🍓 I write for a variety of fandoms, though I write for myself predominantly since requests would stress me out. I write and post very sporadically so there's no set schedule for anything on this blog!
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.ᐟ.ᐟ ATTENTION grace x reader, servicetop!grace, fingering (reader receiving), fem!reader, wlw, dacryphilia, domesticated couple, squirting -- not being able to sleep, you ask if grace can do anything to get you to shut your eyes. she knows exactly what to do. NOT proofread ;-;
it’s not often you find yourself in the middle of a sleepless night. you may not always get the recommended eight hours, but you typically make it through the night. and when you can’t?
your girlfriend, GRACE ASHCROFT, is always there to help you wind down. shy demeanor on the shelf with you, the only reason her heart rate is up now is due to the favor she's filling for you.
she knows exactly how to keep your body laced in her lanky arms, encouraging you to lean back into her chest while her fingers plunge into you fluidly…intentionally. grace replays your excuse as she anchors you to her body with an arm around your chest.
“i can’t fall asleep.”
her breaths match your gasps, the tip of her nose deep in your dimple while she works her fingers in you. the groggy young woman fight sleep with stronger pulses of her fingers, wrist beginning to tighten.
“gra—“ she immediately shushes you, shaking her head and propping your leg higher into the air with a thigh between your legs.
“that feel good?” she whispers against your flesh, feeling your body rock back into her. the nod you give fuels her, curling her fingers against plushy, damp walls that make her moan into your ear. she’s trying so hard to keep her eyes open, nuzzling into your shivering frame to feel the friction. “hmm, come on princess.” the nickname is stuttered on, quiet and vulnerable just like the thick atmosphere.
your hips stutter on hers, clenching her fingers with your excitement. weak, shaky breaths make her body throb with every exhale.
with her aim to please, she finds herself getting carried away. her fingers move faster at a pace that makes you choke out a groan and slam a palm over her hand.
“s—s-slow down,” you mutter, pushing her hand away with only a weak force, easily dominated by her fingers taking over once again. they scoop yours up, swatting them away before the blonde kisses your jaw.
“okay, okay. don’t touch, not yet,” she stumbles over your words while kisses pamper your shoulder. “don’t get in your own way,” she pants, biting the inside of her cheek from the feeling of your hips rolling against hers. she interprets your silence as frustration; the second your fingers clasped behind her neck, she melted into you.
her middle and ring fingers continue to curl inside of you, pulling her other arm from underneath you to anchor herself on her side. the analyst fishes for kisses, face nudging yours to face hers with a quickening pace in her hand.
she can feel the tightening of your cunt around her smooth fingers, small squelching noises filling the quiet air. the small whine of her name makes her smile over the apple of your cheek, nodding. “pretty girl,” she mutters like it’s her in your position. “wanna touch yourself for me? play with your clit for me? please baby?” she begs, the tip of her nose burying in your flesh. “i wanna see you do that thing I like. do you have it in you?” pale eyes peer over the natural hills of your skin to catch your shy fingers fondle with the bud above her active movement. grace swears she’s fallen in love all over again.
being with grace long enough, you’ve come to learn new things about your body. grace’s undercover talent of making you spill all over her sheets is rarely ever neglected, especially on nights like these where wearing your body out is the only way to catch a wink of sleep. “mmhmm,” you coo. with your team effort, she knows you’ll be slipping in her arms very soon.
your fingertips roll over yourself with a familiar motion. old faithful. the lust that lives in you makes you hotter, gripping onto your girlfriends neck tighter— only readjusting. she sees how desperate you are. how much you ache for it. the tears from your yawns make her keep down a giggle. “you do?” her question wasn’t seeking an answer, not when she seals your lips in between hers hungrily.
grace swallows the whines you croak down her throat. she doesn’t pull away, she doesn’t stop her fingers. in fact, she goes harder with her digits curling with care. the woman nods, encouraging you to keep going right along with her. her tongue cradles yours. with all of the devotion she has, you’d think she was fighting sleep herself. on the contrary, she’s exhausted, but… priorities.
the hunger in your kiss weakens, trembling around your girlfriend the closer you get. in her mind, you can barely keep it together. it fuels her. you’ve given up on her kiss, lips parted as you seek for air. grace doesn’t blame you. in fact, she opts to study you and dress you in kisses, feeling you get closer.
she’s there with you through it all. your trembling fingers, shallow breath, eager moans (swears), clammy body. grace doesn’t stop at all, not even for a moment. she’s even there when you finally start leaking over her fingers, soon spilling over her sheets with each pump she pushes into you.
your body tries to cling to its climax, seizing and jerking in pleasure. and as you do, grace braces you by keeping your leg open with her arm latched around your thigh. “oh, look at you,” she eggs on, kissing the top of your head. it’s only when your body finally begins to calm down, she exits you only to prop you firm against her chest.
your sighs are like a lullaby to the sleepy woman, choosing to cradle your body in her arms. “how are you feeling?” she quizzes, “tired yet?”
you nod.
“you did so good,” coming from her, you could turn into mush, but you turn to rest your head on her bosom instead.
“i ruined the sheets… i'm not sleeping in wet sheets.” that realization makes tired, mossy-stone colored eyes rip back open.
“right—" grace chuckles, “okay. let’s get you all cleaned up then? i can handle the sheets and maybe we’ll make it through the night.”
“thank you, baby." you steal a quick kiss from her, "i’ll sleep so good.”
all my love to Alucard, but I absolutely need Leon rn. i am so down bad for him and i have no idea why. like, i know why but it still doesn't change that i am horrendously down bad for this fiction character and i would literally crawl inside his ribcage to curl up next to his heart just to listen to it beat
summary . . . chief leon kennedy has a crush on the temporary receptionist of rpd. the receptionist in question is his wife, and he has made it everyone’s problem.
notes. 🎤 this just in… shikiyomizu writes another fic where leon kennedy is obsessed with his wife !! got this idea while i was driving to work today, also :( thank you guys we hit 400 followers the other day 🫶 y’all are the best
tags ──────── fluff, re9 leon kennedy x wife!reader. au, no zombie break out. takes place in raccoon city. leon’s doing everything but working. word count: 1.2k words
The receptionist of RPD was six months pregnant with her first child. Getting closer to her due date, she put in her time off. Once she got to eight months, she would be gone to prepare herself and stay out on maternity leave. That gave the station at most a month to find a temporary receptionist.
Chief Kennedy quickly found a solution. After you heard he told you about their receptionist during dinner, you offered to fill in the position while she was away. You didn’t work, the officers knew you since you’d come and visit Leon at the station on occasions.
The more experienced officers were more familiar with you and still remembered the day you both met.
Leon was late on his first day of work. Not a good look for an optimistic rookie. Then, he got thrown into traffic duty with Lieutenant Marvin Branagh, and had to write up a ticket to a girl they pulled over who was his type. He swore that someone didn’t want him to succeed as a police officer.
That’s right, you were the first person Leon ever gave a ticket to. But it made for a cute story, and the outcome was a marriage of 24 years.
When he proposed the idea, everyone quickly agreed. No officer would have to fill the position, they wouldn’t have to wait for an applicant, and they could trust you would get the job done correctly. Now what they didn’t imagine happening is the Chief of police suddenly not knowing how to behave.
The first few weeks, Leon checked up on you to make sure everything was going smoothly while you were being trained. You adjusted rather quickly. He’d stay by the desk, flirt with you for a couple minutes, and return to his office.
Then the following months, the visits became more frequent. He’d start dropping by multiple times throughout the day, and stayed longer than he was supposed to. He loved having you working at the station. He could see you and talk to you any time he wanted.
And although it was sweet, it threw off the function of the second floor where the officers really needed him to be. They took matters into their own hands and limited him to one daily visit.
That ended up backfiring as soon as the rule was implemented. They saw him heading downstairs, and made a note he was taking his daily visit. So, they minded their business and went back to working.
Hours passed, someone was on the phone to speak with him. The officer tried to ring him, but he wasn’t picking up. Unusual for him. She stood up from her desk and quickly rushed to his office, just to not see Leon there at all.
The man had the entire floor looking for him because the call was important. The bathroom, the library, the archive room, the weapons room. They were practically seething when they found him sitting behind the receptionist desk with you.
All he said was, “You said one visit, not that I had to come back.”
They didn’t blame you since you were actually getting your work done.
They were honestly debating whether or not they should enforce the whole no dating in the workplace rule again. But it didn’t make sense considering you two were married and so were Captains Chris and Jill Redfield of S.T.A.R.S.
So they found the only other solution.
The following work week, Leon got banned from the first floor.
He took it to the heart. He watched you from the second floor like some Victorian yearner until he got sent back to his office by one of his lieutenants.
He tried to sneak past them on several occasions. Sometimes it worked. Other times?
“Chief! Don’t you go down those stairs!”
Leon huffed. He was so close this time. He’d made it halfway down. He glared at the officer standing at the top of stairs. You were at the reception desk, going through mail the station received. He wanted to use the excuse that he was going to pick something up, but they’d just say they would bring it to him. He reluctantly turned around and went right back up.
He passed the sign holder by the stairs made for him that said, “Lunch is at 1PM. Shift ends at 6PM.”
It got bad enough that they assigned someone to keep an eye on him.
The new rookie that joined was so confused why they told him not to allow Chief Kennedy on the first floor under any circumstances besides lunchtime and when it was time to go. Plus, they didn’t even go into detail as to why the Chief was banned from the first floor. They said it so ominously, as if the world would end if he made it down there.
