#top!reader

[pervertedaydreams]

premise: naoya is a fucking loser who doesn't like your wife because he secretly wants to be her

it was no secret that naoya zenin saw women as less than. any and every individual from the opposite sex that he's come across has immediately been deemed in his mind as replaceable and unimportant. a useless waste of space that has no ulterior motive aside from serving and breeding offspring.

however, amongst the women he has met in his lifetime, he especially hated your wife. there wasn't even an actual reason for it as far as anyone knew. the lady hadn't even spoken a word to him before! yet, his disdain was as clear as day whenever she did as much as step foot in the same room as him. the whole grudge he had against them was unreasonable and just plain ridiculous to anyone that saw it.

furthermore, if he were to be asked about it, the sorcerer would immediately deny it. he'd wave off any questions that brought to attention the dirty glare he was sending her way or the noises of disapproval that would be loudly made by him whenever the two of you showed any sort of affection for each other.

he absolutely didn't feel any way about it. nope, not one bit. naoya didn't care about the way you lightly had your big, calloused hand placed around the curve of her hip. or the way that you'd give her a kiss on the forehead—or worse, her lips—before dismissing yourself to a meeting with the higher-ups of the zenin clan. why the hell would he care about those things anyway?

his habit of walking around your part of the estate at night 'to get some water' also didn't mean anything. the way he'd slow down his steps to hear you fucking that worthless whore through the walls was just pure coincidence, and it was his bad luck to have passed by right when it was happening. even if he'd been a 'victim' of the noise more than ten times already, all those were by accident, he swore!

when he took it a step further and actually peeked through the unsealed hole of the door leading into your bedroom, he didn't see anything wrong with it either. why would it be there if you didn't want people snooping in on the area? nonetheless, it still meant nothing. not when he witnessed you relentlessly pounding into your poor wife's puffy pussy, who was idly begging for you to slow down because she couldn't take any more. not when he shoved a hand into his pants and rubbed his leaking cock with the same speed at which you were thrusting into her. 

"I could handle him so much better than that slut," he'd whisper to himself, arm steadily stroking the throbbing flesh in his hand. "if it was me in her place, I'd never cry; I would take it for so much longer than she ever can." naoya would claim that he's only spouting those things because he's looking down on your wife and her lack of composure, but when his own hole starts to pulse with need too, he can't come up with a reason to excuse that. 

when you finally calm down and call it a night is when it hits naoya the strongest, though. because while you are now starting to clean up your exhausted wife, peppering her with kisses and praise for taking you so well, he's left with nothing but a cramp going up his forearm from masturbating and a dirty hand layered with his own fluids.

why the hell does she deserve to be treated so delicately while he's forced to go back to his room and silently wash himself clean? she's just a woman; once you were done relieving yourself, you should've left her to deal with the aftermath and gone to his part of the estate. she's weak and irrelevant; she didn't deserve all of your undivided attention. more important people deserved it. more important people like him.

however, until the day comes that you realize that, he'll just endure her existence to the best of his capabilities.

ps: here's a small piece of writing to show I'm not dead ✌ I've been busy so I haven't gotten on here as much but I'ma try and see if I can make a routine for myself to post more consistently

also, I normally don't like writing for one fandom back to back cause I want to expand my audience, but with the s3 of jjk coming out I might end up making a whole fanfiction for the anime 🙈 DON'T hold me to it tho, ya'll know how I get about commitment

[349kj]

— ✧ thinking about kryptonian!reader and dick grayson...

dick's sprawled out on your bedsheets, a long leg hooked over your shoulder, body bent in half in a manner only possible for dick grayson, while you pound into him from above. you’re only using a fraction of your power, but for him, it feels like you're pulverizing and then sewing his insides back together at the same time.

every time you harshly thrust into dick’s wet hole, he lets out an embarrassing half moan, half wheeze, but it doesn’t seem to deter you, keeping up your steady strokes. 

“fuck,” dick cries out, when a particularly hard thrust makes your cock hit his prostate directly. he moves one of his hands braced up against the headboard down to a sensitive, stiff nipple. he twists and tugs at it hard enough to make his mouth drop open in pleasure and moan out loudly again. dick’s hole is messy and puffy and frothily white from your past three or four (and fuck, he’s so gone he can’t even remember how many times you came in him) loads. 

you pant heavily above him, and the look on your face is worth the nasty bruises he’ll probably have on his hips where you’re gripping them tightly (you’re lucky he loves you because that is going to make patrolling tonight such a bitch).

the wet plap! of your thighs and his ass colliding is downright fucking obscene, and holy shit, that’s probably one of the hottest things he’s ever heard. 

dick clenches down on your cock, making you groan. you remove one of your hands from his hips to cup his cheek, leaning down to sloppily kiss his open mouth. it’s more of a wet, messy gliding of lips than it is a kiss, but it’s hot as fuck and dick’s going to come soon so he doesn’t care. 

one of your hands moves from his hip to smack his ass. dick’s eyes roll up into the back of head, and he gasps in surprise. 

“you like that, baby?” you pant. 

“fuck yeah, i love it,” dick groans back. 

he cries out when you do it again, this time with your other hand. “mm, I love this pretty hole,” you groan, “it’s all mine, right? my hole to do whatever I want with.” 

“s… shit, yeah, s’all fucking yours, baby... oh, god, fuck me…”

“yeah? you want me to fuck you? fuck you so hard that you forget your own damn name?” your pounding speeds up, and your strokes grow shorter. dick automatically grinds down onto you to meet your thrusts. you reach down between your sweat slick bodies and tug at dick’s throbbing cock. dick’s abdomen tenses up, and he can feel his orgasm approaching.

he nods dumbly, now unable to make any sounds other than moaning and whimpering. you withdraw the other hand on his hip to grasp the headboard roughly, allowing yourself more leverage to fuck dick harder–something that didn’t even seem possible at this point. 

“f–fuck, i love you so much, dick,” you moan out loudly, and dick fucking loses it. 

he comes with a shout, back arching up and painting long stripes of thick, white cum across both of your stomachs. “love you…” he murmurs over and over as he rides out his orgasm on your cock.

your mouth drops open in pleasure as you continue to thrust sloppily into dick, hand above him on the headboard squeezing down harder. the burn of overstimulation is painful yet at the same time feels so good, but dick doesn’t have the energy to let out anything except for satisfied sighs and low gasps. 

your hips stutter to a stop, pressing into him as close as you can. hot, thick liquid floods inside of dick, and he gasps, tears pricking at his eyes. you keep thrusting in and out of dick, slower now, riding out the rest of your orgasm. wood splinters and cracks above him. wait—what?

with furrowed brows and a dazed expression, dick looks up and holy shit. 

you broke his headboard. 

wood sticks up and out underneath your hand, and dick, momentarily forgetting your invulnerable skin, winces at the thought of never ending splinters. you wouldn’t have even noticed in your fucked out and hazy mind, but dick suddenly going quiet makes your brows furrow in confusion and you look up as well. 

you gape and snatch your hand away from dicks headboard, looking down at dick with a pout and a guilty expression.

“shit, baby i’m sor–” dick cuts you off, a hand rising to snake around your neck and pull you down into a proper kiss. it’s slow and gentle now that the heat of the moment is gone, your lips moving with dicks automatically, as if you had done this a thousand times before–because you had.

you break away slightly, enough to murmur against his lips, “i’m sorry, i’ll buy you a new one.”

dick smiles and shakes his head. “it’s ok, you don’t have to,” he whispers back.

you sigh and pull completely away from dick, slowly sliding out of him with a wet pop. dick winces at the uncomfortable feeling in his ass as you flop down on your stomach beside him. 

you both lie in silence for a moment before you sigh and get up, heading towards the bathroom. dick absentmindedly appreciates the view of your ass as you walk away. 

you come back a little bit later with a wet washcloth and you begin cleaning dick and yourself up. once you’re done, you toss the washcloth in the general direction of the dirty laundry hamper (you miss by the way, which dick slightly cringes at). 

laying down on the bed again, this time on your back. you turn toward dick and he knows what you're about to say before you even open your mouth. dick sits up and leans over you, pressing his lips against yours again in a sweet kiss. he draws back and grins lazily at you. 

