before never making it again. You’ll be able to return to your life in Piltover. The life you’d worked hard for. 

Your disquiet must have been plain as day because Silco almost makes you jump when he takes your hand in his. 

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks gently. 

“Yes,” you say, shaking your head in an attempt to rid yourself of any bad memories and feelings. “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

He pulls you even closer to his side, leaning down to murmur his reassurances against your hair. 

“It’s okay sweetheart, I’m here.”

And as Silco’s lips press a chaste kiss against your head, you can’t help but huff out a sarcastic exhale disguised as a sigh. 

He was the biggest reason why you were nervous in the first place. If he wasn’t accompanying you on this trip, you probably wouldn’t be nervous at all. 

Instead of replying, you squeeze his hand in the hopes that he’ll read it as an expression of your relief. 

Once the carriage reaches the end of the bridge, it slows to a rolling halt. Silco lets you know he’ll only be a moment, and with another kiss pressed to your knuckles, he climbs out the carriage.

With the door left slightly ajar, you catch the makings of a hushed conversation between Silco and another voice, but you can’t tell who it is or what they’re saying.

And honestly, you don’t really care. All you care about is getting those pills. 

Silco gets back into the carriage and whatever had been communicated during the discussion had clearly gone his way, because you continue further into Piltover and closer to your old house. 

Immediately, your heart begins to thump in your chest, your foot tapping nervously against the floor of the carriage.

Every little sensory detail is picked up by your thrumming body as you slowly near your destination.

The sound of the tires rolling over the cobbled streets, the tick, tick, tick of the indicator as the carriage turns onto your old street.

Fuck. This needs to go right for you. It has to. 

After waiting for far too long in your opinion, despite it taking mere seconds to park up, you find yourself restlessly making your way out of the carriage. Silco’s long fingers delicately hold onto your own as you finally step out onto the street.

The unfamiliarity of the fresh air that hits your nostrils causes your heart to jump all the way into your throat. You’d gotten so used to the stale air of The Last Drop, you’d forgotten just how clean the air could be. 

Your old street is completely empty, which doesn’t strike you as unusual. Not many people ventured outside at this time of night and certainly nobody on your street was neighbourly to one another. 

Every curtain is drawn shut, sheltering you from any prying eyes. 

You can’t help but glance up at the dark night sky, feeling oddly relieved that you can finally see the stars again. The moonlight is so much brighter, so much purer than the artificial neon of Zaun. 

As you walk down the road to your house, you desperately run through the plan in your head, needing to cement it in your mind. 

You’re going to go into the house and pretend to search for the necklace in a few different spots. When Silco asks why you’re not sure where it is, you’re going to explain that you moved it around periodically to ensure its safety. Under a floorboard, behind a painting, behind a loose bit of skirting board. 

Then, after about twenty minutes of searching, you’re going to tell Silco that you need to use the bathroom. Once you’re alone and the door is locked, you’re going to get the pills, hide them in a pocket inside your coat, and return to Silco. 

After a few more minutes, you’re going to pretend to get upset and accuse one of your staff of stealing the necklace. Perhaps the girl who’d only worked there for a week before leaving for Ionia. Silco would then take you back home, where the next part of your plan would be put into action. 

You had everything figured out. Now, it was just a matter of executing it.

You finally allow your eyes to land on your house directly across the street, and just as you’re about to inform Silco that you need to cross the road, you spot something that immediately makes you frown.

The lights are on. 

And not just that, the curtains you’d paid a ridiculous amount of money for, solely to annoy your idiotic husband, had been replaced. 

Your frown soon turns to a shock when your gaze lands on the window of the lounge, a sliver of the front curtain open revealing a family happily playing a board game around a low coffee table. 

What the fuck?

You feel Silco’s fingers graze gently against your own, hanging limply by your sides, and you turn to him slowly, only to find him already watching you carefully. There’s no hint of surprise or confusion. 

Then, Silco begins to speak to you in a timbre that is full of grit and unmistakable confidence. 

“The most challenging lesson I learned in my youth is that in order to move on from our past, we must channel our pain into something worthwhile. Instead of letting our memories control us, we must harness them and use them to ameliorate ourselves.”

Your jaw goes slack as you listen to the beginning of his obviously rehearsed speech.

“This, my darling, is why I agreed to bring you back to this house. I’m here to help you move on from your past, so we can live our future together, despite the people who have betrayed us.”

There’s nothing to do but simply stare at him as Silco places a gentle hand on your arm, his voice somehow lowering even further. 

“If I could take away all the suffering you experienced at the hands of your vile ex-husband, I would do so in a heartbeat, my love,” he tells you with genuine hurt in his voice and expression. “But since I cannot, the best I can do is to help you on your journey of growth, your journey to fully transform into the strong, courageous person you already are.”

Silco’s voice takes on an incredibly soft edge, like it was created for you, and you alone. 

“I want to be there for you for the rest of your life. I want to take care of you, to submerge you entirely in the love you deserve, have always deserved,” he says, the tender look in his seafoam eye matching the timbre of his voice. 

Your breathing is just on the verge of heavy as you continue to glare at him, your body feeling numb in wake of the flood of emotions that threaten to drown you. 

Either he doesn’t notice your state of shock or he just ignores it because Silco momentarily glances up at your house again before shifting his entire body to face you fully. He smooths his hand down your arm to entwine his fingers with yours. 

“Where did you hide your mother’s necklace, darling? I will ensure the new tenants leave for an hour so we can find it and spend some quality time saying goodbye to each room. Then we can go home, together, and leave this chapter of your life behind.”

By now, your scattered emotions begin to tune into pure wrath at the sheer audacity of this self-entitled man.

How dare he ruin your life and then use it to teach you some bullshit life-lesson?

The breaths you take into your burning lungs finally tip over into near pants, whilst Silco clutches onto your hand, seemingly just as breathless from his own pretentious monologue. 

Just as you think you’ve reached boiling point, milliseconds away from shoving him as hard as you can into the middle of the empty road, an unfamiliar voice calls your full name questioningly from further down the street. 

Both you and Silco freeze.

Footsteps sound closer as your name is repeated and you dare to turn towards it, only to discover a lone Piltie man, his origins made obvious by his sleek clothes, haircut, and accent. 

His face lights up in recognition. 

“Oh, it is you! Excuse me for interrupting, but I’m a huge fan of yours,” he tells you excitedly, an enchanted smile crossing his face. “I absolutely loved you as Odette in Swan Lake.” 

Your lips part as your mind scrabbles to think of the best way to respond.

Should you politely thank him and hope he leaves before Silco can react negatively? Or should you scream for him to help you get away from the man who had kidnapped you and was keeping you hostage?

As if he could sense your plans, Silco’s grip on your hand tightens possessively.

And then the opportunity is gone because the man steps closer to you again, his smile widening in hope. 