Technically, it was an easy task. His office door was always shut, no matter what. If it ever opened, the loud creaking would alert the rookie and he’d tell his superior the first floor was off limits.
Today, Leon opened his office door cautiously. His officers were overwhelmed at their desks, especially the rookie who was stuck babysitting him. Paperwork was due at the end of the week. Everyone was trying to get it done so they wouldn’t have to stay late on a Friday night.
Perfect. He slipped out unnoticed. He left the door at a crack. If he closed it now, it might catch their attention and he refused to lose this golden opportunity. He kept his body against the wall, heading in the direction of the stairs.
You were making copies of forms. While the printer did the task for you, you swiveled your chair to the computer again to check on an email. Just as you were doing that, there came your husband rushing down the stairs. Leon made it to the bottom step and walked across the lobby towards the reception desk.
Oh great. What was he planning now? Your hand hovered over the phone, ready to call one of the lieutenants. But you didn’t since your husband wasn’t staring directly at you, rather the staircase on your right. He dug his hand in the pocket of his pants and pulled out a slip of paper.
Leon carefully slid it across the counter, and continued walking without looking at you.
The paper was folded in half. You raised a brow. He was probably asking you to meet him in the filing room again. You grabbed the paper and opened it.
“What the…” You muttered.
Do you like me?
Two options. One box said yes, and the other box said yes. You furrowed your brows.
You looked to your right. Leon was leaning against the stair railing. He drew a heart in the air with his pointer fingers and then winked at you. Your eyes followed as he went up to the second floor.
Reminder: File a complaint.
You clicked your pen. Underneath the two boxes, you drew a third one. Right beside it you wrote, “No”, and checked it.
“Is he here?” You glanced up. The rookie was out of air after running down a flight of stairs. Poor boy was carrying the fate of the world on his shoulders and he refused to let it end. That or he thought he might get fired for not keeping Chief Kennedy in check.
“Honey, don’t worry. He’s upstairs. Besides, the only place he’s getting in trouble is at home.” You said. That helped ease his worries a bit. You folded the slip of paper again and held it out to the rookie, “Do me a favor. Can you give this to him when you see him?”
sadly I can tell when I'm close to ovulation just off the sole fact that men tend to annoy me more 😭
like sure i might have a slightly higher interest in masturbating and shit, but when i start to get annoyed at all the stupidity of men then i know I'm gonna be ovulating soon 😭😭😭
tags: smut, cisfem!reader, wlw, p in v, simultaneous orgasms, fingering, face sitting, oral, uhh lots of fluids comingling, reader gets to be their pillow princess, fluffy pillow talk
a/n: you & leon are friends with benefits but I didn’t feel like writing a whole setup for it. but keep that in mind so the intro dialogue is less cringe haha. you could infer the beginnings of a throuple at the end (or not, up to you) but he’s down bad for you both
You never came out to Leon, per se. He put the pieces together after a comment you made in a casual conversation.
“Wait, you like women too?”
You shrugged like it was common knowledge. “Yeah, I do.”
“Huh…”
You watched him through narrowed eyes as he pondered it, nodding his head and looking up at nothing like he’d found the last piece of a puzzle and could now see the full picture of you clearly.
You scoffed light-heartedly. “What?”
“Nothing, just uh… if you don’t mind me asking, um…”
You and Leon were well past anything being TMI between you, and knowing him, whatever he said next was sure to be so dumb it’d be entertaining. Your voice was coated in amusement as you urged him on.
“Go ahead.”
He cleared his throat before continuing.
“Have you ever been with a guy and girl like… at the same time?”
You rolled your eyes to the back of your head. “Oh my god, you are such a guy.”
“No, no, I mean— well yeah, but just— I might know someone, if you wanted to.”
You paused and looked at him for a beat. He scratched the back of his neck nervously. Something in you sparked like flint catching against steel.
“Is she hot?”
That was the conversation that signed your death warrant, in retrospect. Because right now, you were sure you were in heaven.
“That’s it, baby, suck my cock.”
“She’s so sensitive, look at how she twitches.”
“Told you.”
“She’s taking us like such a good girl.”
Your sweat clung to the bedsheets below you from the sheer effort it took not to cum as they talked as if you weren’t there. But between Leon’s cock stuffing your mouth full and Ada’s lips fixed to your clit, you’d been reduced to muffled moans.
And Leon, ever the selfless lover, knew he wasn’t the star of the show here. He certainly didn’t mind watching you and her make out naked, wetting your fingers between the other’s legs while he sat back all but forgotten. And every position he suggested kept you and her in mind.
“Let her sit on your face while I fuck you, yeah? I know you’re dying to taste her.”
You gripped the soft flesh of Ada’s thighs to hold on as Leon rearranged your guts into the shape of him, pulling her further and firmly down to delve your tongue as deep as it’d go. She tasted like paradise found, the whole room was heady with pheromones, your senses tingled from the inside out as they each toyed with one of your breasts. Your face was covered in a coat of her sweet gloss as you lapped and needily suckled every square inch of the prettiest pussy you’d ever seen, your legs quivering around Leon’s waist as he held them open by the backs of your knees.
You thought you heard them kiss, but when Ada raised herself off of you momentarily, you could see her fingers in his wanton mouth. You whined as you sucked in a lungful of air, and then she sat back down again.
“Good boy, get them nice and wet. Does she feel good?”
“Mmhmm,” Leon moaned around her digits. You heard a wet pop and he shuddered before slurring. “God, s’alway so damn tight.”
Ada leaned forward and fixed her spit-slick fingers to your clit. You seized and cried helplessly into her cunt, pulling her hips to encourage her to grind on the flat of your tongue as Leon picked up speed.
Every moan you earned from Ada felt like you’d grabbed ahold of starlight itself, and every groan from Leon felt like being bathed in the warmth of the sun. Your pleasure was as constant as the plap plap of skin on skin, as continuous as Ada’s fingertips circling your wet clit dexterously.
And fuck, the way they kept talking, how Ada’s voice dripped like honey and Leon’s rumbled like broken thunder—
“That’s it, sweetheart, suck my clit— ahh— there, right there.”
“Come on, make her cum all over your pretty face. Then we’ll make you next, yeah?”
“Mm, keep— keep going, baby, earn it.”
“Shit, fuck— she must be close, gripping me like a goddamn vice.”
“Oh, oh, yes—!”
Her fingers faltered against your clit and her thighs clamped down against your face as she tumbled off the ledge, cumming with a string of breathless moans of your name. You lapped it up desperately as her slippery, sweet juices gushed into your thirsty mouth, the taste alone making your eyes roll back and your toes curl.
She hissed and hovered over you as your needy tongue became too much, and you lifted your head to follow her with a pointed lick, not wanting to leave behind a single drop that could be taken by you instead. She laughed drunkenly at you as she teased herself up and down, allowing you just one more lap up her center each time, just enough to make you dizzy.
Her fingers left your clit, but you didn’t have time to protest before more calloused ones replaced them. A shattered moan escaped you and Ada dismounted while you were preoccupied with the feeling to lay next to you on her side. You wrapped an arm around her to thread your fingers in her hair, careful not to pull as your pleasure began to mount.
She ran her fingers soothingly up and down your stomach, humming as she watched you get fucked: the way your brows curled up acutely, your jaw dropping in a silent scream, the rise and fall of your chest as you fought for heavy breaths. She couldn’t help but to take your ebbing breast by a squeeze of your hardened nipple.
It felt like you’d been launched from the bed and into heaven faster than light speed.
You cried out as you came undone with brutal force, clenching around Leon’s cock with every wave of tremors that rushed through you, his fingers on your clit becoming sharp and blindingly bright. They let out oh’s and expletives in revelrous awe, like they were mere witnesses to something holy and not the direct cause.
And just as they’d talked you up to it, they talked you back down too—
“There you are, give it to him.”
“Atta girl, cum on my cock.”
“So pretty when you let go for us.”
You floated back down to earth like a feather with each syllable, and Leon decelerated to a slow grind to let you get a grip. Then to each of your surprises, he shuddered and pulled out.
Ada cocked an eyebrow at him. "You could’ve cum.”
“I know,” he panted, “but I’m not done. C’mon, get on her.”
Ada swung a leg over and she was suddenly straddled above you, settling down until her breasts were flush with yours, biting her smiling lips as she nestled your pelvic bones flush together.
“We’ve had our fun, let’s let him have some now, yeah?”
She hooked her feet under your thighs to keep them parted, and you felt the bed dip as Leon knelt between them. You gasped as his fingers slowly dragged up and down both of your slits, commingling your silky fluids.
“Fuck, you two are so hot.”
And the way Ada’s face contorted as he pushed himself inside her? That was the most heavenly sight by far. You even refrained from kissing her so you wouldn’t interrupt it.
As Leon settled into her, you rested one hand on the dip of her lower back and the other on her ass. Once he started thrusting, she kissed you herself.
Leon covered your hand on her ass with his to spread her open, grunting in marvel at the sigh. Behind your eyelids, you imagined the image of what was happening and that alone was enough to make you moan into her kiss. It deepened as you did, your soft tongues melting together in a sultry sort of dance as you rocked together with the smooth force of Leon’s thrusts.
You’d be more than happy if that’s all that continued to happen, but Leon had other plans in mind. Your eyes parted open as the bed went still and you felt his tip notch into your opening.