“it’s ok,” he says again. “don’t worry about it.” 

you frown but keep quiet. dick notices your eyes starting to flutter shut. 

“tired?” he asks.

you nod and hum, eyes finally shutting.

dick lays back down next to you on his side, hooking a leg over your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. he sighs heavily as he adds buy new headboard to his mental to-do list.

— ✧ first time writing smut guys kinda scared 🙈

[hurlingdown]

tags. dom top! reader, sub male character. sadistic!reader, naïve!character. dacryphilia, yandere/possessive behaviour, rough sex, ownership, objectification, praise kink.

in which you slow it down . . . and make it bouncy. 

the sweat makes it hard to grip onto your bare shoulders, your skin hot and sticky under his touch, but he needs the leverage if he’s going to survive this. he cries out, loud and needy, the iron clasp you have on his waist making it impossible to escape the storm of pleasure that forces its way in with every single thrust. 

“my beautiful, sweet boy. taking me so well.” you’re kissing every inch of his face, purple hickeys blooming all over his neck, carelessly pressing bruises into his battered body and marking him up like territory. “you were made for me, pretty doll. don’t you see? you were made so i could fit inside you.” 

and there you go again, purring honey into his ear, low-spoken words stained with heat and sin. he doesn’t know what you’re saying, he doesn’t care what. just knows you’re using him like he’s some sort of human-sized fleshlight, sturdy palms pushing and pulling at him like he’s a piece of dough, like this is a fucking pottery class you’re attending and not sex. he sobs loudly, tears dribbling down his cheeks in big fat globs and you’re not even giving him time to catch his breath before he’s being lifted again. 

one thing he’s learnt is that the emptiness never lasts long. he doesn’t even dare breathe. only whispers the numbers under his breath like you’ve told him to. one . . . two . . . and three. 

and just as promised, your cock slides into him like a bull charging into a ring, penetrating him like it belongs inside; finally nestled in his sloppy, ruined hole like you have the right to call him home. it almost hurts when the tender meat of his ass bounces hard on the front of your thighs, and you only laugh when he cries harder. 

he sniffles and whines out ‘you meanie!’ before burying his face into your chest, but it’s hardly a protest. after all, you’re the only one that can take care of his body like this, and you’re the only one who ever will.

to repay you for your kindness, he’ll gladly take on any punishment you give him. just like the good, sweet boy you tell him he is. 

masterlist!

[pastelclovds]

invincible is dragging me back by the ankles

thinking about a human!reader who has lived a pretty decent, normal existence. at least, as normal as it could be with all the hero's trying to exterminate world ending threats daily, and leaving major cities in ruins afterwards. the death of the guardians made the threats worsen over time.

one day, as you were taking your usual midnight stroll, you were stopped by the one and only, omni-man. his only excuse? he said and i quote.

“human, it has come to my attention that you’re releasing strange, aphrodisiacal pheromones; and it has become a problem for me.”

you blink once, twice, thrice, and you’re eyes widened as you finished processing his sentence. you were releasing sexy pheromones?? where was it during your days in college? your vision on omni-man’s flushed face trails down to his pelvic region, where his ragging boner was making itself known beneath his suit.

cue to nolan dragging you to an empty alleyway, stripping you both butt naked, and riding you until you left his hole gaping and filled to the brim with your cum. he let out an uncharacteristic, longing moan as he painted your chest in white.

turns out he’s been wanting you for a while ever since he first caught whiff of your scent that one afternoon a week ago as he was defeating a kaiju.

as for the “aphrodisiacal pheromones” you seem to unknowingly release daily: it only seems to affect nobody else but nolan. you don’t have a problem with it though, as long as you continue to fuck the number one super “hero,” you don’t need anything else.

that’s until mark appears before you with an embarrassed grin and a hard on of his own. then his other variants appeared like beasts in heat, and now conquest. yeah, you’re a viltramite magnet.

[glorestarz]

YO I’m the free use anon)?) if I did set it to anon anyways. Just wanted to add on to my previous ask because it automatically got sent.

Your writing has me hooked and I thought it’d be cool to send you an ask. If you decide to do it, let loose and do whatever you want with it!

enter— your pretty house husband !!

status: edited + proofread

synopsis: your friends come over for a game night, and you can’t help but want to show him off.

word count: 3k

cw: porn with no plot, AMAB reader, FTM char (AFAB terminology used), established relationship, dom! reader, top!reader, sub!char, bottom!char, free use, exhibitionism, voyeurism, pussy slapping, fingering, praise kink, possessiveness.

note: thank you so much for the request! i hope it met your expectations! 🫶

the living room buzzes with laughter and the clatter of dice as your friends settle in, but your attention keeps drifting to him.

he—your beautiful, obedient boy, your pretty house husband, the perfect display of submission and want—moves through the kitchen with practiced ease: refilling glasses, offering snacks, wiping crumbs from the counter with a gentle, almost absentminded grace that makes your chest tighten and your cock throb.

he’s meticulous, always making sure every glass is full, every snack perfectly arranged, every detail attended to just the way you love. the house sparkles under his care—pillows fluffed, candles lit, the faint scent of his favorite cookies wafting from the kitchen. he anticipates your needs, bringing you your favorite drink before you even ask, checking that you’re comfortable, giving you that sweet, adoring smile that says he lives to please you.

the curve of his ass as he bends over the table is a private invitation, a promise, making you shift in your seat and clench your fists to keep from dragging him into your lap right there.

every time he moves it’s for you, whether he knows it or not—every flick of his wrist, every dimpled smile, every time the hem of his shorts rides up, showing off the soft swell of his thighs and the barest hint of his pussy beneath the fabric.

he tucks stray hair behind his ear, cheeks pink, and his eyes dart to you—always checking, making sure you want for nothing, and always craving your attention.

you do notice—every detail, every shiver, every unconscious arch of his back that presses his ass out for you to admire.

his shirt clings to him just right, outlining the curve of his waist and the soft skin you want to mark up all over again, and you don’t miss how the fabric of his shorts hugs the fullness of his thighs, the hint of wetness darkening the inseam.

he’s so soft, so pretty, and when he fusses over napkins or straightens a stack of games, you know he’s doing it for your praise.

"do you need anything else, love?" he asks quietly, voice gentle and eager as he leans closer. the question is for you, but his eyes flick to your friends, as if hoping they, too, will notice just how attentive he is.

you grin, letting your hand brush his hip. "you're perfect, baby. keep showing off for me."

he blushes deeper, ducking his head as he returns to his tasks, a little smile tugging at his lips.

when he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips linger a second too long, and his fingers skim your waist as if asking you to claim him. sometimes he leans in so close you catch the faint sweetness of his skin, the unique scent of him and his soap of choice, and you wonder if your friends can see the flush on his cheeks, the evidence of your teeth on his neck just visible where his collar falls open.

later, as he passes you another drink, one of your friends jokes, "careful, he'll spoil you. wish mine took care of me like that."

you smirk, pulling him gently into your lap for a second. "maybe you should take notes."

he laughs, barely above a whisper, "i like taking care of you."

every time he glances at you, it’s a plea to be seen, to be shown off—your boy, your house husband, your needy little thing.

you adore how he blushes under your gaze, how he soaks up your praise, desperate to be recognized as yours, his ears burning pink when the others tease him about being the perfect host.

you want everyone to see how lucky you are, how much you crave him, how you’d bend him over the kitchen table or the back of the couch at any opportunity—spread him open, mouth on his pussy, tongue buried deep until he’s shaking, sobbing, begging, just to remind him—and everyone else—who he belongs to.