“Can I get your autograph? I think I have a pen somewhere,” he says.

But as his hands search through his pockets, he sheepishly looks up at you once more before halting so suddenly, it’s like he’s been turned to stone.

You know in an instant that he’s finally spotted the man behind you because his expression drops into pure terror as he looks between you and Silco, who is breathing in your ear like he’s just run a marathon. 

The Piltie man clearly abandons his endeavour for your autograph because he slowly begins to turn away with wide eyes, in a way that you could imagine a gazelle would when it had come face-to-face with a tiger. Then, he suddenly breaks into a sprint, back the way he came.

He doesn’t get very far as Silco deftly steps around you and chases after him full-pelt, his gold-tipped dress shoes clicking neatly against the stones. 

Your attention is briefly pulled to the side at the arrival of a group of guards, never touching you, but their presence reminding you that there’s no point in running. 

You then watch in horror as Silco easily catches up to the man and violently shoves him to the ground. He climbs on top of him and wraps his fingers around his neck so quickly it’s like it’s second nature to him.

Silco wastes no time in squeezing until the man begins to make the most awful choking sounds. It’s like watching a man possessed, you decide, Silco’s two-toned eyes glaring down at the man with alarming intensity, as he helplessly bucks underneath the Kingpin, struggling against his iron grip.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the man slips into unconsciousness and it’s not until he does that Silco releases his clenched fingers from his neck. 

The man is clearly still alive, his chest expanding and contracting with every shallow breath, but your attention is focused solely on how feral Silco looks atop him. If he was breathless before, he’s practically panting now, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl and his usually smooth hair askew across his gleaming forehead. 

Then, he pulls himself to stand, stepping away from the man with a quick snap of his fingers. A few guards emerge from behind you and stride over to the unconscious man on the ground. 

Silco takes a deep, calming breath and smooths his hair back against his head before assuredly making his way back over to you, as if he hadn’t just ruthlessly attacked another person. 

Your gaze flits briefly to the guards who efficiently pick the man up and begin to carry him over to the second carriage. But as Silco approaches you, your eyes snap onto him, instinctively taking a petrified step backwards from him. 

He pauses, his features twisting into what you now know to be his look of hurt.

“It’s just me, sweetheart,” he tells you, somehow managing to sound both rough and gentle at the same time. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he adds when your eyes dart from his face to his hands. 

The hands he’d just used to choke out another man. 

You stay frozen as Silco carefully inches his way closer to you, until you let him gently put his arm around you. 

“There we go, darling. It’s alright. You’re alright,” he murmurs, his touches soft and awfully tender against your now trembling body. 

-

Silco clips and lights a cigar, unable to relax as he perches on the edge of the sofa in his office. A part of him hopes that someone interrupts him, given that he’d just informed his staff that the next person to enter his office would lose a finger.  

He sighs, taking a deep drag of the earthy smoke and exhaling it to the ceiling.

You’d been deathly silent the entire ride back home to the bar, in a way that concerned him far more than the times he’d watched you sob your heart out. 

Silent and robotic, even when he’d helped you out the carriage and walked you through the side door of the club, his hand on the small of your back the entire time. You’d pulled away before he could guide you into his office, making your way back to your bedroom and shutting the door quietly behind you. 

This was nothing like the time you’d both returned home from the market. Where he could practically feel your radiating anger and fear. 

Now he could feel nothing. 

Of course, he’d been forced to take care of the man who’d recognised you. He hadn’t killed the man. He hadn’t even hurt him (apart from knocking him unconscious, of course). 

Tied up in the basement for just a short hour, Silco had only needed to hold a knife for the man to sob like a school boy, desperately promising not to tell anyone about his encounter with Silco or you. 

Honestly, it’s like Silco doesn’t even need to try anymore. 

Once the man had insisted that he had no reason to reveal your true location, accompanied by one deadly threat, Silco had then instructed him to leave the country, sending Sevika with him to ensure he bought a ticket from the airport.

The man had been given approximately one week to pack his belongings, sell his house, and leave Piltover altogether, with the knowledge that Sevika will ruthlessly ensure the tasks are all completed. 

Silco could not afford people finding out you were now in his care. He’d spent a considerable amount of time these past few months creating and implementing the story that you’d run away to Ionia to escape your money problems. 

After Silco had stolen your keys from your coat pocket while you were sleeping, the day you’d first arrived at his home, he’d finally devised the story after receiving your records and discovering your increasing debt. 

Reluctantly contacting that snivelling excuse for a sheriff, Marcus, Silco had threatened him once more to enlist his help in getting the council to repossess your house. You were already so miserably behind on payments, it really didn’t take long for the council to agree. 

And once the rumours of your fleeing to Ionia had been successfully spread, courtesy of Oswald, the only thing left to do was collect your more personal belongings and bring them home to you.

The plan had been utterly foolproof, with only two people knowing of Silco’s involvement. 

Those same people had also worked with Silco to get him new keys to the house and a bribe over to the new residents. 

Silco had wanted to finally reveal what he already knew about your late husband, in an attempt to get you to finally open up about your past. He’d imagined that you’d show him around your old house, in a moment that would be both bittersweet and cathartic for you as you confronted your demons. 

And Silco would be there for you unwaveringly, your rock in the storm of your emotions. 

But of course, it just had to go wrong. 

Silco’s grip tightens on his cigar. 

Why did that idiot have to be there? Why couldn’t it just have gone right for him? 

Right now, you were supposed to be wrapped in his arms, receiving his comfort and love while you worked through your feelings. Not shut up in your room by yourself, probably terrified of him again.

Almost self-destructively, Silco pictures the look of pure horror he’d observed on your face after he’d caught the man and rendered him unconscious. 

His mind lingers on the image of that terribly raw expression before he abruptly stands and kicks the coffee table with enough force to send it scattering across the floorboards, a shout of rage escaping his scarred lips.  

And as quickly as it had come, it’s over, as Silco throws himself back down on the sofa in frustration. 

How the hell was he going to fix this? 

He’d spent so long trying to prove to you that you were safe with him and now he’d probably just convinced you of the opposite. 

He was trying so hard to keep you away from the violent side of his cutthroat business. 

But how could he get you to trust him when he couldn’t even trust himself not to lose it over every little thing that could possibly hurt you?

-

Sitting on the floor, your back against the bed, you stare blankly at the wardrobe doors across from you. 

The pills were gone. 

Well, they were probably still behind the panel under the bathroom sink, but for all intents and purposes in your grand plan, they were gone. 

You can’t stop replaying the scene of Silco choking out that poor man in the middle of the street. The feral look on his face. The hunch of his thin body. 

You’d never met somebody so violent yet so caring at the same time. Ironically, he was the exact opposite of your late husband, who had been positively horrid to you and disgustingly sweet to everybody else. 