Ada cooed praises into your ear as your mind became blown with how dirty it was. He slipped inside so easily, his cock undoubtedly dripping with her cum, sinking his full length into your own sopping center with ease.
He rocked in and out of you slowly, deliberately, letting you feel each thrust and the friction of your own velvet walls as they sucked him in. With Ada flush on top of you, you were sure she must feel him bulging against your stomach each time he bottomed out.
He pulled out again. You wondered where he went. A melodic moan from Ada’s throat was all you needed to know he’d entered her again.
You gasped as he pushed back into you.
Then her.
Then you.
Then her.
Then you again.
It was downright pornographic, the way he alternated between you, his voice going up in pitch each time. He too was in heaven.
It felt like such a perfect tease each time you were filled only to be left empty, then stuffed full all over again, over and over and over. Ada clung to you like a dirty angel, her skin dampening with sweat as she nestled her face into your neck, panting against your pulse point. You trembled more and more each time Leon entered, and you bit your lip as a white hot coil twisted in your stomach.
You could hardly articulate the feeling:
“Leon, Leon, please, oh fuck—“
He knew the answer anyways:
“I know, I know, I’m close too, just—“
The next time he plunged into your pulsing walls, he hammered in with a lot more purpose.
Ada reached back, fanning her hand at him mindlessly. She couldn’t put a sentence together either, but Leon knew what she meant.
He fixed two fingers inside of her and curled them up and down. He braced his other hand on your upper thigh and strummed his thumb against your clit.
You all devolved into strings of words with no discernible meaning.
“Oh, there, ahh—ahh—“
“Fuck, I’m—oh my god—“
“Jesus fucking— oh, please—“
Then you all shattered as one being.
Leon pulled out with a sharp withdrawal, hands unwilling to leave you and Ada as he kept coaxing you both through it.
Leon kept his hands fixed to you and Ada both, continuing to coax you through it as he pulled out with urgency. He groaned with each convulsion, his cock jumping with each rope of cum; and whether he intended it or not, with the angle of his hips—
You felt the warmth of each rope as it landed on you and as it dripped from Ada’s cunt to yours.
You all came down the earth with lightheaded heaves. Leon urged his vision to stop swimming as he burned the sight into memory with each heavy blink: the two loves of his life tangled up in each other, each one’s pussy painted with his cum.
He stared at it every second until Ada eventually rolled off of you, and he stared a little longer at you lying together. Two angels blessing his bedsheets and glowing with sweat and sex, your mussed-up hair falling like halos against his pillows. Dirty in a way that made him aware of the beats his heart skipped, beautiful in a way that made it impossible to stare longer instead of joining.
He crawled up right beside you and splayed an arm over your torso, his fingers idly rubbing Ada’s side where they met. You curled an arm under him to weave your hand into the soft hair on the nape of his neck.
“We need a towel,” Ada cooed.
Leon chuckled once. “Guess you don’t know where they are, huh?”
He flicked her side playfully, and she giggled and batted it away before letting him go back to the mindless circles he drew on her ribcage. You gave them each a curious look at whatever hid in the subtext. You knew it’d been a long while since they slept together, but it sounded like they missed it.
Fuck, you hope they did. Then maybe this could happen again.
“I’ll just change the sheets,” Leon thought out loud, and then he asked her, “are you staying?”
She hummed as she pretended to think. You felt her turn to look at you, and you met her gaze with hopeful eyes.
“Sure...”
You smiled. She kissed your cheek.
“...If you make us breakfast in the morning.”
Both of you looked at Leon expectantly. His eyes flicked between you and her before he nuzzled back into you, resigned.
“Alright, fine.”
You and Ada giggled and made his grocery list for him.
“Are you a savory or sweet breakfast person?” “Depends on the day.” “Why not get stuff for both?” “Okay, like toast? That’s versatile." “Ooh what about french toast?” “Leon, do you know how to make french toast?”
He nuzzled further into you to hide the smile on his face as he grumbled into your skin.
“Women…”
a/n: I simply couldn’t resist the last line I’m not sorry
Summary: After a breakup and a month of silence, Ada comes back swearing this time will be different.
Warnings: nothing too crazy, pre-established relationship, it's angsty at the start for sure, reader is kind of mean to Ada but lowkey she earned it, Ada being really open about her feelings, pwp, lesbian sex (on the floor next to the bed, oral r! receiving),
A/N: WAR IS OVER!!!! I was really struggling with this one until like midnight last night and then it all came together. I did end up staying up far too late, but being tired at work was soooo worth it.
Also sorry if we wanted toxic Ada, I personally want her to be soft with her gf (me).
This turned into something completely different than i originally had in mind but Im actually not upset about that.
...
It's been about a month since you broke things off with Ada.
There was no big blow up fight. You almost wish there was, but no. That had been the way the first few times went. This time, you'd simply told Ada that you'd been feeling emotionally neglected, as you have several times. It went the same as it always does.
I told you what this was when we started, she'd said. Work comes first, Pretty, it has to, you know that.
But that was before, you'd tried to reason. Aren't things different now?
Maybe, but nothing outside of this apartment has changed, she'd said it with a flat expression, you couldn't even tell how she felt about having to talk about this again.
It felt like something clicked.
How did Einstein define insanity? Repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
You need to leave, you said it so quietly that Ada was almost certain she'd misheard you. But seeing the look of quiet resolve on your face, she knew she hadn't.
Her face flickered, your heart clenched. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She looked at you for a long moment, a click of the tongue and a soft sigh. Got it.
Then she left your apartment, like she does every time another work thing comes up- easy as breathing.
Of course it was easy. Leaving is natural for Ada, a practice instilled in her by years of training that she would never tell you about. But, as you've discovered as your relationship has progressed, coming back is something that she always does, it just doesn't seem as practiced.
Two days ago an arrangement of red roses, baby's breath, and pink tiger lilies was delivered to your door. No note, but clearly from her with an obvious message: this is me reaching out.
You took the flowers to the local cemetery before work yesterday, leaving them at a neglected grave. You felt that, in a way, it was poetic.
That evening when you returned from work, another arrangement had been dropped at your door- red, plum, and white roses: pay attention to me. Ada is needier than she would ever care to admit. You did the exact same thing with the flowers this morning. You went to work, thinking about all of Ada's inconsistencies, which turned into thinking about all of the ways that she is consistent, which turned into missing her. Missing her bled into your whole day.
And now walking home, you're trying so hard to remind yourself that there's more to love than whatever you and Ada had going on. You want her, of course. And you want believe that she wants you too. But you know she doesn't need you, at least it doesn't feel like she does. She won't let herself fully rely on you, fully trust you, it leaves a huge gap in your relationship. Your friends compare your relationship to feeding an outdoor cat, one that's sort of yours but not really.
You always reason that you're not asking her to be an indoor cat, you know it's not in her nature, you just need her to give you something to prove that you're not wasting your time caring for a stray.
You step through the door of your building, just as it starts to drizzle outside.
Your across-the-hall neighbor, Miss Beverly as she requested you call her, stands at her mailbox in the lobby.
"Hi, dear, how was work?" She asks with a very sweet smile.
"Not bad," you say, forcing a polite, neighborly smile. You like Miss Beverly, you do, but right now you miss Ada so much it's hard to think about anything else. Still, you try. "Anything interesting happen on the soaps today?"
"A lot of the same old stuff, dearie," she laughs. "Nothing as interesting as what's going on in your life."
You're unsure of what she means, and it shows on your face. She looks at you like she's accidentally let you in on a secret.
"I suppose I've spoiled the surprise," she says, with a awkward little laugh. "There are more flowers at your door. Pretty ones."
You roll your eyes, before you look up in a silent question to whatever higher power may be up there.
You sigh as you look back at her, she looks at you knowingly. Miss Beverly gathers her mail, and the two of you make your way up the stairs. You take them slowly on account of the elderly woman. You silently stew, these flowers are doing nothing for you but pissing you off.
When you reach your floor you walk ahead. You stop between your doors and study the flowers left on your welcome mat. More reds, whites, pinks, and purples: don't ignore me.
"Whoever he is, I think he may be sorry," she says.
"Yeah, sorry is one word for it," you mutter.
She looks at you with sympathetic eyes.
"Who's the lucky guy?" She asks.
You laugh, the sound that escapes you is bitter.
"There is no guy, Miss Beverly," you tell her.
Her eyes fall to the flowers, confusion on her face plain as day. You follow her line of sight, then bend over to pick the flowers up, you look back to Miss Beverly.
"Beautiful flowers in a beautiful vase, it'd be a shame for it all to to be wasted on me," you say, with a forced smile that you can only hope looks genuine. You hand the flowers to the woman, she accepts them. "Have a lovely evening."
The poor lady looks stunned. You give her a final nod, then turn and unlock your door before entering your apartment.
Your evening routine is no different than it is with Ada, because even with Ada you spend most of your time without her.
You change out of your clothes from work, into a comfortable oversized shirt with your underwear underneath. You go into your kitchen and prepare a meal for one. You eat, sitting on your couch.
You think about watching a movie later, but of course, what happens is you fall asleep after finishing your food.
You jolt awake to the sound of your phone ringing on the coffee table. In your sleepy daze, you don't check caller ID, you just flip it open and answer.
"Hello," you say, your voice comes out squeaky announcing to the caller that you've been asleep.