he’s yours. he wants the world to know it, and you’ll never tire of letting him put himself on display.

your friends sometimes complain, half-joking and half-envious, about the way you and he disappear together at gatherings or the not-so-innocent marks he tries to hide the next day.

they tease you for being insatiable, for how you can’t seem to keep your hands off him even when company’s over, for the way you look at him like you’re always moments from dragging him away.

sometimes you catch them rolling their eyes or making snide comments about your lack of self-restraint, but you only feel a surge of pride—why should you hide your desire, your luck, the way he’s yours in every way?

what a useless thing to do.

you want them to see, to know just how thoroughly you adore him, how much he craves your attention and how gladly he gives himself to you.

there’s a part of you that wants to show off, to let everyone witness the way he melts for you, the way you can make him blush and squirm with just a look or a whispered word.

their complaints only make you bolder, eager to prove that what you have with him is something worth envying, worth flaunting, a love and hunger so intense it can’t—and shouldn’t—be hidden.

you want them to imagine what it’s like when you pull him onto your lap and make him ride you, slow and deep, until he’s shaking and sobbing into your shoulder—how his pussy clenches around you, greedy for every inch, how you hold him open and watch him drip all over your cock, gasping as you fuck him through wave after wave of needy pleasure.

you want them to know how he begs for you to fill him up, how he whimpers for your tongue, your fingers, desperate for the stretch and the praise, all the filthy words that make him come undone.

you want them to imagine the nights where you bend him over the kitchen counter or pin him against the wall and fuck him hard without so much as a word, where his cries echo through the house, and you make sure every mark you leave is one he’ll wear with pride the next day.

you want your friends to see, to really understand, how you own him—how he’s yours to tease, yours to ruin, yours to show off however you please. he’s the perfect display, your favorite prize, and you’d let the world watch if it meant they’d know just how beautiful, how desperate, how absolutely wrecked he is for you every single night.

and you notice it—the way your friends shift in their seats, the way their eyes linger, the flush on their cheeks or the subtle bulge in their pants betraying just how much watching turns them on.

sometimes you catch them glancing away, embarrassed to be caught, but you know they’re imagining what it would be like to have him, to see him come undone for them the way he does for you.

their hands sometimes drift to their laps, knuckles pale as they try to discreetly adjust themselves, biting back groans. they're not sneaky with it at all. the gall, really.

you see the hunger in their eyes, the way their lips part, breaths shallow, as they witness the two of you together.

tonight, you can’t help yourself. you'd indulge it.

when the conversation grows loud and everyone is focused on the board, the urge becomes too strong to resist.

you slide your hand around his waist, fingers curling possessively against his soft skin, and tug him gently further into your lap, right there in front of your friends.

at first, he freezes—shocked, flustered, his breath catching as he processes the sudden intimacy.

you steady him with a firm hand on his hip, guiding him to straddle you.

his cheeks burn as your friends notice and laugh, egging you on with teasing whistles and catcalls, their playful jeers mixing with the nervous energy between you.

"damn, get a room!" someone jeers, but you just smirk and hold him tighter.

"nah, i like it here," you say, voice low but clear. "want everyone to see how pretty he is for me."

your hands wander boldly, squeezing his bare thighs as his shorts ride up, the muscles beneath your fingers tensing with each touch.

you press kisses to his neck, lips skimming over flushed skin, and you savor the faint, shivery whimper he lets out.

from where he straddles you, knees bracketing your hips, his back arches, chest rising and falling with fast, shallow breaths.

your friends can’t help but stare; his shirt has ridden up, exposing the soft curve of his waist, the marks you’ve left behind from earlier.

you shift him so he’s facing the room, to his surprise, straddling your lap with his back pressed tight to your chest, every inch of him on display for your friends.

you push his legs wide, planting your hands firmly on his inner thighs, keeping him open.

his shorts barely cover anything now, riding up so high that the soft skin of his inner thighs is completely exposed, and you let your friends catch every trembling breath, every flush across his cheeks.

"what're you doing?" he whines.

you whisper in his ear, low and teasing, letting everyone else hear: "let them look, baby. you're perfect like this."

with a slow, deliberate motion, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and pull them down over his hips, letting them slide to mid-thigh.

the room falls silent as you expose him—soft, pretty, dripping for you—his thighs spread wide and nothing left to hide.

the flush on his face deepens, lips parted as he sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting between your friends and your hand.

for a moment, you pause, letting the anticipation build, then you take his hand and guide it between his own thighs, urging him to spread himself open for the audience.

far from shrinking away in shame, instead, with trembling fingers, he obeys, like you knew he would, pulling himself wide, revealing his slick, needy entrance to everyone watching, his breath coming in fast, shuddering gasps as he shows off the most intimate part of himself.

the soft pink folds part easily under his fingers, glistening with arousal, the delicate rim fluttering each time he breathes or you whisper in his ear.

his entrance is flushed and swollen, slick with need, the inner walls pulsing and glossy in the light—so wet you can see the sheen of it catching on his knuckles.

it’s a beautiful, obscene sight: the way his hole clenches and relaxes, shiny and inviting, on full display for everyone in the room.

you keep a possessive arm wrapped around his waist, whispering filthy encouragement into his ear while your other hand joins his, rolling your thumb over the sensitive, wet seam and angling his hips so the room has a perfect view of how ready he is for you.

letting your friends witness every detail, you murmur, "show them how much you love this, baby. let them see you inside."

each time he spreads himself wider, exposing the flutter of his entrance and the shine of arousal, your pride grows.

every breath he takes is visible, chest fluttering, his body straining to stay still despite the attention.

your friends watch, rapt and silent, as you make a show of it—of how easily he gives in to you, how much he trusts you.

"look at him," you murmur to the room. “all mine. just for me to play with."

your fingers trace over the slickness between his legs, and you feel his whole body shiver in your arms.

nothing to hide—your pretty house husband, shuddering as you let your palm cup his heat, thumb circling, pressing just enough to make him choke on a gasp. it was this strange feeling that everyone was looking at him, which was uncomfortable.

perhaps because there were so many people whose attention were only on him. it rivaled nothing else. even deep breaths didn't clear his clogged chest, so he tried taking a big breath to expand his lungs. but there was still a sticky feeling as if his alveoli weren't fully expanding.

nothing comes out.

his head falls back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering, mouth open as you whisper, "that's it, let them see how perfect you are for me."

you can feel how wet he is for you, slick and needy, and you let your fingers slip lower, teasing at his entrance with slow, deliberate strokes.

the anticipation makes him tremble, thighs quivering as you slide one finger inside.

his walls flutter around you, every pulse a silent plea for more, and you relish the hungry, jealous looks you draw from the crowd.

he clings to your arm, hips rolling up to meet your hand, desperate for more, his breath coming in short, whimpering gasps, head dropping back against your shoulder as he surrenders to your touch.

you add a second finger, slowly stretching him open, feeling his body tense and then yield, the lewd, wet sound of your fingers working him echoing through the charged silence.

his rim clenches, fluttering at the intrusion, as you curl your fingers just right, searching for that sensitive spot inside.

your thumb circles his clit with teasing, featherlight strokes, coaxing out shivers and broken cries, his voice growing hoarse with need.

your onlookers watch, transfixed, as you work him open for everyone to see—the way his thighs quake, the way his body arches, the way he bites his lip to keep from begging aloud. unable to look away from the way he squirms and gasps, from the lewd, sounds filling the room, from the way you stretch him wide and make him beg, knowing they’re hard and aching just from watching.

you take pride in how you can make your crowd of friends so desperate, so jealous, so turned on they can barely sit still, all because he’s yours to ruin and flaunt. too bad for them.

the air is thick with the scent of his arousal, and you take pride in just how much he responds to you, even with watching eyes.