Briefly, your tired mind flits to the ever-present question of your life: what now?

Maybe your last hope is the chem-baron performance. Maybe Silco will take you to the market again so you can get a weapon. Maybe. Maybe not.

You’re… exhausted. 

Exhausted from constantly thinking and acting and planning and re-planning. 

Maybe you should just stop fighting him and accept this new life of yours. 

Much, much later in the night, you’ve still not moved or even taken off your coat. So, with the customers and staff gone from the club, and in desperate need of a change of scenery, you silently make your way down to the bar floor. 

A guard follows you down, but you pay them no mind, arbitrarily picking a booth and climbing onto the plush seats so you can lie flat out on your back.

You gaze blankly at the ceiling of the booth until your tired eyes hover on a cluster of tiny, little glow-in-the-dark stars that somebody has stuck up there.

For the first time since you’d witnessed everything Topside, you begin to feel choked up.

Are you ever going to see real stars again? Or are you destined to be stuck down here in the depths of hell with none other than the devil himself? 

Speaking of, the man appears at your feet, a worried expression adorning his scarred face as he peers down at your wearied form.

He looks almost as drained as you do. 

Silco quietly takes a seat on the little space leftover where your feet don’t reach the edge of the cushion. He gently shuffles across and reaches to place your feet on his lap, but you snatch them away before he can, sitting up against the wall as you hug your knees to your chest.

To his credit, Silco doesn’t look angry at your denial of his comfort, but he does look upset, in that muted way of his. 

He clasps his hands together and places them on the table, staring down at them while you both sit in silence.

You surprise yourself moments later when your mouth opens to ask a reticent question. 

“Why were you even at the museum that day?”

A slight widening of his good eye tells you just how unexpected he finds your question. Then, his features shift into thoughtfulness, as if he is thoroughly considering his answer. 

“I wasn’t going to attend originally, I have always been loath to empty handouts from Topsiders,” he explains with a gentle wave of his hand. “But I felt something telling me to go, something… greater than myself.”

You’re about to scoff but the look on his face is so genuine, it somehow feels too disrespectful. 

“You believe in fate?”

Silco raises his head to glance at you, his soft frown indicating his sincerity. 

“I believe in making our own fate.”

That gives you pause, leaving you to think for a few moments about his character. After that whole monologue he’d made about using our past to mould our future, you begin to see how that would make sense to him. 

Then, your mind skips back to the man lying unconscious on the ground. 

“Why did you have to choke him out?” you ask quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the buttons on your coat. “He wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Because the officials in Piltover believe you’ve run off to Ionia to escape your debt problems,” he replies instantly. 

Your head snaps up to look at him. 

“What?”

“I needed to ensure that no-one would ask questions when you disappeared Topside, so I created a story that guaranteed that outcome,” he pauses to look at you tenderly. “I know that you’d nearly run out of money, sweetheart. This way, you’ll have no debt collectors searching for you.”

You can’t help the way your heart begins to sink in your chest.

No-one is looking for you. No-one knows you’re only a stone’s throw away from Piltover. They all believe you’re miles and miles away, not missing but avoiding debt collectors.

You breathe out a tiny little, “Oh.”

There’s a few beats of silence before Silco speaks again. 

“Would you like me to go back and get the necklace for you, darling? I’m afraid it’s too dangerous for you to come with me again, but I can fetch it for you myself if that would make you feel better,” he asks you in an incredibly soft tone. 

Your eyelids flutter closed for a brief moment. You need to come clean about the necklace, he’ll probably terrorise that poor family if you don’t.

Staring at your feet, you decide to be completely honest, for the first time in a long time. 

“There is no necklace. I made it up.”

Silco’s body stiffens in your periphery, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet. 

He doesn’t even need to ask the question before you begin to answer. 

“I just wanted to go back. I felt like I never got the chance to say goodbye to everything,” you pause, running a hand through your hair as you subconsciously use Silco’s words against him. “I guess I just wanted to see it again so I could finally move on from it all.”

You finally dare to glance at his face, and you can’t help the pang of guilt that rings through you at his obvious hurt. 

“I wish you would have just told me that, darling,” he sighs. 

“I’m sorry for lying to you, Silco. I just didn’t think you’d let me go back if I didn’t have a specific reason,” you reply. 

“I will always listen to your wishes, my love. You don’t need to make up reasons to convince me otherwise,” he says, his hands unclasping as he turns his body to face you. 

Well, you don’t believe that for one second. You’re pretty sure he wouldn’t have even agreed to take you Topside if the incident at the market hadn’t happened. But you’re too tired to argue. 

Silco reaches his hand towards you in an obvious attempt to rest it on your knee, but your body reflexively flinches away. 

He abruptly freezes, long fingers hovering in the air above your knees. Then, he slowly retracts it and places both hands in his lap. 

“I… I am sorry if I scared you again, my dove, I was just trying to protect you. I will never break the promise I made to you,” he explains carefully. 

You nod, not making eye contact with him. 

“I mean it, darling. My touch will never bring you harm again. I only wish to care for you, to worship you,” he emphasises, almost as if he’s convincing himself more than you. 

And honestly, you believe him. He hadn’t made one sharp move against you since that awful day in the market. And he certainly hadn’t broken the promise he’d made to you in your studio, clearly adamant on keeping it.

Deep down, you don’t really care that he hurts other people. Hell, you’ve hurt plenty of people in your time growing up in Zaun. As long as Silco doesn’t hurt you, you don’t really care what he does. 

“How did you find out about my husband?” you ask him, eyes watching his reaction anxiously. 

The corner of Silco’s lip quirks up, probably amused by the memory of your drunken escapade. 

It irks you enough to metaphorically push against him, in that destructive way you always seem wont to do. 

“You already knew, didn’t you? Before I confessed it to you when I was drunk. You already knew, which is why you weren’t mad or upset,” you ask with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Yes, I already knew,” he confirms after a short huff of breath. “I requested your records shortly after I brought you here.”

You assume most people might be worried at the thought of someone else going through your personal records, but you’re not because you’ve seen your records and know exactly what they contain.

Nothing of importance.

That is, nothing of your past and certainly nothing about what actually happened to your husband. 

“May I ask you about him?” Silco asks with a surprising amount of reverence.

“Sure,” you reply, with a little shrug of your shoulders.

May as well. 

You expect him to ask about how you met, how long you were together. You know, all the usual questions you’ve been asked about a million times by stuffy Pilties who just want to hear about an unrealistic and quite frankly, untrue romance.

Of course, you should know by now that Silco shatters any and all expectations. 

“How did he pass?”

Your initial reaction is to roll your eyes. You should have expected a fellow murderer and child of the Undercity to ask about death first. 

“He had a heart attack,” you tell him, automatically using your carefully rehearsed tone of shaky indifference mixed with a hint of grief. The tone you’ve grown so accustomed to using when speaking of your late husband.  