"Hello, Pretty," Ada's voice comes through the speaker on your phone. You sit up with a sigh, loud and dramatic, hoping she can hear the roll of your eyes that accompanies it- she can. "Well that's not nice."
Not nice? You scoff, but you're honestly unsure of what to say to her. You decide to start with the thing that has annoyed you most.
"Will you stop with the flowers?" You huff out the question after a moment.
"You love it when I send you flowers," Ada says, there's a teasing pout in her voice.
"That was before we broke up, Ada," you say her name like it's an insult.
"I don't remember ever saying those words," she says with a questioning lilt in her voice. You have to resist the urge to snap at her, biting your tongue to stay quiet. Ada seems to realize that teasing isn't the approach she needs to take, so she tries a different one. "I miss you."
It sounds like she means it, really, but she's good at sweet talk. Ada is sweet talk. It's not enough. Really, it just annoys you.
"Is that supposed to wow me?" You let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Sorry, I'm fresh out of gold stars."
"Don't be mean," Ada responds.
"Mean hasn't even started," you warn. "I could hang up and never speak to you again."
"We don't want that, Pretty," she says it as if she's all-knowing. "You've missed me too, I know you have."
"Doesn't make much of a difference," you say. "You missing me, me missing you. We always end up in the same place."
"This time will be different," Ada says.
"I've heard that before," you almost laugh. "You always say the same thing. Verbatim. I miss you, this time it'll be different, let me show you. You come home, we have sex. Then you leave again."
"I can't quit my job-"
"I know that, Ada," you snap. "I understand that you have to do what you have to do. I'm fine with being the warm bed, your soft place to land. But my needs are not being met."
"What do you need?" Ada asks, the question sounds genuine.
"You, obviously," you say it to her like she's stupid. "I need you. You know everything about me, physically, psychologically, inside and out. I know next to nothing about you aside from how you like your eggs and how to make you cum," you stand, grabbing your plate from where it was abandoned on the coffee table. You walk into the kitchen as you continue. "You keep me at an arms length, but you claim to love me. It feels like I'm just a pastime between jobs. I can't live like that."
Ada exhales on her end of the line. You can hear her considering her words. Calculating. You place your plate in the sink, then lean against the counter as you wait for her to speak.
You wonder if she can feel you slipping from her grasp. You wonder if she's willing to fight to keep you there.
"Can I please just come over?" The question comes out more desperate than she probably intended.
Fortunately for Ada, it stirs something in you. You miss her. You really miss her. As disappointed as you are with where the two of you are as a couple, you do love her, and you don't want her to suffer.
You breathe in as you feel your resolve give way
"This is the last time Ada, I swear to God," you relent. "Come home."
It takes all of ten minutes before you hear the sound of a knock on your door. She has a key still, she pays the rent, but it feels good knowing that this is happening on your terms.
You open the door, Ada shifts in the hallway. You study her face, her jaw is tight and she can only stand to look you in the eye for a second before she has to look away. She feels guilty. Good.
You step to the side, and Ada enters the apartment, the heels of her knee high boots clicking on the hardwood floors. You clear your throat as you close the door and turn to her. Your eyes drop to her shoes on your clean floors, then come back up to hers. She looks at you as she gets the message. She sighs, staring as she unzips one boot and takes it off then repeats with the other.
"Thank you," you say, managing to make it sound insulting.
You walk back toward the couch and sit, you look at Ada expectantly. She forces her eyes to stay on you, her gaze is soft. She approaches the other side of the couch slowly, like a bomb squad approaches a suicide bomber.
She opens her mouth, breathing in like she's about to speak.
"Get to the point," you say, sensing her small talk defense mechanism before it even happens.
She blinks three times in quick succession, you stare at her, unmoving.
Once again, she calculates her words. You don't rush this part. You've laid the rules out, she'll either follow them or she won't. That's up to her.
"You aren't a pastime," Ada says, after a few moments. She closes her eyes like what she's about to say feels painfully unnatural. "You never have been, and I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I'm sorry that I'm not as," she breathes, "emotional with you as I should be."
You lean forward, this time you're the one who's face is unreadable. For the first time in the years you've known her Ada genuinely looks vulnerable. You allow her to continue.
"Of course I care about you," Ada says. "I come back- to you, to our home- that's how I know to show it. Everything about the way I feel for you clashes with all of my training. I'm not supposed to feel like this."
You tilt your head, looking at her while she speaks. You feel like you're finally getting somewhere, but you find yourself feeling sorry about it coming at the price of Ada's comfort.
"You, what we have, it all cuts me open," as she continues, you want to reach out and touch her, reward her for this somehow. "I focus so much on sewing myself shut again, I don't think about how I'm closing myself off to you too."
You scoot closer to her on the couch, you catch the soft breath of relief Ada lets out as you do.
"I love you, of course, but I also trust you," Ada says. "I want to give you what you need this time, if you'll let me. I promise. I will."
You're closer to her now, but your arms are crossed, defensive. Still, behind the cautious expression you wear, there's a softness in your eyes. You take a deep breath, really making her wait for it as you mull over her words.
"Say it again," you say after almost a minute.
"Which part?"
"You promise," you whisper.
"I promise," she repeats, you inch closer.
"Again," you softly demand. You need this, really, and it's only the start of what she's going to need to give you if she wants this to work.
"I promise," she says again, her eyebrows pull together slightly. Your knee is now pressed against hers, and you make no effort to break the contact. Ada leans into it, desperate to be close to you.
"One more time," you say, it's basically a breath.
You're so close now, that Ada has full access to touch you. She gently cups your face in one hand, you lean into her touch, finally feeling the warmth you crave.
"This time will be different, I promise," she says, looking you directly in your eyes.
You rest your hand on her thigh, keeping a tasteful gap between your faces.
"Ada," you say her name with parted lips.
"Yes," she says, voice soft, stroking your cheek with her thumb.
"Come to bed," you say. It comes out desperate and needy, plainly, that's exactly what it is.
After so much distance, emotional and physical, you want her as close to you as possible.
"Are you sure?"
You nod against her hand, now looking only at her mouth. Her lips twitch upward. She pulls you in, pressing her lips against yours in a closed mouth kiss that can only be described as sweet. Not Ada's usual style, but still her all the same.
She stands, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you up with her. She keeps your hand in hers as she leads you back to the bedroom. You realize that this is looking a little familiar, a previous cycle.
"This doesn't mean you're fully forgiven," you say, as Ada's hand touches the bedroom door. "You still have to prove it to me."
"I know," she says.
"Good," you say, letting her lead you into the bedroom, to the edge of the bed.
You sit down, and look up at Ada, standing in front of you. You wonder where she went this time. Had she been sent out? Is that why it took so long for her to reach out? Had she been hurt?
You want to ask, but you know this is one answer you won't ever get. She couldn't tell you even if she wanted to. The way she's looking at you now tells you there's a lot she's not saying. You decide to trust that she'll tell you.
You reach out to her, brushing your fingers gently against her stocking-covered thigh. You move to push her dress up, but she stills your hand with a soft mm-mm.
"Are you okay?" you ask, looking up at her.
She chuckles mostly to herself, at you or the question, you're not sure. There's a soft sort of affection in her eyes as she brushes your hair away from your face.
"Yes," Ada says, still gently touching your face. "Let me do this for you, Sweet Girl."
Your jaw falls slack, the soft demand rewriting something in your brain.
"You don't have to, I can-" you cut yourself off at the sight of Ada dropping to her knees in front of you. "Oh. Okay."
Ada laughs low, looking up at you with beautiful brown eyes.
"I love how easily you get worked up," she says, smiling at you. "I'm just kneeling."
But she's not just kneeling. Ada tops, sure, but she rarely, if ever, submits. This feels like she's handing you some sort of power that you've never held with her before. You're gentle by nature, but you want to cradle this power in your hands. You want Ada to know that it's safe with you.
You scoot forward on the bed, leaning down to pull her into a sweet but heated kiss. She laughs in a way that can only be described as giddy, when you leave the bed, dropping to your knees without breaking at the lips.
You rake your hands through her hair, keeping her against you as she grips at your hips and ass. She moves her thigh between your legs, you body stutters at the contact, you gasp into Ada's open mouth. You roll your hips against her thigh. Ada's hands move against you to lift your shirt, she breaks the kiss to allow herself room to remove it fully.
Ada stops for a moment, admiring your bare chest, then her eyes drop to your underwear- pink with strawberries.
"How, mm," she toys with the lace trim. "Cute."
"Shh," you hush her, leaning back in, open-mouthed and greedy for more.
She meets you with just as much vigor, arms around you, grasping and tugging at exposed skin, pulling you so close that your bodies are completely flush against one another.
You find the zipper at the back of her dress, pulling it down as fast as you can while still keeping your movements gentle. Ada gets the hint, she pulls her arms out of the sleeves, allowing the fabric to fall and pool at her knees. You don't even look, lost in the taste of her tongue, but your hands explore. You recognize the bra underneath them just by feel. Black lace and unlined, you can feel her nipples hard underneath it, begging for attention. Before you can do anything about it, Ada changes your position, laying you down parallel to what is her side of the bed. The rug is soft under your back, you find yourself grateful that you vacuumed a couple of days ago.
Ada's tongue retreats from your mouth and her kisses move, wet pecks with minimal biting, down your neck to your collarbones. You look down just in time to see her look up at you, swirling her tongue around one of your nipples before taking it fully into her mouth. You sigh, keeping your eyes on her as you brush short strands of hair out of her face.