when you find it, his thighs shake, hips bucking uncontrollably as you press down just right, forcing a helpless cry from his lips, nails digging into your arm as you thrust into him, slow and deep, showing everyone the way he falls apart for you.

you can feel him squeezing around your fingers, his body fluttering as you keep up the relentless rhythm—fingers scissoring, stretching him wider, making it impossible for him to hide just how much he loves being filled and put on display.

wet, squelching sounds fill the room, obscene and shameless as you piston your fingers in and out, your palm pressed tight against his mound, grinding against his swollen clit. his attempt to steady his breathing was futile. scraping the inner walls recklessly and thrusting rapidly into the unsuspecting mucosa of his insides, had made him practically forget when to breathe.

then, cruelly, you pull your hand back just enough to let it hover over his pussy, letting the suspense build as he trembles in your lap.

you bring it down with a sharp, deliberate slap, the sound a wet crack that echoes through the room.

the sting makes him gasp, his whole body jolting—hips bucking, thighs quaking, his pussy clenching and gushing fresh slick as the sensation ripples through every nerve.

he whimpers, legs spreading wider without even thinking, as you rub your hand over the reddening skin, feeling the heat and the way he pulses against your palm.

you slap him again, harder this time, and watch as his pussy grows even slicker, the tender flesh flushed deep pink, glistening with arousal and shining in the light.

each smack sends fresh waves of pleasure and humiliation through his trembling body—he arches, moans, his entrance fluttering and leaking, coating your fingers as you tease him between slaps.

his abs tense, back arching, eyes squeezed shut as he rides out the sting and the praise, his body begging for more even as he squirms in your lap.

your friends watch, transfixed and silent, as you alternate between spanking and fondling, showing off how easily he melts for you, how much he loves the attention, the roughness, the ache.

his whimpers turn shameless, louder, as you murmur filthy praise in his ear and slap him again, letting everyone see the way he gushes for you—slick streaming out, his thighs shaking, desperate and needy, lost in the sensation.

the next slap lands perfectly, and this time his whole body jerks—his pussy tightening and fluttering around your fingers before he suddenly goes still, every muscle tensed.

the impact resonated and there’s a split second of breathlessness, before he lets out a broken moan as he gushes hard against you, his milky cum burst forth from him, release soaking your hand, the evidence of his pleasure on full display for everyone to see.

you hold him tight, whispering encouragement as he trembles and rides out the aftershocks, completely undone by the sting and the praise, lost in the bliss of being shown off and claimed so openly.

one of your friends finally breaks the tension, voice low and admiring: "god, he's really well trained, isn't he?"

another pipes up, laughing gently, "you've got him so obedient—look at how he just takes it, all pretty and eager."

someone else whistles, adding, "wish mine listened like that. he's perfect for you."

don’t you know it well.

their compliments wash over both of you, fueling your pride and making your house husband squirm in your lap, his face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

you catch his eye and grin, letting him bask in the praise. you should do this more often.

[616ioi]

honestly being condescending to a man... dumbing down a powerful man sounds so good to me. a soldier, a rich man, a hard worker, anyone with oozing masculinity reduced to a coddled stray on the streets.

he could cuss you out and you'll simply click your tongue with a disappointed stare, "such big boy words for a thing like you."

talking them down, cooing, and pointing your finger around like they're some dog, then patting their cheek when they get upset and weirded out.

asking them "who's my big boy?" and they're confused as to why their face burns and they feel the need to shy away from your sight.

"oh, look at you. what a cutie." he blinks slowly and in a daze, not totally processing your words but he absolutely fits the perfect picture of a dumb dog.

they just don't get it.

[evening-desire]

yandere! ex-military omega x alpha! gn! reader

cw : nsfw but no smut, yandere male, omegaverse, baby trapping, mpreg, semi-traditional omegaverse,, age-gap (yan is older by 10+ years), mention of violence, harassment (not towards or from reader) mentioned, second gender stereotypes, alphas can get anyone pregnant regardless of their gender and omegas can get pregnant regardless of their gender.

an : jack krauser or knightfight jason tood is how i imagine the yandere looks like btw , but ofc you can always imagine how he looks like, i just described him as a big scarred old man.

part two part three .ᐟ masterlist.

yandere! ex-military omega that just moved in into your quiet neighborhood after decades of serving the country, he finally gets to retire and waste his life away, alone probably.

he's a quiet and intimidating guy, body built like a tank, scars liters across his skin, hands rough and calloused throughout the years, he's definitely the opposite definition of a traditional omega.

that's also one of the reason why he never thought of mating or marriage. he spent most of his life serving his country and it's almost impossible to think about building a family by now, he's old and doubt that anyone would want him regardless of their second gender.

and then there's you, his neighbor who are too kind for your own good. you were the first person (and frankly the only person) who came up to his doorstep with a home cooked meal, he was rather pleasantly surprised. he understand that he might appears intimidating, and the way that he can't even bother to try and interact with any of his neighbor other than the stray animals - doesn't help his case.

but you're here... willingly standing right at his porch with an award winning smile across your face.

god, can someone like you even possible to exist? he almost thought the personification of the sun itself came to visit him personally.

you're an alpha, and alot younger than him he noted. and he's atleast 10 or more years older than you, hell it looks like he's old enough to be your dad, but that doesn't intimidate you.

maybe it's your alpha tendency to never back down for anyone, alphas like you tend to have bug ego's - but you look and act far from those alpha assholes at the barracks who can only harassing other soldiers just because they're omegas, betas, and weaker alphas. (he put them on their place rather easily tho).

yan! ex-military omega who's getting more and more fond of you each day, you two treat each others with respect at first - to neighbor bestfriends that hangout every other friday nights.

you two may had slept together once or twice in a while, but that's just it. no nothing, no attachment, just a normal fuck buddies helping each others to tend ruts and heats.

he doesn't mind of course, it's way easier than searching for a random person who will find him attractive enough to fuck him. not saying that he's unattractive, in fact he's rather pleasant looking. the scars on his face just highlighted the sharp contours of his jawline, it's just that people prefer the slim and feminine type of omegas which is something he's not.

same secondary genders couple are not rare these days, heck even you had a fair share on sleeping with other alphas, but he was rather a traditional omega that wanted an alpha to take care of him, his omega instincts to nurture is strong too.

so it's a win-win situation until it's not, he of course foolish enough to fall in love with this weird yet kind alpha that saw and regards him with respect like he's just any other person.

he's too old for this whole crush thingy for fucksake, he would like to court you if you're not adamant on being a single and free alpha. yes, you're a weird one because you don't do date, just a one night stands and occasional booty calls, but not more than that.

you've confessed that you never wanted to build your own family (which shocks him), you're content on living by yourself, no one to burden you with responsibility.

it relieved and frustrated him at the same time, atleast he doesn't need to crush anyone's head for trying to steal you away from him, but he did sabotaged your casual dates throughout the months without you knowing though.

which is why he needs to take an extreme route because his greed had won over him, you might kindly rejected his courting, but you two still have sex occasionally.

so he decided to plan on tying a tie that will hold you to him forever, because he also know that you're not the type of alpha who will ditch on people you've knocked up. you're simply too kind for your own good which is good thing for his plan.

you two have sex more and more frequently these days, he's poking holes on all of your condom stash, lied about taking his birth control pills and never took a plan-b, he monitored his and your cycle, so when you two go at it he'll make sure it'll takes.

you might question the sudden frequency of him asking for sex, but still unaware, thinking it was all just a pent up energy from taking all of that suppressants for decades in the military.

he was trying to baby trap you for a while now, but nothing ever happened, he almost giving up and even blaming himself for being too old, and with the amount of suppressant he took during his military years - it wouldn't be a surprise if he came out infertile by now.

but then, one morning came when he woke up with a sudden nausea, he puke out all of his last night's dinner all over the toilet. it was roughly two weeks since you've had a sex with him, and you're the only one he ever slept with ever since his retirement.

oh to say he was happy was an understatement, he was ecstatic. he ran over his sink and rummaging through his cabinets until he get his hand on a small pink box.

now he's pacing around his bedroom, bare feet slapping quietly against the floor before he paused when the alarm of his phone rang too loudly inside his silent bedroom.

he hesitantly re-enter his bedroom, chest thumping with fear and excitement. he crossed his finger hoping that the results came out as he wanted.

three pregnancy tests lay on his sink lined up meticulously, he was prepared of course, to see if his plan finally worked after months of trying. (he almost rolled his eyes to the cashier at the pharmacy when he bought them, bcs they thought he was buying them for his omega mate.)

he stopped right in front of the sink, eyes narrowed at the faint lines blooming clearly on the small devices.

all three read positive.

he let out a breath of relief and maybe a bit of disbelief, so he still can get pregnant even after these years.

a pitter patter of nails clicking the floor with a loud bark pulled him back from his stuppor, rocky- a retired german shepherd military dog he brought with him is trotting over seemingly noticing his excitement and distress.