Silco hums and you frown for a moment before you blurt out something entirely unexpected.

“I didn’t love him.”

Gods, you must be more tired than you thought you were. That, or maybe you’re just sick and tired of pretending all the time. 

Silco’s head tips to look at you sideways, seemingly intrigued as he inches ever so slightly closer to you. 

“Did you ever love him?” he asks, and you could swear his voice has become hoarse with the question. Perhaps even breathless. 

A beat. Then a word that turns into a croaked whisper.

“No.” 

At this, Silco appears to let out some of the tension you’d somehow not noticed his body was holding. 

“He never really cared about me. He just wanted someone to control, somebody to make him feel powerful,” you continue, trying to shake the wobble in your voice. 

“You deserved better.”

You finally meet Silco’s gaze as his voice cuts through your internal struggle. 

The sardonic side of you wants to laugh and ask, what, like him?

Can being kidnapped and held prisoner really be defined as better?

But you can’t deny that he’s been more loving and caring than anyone else in your life, which only makes it all the more confusing for you.

“You’re safe with me, darling. I will never let any harm come to you,” he tells you with candour.

You don’t doubt it. If that was how he reacted when someone asked for your autograph, you don’t even want to know what would happen if someone tried to injure you.

It might be because it’s so late and you’re utterly drained, or it might be because the atmosphere is the most raw it’s ever been between you two, but you decide to ask a question that’s been bugging you since the start of it all. 

You look up at him with an expression that is almost entirely unmasked. 

“Why me, Silco? Why are you going to all this effort for me?”

He pauses for a second before fully turning to you, the most honest and open you’ve ever seen his body language.

Silco places his hand flat out on the cushion in front of you, like he wants to touch you, but carefully chooses not to after your previous rejection. 

Then, he speaks like the universe has known his confession since the dawn of time itself. 

“Because I love you.”

Your breath catches as if it’s been stolen and Silco smiles ardently in response. 

In complete shock, you finally allow him to gently take your hand and manoeuvre your body until you’re curled into his side. Your knees press together and lean sideways against his thighs, letting him wrap an arm around your waist. 

Did he really just say that? And mean it?

Silco’s hand sneaks inside your coat and traces soothing circles on your hip, whilst his other hand holds yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze as you process his words. 

You don’t know how you feel, how you’re supposed to feel. 

Light. You feel a lightness in your chest.

Something dangerously close to relief.

The devil has just confessed his love for you and you think you might feel… 

Glad? 

-

PART 8

-

A/N: welp, that was by far one of the most difficult chapters i’ve ever written. i nearly melted my (already very smooth) brain trying to plan it all out and make sure everything was logical to both the story and the character’s emotions… 

Hope it worked! 🙃

Also, I just wanted to say that you’re all worthy of love and respect, and you’re all capable of being loved, no matter how anybody else makes you feel <3

-

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 

#silco #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x you #silco fic #silco arcane #part 7

[you-hate-time-travel]

trace is in charge of the music and hes driving and itchy is in the passenger seat frowning at the dulcet tones of Ocean Man by Ween coming from the shitty old music player and hes like Trace do you seriously only fucking listen to nautical songs are you that fucking ridiculous you're seriously that cartoonish ugh have you considered having taste like shit at least Quarters can occasionally appreciate some goddamn quality music and trace is like Hey Itchy how about you shut the fuck up for once.

#a glimpse into my beautiful mind. youre welcome. #talky tag #headcanon tag #i guess.

[divinegrey]

the morning after / reyna x reader x viper

i.... don't know what happened. i got high and wrote a valorant fic for a friend who shall remain anonymous (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) and this is probably gonna be a one off but.... long time no see!

prompt: the morning after with reyna and viper (more reyna centric but nonnie wanted both!)

words: 2150

warnings: nudity, swearing probably

It’s not unusual for you to wake up late in the Protocol; people know you to be a night owl, which doesn’t lend quite as well as you’d hope to the early mornings that are often required for you as an agent of the Valorant Protocol. 

Luckily for you, this isn’t one of those mornings. 

Within the Valorant Protocol, there’s a strict no fraternization policy that most members of the Protocol adhere to. And when you say most, you mean about half. The general rule of thumb is keep your lips zipped, and Brimstone looks the other way. 

Frankly, it’s fucking fantastic. 

You roll over on the bed, a rough, sleep-addled rumble coming forth from your chest. Near instantly, the mass next to you turns over as well, a strong lean arm coming around your waist to hold you tight, complimented by the hazy, warm breath tickling the back of your neck. Their legs tangle with yours, and you come to the realization that even if the world was ending, you’d rather be right here. 

“Mm, mi corazón, it’s not time to wake up yet,” the dulcet, rich sound of Reyna’s morning voice fills your ear. You can feel her pressing her chest against your bare back, the exposed skin a testament to the activities you engaged in the previous night, well into the early morning. 

What? It'd been a good mission— you performed admirably well in dispatching enemy agents with your abilities. You and Neon, ever the pair, worked back to back and side by side while the others searched for the Radianite and extracted it. It had been rough for a bit of it, but you kept your head straight and managed to keep everything calm amid chaos. 

Your girlfriends, both of them, had been equally impressed with your work, and decided to show you by way of actions. 

Many actions that left you sorer in some places, but well worth it. 

“I know, I know, just readjusting,” you mutter into your pillow, stretching out your arm for your other girlfriend. Predictably, the other side of the bed is not cold, but not warm either. With a sigh, you say gruffly, “Did Sabine leave already?” 

Reyna’s reply is a click of her tongue. “You know how she is, my vida. Stay, while we still can. The day hasn’t yet started.” 

She presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, over a bandage applied on the ride back from a bullet that had just grazed your back. Nothing major, but enough to constitute the doting attention of a vampiress and a scientist, both of whom fussed over all of your injuries until you reassured them ten times over that you were safe. The injuries were minimal; a success, given your track record. 

But some of them ache. Reyna peppers soft kisses over the bandage, then up the muscles of your trapezius, then toward your neck. She licks her tongue, a hot stripe lathing the deep grooves of a particularly rough bite mark left by her on you. She could be particularly possessive, especially after missions when her adrenaline ran high and ran long. 

You never minded it. 

Gently, you turn to lay on your back, prompting Reyna to slide her hand over your front and to your jaw. You open your eyes just in time to shut them again, getting only a glimpse of her in her morning glory before she presses her lips to yours in an iron hot claim, a reminder that you’re hers. 

It makes you chuckle. 

“Good morning to you too, Reyna,” you say softly, your voice still thick with sleep. 

“It’s a perfect morning with you here, cariño,” Reyna murmurs. She throws one of her legs over yours underneath the sheets, and you find yourself hard pressed to consider the thought of leaving. Not that you’d ever leave. Mornings like these are rare. 