Through the sensation of Ada's mouth latched to you, you feel the slow drag of her fingers along your torso, before she reaches lower. She ghosts her fingers over your underwear, you lift your hips in a needy attempt to press further into her hand. She presses into you, you drop your hips when you realize her hand isn't going to leave you.
"Wet," she remarks before moving to give your other breast the same treatment.
You know how wet you are, uncomfortably so, you can feel it. You're so easy for her which is a fact both of you are very aware of. You've ended up in this position with her many times before. Usually Ada looks smug and proud, but tonight she studies your face with loving concentration. Every gasp, every jerky movement of your body, she catalogs it. She wants you to feel good, that much is obvious. More than that, every touch, lick, kiss, relays the same message that she spoke to you earlier. She wants to take care of you.
"Ada," her name comes out as a breath. She hums around your nipple in acknowledgment. "I want more, mm, I need you."
She presses one last soft kiss to your collarbone before moving further down your body. Ada isn't in a rush here, though you wish she were.
Your legs are spread for her, open, but she doesn't go in for the kill just yet. She kisses the top of your knee, then next to it on the side of your thigh. She taps your hip, signaling you to lift. She pulls your underwear up the incline of your thighs then down your calves, running her fingers across your skin the whole way.
Ada nudges your legs open further, to allow herself room to settle between them, laying on her stomach feet kicked up. Her arms snake under your thighs, she drags her hands along your sides before they finally come to a rest, nails digging lightly into your inner thighs. She looks down at your bare cunt, which you're sure is dripping with your arousal.
"So pretty," Ada mutters, barely loud enough for you to hear. Her hot breath against you makes you clench around nothing.
"Ada," her name comes out of your mouth with whiney emphasis on the uh sound. You look at her between your legs, brows knit, your heavy breaths come out like pleas.
"Oh, I know, pretty," Ada murmurs, keeping her eyes locked with yours as she leans down and presses a kiss to your pussy.
She closes her eyes and licks her lips, humming like you're the greatest thing she's ever tasted. You watch as genuine hunger for you takes over, effectively putting an end to her teasing.
Keeping her eyes on your face, Ada gives your clit one kiss, then another, before a couple of soft kitten licks. Your head falls back with a delicious moan, just as Ada seems to lose herself in you.
Ada wraps her arms around your lower torso, holding you. She flattens her tongue, licking from your hole to your clit twice before lightly latching to the bud. You pull in a sharp gasp, Ada hums against you.
She repeats this pleasant little pattern a few times before her laps at you become greedy. Teeth just barely graze, and light pain blends with pleasure. Her tongue periodically dips into you. Your breathing is all ragged gasps, your thighs and abdomen flex and relax in quick succession, body and mind unable to keep up with each other.
You try to grip the rugs short fibers, but your fingers find no purchase there. One of your hands comes up to wrap around the fabric of the bedskirt on the bed beside you, you pull at it, as your back arches off of the rug beneath you.
You look back down to Ada. You'd assumed her eyes were closed, but they're not. She's watching your every reaction, and acting accordingly. Every move she uses on you flawless, catered to you and only you.
The short hairs in front of her forehead have fallen, partially covering her eyes. You reach down to push them back, hoping to be able to ground yourself with a fist full of her hair, but Ada's hand meets yours before you get the chance. She laces your fingers together with hers, laughing against you at your need to grip. As you feel yourself being pulled closer and closer to release, you're sure your nails are leaving marks on her hand- not that Ada minds, she seems to be enjoying the show.
"Come on, baby," Ada says against you. The tone in her voice resembles something like begging. You clench at her voice- she moans. "You're so close." She's right, God, you are, and her words and their vibrations are only aiding in the process. "Cum for me, Pretty, I want it."
Seconds later your body all but folds in on itself. Eyes screwed shut, toes pointed, free hand groping at your own breast, your orgasm hits you so hard you can barely let out a real sound. It's all breathing and pathetic attempts at her saying name. Ada drinks up every bit of your cum as it leaves you, moaning at your taste like she's the one receiving. Just as the final shockwaves of your orgasm pass through you, Ada removes her mouth from you.
You can hear your pulse, as well as feel it throughout every inch of your body. Your tired eyes meet Ada's once again.
"Hm," she hums, satisfied upon analyzing your face.
Ada kisses her way up your body again, open-mouthed, but your sure most of the wetness against you is your own cum. Her face hovers over yours for a moment, she really looks at you, You reach up and brush her bangs out of her eyes. She kisses your temple before kissing your lips.
"I love the way you taste," she says, after pulling back and watching you lick your lips. "Don't you?"
The most you can offer her now is a weak chuckle while you try to regulate your breathing.
Ada moves off of you, laying on her back beside you. You cover your eyes with the back of your arm and focus on the air entering and leaving your lungs for a few moments.
Finally, you turn your head to look at her, she's already looking at you.
"Let me see your hand," you say, already reaching for it where it rests above the waist of her stockings. You hiss through your teeth when you see the marks on the back of her hand, red and irritated. "Sorry."
"Don't be," she says, there's the hint of a smile on her lips when you look back at her. She holds your hand once again.
You take a deep breath before speaking again. "Do you want me to return the favor?"
Ada shakes her head lightly, "I'd actually like to take a bath and just talk."
"Good idea, go run the water," you say, lightly tapping her side. "I'll go get wine."
"I've got it, pretty, you take a minute," Ada says, picking herself up off of the floor.
You shrug with a smile, covering your eyes with the back of your arm once again as Ada walks into the bathroom. Even though you know it's temporary, you allow yourself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of the running water.
I've been seeing so many posts about Leon on my dash and all I have to say is that I totally understand now when people say they wanna bite someone's bicep/arms.
like in Re9 Leon's arms look so scrumptious. i wanna bite down on his arm as he absolutely ruins me from behind..
cw: barest mentions of pet play (Ada calls you puppy once), mentions of being collared and having a leash, thigh riding/humping, dominant Ada, no explicit mention of gendered genitalia, one mention of being called "good girl"
a dull ache is beginning to settle into your knees as you stare up at Ada. she's lounged on the couch in your shared apartment, a glass of red wine in her hand as she swirls it around and takes a dainty sip. her other hand rests on her lap, fingers curled around the thin leather of a leash that attaches to the pretty matching collar around your neck.
it isn't often she gets to relax and enjoy herself so you decided to treat her this evening by trying something new. your mind was fuzzy as you shifted your weight on your knees, hoping to relieve the ache as you lean forward and rest your head on her lap. she smells good, flowery. idly, she sets her wine glass down and strokes your hair, the corners of her lips quirking upwards.
"You're being such a good girl for me, puppy." Her voice is a low purr as she finally looks down, tugging lightly on the leash just to hear the way your breath hitches.
she takes in the sight of you on your knees for her, eyes dazed. no doubt your face is warm and flushed. she can only imagine how wet you must be. probably dripping between your legs onto the floor by now.
"Come here. Since you've been so good for me," her voice purrs the words as she tugs your leash once more, urging you up into her lap.
she settles you over her thigh with strong arms, hands roaming down your body until they find purchase on your hips. with a whimper you shift your hips, breathing coming out in pants as her thighs grinds up deliciously between your thighs, right where you ache the most.
your foggy mind barely registers the praise she whispers in your ear as your body grows taut before finally sagging in release as you cum. she guides you through it with a lofty voice and firm hands on your hips, muscular thigh flexing beneath you.
you come down from your high slowly, registering her hands stroking your hair once more. you stay tangled up together on the couch in a hazy state of comfort and bliss, content to just be in the moment.
anyways. Alucard is on my mind again. i just need that man to reassure me he can take care of things while i wrap myself in a blanket burrito and sleep the day away ♡
if anyone is having a bad night, just know that you could have ended up stepping in wet sticky dog vomit in a shag carpet while trying to go to the bathroom. all while you are barefoot and only have your phone flashlight to light your way. and had just noticed your rabbit needed water so you were grabbing the bowl to fill it when you stepped in the vomit because you were so focused on doing something else 🥲🥲
I gotta be honest, I like the idea of Alucard being entirely sterile since he's a dhampir. like imagine it: he could cum inside of you as many times as he pleased and you'd never have to have the fear of getting pregnant eventually.
it sounds like a literal dream come true! he would be able to bend you over any surface in the castle, hands groping over your body as he thrusts into you from behind, fangs grazing across your back as he pants against your skin. he would be able to fill you with so much cum, watching as it drips out of your fluttering hole. he'd be able to push it back into you and force you to keep it inside all without fear of having a child as a consequence.
When THEY accidentally send you (p)🌽 link... (part 2)
When YOU accidentally send him a (p) 🌽 link....Here (part 1)
CW: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh fucking. Deep throating. Breeding kink. Masturbation. Praise kink. 🔞 MDNI 🔞
There are about 20 open tabs on your phone and a half finished list of new plushies you’ve been eyeing. It’s a problem. Your collection is already getting a bit out of hand, but there’s something about a new squishy companion that just makes the stress of your last mission melt away.
You’re scrolling through your favorite site, debating between a pastel jellyfish or a round, grumpy cat, when your phone buzzes with a text from Xavier.
Xavier: Found something. Thought it might look good on your bed.
You tap the link eagerly, expecting a picture of some ridiculously soft, oversized penguin or maybe a weirdly cute dragon. You’re already mentally carving out a space for it on your bed.
The link loads. You blink.
Then you blink again.