"you're going to be a big brother, rocky" he said softly rubbing his head, rocky barks loudly seemingly understand his caretaker's happiness.

he paused for a second, he started to think how he's going to break out the news to you, currently- you had gone for a business trip now, oh well he have a few weeks to think about it, but for now..

"i should start thinking about names."

divider by @.cafekitsune

[drouven]

❝my sanctuary.❞ | abby saja

kpdh x male! reader

prompt: abby’s supposed quick endeavor to escort souls for gwi-ma tests his resolve. character: abby saja warnings: sub bottom abby, dom top male reader, porn with some plot, public sex, quickie, slight dub-con, degradation, name-calling, blowjob (r! receiving), throatfuck, anal fingering, rimming, unprotected sex, slight choking, slight exhibitionist behavior, slight nipple play, slight mean reader, 18+ note: on EVERYONES SOUL we cracking the saja boys 😈 word count: 7k

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Seoul during the night was always burning in electricity and buzzing with activity—throbbing, bright neon lights illuminated the streets, late-night vendors clanked their pots to gather a crowd, and there were always the sirens warbling from distant intersections. The streets were alive, however just below the surface was awaiting chaos.

The Honmoon shimmered in waves of cobalt, and for once, Abby wasn’t the one feeling suffocated against it as his boots clicked over it. The Honmoon had exhausted his efforts to attempt to set foot back on Earth’s soil, but when Jinu approached him with the intriguing idea to create a boy band in efforts to demolish Huntrix, Abby couldn’t stop himself from taking the offer.

A glimmer between buildings transitioned a section of the once azure Honmoon into fuchsia, opening up a weak point; a window of opportunity. 

The area fizzled as demons materialized, joints snapping to adjust themselves through the small crevice. Abby strutted down the sidewalk with his usual confidence, a stolen hood pulled over his bubblegum pink hair with his hands in the jacket pockets. As more and more demons slithered through undetected, Abby guided them like a shepherd—ushering a surge of havoc into the city. With a small nod, he gestured for the demons to take course outwards.

“Don’t stray,” Abby mutters, waving off two demons towards trash bins and fire escapes. “Gwi-Ma’s hungry.”

Their shadows vanished like dust slipping into the air, right into the hungry mouths between buildings. He cracks his knuckles, satisfied—with his small effort, at least Gwi-ma will be satiated until their next performance.

Abby steps into the open, and right into the eyes of a crowd.

“Wait—oh, my God—is that Abby from Saja Boys?”

His head snaps up at the mention of his name. The pace of the gesture unfortunately knocks his hoodie down, revealing that obnoxious rosy pink mop of hair. Someone points at him while another starts screaming, alerting everyone within the vicinity to look at him. Then, dozens of feet slap against the concrete as the sidewalk erupts into chaos, flashing phones raised to catch a glimpse of fame. Abby turns on his heel and breaks into a bolt, dodging pedestrians and corners like instinct.

He takes a hard left—flash! Then another—a scream. Tries to duck into a stairwell—blocked. A fan was already there, breathless with eyes shining bright. “Abby!”

“Damn it,” he hisses, turning to sprint in the opposite direction. His heart pounded, but not from the exertion his body was going through, or from the fear of being caught, but rather, from sheer frustration—this was supposed to be an errand to escort a few demons into the city, and dip before Huntrix noticed; simple as that.

Now there was a pack of wolves labeled as fans on his trail, hounding him for autographs and pictures. He couldn’t even teleport away because a new passerby was always coincidentally in his way. As he turns his head over his shoulder to scan how many were still tailing him, Abby slams into something solid, knocking the breath from his lungs. He’s able to stabilize his footing before he falls, looking up in surprise at you.

You have a bewildered expression plastered onto your face, but Abby already is turning his head, panic flickering through his eyes as he takes a glance over his shoulder—the crowd was closing in on him.

“Did he come this way?”

“I swear I saw him turn right—”

Almost immediately understanding the situation at hand, you don’t hesitate, grabbing Abby’s wrist and yanking him sideways into the mouth of the nearby alleyway, shoving him against the brick wall. Hoisting one arm up, you shield his cotton candy hair from view—to any onlooker, it seemed as if a couple were sharing a private moment in the comfort of a dirty backroad. As expected, the crowd peeks in, flinching at the sight.

“Not here—keep moving!”

Shoes smack against pavement again, retreating, with their voices echoing off the walls; the area begins to quiet in degrees, as the alley swallows them whole. It was narrow and humid from sweat and shadows, and there was still that pulsing light of neon from a noodle shop bordering the brick-lined corridor.

Abby shoves you off by your chest, sweeping off dirt and debris from the sleeves of his jacket, like the whole act of being protected was more humiliating than being devoured by a horde of fangirls.

“No—I don’t know… a ‘thank you’?” You ask, tone dry, adjusting your sweater.

Abby scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t need your help.”

“Didn’t look like that a second ago.”

He turned to face you properly, chin tilted upwards like air tasted better when he was smug. “You want something as a token of my gratitude? An autograph?”

“What?” You blink. “No—I’m good.”

As if you sprouted multiple heads, he squints at you, stepping closer. “Do you—do you even know who I am?”

“... Am I supposed to?”

Lips parted in shock, a flash of fang catching the neon green glaring into the alley. “What—you don’t know,” he sings the next part, “My little soda pop?”

Recognition twinkles in your widened eyes, before it’s followed by a nonchalant shrug. “Oh—my sister keeps singing that,” you look away, bored. “From the… Salsa—Saja Boys, or something, right?”

“Yeah,” Abby crosses his arms over his chest, deadpanning. “I am the Saja Boys—I’m Abby.”

“Cool—can I get an autograph for her?”

His head twitches as something in Abby cracks—a desire to be seen by you despite the evergrowing fanbase; a petty feeling. He steps forward again, until your chests nearly brush, and his voice dips into a smooth, caramel-like timbre. “Your sister’s a fan, but what about you?”

You flash him a teasing smile. “I’m more into Huntrix.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding as if his ego wasn’t just bruised. He unzips his jacket before reaching for the hem of his shirt and lifting it, displaying his canvas of muscles carved into his stomach. His abs flexed beneath the alley’s fractured light, each ripple catching a shadow and refining the already grand display. “Still not a fan?”

“Y’know what,” you mutter, tone unimpressed as your eyes flick down Abby’s exposed torso, completely weirded out. “I just remembered I don’t carry a pen or paper on me, so I’ll pass on that autograph.”

You turn to leave, shoulders relaxed, almost as if you’d forgotten the entire existence of the boy band star standing half-naked in front of you.

But with Abby’s pride dictating his every move, he doesn’t let you get far, his hand shooting out—faster than human reflex—and grabs your shoulder, fingers digging in like iron bolts. Before you can even utter a complaint, your back slams against the alley wall with a harsh thud like thunder, briefly draining the breath from your lungs. His forearm presses against your collarbone, pinning you tightly. The previous playful-idol facade was washed away, peeling back to reveal something primal—eyes glowing gold and fangs sharpening.