Reyna kisses you again, and you let her. You can’t hold back the smile on your face. 

Reyna’s hands seek your skin— they always do. She’s touchy with people she likes, and the list of people like that is small. Might just be you and a few other people, but you’re a little greedy, so you don’t mind hogging Reyna’s hands whenever they’re on your body. You wrap your arms around her, spoiling the vampiress with kisses wherever you can reach them. 

The sound of the door sliding open and shut would normally pull your attention away, but you were settled by the fact that you recognized the crisp, sharp footsteps that followed soon after. What did catch your attention was the smell of food, and suddenly, your stomach rumbled loudly. 

You pull away, stating, “I smell food.” 

“Should I be offended that you’re chasing the food and not me?” Reyna asks, her nails dancing over your collarbone. You snort. 

“Babe, if anyone is chasing, it’s you. We all know you’re one of the apex predators of the Protocol,” You reply easily, pushing back the blanket. A requirement to reaching the food is untangling your legs with Reyna, which proves to be a little more difficult than expected when the empress makes it exceedingly clear that you won’t get out without a fight. 

“Damn it, Reyna, I just want some food!” 

“I’m right here, mi vida, what more could you want?” 

Reyna reaches for the ticklish zones on the sides of your stomach, and you think you might’ve accidentally jerked a little too much when there’s a pinch on your abs. 

“Reyna.” The voice of your other girlfriend slices through the room. “That’s enough. Let our girl get her food.” 

The vampiress, to her credit, frees you from your torture. Sluggishly, you get onto your feet, a little out of breath from trying to hold back your laughter. As you straighten up, the verdant green eyes of Viper, otherwise known as Sabine or to you specifically, Bean, assess you with the critical eye of a scientist. 

A sigh comes from her mouth. “You pulled a stitch.” 

Reyna snorts. You grimace, saying, “Oops?” 

Sabine just makes a gesture to Reyna’s barely-used desk chair, and without much question, you sit down. 

Two plates. Cheekily, you reach for the one filled with the most food, keeping one arm on the desk and the other hanging off the side of the desk chair as Sabine takes an also hardly used first aid kit and quickly redoes your stitches. The fact that there’s food in your mouth deters you from making any sounds. 

“With any luck, that’ll teach you not to mercilessly tickle our girlfriend when she has wounds,” Sabine says. She cups your jaw, and you quickly swallow the food in your mouth. The corner of Sabine’s mouth quirks up, and before she can pull away, you snatch a kiss from Sabine. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so eager, because Sabine keeps you there, her grip on you like a vice. You can do nothing but melt into her, wrapping your hand lightly around her arm just to keep yourself anchored. 

Still on the bed, naked, Reyna huffs. “She wanted it first, mi víbora.” 

The pet name from Reyna to Sabine is usually used outside this room as teasing and sarcastic. In here, though, it betrays how Reyna feels for Viper. 

And, really, how they both feel for you. 

Dating one of the most powerful agents in the Protocol would be enough for anyone, but you’re not known for being complacent. You’re known for being bold. 

Bold enough to get Reyna’s attention (you always had it). Even Viper was curious, though in a more analytical sense. It’s weird how the three of you ended up here, but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Good morning, my love,” Sabine whispers into your mouth. 

“Right back at ya.” You tilt your head up to kiss her forehead. “Did you really have to leave?” 

“Considering what happened last night, yes. I knew you’d wake up hungry,” Sabine says. She straightens up from her position kneeling in front of you, fetching another plate and giving it to Reyna, still lounging luxuriously on the bed. “You ravaged her. She’s a mess.” 

Reyna grins. “You can’t say that like I did all the work.” 

“I’m right here,” You say, interjecting into the conversation that is so very clearly about you. “Also, where’s your food?” 

“I ate while Sage was making yours and Reyna’s.” 

That explains the dumplings. Not complaining. They’re good as hell!

“You are no fun.” You stand up, walking toward Sabine and holding a dumpling. “C’mon, Bean, open wide!” 

Sabine gives you a face that very clearly reads her discontent, but she opens her mouth long enough for you to push the dumpling in. She chews, arms folded, and you start giggling, flopping onto the side of the mattress with the plate. 

“Thank you, though. I appreciate it.” You place your hand on Sabine’s leg; she’s already fully dressed for a day in the lab. “I think if you hadn’t come into the room when you did, Empress over here might’ve eaten me alive.” 

“Don’t act like you don’t want me to do that, mi corazón.” Reyna’s grin is dangerous, her teeth wickedly sharp as they always are. 

“Let me finish eating first, damn!” 

“Besides,” Sabine says, making you tilt your head back to look up at her. She runs her hand through your messy hair. “I never finished my turn last night.” 

You drop the dumpling in your hand. As per usual, when it comes to anything having to do with either of your girlfriends, your thoughts begin to wander. 

“But later,” Sabine says, and you let out a loud groan. “I have some work to do in the lab. Both of you are off today due to our work last night. You—” she taps your nose. “Stay off your feet.” 

You grab onto her. “But, I’ll be more likely to stay off my feet if you stay with me, Bean.” 

“Have we forgotten about me?” Reyna jests from the bed, sitting up and putting her plate aside so she can wrap her arm around your shoulders. Her lean muscle is always something you drool over, especially in a moment like this where nothing is covering her upper half and only the blanket from the bed is covering the lower half. You lean into her, but keep your hand on Sabine. 

“You can spend the day with us,” you say, wiggling your fingers as if trying to hypnotize your extremely stoic girlfriend. Reyna starts mouthing at your neck, a threat of continuing the events of last night hanging in the air, and you see Sabine’s resolve begin to crack when Reyna’s inked arm slithers around your stomach, scratching the deep line of your abdominals. 

The scientist bends, leveling her eyes with yours. “Finish your food, give two hours, and you have me for the rest of the day, provided that no one in the Protocol needs me.” 

“I’ll make sure they don’t,” Reyna purrs. 

“One hour,” you challenge. 

Sabine tilts her head to the side. “Hour and forty-five.” 

“Hour and fifteen.” 

“One hour and thirty minutes, take or leave it, my love,” Sabine says. 

“Deal!” You lean forward again and kiss her, and she pushes back with twice the ferocity. Let it be known that while Sabine can be extraordinarily callous and sometimes a bitch, it works well with you, a renowned mean-lady-appreciator. You’ve got two of them on either side of you, so you’re ready to call it a victory. 

But after some time (and some heavy tongue action, Viper style), the scientist withdraws with the promise that she’ll be back in no less than one hour and thirty minutes. Giddy and a little lovesick, you finish the rest of your breakfast with Reyna, going over the details of all the super cool shit you did last night with Neon during the mission. 

Once you finish, you stack the plates on Reyna’s desk to take them out later, and eagerly jump back to the bed, straddling Reyna’s hips. 