Your thumb freezes mid scroll. It is not a penguin. It is definitely not a dragon. It is an explicitVIDEO that makes your entire face turn red in approximately 0.5 seconds.
Just as the girl in the video lets out a soft moan, your phone vibrates again. This time, it’s a frantic succession of messages.
Xavier: Wait, did that go through?
Xavier: The link?
Xavier: Please tell me you didn't click that yet.
You look at the video one last time before quickly locking your phone and pressing the cool glass against your burning cheek.
🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟
He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The look in his deep blue eyes is heavy, dark, and entirely unapologetic.
The transition from his accidental text to both of you completely naked in your bed happens in less than 10 minutes. Because you’ve only been intimate for a few weeks, there’s still this electric, terrifying novelty to it, the way your heart hammers against your ribs when his hands touch your skin.
He’s behind you, his body acting as a warm, solid anchor. His skin is hot against yours, a seamless fit that feels like it was designed by the universe itself. But it’s what he’s doing, the agonizing patience of it that is pushing you toward the edge of madness.
He isn't fucking you. Not yet.
He's doing exactly what you saw on that video. He’s sliding his cock between your thighs, the slick, heavy length of him dragging slowly against you. Every single time he thrusts, the tip of him catches the little hood of your clit before dragging the lenght of his cock across your most vulnerable spot with a precision that feels soooo good.
"Xavie..." you moan, your voice breaking, a plea you can't quite finish.
"Shh," his breath is hot, uneven, smelling faintly of mint. His lips brush the sensitive curve of your neck. "Just breathe, bunny. Let it build."
He pulls back, nearly losing contact entirely, only to slide forward again, with enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.
"I've been thinking about this," he whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe, sending a violent shiver down your spine. "For months"
You let out a choked sob, head falling back against his shoulder. "You're so beautiful when you're desperate, you’re close, aren't you?"
His voice vibrates against your skin and the smile you can feel against your pulse point is nothing short of predatory. He knows. He’s always known exactly where you are, even when you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to find the words.
You try to answer, but your voice is trapped somewhere in the back of your throat, drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat. You don't speak, and he thrives on that silence. To him, your quiet isn't an absence, it’s an admission. It’s the honest, raw truth of a body that has been pushed past its limit and is now screaming for a release it can't quite grasp.
His hand slides down from your ribs to settle firmly on your waist. His grip is certain, unyielding and controlled anchoring you to the mattress so you can’t squirm away.
He presses a kiss to your neck. Once. Slow. Then again, lower, his lips grazing the curve where your shoulder meets collarbone. The heat of it enough to make you arch backward, your spine curving into him, while the dirty intent of his touch makes you clench around the empty air.
"Ask me, bunny," you try to find your voice, but all that comes out is a breathless hitch in your lungs. Seeing your struggle, he doesn't let you off the hook. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in your hair to gently but firmly tilt your head back toward him. He never breaks the rhythm, he angles his hips with precision, pressing the length of his cock harder against your clit, forcing a loud moan from your lips directly into his mouth.
"Use your words," he insists, his eyes dark and hooded, watching the way your expression fractures.
The words tumble out of you, wrecked and desperate, "I want to cum, Xavie... please..."
His lips crash against yours, but the sweetness is gone. He kisses you like his patience has finally grown teeth, hungry and sharp. His hand moves to your thigh, pressing down firmly to maximizing the friction, ensuring every single nerve ending is on fire, making sure you feel every bit of what you asked for.
The world simply ceases to exist. You both break at the exact same moment. You’re gasping, your hands instinctively flying to your own breasts, squeezing them as you chase the peak, your fingers digging into your skin for any extra stimulation you can find.
"There you are..." he whispers against your lips as he spills over your thighs, your cunt, and the damp sheets beneath you. He holds you there, pinning you to the moment, letting the aftershocks roll through you until your muscles begin to tremble into stillness.
When the world begins to drift back into focus, a languid warmth settling over your limbs, a realization begins to dawn on you. He didn't just give you an orgasm. He found a hidden part of you, the part that craves to be unraveled, the part that wants to be ruined slowly and meticulously and he taught it to answer to him, and him alone.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz
Caleb [14:22]: Found a recipe for a honey glazed salmon. Reminded me of that place we went to last week.
You’re supposed to be working on a pile of halfway finished reports on your desk but he’s been rambling about dinner for the past hour.
Caleb [14:23]: Let's try it tonight. Let me know if it looks okay to you.❤️
A link follows.
You tap it, expecting a colorful food blog or maybe one of those YouTube tutorials with a soft acoustic soundtrack. Your brain practically short circuits.
A VIDEO loads instantly. It’s not salmon. It's a girl, sprawled out on a bed, and there’s a man, looming over her as he... well, he's fucking her face. The girl is looking straight up at him, eyes glazed and heavy lidded, completely lost in it. The sound of the video starts to play before you can find the volume button.
"Oh my god," you whisper, frantically trying to close the tab.
Was this a joke? Or maybe a very, very subtle hint? Did the great Colonel Caleb actually just fumble the most embarrassing mistake of his entire life?
Bzzzz
Caleb [14:26]: Pips. The link was wrong. Ignore that. It was supposed to be a cooking blog. Please delete it.
You could pretend you didn't see a single thing and let him stew in his own embarrassment all day. You could let him suffer.
But then again... he did say he wanted to try something new tonight.
You type out a quick reply, heart racing just a little bit.
“The recipe looks good. Do you think we have all the ingredients?😉"
🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎
The dim light of the bedroom catches the violet of his eyes, making them look entirely too satisfied. He’s hovering over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, leaving you in a private universe where the only thing that exists is his weight and the heat of his cock.
His hands frame your face. "Look at me, baby,"
He guides himself to your lips and begins to slide in. He moves slowly, testing your limits, watching your eyes widen as you try to adjust.
"God, you look so good like this," he breathes, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "With your mouth so full of me..."
The praise makes your head swim and your throat tighten.
"I should have done this sooner... I should have stopped playing the gentleman and just taken what's mine."
His slow pace breaks, and he thrusts deeper, a sudden surge that hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water instantly, an involuntary gag catching in your chest when your body tries to protest the sudden fullness.
"Silly girl," he coos, not pulling back. He stays right there, buried deep "Don't fight it. Just breathe through your nose"
He waits until he sees your nostrils flare, until you take a shaky, shallow breath through your nose, eyes locking onto his.
The moment you manage it, the tension in his shoulders melt "Theeeere we go," he whispers, giving you one more deep, slow slide, making sure you feel every inch of him. "Such a fast learner. My perfect... fuck... perfect girl."
The need to see just how far you can push him takes over and instead of just taking him, you begin to draw him in, sucking your cheeks in slowly, creating tight pressure around him.
A groan rips from his throat and his hands, which were previously just guiding your head, suddenly dig into your hair, fingers knotting into the strands with a force that almost hurts.
"Fuck, Pips..." his head falls back for a split second before he snaps his gaze back to yours "I didnt teach you that..."
He loses the battle with his own restraint and his hips begin to move with punishing speed. Every time the tip of his cock hits the very back of your throat you can feel the involuntary reflex of your throat tightening and saliva begins to pool at the corners of your lips. It’s messy but it’s exactly what he wants.
"Look at you," he pants, reaching down to catch a stray drop of saliva and smearing it across your chin "So messy for me. You're dripping all over yourself because you can't get enough. You want it all, don't you?."
Your lungs are screaming, your chest heaving in search for oxygen, but you don’t care. The burning in your throat is nothing compared to the sight of him right now, his eyes blown wide, his jaw locked, his face twisted with a kind of agony and ecstasy that he’d never show anyone else.
He’s on the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs are trembling and he starts to pull away.
Your fingers dig into the hard, tensed muscles of his ass and with a sharp tug, you yank him back inside, slamming him against your face.
The sudden change in pressure snaps the last of his restraint. He doesn't fight you, he doesn't even try. He just collapses into the sensation, his entire body shuddering as he finally lets go.
You feel the first hot, thick burst of him erupt in the back of your throat, a sudden flood that makes you choke and gag, eyes watering.
"Fuck, I can't.. I... " he's shaking all over, his fingers bruising your scalp as he rides out the waves of release.
When he finally pulls away, he doesn't move far. He lingers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his eyes searching yours.
"You really won't let me have anything for myself, will you? he whispers, his voice rough and ruined. "You just have to take it all."
Your workday has been a total slog. Between the endless briefings at the Association and the exhaustion of keeping up with Wanderers, your brain feels like it’s been through a blender. All you can think about is getting home, kicking off your boots, and maybe if you’re lucky getting a moment of peace.
Until your phone buzzes in your pocket.
You pull it out, expecting a tactical update or maybe a nagging message from your supervisor, but it’s a text from Rafayel.
Rafayel: "My darling, my muse, my precious bodyguard, don't you dare go home and sleep yet” the text reads, followed by a string of dramatic, pouting emojis. “Remember I have an exhibition today! It’s a secret location, very exclusive, very avant garde. You simply MUST come by after your shift. It’s going to be breathtaking, just like you. Don't be late, or I might actually die of loneliness. Here is the location!" 👇
LINK
You smile, a little warmth spreading through your chest despite the fatigue. He’s so much, truly, but he has a way of making the mundane parts of your life feel colorful. You tap the link, expecting a Google Maps pin or a sleek digital invite to a high end gallery in Linkon City.
Instead, your screen loads a video.