“Think you’re funny?” Abby growled, low and guttural, his breath fanning hotly against your jaw. 

You glare at him, grunting in contrast to the pressure against your chest. “A little.”

Then Abby’s mouth parts, unnaturally wide, with heat rolling off his tongue that no longer bears that amorous impression, but rather, hunger. A low, humming force had thickened the atmosphere around you, making it difficult to breathe. A faint shimmer of turquoise dances across your chest, drawing something from the center. The thread of your soul begins to loosen, curling towards Abby’s parted lips like smoke caught in a vacuum.

It was instinct that rushed to the surface; your hand shooting up and throwing Abby off yourself, slamming him into the opposite wall, hard enough for the demon to grunt in surprise. Dust crumbled down from the bricks above, and the hiss Abby let out originated from his wounded pride rather than his pain. Your hand grips his jaw tightly, fingers pressing into the hinges beneath his cheekbones until Abby’s mouth closes on reflex.

“What the fuck was that?” You hiss, eyes narrowing, chest heaving from the adrenaline rush. Abby just stares up at you, breathing hard through flared nostrils like a pathetic prey trapped in a corner.

And yet, the look in his eyes betrayed his primitive instincts. He was enjoying this.

Abby was stronger than you in ways that you could never guess how. He could snap you in half if he so pleased, but here you were, a mere human—not even a hunter—pressing him like he was nothing more than a pinned insect beneath your fingers.

The pressure of your grip dug into bone in correspondence to not receiving any response, and his pulse drummed loudly in his ears. A part of him, long buried under inclination and arrogance, had willingly made him compliant under you.

Your breath ghosted his lips, laced with fury, but all Abby could focus on was the heat pouring off of you. Reasonably so, he had almost taken your soul—and in response to his attempt, your body was radiating such wrath that Abby could just taste the sin on his tongue.

He felt as though you were the forbidden fruit withholding him from the knowledge of much more, that being pleasure. Your eyes burned into his like a wildfire licking at the edges of something dry and on the verge of igniting, and he knew if he didn’t look away, he’d be consumed whole.

His pupils dilated.

The silence accumulating had made your clasp loosen faintly, thumb brushing beneath his jaw—just shy of a caress, but enough to keep him in check. Abby took notice of the slight tremble in your fingers.

“Careful,” he breathed, voice sensual and silk-like. “Keep touching me like that, and I might think you like me.”

He meant it as a taunt, but his delivery was spoken in hopes you would. A drip of sweat rolled down the side of his forehead—the alley was becoming congealed with tension, electricity thundering between the small space between the two of you.

Maybe it was the proximity, but he was becoming more and more enamoured with you with every second. Abby was trying to devour your soul not even a minute ago, but now he was lining the wrinkles set from your eyebrows being drawn together in irritation with his own eyes. 

Eyeing the way your lips parted slightly with each shallow breath you took with his own eyes. The very lips that appeared to be carved from some holy scripture his eyes would never have the privilege of reading. But he could taste it—tongue darting out, wetting his own lips unconsciously. 

He could take it—take your lips, steal your breath, and smother that fire under his own—the same way he’s owned every soul he’s claimed before.

Perhaps, that could be the answer that would crack you open enough for him to slither through.

A kiss—it wouldn’t kill you, but it could make you slip.

And a slip was all he needed to make you fall.

Like a predator savoring the moment before the pounce, Abby leaned in as if drawn forward by something magnetic. That something was coiling between you both, begging to erupt.

You didn’t register the movement until his nose brushed yours. Against your restraint, he pressed his lips against yours, closing his eyes like it was consented.

Your hand jerked, releasing his jaw to shove at his chest, pushing him back into the wall as you took a step backwards. “What the fuck are you doing?” You growl, voice cracked and barely steady. 

Abby pushes himself off the wall, lips quirked into a grin full of venom and eyes at half-mast. “Getting what I want.”

And then he kisses you once more.

It was more of a collision of heat; a dance of fire and desire. His lips slant over yours like they simply had the right to, like your mouth had been waiting for his this whole time and just didn’t know it until now. His fangs graze your bottom lip, distracting you as he splays a hand onto your chest, walking you into the opposing wall.

You did attempt to pull away—with another shove, but as if he centered all his strength into the palm on your chest, you couldn’t budge. Your fingers retaliated by curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling it away from your body. But it only fueled his hunger for your soul, deepening the kiss with a tilt of his head and his tongue welcoming himself into the warmth of your mouth.

You shouldn’t reciprocate; alarms rang in your mind to get as far away as possible from this deluded freak.

But, there was something dizzying about him. Like sinking into the ocean with lungs full of fire—every breath a contradiction; every second closer to drowning.

He was kissing you like you were a secret sin he had no intention of repenting for.

Even as addicting as his lips were, you had some sense.

Your fingers tangled into his pink hair and yanked him back, hard enough to rip a low grunt from the back of his throat, his eyes closed and teeth clenched in pain. Your own lungs burned, mouth parted in disbelief and adrenaline—nails still scraped against his scalp like you couldn’t decide between shoving him away or dragging him back in.

“Get off,” you panted.

His grin unfurled as he laughed. There was blood on his bottom lip—yours, maybe. His tongue licked it away.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Abby’s fingers curl around your wrist, prying each of your fingers muddled in his hair loose. He guides your hand by inches, grazing it down the side of his throat, calloused fingers dragging against his Adam's apple, feeling the cartilage bounce. He leads them across the hard plane of his chest, sensing his heart’s heightened beat. Eventually, he lets your fingers get caught in the gravitational pull he’s created, your fingers generating their own path to his abdomen, caressing each dip of muscle through fabric. 

Abby sucks in a breath, exhaling shakily. He leans in again, but his mouth is not aimed for yours this time. His lips brush your jaw in a phantom apology. A shiver skates down your spine, but you tell yourself it’s the thrill of it all; an excuse. Anything to name it other than what it truly is: lust.

“We’ll make it quick,” he mutters against your skin, each word branding you with heat. His tongue darts out to clean up the nervous sweat off your neck, and your knees threaten mutiny. His palm flows down your torso over your sweater.

“Hold on—,” your protest scrapes out roughly. “What are you..?”

The rest of your question fizzles out as his palm slides lower, flattening over the waistband of your sweatpants. Your pulse stutters as his knuckles begin to curl inside of your sweats, pulling slightly brazenly. You reach for his wrist once his fingertips breach your boxers. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” You hiss, a last resort to maintain your sanity. “What if your fans come back?”

You can feel his grin curve against your jaw, full of sinful delight. “Then they’ll get a free show,” he reasons, voice low enough to vibrate through your ribs. His other hand reaches forward to continue the work of the previous. 

Your heart beats itself frantically—every cell of your body is screaming at you to shove him away, but with the way his mouth trails down your throat has you second-guessing.

The sound of your shallow breath is played right into Abby’s ears. He watches every flinch and reaction that your body is producing, like a fox feasting its eyes on a rabbit that hasn’t figured out its demise lies nearby. 

He backs away slightly, fingers playing with the strings of your sweatpants and lifting the hem of your sweater to reveal a peak of skin. While maintaining eye-contact, he drops to his knees. Your body leans against the brick wall as his palms slide up the backs of your thighs, a drag made to ensure your muscles twitched under his touch. His thumbs tease the fabric hugging your hips, pulling it to reveal your Adonis belt.

“This isn’t—I—fuck,” you try to start, one hand going to his shoulder. Not in efforts to push him away, but more so something to hold onto.

Abby chuckles, dipping his head forward and pressing a featherlight kiss just above your waistband, and on the line that dips into your boxers. “You can tell me to stop,” he said, lips brushing your skin. “But I think we both know you won’t.”