“I’m sure Sabine wouldn’t mind me warming you up,” Reyna says, the words vibrating into your skin as she sits up, all lean power and sinewy muscles.  Her hands dig into sore spots on your lower back. “Wouldn’t want to leave your muscles aching after last night, would we?” 

“Oh, please, warm me up all you want.” You lean down, pressing your lips against Reyna’s. “We’ve got time.” 

“Then I’ll have to make sure our darling Viper sees you in the most compromising position.” Reyna’s words rumble like a purr, and you find yourself being flipped over onto your back, the Empress herself looming over you. “How’s that sound, cariño?” 

“Sounds perfect,” you say, placing your hands on her neck to bring her down for a searing kiss. 

~~~~~

A/N: this is probably gonna be a one off fic for this fandom unless people are actually interested but we'll see

#reyna x reader #viper x reader #valorant #valorant x reader #reyna #viper #reyna valorant #viper valorant

[jjungkookislife]

for drabble night! 💗 namjoon+ size kink “it’s not going to fit” . have a good evening 😍💗

Thank you, love! 💗

Please

pairing: namjoon x reader

warnings: smut 18+

Namjoon kissed you softly, his hands cupping your face as your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer.

A soft moan escapes him, sending your body into overdrive as you fall onto your bed with him on top. Your giggle fills the space between you, soft murmurs of your love escaping the both of you.

His hands lace with yours, nerves fill your body, and giggles continue to flow freely from you. You'd been together for a while, taking things slowly, as slowly as possible, until you couldn't contain yourself anymore.

A night of romance followed by sweet kisses, and gentle teases led to this moment. Namjoon undressed you, covered you in kisses, and undressed. His fingers slipped inside you, wet and warm as you moaned for him to keep going, to stuff you full.

Your orgasm was welcomed, your moans of his name driving him off the edge as he undressed, cock rock hard and eager to slip between your thighs, to fill you to the hilt until he was rewarded with those dulcet moans of yours.

"Please," you beg, lip caught between your teeth. "I need it."

"It's not going to fit," Namjoon tries to reason, but you don't care, you're wet enough and you need him desperately. You tell him so, pulling him into a deep kiss. His broad frame covers you, nearly overwhelms you but you love it!

Namjoon loses himself in you, groaning and cursing when your hand wraps around his cock.

"Fuck, baby," he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as you line him up at your entrance and he pushes in. You gasp, moaning when he stretches you, nails digging into his back.

"Joon!" his name rolls off your tongue, his thrust sending you into another dimension. Your nails drag down his sun-kissed skin, moans growing louder as he bottoms out, your legs wrapped around his hips, holding him close as his plush lips plant kisses on your lips, neck, and chest, too flustered to settle on just one spot.

#jjungkookislife drabble game #namjoon smut #namjoon drabble

[anamenooneowns]

AN: just so ppl know. my works are almost always going to be with black, chubby women in mind (and if not chubby they will still 100% be black). also, i have not seen EITHER of the spiderverse movies, i'm just a hoe who thirsts over any fictional man so i just kinda made an amalgamation of hobie's personality from the fanfics i've read and viola. i just free-flowed this to procrastinate from doing my anatomy and physiology homework. enjoy.

warnings: shibari, cam-girl, face hidden, voyeurism (hobie is watching behind the cam), masturbating, bar-spreader, fem!reader, afab (and i think thats all, lemme know if i missed sum)

MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

Just Enough

You shrieked, legs trembling but unmoving. The intricately knotted ropes where your knees met your thighs were kept open with a spreader bar at your ankles. All from the diligent hands of your lovely boyfriend - watching from behind the camera as you squirted - stroking his cock as the steady hum of your wand echoed in the room.

Your head rolled back between your shoulders, a sob of - "Fuck!" - pouring out of your lips as you clit throbbed and ached. The pearl was shiny and round as it stuck out from under it's hood.

The gentle chime of a noise akin to coins dropping on the sidewalk were like adlibs to the symphony of your moans, his slick strokes, and the vibrator. Your body - lovely in all of it's curves and planes - open for the eyes of ten-thousand horny, voyeuristic people around the world.

But Hobie? Oh, Hobie got all of this for free. He was an artist - obviously. A connoisseur of music... in his own way, of course. But there was no denying that the moment you handed your time over to him, your emotions, your love - your very heart. He knew you were something special.

Your voice was dulcet. A sound that talking-wise he would never be able to get enough of. Hell, talk to him about the Big Bang Theory and he'd be sleeping like a baby from your voice. So when you gave him the grace to make you feel good, and bestowed your sounds of pleasure in his ears? Hobie knew he had to make you a star.

In your own right, of course. With the mutual condition that it was anonymous. Now, Hobie was a man who liked to show off, but your face was his. He can imagine it right now, even with your head pushed into the pillows and your back bowed from the overstimulation of six - going on seven - orgasms. Hobart Brown was a very imaginative man. And he could see how your eyes smoothly looked inward before rolling back, your bottom teeth tucked between your lips before releasing when a moan bubbled out, and those pretty tears rolling down the sides of your face.

He growled when the rise of his orgasm nearly came and firmly grasped himself just under the head of his cock. It hurt more psychologically than it did physically to stave off his climax, saving it for the clenching hold between her chubby, brown folds.

'How much fuckin' longer?' Hobie thought to himself, looking at his phone. The timer of three minutes looked back at him, and his thick lips pulled into a smirk as he ended the livestream and slammed the laptop shut.

"B-baby?" you whimpered, picking up on the familiar sound.

Hobie hushed you gently, removing the bar and your blindfold to see bloodshot, baby browns staring back at him.

"S'alright love. Looked all gorgeous 'nd that tonight."

You smiled, laughing lightly. "You always say that."

"Cause you do," he insisted. Then his hand grasped your face, fingertips digging into your soft cheeks. "You'd look even prettier with my cum on your face though."

Your eyes flitted down to his bobbing length - black with a purple-pink head and soft, trimmed curls at the base - it made your mouth water.

"Got enough in you for another round? Saved everything just for that snatch," he murmured against your lips.

It was comical. The way your eyes glazed over and he felt the air around you bend and shift to the taking girl you were. "Yeah... just enough."

#astv hobie #hobie x reader #hobie x you #hobie x black!reader #x black reader #x black plus size reader #x black fem reader #x black!reader #x black!fem!reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown #literally know nothing about these fucking movies #i enjoy attempting to write british accents though #i wrote this instead of doing my college homework #black fanfiction

[kjack89]

The Scarf

Some absolute shenanigans for the first day of @themiserablesmonth, with the prompt of the day being "red".

E/R, established relationship, modern AU. Hijinks, shenanigans, and the worst friends in the world.

“Fuck,” Grantaire swore.

“Grantaire?” Courfeyrac called from Grantaire’s front door, which was, true to form, unlocked.