You aren't looking at a gallery. You are looking at a naked woman perched on a chair, looking entirely too comfortable, while a man, in front of her, puts on a very intense performance. The camera zooms in just as he reaches the grand finale, a messy orgasm that ends up all over the woman's legs, stomach and breasts.
You stare at the screen. You stare at the ceiling. You stare at the wall.
Did he... did he just send you a porn link?
Your phone vibrates again. A second text. Then a third. A fourth.
Rafayel: “Did you see it? The lighting is so evocative, don't you think?”
Rafayel: “The composition of the colors is quite striking.”
Rafayel: “Wait. Why aren't you responding? Are you mesmerized by the art? It's okay, take your time, it's quite a lot to take in"
Then, a final text arrives, and the tone shifts instantly from "pretentious artist" to "absolute disaster."
Rafayel:"Don't look at it! Close it! Close the tab! Throw the phone into the ocean! Forget everything you saw! It was a glitch! A spacetime anomaly! A Wanderer attack on my phone! "
You can’t help it. A snort escapes you, followed by a full blown fit of giggles that makes your coworkers glance over in confusion. You quickly type back a single, teasing reply.
You: “The lighting was lovely, Rafayel. Very... evocative.”
The "typing..." bubble appears immediately. It stays there for an agonizingly long time.
Rafayel: “I am literally dying. Bury me in the sand. Don't you dare come to the exhibition. Actually, come. But don't look at me. I'm never leaving my studio again.”
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧
The exhibition was a triumph, of course. Rafayel was the star, basking in the praise of the elite, playing the part of the brilliant artist to perfection.
But now, the doors are locked, the lights are dimmed to a soft, amber glow and you aren't looking at his paintings anymore. You’re the centerpiece of a much more private gallery.
You’re perched on the edge of chair, your wrists pulled taut behind your back. He’d used a length of fine, crimson silk to bind them, tight enough to force your shoulders back and arch your spine, thrusting your chest forward, the cool air of the studio grazing your skin, making your nipples harden.
His hand is wrapped around himself, moving with a slow rhythm "You're staring, cutie," a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth "Is the view to your liking?"
You nod, looking up at him, licking your lips.
He lets out a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he grips himself. "I’ve spent my whole life trying to capture beauty on a flat surface. Trying to trap light and shadow and emotion in pigment and oil. But it's never enough. It’s always... static. It doesn't breathe. It doesn't react."
He moves closer, the heat from his body finally making contact with your open thighs. His gaze drops to your breasts, tracing the curve he’s forced you to present to him.
"But you..." He swallows hard, a low groan escaping his lips as he watches the way your chest heaves with every breath. "You are the only masterpiece that matters. I want to treat your skin like my finest silk and use your naked body as my own living canvas..."
He looks almost pained by need, his eyes wide and dark with a hunger that goes far beyond simple lust. He’s not just looking at a lover, he’s looking at his salvation.
"Every blush on your cheeks, every shiver that runs down your spine... that's the only art worth making."
His free hand moves to one of your breasts, thumb sweeping over your nipple with a pressure that is both worshipful and demanding. He watches the way your eyes flutter shut, memorizing the exact shade of your arousal.
"God, you're so beautiful it hurts," he whispers "Tell me you want it," the hand around his cock moves faster "Tell me you'll let me finish my work."
You don't make him wait. You lean forward as much as the silk allows, your voice a breathless rasp. "Fiinish it, Raf. Show me what you can do."
You can’t look away. You wouldn't even if you could.
A bead of translucent precum swells at the very tip of his cock, glistening like a misplaced jewel under the lights. The skin there is flushed a deep, angry rose, pulsing with the force of his arousal. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed and taut as he bites his lower lip to stifle the needy whimpers that threaten to spill from his lips.
He looks beautiful.
He’s close, so painfully close to the edge that you decide to push him.
Even with your arms bound, you find a way to arch your back further, thrusting your chest toward him in an unspoken invitation. You offer yourself to him, presenting your bare skin as a landing site for his release. "Give it to me. All of it."
The sound of your voice, the invitation in your tone, is the final blow to his crumbling resolve. His body jolts with the force of his release and you watch as the heavy, hot ropes of him arc through the air, splattering across the expanse of your breasts. The heat of it is startling, a wet warmth that makes your skin tingle.
The moment the tension snaps, the strength drains right out of his legs. There is no grace in it just the heavy, unceremonious thud of his knees hitting the floorboards right between your thighs.
He stays there, head bowed, hair falling over his eyes in a dark, damp mess. But then, slowly, so slowly, he lifts his gaze.
His eyes, blown wide and shimmering with liquid heat, find yours at the exact same moment your tongue sweeps out to lick a drop of cum from the corner of your mouth.
When your eyes finally lock, you see the exact second his breath hitches again.
His pupils are so dilated they almost swallow the color of his irises, and a fresh wave of heat, a visible crimson surges up his neck and into his cheeks. He stares at your mouth, watching the way your tongue retreats, his gaze tracing the wet glisten you left behind.
"God..." he groans, the word a broken fragment of a thought "You're going to ruin me completely."
The vibration of your phone against the marble countertop is enough to make you jump. You’ve been nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee for the last twenty minutes, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the Linkon City winter, when the screen lights up with his name.
Sylus
[Sylus]: There’s a private auction tonight. High stakes. It starts in an hour. I’ve been tracking that specific protocore for weeks.
[Sylus] : I’ll send you the catalog link. Take a look. Tell me if the energy readings look as tempting to you as they do to me.
You tap the blue hyperlink, ready to nerd out a little and give him the professional opinion he wants from you.
The video player loads, and you nearly drop your phone.
It isn't a protocore.
It's a VIDEO of a man sprawled across rumpled sheets, his chest heaving as a woman jerks him off. She isn't looking at a camera, she’s looking at him.
The sounds hits you next, the wet friction of her hand, the groans the man lets out, overstimulated.
You bite your lip, a nervous, hysterical little laugh bubbling up in your throat. You can almost see his expression if he knew, that slight, elegant tilt of his head, the way he’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose in a rare moment of genuine embarrassment.
With trembling fingers, you start to type a reply.
You: Sylus... unless this protocore is incredibly well endowed and prone to making loud noises, I think you sent the wrong link.
The silence that follows is agonizing. You stare at the "read" receipt, your thumb hovering over the screen, half expecting the phone to burst into flames from the tension. You’ve spent months navigating his moods, his riddles, and his terrifyingly intense presence, but you’ve never quite known how to handle a moment where the power dynamic shifts so abruptly.
The little bubbles appear. He’s typing.
Is he going to ignore it? Is he going to double down with some devastatingly smooth line that will make you want to crawl under the rug?
A moment later, the notification pings.
Sylus:It seems my finger slipped. Or perhaps my subconscious is simply being more honest than my conscious mind intended.
A few seconds later, another message follows, one that feels much more like the man who watches you sleep with predatory tenderness.
Sylus: I'll be at your door in twenty minutes. Let's not bother with the protocore I think we've found something much more interesting to bid on.
You’ve been at this for thirty minutes and your already obsessed.
There is something intoxicating about the power you hold right now. You never realized that teasing a man like Sylus could be this much of a rush. His entire frame shudders, his muscles coiling like a spring about to snap. He’s right on the edge, his breath hitching and just when you think he’s about to break, you pull away.
Your leg is hooked firmly over one of his heavy thighs, a grounding weight that keeps his legs spread wide for you, exposing him completely to your whims. He’s using his Evol to wrap around his own wrists, binding his hands so he can’t reach out and grab you. He’s forcing himself to endure the torture you’re inflicting, all because he wants this. He wants to feel every second of the ache.
He also looks wrecked. It’s a sight you don't get to see often. Fine beads of sweat are beginning to glisten along his hairline and his eye is glowing a dangerous crimson, tracking your every move.
You lean forward, your hair brushing against his stomach, and as your mouth latches onto one of his nipples he throws his head back against the pillows, his entire body vibrating with the force of his loud groan.
You lift your hand, slowly, dragging your tongue across your entire palm in a long lick just to make him watch, just to make him feel the anticipation. Then, you slide your hand down, finally wrapping your fingers around his cock again.
His eyes roll back into his head when you return your mouth to his nipple, sucking with punishing pressure.
“Please... fuck... Please, kitten. Put me out of my misery.
You feel him tense again, his muscles turning to granite beneath your touch. You stop again.
The sudden absence of your warmth makes him let out a frustrated sound, but you aren't done playing yet. Instead of a full stroke, you just use your five fingers to tease the very tip of him, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive head, over and over again.
“You’ve been so good, Sy,” you coo, your voice a honeyed purr against his skin. “Do you think you deserve to cum?”
“Please, sweetie,” he chokes out. You can see his knuckles turning white as his fingernails dig deep into the palms of his hands “I’ve been... so good...”
He’s lost. The great Sylus, the man who sees everyone's deepest desires, is currently a slave to his own. He probably doesn't even realize he's begging.
"Should I keep you like this all night?" you ask, watching his eyes widen, pupils blown so large they swallow the iris. "It's what you wanted, after all, wasn't it?"
He opens his mouth, the words of a fresh plea already forming on his lips, but you don't give him the chance to speak. Your hand suddenly drops, gripping the thick base of his cock with a firm hold, and you begin to stroke him fast, hard, and relentless.
“I won’t, though,” you whisper, leaning in close so your breath fans over his ear, your voice dripping with a playful, dominant heat. “Because you've been such a good boy.”