You hated how right he was—you wanted him. Despite the limited knowledge you knew of him, he had you wrapped around his pretty little finger. You were, knowingly and head held high, walking into the fire.

With a tug, he pulls down the front of your sweatpants along with the waistband of your boxers behind it. Inch by inch, his gaze never leaves your face—drinking in every hint of you unraveling; your jaw tensing and rows of teeth knocking together.

When your cock springs free, already flushed red and hard, Abby lets out a soft, hungry exhale, hot breath flowing onto your tip.

“Oh,” he murmurs, head tilted as if he were appraising something sacred. “Look at you.”

His hand wraps around the head, thumb smearing precum down your shaft with such ease that had your spine locking against the wall behind you.

“Abby,” You warn, panic spiking for a brief, pathetic second. “You’re—seriously, what if—?”

“We’re still on this?” He mocks you with a raise of his eyebrow, shoulders sagging to express his frustration. “I said I would be quick.”

His thumb drags down along a vein before resting at the base of your cock. He leans forward to one side, tongue lolling out to trail that same vein along with the heat of his breath. His tongue twitches from underneath the head, precum dribbling out onto his tastebuds. 

You shut your eyes tightly, doubling over to grab his hair again, but this time, not pushing him away. Your other hand clasps over your mouth to restrain any sounds of pleasure that threaten to escape.

Abby’s breath fanned across your tip, and it was the last shred of warning he gave before he wrapped his lips around you, tongue flattened to accommodate your girth.

He gagged almost immediately.

A sharp choke echoed off the alley walls, muffled by the stretch of his mouth and the shape of your cock pressed against his tongue. He pulled back just enough to breathe, saliva trailing in a glistening strand to your slit. He risks a glance upwards to see your reaction—your eyebrows are still furrowed together and sweat laces your hairline. Fuck.

He lets out a frustrated growl before making another attempt to take you. Eyes filled with determination, he locks onto yours, daring himself to handle it. His throat spasms around you in protest, lips trembling with the effort, but he kept going.

His tongue dances with a desperate rhythm, sliding along the underside of your dick like it was licking honey from the edge of a blade. He pulls back only to swirl the flat of his tongue along your shaft, as if he could ace this test through applying himself hard enough with no prior studying.

A groan escapes from the prison bars of your fingers, while the other tugs Abby’s hair when he licks the slit of your cock, to ground yourself to remain in the moment.

And still, Abby didn’t blink—he watched you the entire time through tears that decorated his lashes, and flushed cheeks. Every time he bobbed his head down, he’d pull off with a sharp suck on the tip and then trail his tongue down the side, wanting to taste the shape rather than swallow you whole.

In a teasing manner, the ghost of his fangs graze lightly along the curve of your dick, just enough to make your hips jerk into his awaiting mouth.

Abby grinned around you. The fucker… smiled… with you still encased in his mouth. 

The scrape of his teeth was dangerous, as if he enjoyed the waltz on a ledge during high winds. Then his mouth sank back down, hollowed cheeks demonstrating his strained effort. He was trying—failing, sure, but trying like hell.

Your head tilted back against the brick, vision spotty with heat. “Fuck, Abby…”

He made a noise in response, mixed with pride and understanding, and your cock twitched at the entrance of his throat. Another gag has him slipping you out with a wet pop, panting heavily as he strokes you lazily with one hand.

A string of spit connects you once more, snapping once Abby sits back on his heels, tongue flicking out to lick up the corners of his mouth. He looks up at you, lips swollen red, and eyes glowing gold with mischief. 

“Close?” Abby leans inwards, tapping the head of your cock against his tongue and tugging his wrist around the tip to pressure an earlier ejaculation. You wince, closing your eyes as you double over, both hands now gripping his pink locks to calm the sensation of that tight coil sizzling in your abdomen.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Yeah,” he places a kiss on your oozing tip, tongue peeking out to lap a stripe up your slit like a lollipop. “A little.”

You open your eyes to glare at his verbatim of your words. His eyes hold not even a flake of repentance. His pupils dilate in recognition of your displeasure of him, like ink stains blooming on wet paper. He’s too proud for someone who shamelessly has their lips wrapped around your cock in a dirty alleyway.

Abby’s pride in his actions was sickening—a celebrity who thinks they can exploit others with just a flash of their smile. You knew his handsome exterior was shielding something more sinister underneath, and your awareness of this truth was starting to piss you off. 

You were not going to fall for what little remained of his charm and become a mere toy.

You straighten your posture, one hand glides down to hold the base of your dick, feeding it to him slowly until it paints his lower lip with your precum. He blinks obliviously at your shift, but opens his mouth wider to welcome you, the corner of his lips curling to express his satisfaction of what seemed to be your walls crumbling. 

His naivety made your heart soar, smiling back down at him with a deceitful smile—your other hand that still remained on his scalp shoves his head forward to swallow your cock until his nose met the shaven hairs at the base of your navel.

A choked sound escapes his throat as you bury yourself, sighing deeply at the hot sensation surrounding your length. His hands spring up to wrap to the back of your thighs, nails scratching against the fabric of your sweatpants. 

The hand that fed his mouth trails down to cup his neck, feeling the obscene bulge that shaped around your cock, your index finger scraping the widened form of his Adam’s apple. His eyes are blown wide, a glossy film of unshed tears covers his irises while his eyebrows draw together to showcase his shock.

But you don’t care.

You reel your hips back until the tip of your cock is just barely entering his throat, grazing against his uvula. Gagging, Abby looks up to you—a prayer spoken from his eyes. He finally has that look of guilt you wanted from him. You respond to his silent plea by ramming your hips forward, his bottom lip kissing your balls. 

You chuckled when you felt his throat constrict against you, each thrust having its own brand of retribution on his body. The fingers that pressed against his neck felt the imprint your dick caused inside of him. 

“Fucking—” your hips slam forward, balls hitting his chin, “—take it.”

Abby’s eyes roll in pleasure at the sound of strain in your voice, before he closes them to fully immerse himself in the feeling of being used, tears freely falling. Drool begins to get punched out of his mouth, dribbling out of the corners of his lips, staining his shirt and jeans.

Every gag and wet gurgle is swallowed around the thick heat of your cock pounding his throat.

His right hand shakily slid down from your thigh to between his spread legs, rubbing at the front of his jeans. He moaned wantonly, the sounds aiding in creating a sense of vibrations up your length. You slow your hips by a smidge to peer at what’s causing his whines. “Fuck—are you seriously touching yourself?” He opens his eyes to look at your demeaning gaze. “Fucking pervert.”

His eyes roll again at the name-calling, body pathetically convulsing as his hand stills against his covered dick, cumming in his pants. His cock seeps cum through his boxers and into his jeans, a dark, wet spot smearing into the denim. Abby groans around you, feeling his form attempt to back away.

But you couldn’t let go—not when you were so close.

Selfishly, both hands grasp the back of his head, pushing and pulling him into your cock as your hips piston in and out of his throat, milking you with every desperate choke. Your thighs tense upon feeling that familiar sensation stir in your lower abdomen, hips losing rhythm and blindly chasing release. 

Through clenched teeth, you hiss, “Hhaah, A–Abby, I’m—fuck!” With a final thrust, you hold his face flush against your pelvis, suffocating Abby against your hips, lips stretched wide as your cock pulsed and spilled down his throat. Your cum flooded past his mouth in waves of thick, hot ropes. Abby twitched beneath you, whimpering brokenly as he swallowed around your length—all senses completely taken over by you.

You thrust shallowly and don’t let go of him until the last spurt swims down his throat.

Finally, you release your hold on his hair, allowing for Abby to fall back, cock sliding out of his throat with a wet gasp. He awkwardly scoots backwards, one hand supporting his efforts to create distance between you as his other covers his harsh coughing fit. His eyes are bloodshot red with a trail of tears sliding down his cheeks, while his lips are swollen and covered in saliva and cum, multiple strings of the aforementioned substances bridging his chin to your softening cock.