“Shit.”

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow, more amused than worried. “Shall I follow your dulcet tones until I find you?” he asked, already strolling from the front door through the living room.

“Fucking shitting…fuck.”

“Never let it be said that it’s not a versatile word,” Courfeyrac murmured as he poked his head into Grantaire’s bedroom, the only place left where he could be.

At first, he didn’t see anything. Then he noticed an unusual amount of frustrated rustling coming from the closet, and he cleared his throat. “I’d make a trapped in the closet joke right now, but I’m choosing not to out of respect for R. Kelly’s victims.”

“How fucking magnanimous of you,” Grantaire grumbled, finally appearing from the depths of his closet, a ball of yarn in hand. 

“Would you prefer I make a coming out of the closet joke instead?” Courfeyrac asked, saccharine sweet, and Grantaire just gave him the finger. Courfeyrac grinned as he sat down on Grantaire’s bed. “What’s wrong?”

Grantaire scowled at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came to drop off your pumpkin.”

“What pumpkin?” Grantaire asked.

Courfeyrac gave him a look. “The annual pumpkin that Jehan gives all of us that he grows in his corner of the community garden? The ones that he’s also so proud of and therefore we all praise, despite most being misshapen and, in one case, not a pumpkin at all but instead a very squash?”

Grantaire groaned and ran a hand across his face. “Of course,” he said with a sigh. “I’m sure this year’s will be a specimen to admire.”

“Hardly,” Courfeyrac snorted. “Anyway, I put it on your kitchen counter. You can thank me later.” He cleared his throat. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re avoiding answering my question.”

Grantaire groaned again, slumping down next to Courfeyrac on the bed. “It’s this scarf,” he said reluctantly.

Courfeyrac wrinkled his nose. “Are you trying to bring scarves back? Because I’m not convinced they work on you.”

Grantaire shoved him. “First off, I look great in scarves,” he said. “Secondly, no, I’m making a scarf. For Enjolras.”

He reached over to pick up what Courfeyrac had assumed was one of Enjolras’s discarded hoodies that instead revealed itself to be a mostly-complete knitted scarf in the shade of bright red that Enjolras loved. Courfeyrac made a cooing noise. “That’s fucking adorable.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Grantaire mumbled, but he was smiling, just slightly. The smile disappeared, though, when he looked down at the ball of yarn he had tossed on the bed. “But it’s fucked, and I’m fucked.”

“Explain.”

Grantaire sighed. “I swear to God, I had enough yarn, but I’m about a skein short. And the only yarn I have left that’s the correct weight and texture is, well—” He gestured toward the ball of yarn, which was, rather unfortunately—

“Green,” Courfeyrac said, sounding like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Well, you are in a pickle, aren’t you.”

Grantaire gave him a nasty look. “You could have some fucking sympathy—”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Courfeyrac reasoned, fluttering his eyelashes at Grantaire. “Besides, need I remind you, but we live in the twenty-first century, where they have stores that you can drive to and pick up more yarn.”

“Yeah, but not stores that are open at 10 o’clock at night on a Saturday, especially since I need to have this finished for tomorrow,” Grantaire said, his voice tight.

Courfeyrac frowned. “Why tomorrow?” he asked. “It’s too early for Christmas, and Enjolras’s birthday isn’t until the spring—”

Grantaire sighed again, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “It’s our anniversary tomorrow,” he said, like the concept had personally offended him.

Courfeyrac brightened. “Of course,” he said, grinning. “How could I forget? It was Oktoberfest in, what, 2018?”

Grantaire scowled. “2019,” he corrected. “Which you should remember, given that you were there.”

Courfeyrac examined his nails as if he was impervious to the look Grantaire was giving him. “I have a vague recollection.”

“Do you also have a vague recollection of telling Enjolras that Oktoberfest beer is traditionally very low in alcohol?” Grantaire asked, half-amused, half-exasperated. “So that he drank three liters of beer before confessing to yours truly in the middle of a fucking polka that he had feelings for me?”

Courfeyrac gave Grantaire a smug smile. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly the point—”

“Then dare I ask we skip the exposition and you get to what is the point?”

“The point,” Grantaire said through gritted teeth, “is that thanks to your meddling, I now have to give Enjolras an anniversary present tomorrow, and I’m a skein short on yarn, and worst of all, you seem to find this amusing.”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “I find everything amusing,” he said reasonably. “Besides, I don’t see what the big deal is. Just use the green yarn.”

Grantaire stared at him. “You want me to give Enjolras a scarf that’s entirely red except for, like, ten inches at the end?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “Have you perhaps suffered from some kind of head injury in the past few hours, or…?”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Thankfully for the both of us, no. And thankfully for you, Enjolras is colorblind.”

Grantaire blinked. “He – what?” he managed weakly.

Courfeyrac smiled beatifically at him. “That I am choosing not to immediately text your boyfriend to let him know that after two years of dating and significantly more years of friendship, you never noticed that he’s red-green colorblind is something that I want you to remember.”

“But—” Grantaire started, still staring at Courfeyrac. “But he’s never said anything! I would remember if he had said something!” He hesitated. “Wouldn’t he?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Maybe he just figured you would’ve noticed by now.” He stood and reached over to pat Grantaire on the shoulder. “Anyway, up to you on what you want to do, but just figured I’d offer you the easiest option.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grantaire said vaguely, staring at the ball of green yarn with a furrowed brow.

Courfeyrac paused as if waiting for Grantaire to say more, and when he didn’t, he shrugged. “Like I said, just dropping off your pumpkin. I’ll see you tomorrow at Oktoberfest?”

Grantaire just grunted and Courfeyrac rolled his eyes before heading out of Grantaire’s apartment the same way he came in, leaving Grantaire and the yarn behind.

— — — — —

“Does it ever trouble you that the Nazis used the tradition of Oktoberfest in 1938 as a symbol of strength?” Enjolras asked as he set a pretzel in front of Grantaire, who was sipping from a stein of beer.

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “No,” he said.

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” Grantaire said. “Because lederhosen is truly one of the gayest outfits I’ve ever seen, so if that’s the vibe the Nazis want to give off, I say go for it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but with obvious affection. “I suppose you have a point.”

“Speaking of having, I have something for you,” Grantaire said.

“That was truly a terrible segue.”

Grantaire ignored him. “Here,” he said, a little gruffly, holding out a lumpy package. “Happy anniversary.”

Enjolras grinned, opening the package and pulling the scarf out. “A scarf?” he said excitedly. “Oh, man, after Jehan stole my last one, I’ve needed a new scarf! I love it.”

“You do?” Grantaire asked, a little nervously.