The moment the praise leaves your lips, something in him snaps, his entire body arching off the bed in a violent, beautiful spasm.
Even when his muscles quiver with the aftershocks, you keep your hand moving, stroking him to overstimulation, pushing him right past the edge of pleasure.
The energy bindings that were holding his wrists apart simply vanish, dissolving into thin air when his willpower finally snaps.
The air is knocked from your lungs as your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and suddenly, the man who was just begging is the man who is commanding.
He’s over you, his large hands pinning your wrists to the pillows on either side of your head.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" his nose brushes against yours, his breath smelling faintly of the cherry wine he loves so much. "Playing with me like a toy. Testing how much a man can take before he loses his mind."
His heavy, still sensitive cock slides between your thighs, a blunt reminder of exactly how much you just put him through. He looks absolutely lethal.
"You've had your fun, kitten," he murmurs, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to let you know he's in total control now. "Now its my turn to see just how much you can take."
Zayne had been obsessing over that new bakery just a few blocks from your place, the kind of place that smells like heaven and costs way too much. He was mid text, rambling about the sourdough starter and the specific crumb structure of their croissants (of course he was), but he mentioned he’d send over the full menu link so you could decide on a weekend treat.
"Wait, let me send the link. They have a seasonal pastry list you'll love"
LINK
You tapped the blue link eagerly, expecting pictures of glazed danishes or maybe a list of gluten free muffins.
It was not a muffin.
It was a very loud, very explicit video of a man wrecking a woman with backshots, pulling out only for her to rip the condom off his cock so he could fuck her raw.
You: Zayne, there are no pastries in that link! There is only... a man. And a girl. And a very missing condom!
Zayne: ...
Zayne: Oh.
You: “Oh”? That’s all? You just sent me a full blown porn video in the middle of the afternoon!
Zayne: Stop. Please. I am currently in the middle of a ward round. A nurse just tried to look at my phone.
You: [Sends a laughing emoji]
Zayne: I'm coming over later. We are going to that bakery. And we are not talking about that "menu" until we have had at least two espressos. To settle my nerves.
You: Are you bringing the condom? Just kidding! Don't kill me!
Zayne: 🙄
🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺
The bakery was a lost cause. The sourdough was forgotten, the espresso was unbrewed, and the only thing "rising" in your apartment was Zayne's cock the moment he walked in and saw the way you were looking at him, flushed, eyes hazy, and, quite frankly, a mess.
Now, you were bent over the edge of your bed, your fingers digging into the mattress as he held you from behind.
"Zaynie, please!" you whimpered, your voice cracking. You were desperate, begging him to just stop being so careful, to just let go and give you what that video had promised. "Just... Take it off, Please!"
His hands gripped your hips with a strength that promised bruises. "Just because you’re on the pill doesn't mean the statistical probability of a mishap is zero. It’s... fuck... it's about risk management."
"Even in a committed relationship," he continued, his words punctuated by the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin, "one must account for... ah, god... hormonal fluctuations and the ... the unpredictability of the human reproductive system. It's not just about pregnancy, it's about...shit...it's about hygiene, and the prevention of... of unnecessary... fuck, you feel so good."
He was losing it. The doctor was losing the battle against the man. He was supposed to be lecturing you on biological safeguards, but the way he was cursing under his breath low, dirty words that he’d never say in the hospital halls told a different story.
"You're being... so difficult," he groaned, his fingers moving to your waist, pulling you back harder against him. "Trying to... to bypass all the... damn it... the precautions. Do you have any idea what you're doing to my concentration?."
He leaned forward, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "Stay still. Let me... let me take care of this properly. Fuck, if you keep making those sounds, the condom is going to be the least of our worries."
"Who cares about the... the statistics, Zayne!" you gasped, your forehead pressed against the cool sheets. "Just... fuck, just give it to me! It’s just us, isn't it?
You were rambling, throwing out half baked excuses about how you will feel "more connected" or how the latex was a "distracting from the sensory input" basically using his own medical vocabulary against him just to get what you wanted. You were cursing, too, your language losing all its usual politeness as the friction and the heat drove you toward a breaking point.
Then, suddenly, the fullness vanished.
"Why did you stop?" you demanded, your voice small and wounded, eyes searching his. "Zayne, why did you... "
He was hovering over you, his chest heaving, his hair mussed in a way that was entirely uncharacteristic of the composed man you knew. He looked down at you with an expression that was almost exasperated, that specific, "are you actually serious right now?" look he gave you when you forgot your keys or ignored his health advice.
He didn't need to say the words. You lunged for it, your fingers trembling as you gripped him, ripping the condom off.
The moment he slid back into you, skin on skin, the sensation was nothing short of transcendental.
" Fuck!" you breathed out.
"God, finally," he growled back.
The sight of your cunt clinging to his cock was enough to shatter even the most disciplined mind. Zayne, the man who could maintain a steady hand while repairing a human heart, lost his grip on reality. The friction, the warmth, and the intimacy of being inside you without any barrier sent him over the edge far faster than he ever thought possible.
He stiffened and with a few deep thrusts that felt like they were reaching your throat he broke. A sound between a moan and a curse escaped him as he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.
When he pulled out Zayne wasn't looking at your face. He was staring, almost hypnotically, downward. His gaze was fixed on the junction of your thighs, watching with a quiet, intense fascination as the evidence of his release, thick and pearly, slowly leaked from your plump pussy, tracing a slow path down your skin. He looked mesmerized.
"You know," you said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "for a man so obsessed with 'risk management' and 'preventative measures'..." You paused looking at his flushed face. "Your breeding kink is really showing, Doctor."
Gumbo – From Bantu kingombo (okra), brought by enslaved Africans and became the name of the Creole stew thickened with okra.
Goober – From Kikongo nguba, the Bantu word for peanut that entered American English via enslaved Africans.
Yam – From West African languages (e.g., Wolof nyami, "to eat"), brought over during the slave trade and adopted into Southern cuisine.
Banjo – From a Bantu root (mbanza), the instrument was crafted by enslaved Africans based on West African string instruments.
Bogus – Likely from Hausa boko-boko (deceitful, fraudulent), entering American English through African American speech in the 19th century.
Juke (box/joint) – From Gullah juke (rowdy, disorderly), derived from Wolof dzug (to live wickedly), later attached to roadside bars.
Tote (to carry) – From West African languages (e.g., Kikongo tota, "to pick up"), recorded in Gullah before spreading to mainstream English.
Dig (to understand) – From Wolof degg (to understand), popularized by jazz musicians in the 1930s after entering English through AAVE.
Jazz – Possibly from West African or Creole slang for energy/sex, first documented in AAVE in Chicago around 1912.
Okay (OK) – Though its origin is debated, strong evidence traces it to West African languages (e.g., Wolof waw kay) via enslaved Gullah speakers.
Hip/Hep – From Wolof hipi (to open one's eyes, to be aware), entering jazz slang in the early 1900s before going mainstream.
Hepcat – A compound of "hep" + "cat" (jazz slang for a person), literally meaning "one who has his eyes open" in West African-influenced jazz culture.
Jazz, Blues & 1940s–60s Era
Cool (as in fashionable/calm) – Originated in jazz circles, likely from saxophonist Lester Young, and entered mainstream via West African aesthetic concepts of composure.
Cat – A jazz-era term for a skilled musician or cool person, derived from West African-influenced jive talk.
Crib – Jazz slang for a house or apartment, popularized in the 1940s before becoming mainstream in the 1990s.
Hokum – AAVE slang for nonsense or BS, used in blues and jazz before being adopted more widely.
Diss – Short for "disrespect," coined in AAVE and popularized through hip-hop in the 1980s and 1990s.
Bad (meaning good) – From AAVE, where inversion of meaning creates emphasis (something so "bad" it's actually good), used since early jazz era.
Jive – AAVE slang for deceptive talk or a style of jazz dancing, used by Cab Calloway in his 1930s Hepster Dictionary.
1970s–90s (Hip-Hop & Pre-Internet Era)
Homeboy/Homegirl – AAVE for a close friend from one's neighborhood, popularized in hip-hop and later shortened to "homes" in casual speech.
Dope (meaning great) – Shifted from "stupid" in standard English to "excellent" in AAVE during the 1980s hip-hop era.
Props – Short for "proper respects" in AAVE, used in hip-hop to acknowledge skill or achievement before entering mainstream slang.
Word (as in "I agree") – AAVE interjection ("Word!" or "Word is bond") meaning "I'm telling the truth," derived from Nation of Islam teachings.
Phat (meaning cool/great) – AAVE acronym believed to stand for "Pretty Hot And Tempting," though likely an invented backronym; popularized in 90s hip-hop.
The Bomb – AAVE phrase for something excellent or top-quality, widely used in hip-hop lyrics before mainstream adoption.
Def – AAVE slang for "excellent," popularized by Run-DMC's "King of Rock" and 80s hip-hop culture.
Fresh – AAVE for stylish or excellent, used in early hip-hop and 80s pop culture before spreading globally.
Wack – AAVE for "bad, inferior, uncool," popularized in hip-hop and later mainstream youth speech as the opposite of "cool."
Hella – AAVE intensifier meaning "very" or "a lot of," originating in Oakland/Bay Area AAVE in the 1970s-80s.
Cap / No Cap – AAVE meaning "lie" and "no lie," popularized by Bay Area rap in the 2010s, derived from "capping" (exaggerating).