“Of course,” Enjolras said, wrapping the scarf around his neck. “Did you make this? It’s incredible!”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Well, it’s given me something to do everytime you need to work late at the very least.” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth before asking, somewhat desperately, “But you really like it?”

“I love it,” Enjolras repeated firmly. “Come here.”

He pulled Grantaire to him and kissed him firmly. Grantaire managed a small smile, though it was somewhat short lived, and he rested a hand against Enjolras’s chest. “Ok, well, since you like it, I have a confession to make.” He made a face. “Well, a couple of interconnected confessions, really. Do you, uh, do you see this bit at the end?”

Enjolras frowned down at the end of the scarf that Grantaire held up. “The green part?”

“Yeah, the—” Grantaire froze. “Wait, what?”

“The green part,” Enjolras repeated, a little slowly, as if he thought Grantaire might already be drunk.

Grantaire gaped at him. “How did you know it was green?”

Enjolras stared at him. “I realize my grasp of color theory is not strong, but I’m fairly certain I can recognize a basic color,” he said, sounding a little insulted.

“But aren’t you—” Grantaire broke off as realization finally hit. “Oh my God. I am going to kill Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras winced, having heard this before. “Oh, God,” he muttered resignedly. “What did he do now?”

“Interfered,” Grantaire ground out through clenched teeth. “Again.”

“…Did he tell you I was colorblind?” Grantaire nodded mutely and Enjolras closed his eyes for a moment. “If you don’t kill him, I will.”

“Don’t worry,” Grantaire said darkly, twisting in Enjolras’s embrace to scour the festival grounds for Courfeyrac. “I’ve already got a plan.”

Enjolras pulled Grantaire closer and kissed his forehead. “For what it’s worth,” he said firmly, “I really do love the scarf, even the green bit. Feels a little bit like having a piece of you in it.”

Grantaire’s expression softened, just slightly. “That would be sweet were it not for, you know, everything else.”

“Then how’s this for sweet?” Enjolras said. “My anniversary present to you was a weekend away at a B&B that has no WiFi but does have its own winery.”

Grantaire brightened, then paused. “Was?” he repeated.

Enjolras kissed him again before reassuring him, “Oh, we’re still going. Because we deserve a weekend away. But my anniversary present is now going to be holding your beer.” Grantaire blinked and Enjolras added helpfully, “While you go kill Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire brightened again. “I love you.”

“I know,” Enjolras said, kissing him once more. “I love you, too. Now go kick his ass.”

Across the festival grounds, Courfeyrac was barely managing to hold himself up against a massive barrel of beer, he was laughing so hard. Combeferre, standing next to him, looked torn between amusement and disapproval. “Grantaire is going to beat your ass, you realize.”

Courfeyrac hiccuped and wiped tears from his eyes. “Almost certainly, yeah.”

Combeferre pursed his lips slightly. “And Enjolras is probably going to let him.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac agreed. “But it was so fucking worth it.”  

They both looked up when Grantaire let out a wordless bellow, having caught sight of Courfeyrac. “Oh, shit,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully. “Gotta go!”

He tore off across the festival grounds, Grantaire in hot pursuit, and Combeferre just shook his head as he took a sip of beer. “Colorblind,” he muttered to himself, unable to stop his smile. “I just can’t believe Grantaire fell for it.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #courfeyrac #combeferre #fanfiction #les miserables #the miserables month 2022 #day 1 #modern au #established relationship #hijinks and shenanigans

[bubbleey]

Yes please to the Jungkook's POV drabble. 👀👀👀

Pairing: Nerd!Jungkook x Fuck girlish?Female Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, and fluff; Slow burn; Strangers to Lovers; College!AU

Rating: +18!!!!! Minors please DNI

Word Count: 500

Summary: Your idiot of a best friend, Kim Taehyung, dares you to get into the resident nerd’s pants, but maybe you’re just as stupid for accepting.

Next Chapter Release Date: May 17th

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, voyeurism???(not sure what to call it but Jungkook listening into Reader and Hoseok), semi-public masturbation(m), multiple orgasms(m), Dom!Hoseok, Sub!Reader

Notes: Ok so here is the drabble that I alluded to. Provides some context to JK's behaviors in the next chapter that I will be releasing tomorrow. Feel free to read the previous chapter for context if you haven't. Sorry for all of the delays but finals are finally over so I can do more writing, I hope you enjoy this short drabble!

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~

“Hoseok please,”

What Jungkook would do to have you beg for him. In his limited experience with women, he’s always naturally taken the more submissive role in the relationship. But, the thought of making his Noona whine and beg for just for him, because of him, has engraved itself in his mind.

He finds himself growing jealous of how you let Hoseok satisfy you. He knows Hoseok, very aware of his reputation on campus before he left. Nothing negative but his bedroom reputation definitely outweighed his reputation of kindness. In a way, Jungkook envies him, well more so the confidence he has in his skills and now more than anything his current position.

His mind is quickly brought back to you, sounds of pleasure escaping you as you do a terrible job at following Hoseok’s instructions. He can’t help but bring his hand down to palm himself over his jeans, seeking any sort of relief.

“Please, let me cum. My pussy belongs to you, sir.”

Oh, how he wishes that was directed at him, but for now, he’ll pretend like it is. It’s torturing him to have you so close yet so far and it has him settling for his hand as a replacement.

Growing frustrated at the lack of contact, he quickly attempts to pull down his zipper quiet enough to keep his presence unnoticeable. He sighs at the small bit of relief as he pulls his pants down just below his hips to release his weeping cock.

Spitting into his palm, he brings his hand down to quickly tug at himself. He tries to match pace with the sounds of Hoseok fingering your wet pussy but can’t help his pace from stuttering. He finds himself slowing down his hand, a measly attempt to prolong his pleasure.

“Come for me,”

His pace quickens as he now fucks his hand, desperate to cum as your dulcet moans fill the stall. The image of you cumming on his tongue floods his mind, and throws him over the edge in time with your orgasm. He cums into his hand, continuing to pump himself slowly to ride out his high.

He almost whines in overstimulation when he hears Hoseok demand another orgasm from you. His hand has a mind of its own, stroking himself to full hardness again.

“Jungkook,”

Is what he pretends to hear when you moan Hoseok’s name again. He envisions that it’s him your kissing and that it’s him that you’re gasping for, looking so fucked out right now. The thought of you looking so pleased and pretty because of him is what pushes him to his second orgasm, not able to stop the whiny moan that leaves his mouth.

He’s quickly brought back to reality and where he is when he notices the sudden silence that takes over. It has his heart rate quickening in fear of having been caught. But, he hears Hoseok say his goodbyes as you follow in pursuit.

The sound of the bathroom door swinging shut is his signal to clean up. The feeling of embarrassment takes over him once again for the second time this week. But, it’s dulled out by this new feeling driven by the events that just transpired.

He wants you to beg for him.

#bts fic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #bts jeon jungkook #bts jeon jeongguk