Your back falls against the brick wall behind you, panting as you look down at him. You eye the dark patch that soils his blue jeans, to his heaving chest, to his slick-covered lower mouth, to those half-lidded eyes that shift into a yellow, mischievous glint.

“Are you going to tell me,” Abby huffs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “that you’re still not a fan?”

You breathlessly laugh, taking a glance at the end of the alleyway. “You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?” You take a step forward, leaning down to lock your fingers in his strands, pulling his weight up from the ground, your other hand wrapping around his throat. Responsively, his hands grip your wrist, wincing, before he’s silenced by your lips, tasting what remained of your release on his tongue. Your fingers that retained his breath gave a single, tight squeeze before they plunged to the front of his jeans, hurriedly unbuttoning and unzipping the damp cloth.

Abby is about to retort another snarky comment once your mouth leaves his, huffing heavily in your face, when you turn him around, pressing him against the bricked wall. He turns his head to face you over his shoulder, but you drop to your knees behind him as an answer to his unasked question. Your fingers break the plane of his waistband to his jeans and boxers, tugging them down in conjunction. 

“Hold on— I’m the one taking it?” Abby asks, attempting to turn his body. You don’t entertain his efforts, both of your thumbs prodding at the crack of his ass, spreading it open to showcase his asshole. You accumulate saliva in your mouth, spitting it onto his hole, before licking it back up. Abby shivers at the feeling, arms raising to rest on the wall in front of him, settling his head down on his forearms. “Could you… do that in a less emasculating way, at least?”

You’re unresponsive, closing your eyes and diving forward to bury yourself. Your right hand moulds itself into Abby’s asscheek, pulling it to create space for your tongue. Your slick muscle breaches his tight ring, entering an area that Abby has not had the pleasure of exploring ever before. 

Clearly, Abby’s inexperience is shown as he subconsciously clenches down on your tongue; his patterns begin to gain pigment; and his nails stretch into claws, stabbing themselves into the wall. You take pleasure in seeing him break before you, your left hand descending to your exposed cock, stroking it slowly as you roll your tongue. Abby’s entire body begins to shake, feeling his strength drain out of his legs, breathlessly repeating curses as if they were prayers to a God. “Fuck… F—Fuck you— Fuck…”

You withdraw your head just a bit, your right hand releasing the grip you had on his cheek, pairing your ring and middle finger together to enter your own mouth, wetting them. To tease, you tantalizingly lick a stripe up his hole, watching his whole body tremble, before sliding in your middle finger. You slowly oscillate the digit, watching as Abby’s back arches into your hand, then slipping in your ring finger, completing a scissoring motion inside his hole. 

Abby lays his right palm flat in front of him, resting his forehead on the back of it, as his left hand inclines towards the back of your head, pushing you closer to his ass, silently asking for a favor. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, acknowledging his plea by adding your tongue to the equation—now both your fingers and tongue penetrated his asshole. You sought your own satisfaction by toying with the head of your cock, your thumb and index finger forming a grip around the tip as your hips jutted into the shape.

You shamelessly groan between his ass, switching between thrusting your tongue and sucking his hole as you plunge your fingers simultaneously. Abby’s fingers pull at your hair, his teeth extending into fangs to puncture into his own wrist to cease any sounds that could spill out. What Abby seemingly did not calculate in his already flawed plan to get you to succumb, was that trying to smother your flame with his own would only lead to the same effects as adding water to a boiling pot of oil.

Just when the peak of pleasure was beginning to unveil itself to both you and Abby, you reluctantly pulled away. Abby’s eyes widened in anger, his legs shaking in relevance to how close he was to release. You’re not too far off from being in his situation; covering the tip of your dick with your palm, and closing your eyes to focus on not cumming on the back of his feet. You whimper at the sensation fading away from the pit of your stomach, risking a glance up at Abby, whose back exhibits his frustration—the expanse gaining area with each heavy breath, a sweat spot forming on his jacket, and in between all the nooks of his muscled back. You slide your hand up to push his jacket and shirt up to expose a sliver of skin, kissing his Venus’ dimples as a mock apology before standing upright.

Your hands find home on each side of his hips, pulling him into your pelvis, your cock laying on top of the curve of his ass. You lean forward to rest your chest on his back, tilting your head to bite Abby’s earlobe, tugging it down slightly between your teeth and then placing a gentle kiss on the helix. The tip of his ears are tainted with a light shade of pink, but he turns his head so you meet his similarly-colored hair. You chuckle at his shyness—despite the situation in its entirety, Abby gets bashful at domestic kisses.

You adapt to your new canvas, dipping your head a tad lower to decorate the side of his neck with your lips. “You don’t mind if I,” you bite his nape, enticing a wince, “continue, right?”

Your left hand glides up his body from his hip to his idle hand on the wall, interlacing your fingers with his. You drag your interlocked hands to your lips, spinning his arm slightly to lay a kiss on his wrist. Abby scoffs as he turns to face you properly, “Geez, aren’t you a romantic—you do this with every person you fuck in an alley?”

You chortle lightly, letting go of his hand to steady his waist, your other hand guiding your cock to his asshole. “Can’t say I’ve ever done this before—alleyway or otherwise.”

Abby perks up at your response, “What, don’t tell me you’re a—”

The head of your cock enters Abby’s rim, stretching it open. Abby ducks his head down, body completely tensed as he tries to accommodate your girth. His fingertips scrape at the surface of concrete in front of him in efforts to ease himself, but the lack of support builds on his poor, trembling frame. “W–Warn a guy, will you?”

“Mmnh, sorry,” you pant, tightening your grip on his hips. You situate your forehead onto his shoulder, closing your eyes. “I can’t move.”

His claws scraped down the wall, streaks of white dust followed in their pace, drops of sweat cascaded down his face to his neck before seeping into the collar of his shirt. Abby pressed his eyes shut, inhaling through his nose before exhaling out of his mouth, slowly relaxing his body. You pressed further—not more than an inch—sensing his relaxation, but not before he seized up again, halting your hips. “I think the Sun might come up before I get to fuck you properly.”

Abby barks a short laugh. “Mmhh… you try taking a cock your size, haahh…”

In the time he takes to respond to your taunt, you thrust your hips forward. His head shoots upwards, glaring at the stars that paint the night sky. His mouth lays agape at the intrusion, debating on whether to scream or sob. Your cock pulses inside of him, balls flush against his ass. You raise your head off his shoulder, kissing his cheek in hushed praise. Abby’s lips quiver into a pout, turning his head to look into your eyes; tears line his eyes, edging on falling. Your eyes widen seeing such an expression adorn his features, connecting your lips with his.

You pull your hips back, but Abby’s rim clings onto your cock tightly. Wincing, you only pull halfway to push back in, his tears falling as he whines into your mouth. Your tongue presses against his, swallowing each precious sound that escapes his mouth. “Mmnnhh…”

You separate from him to kiss his ear. “I’m gonna start moving, alright?”

With a soft push off his body, you stand straight, staring right at where your bodies are connected, reeling your hips back to reveal your cock scraping against his hole. The tip barely graces his entrance before being welcomed by that intoxicating heat. Abby’s patterns resurface, and with a light touch, you trace the shape; starting from his clawed finger until you reach his collarbone. You stare in awe at the plum markings that materialize onto his skin, fingers wrapping around his neck, pulling him towards you. The action causes his hips to melt into yours, burying your cock. A strained sound vibrates his vocal cords, meeting your gaze with his shimmering, golden irises. His eyebrows are arched in frustration, veins popping against his jawline but you all but smile at him—your cheeks push your eyes into creases with how big your smile is despite the harsh grasp on his throat. 

Satisfied, your hips snapped forward, a brutal rhythm creating itself with each passing second. Each thrust drove a scratchy groan from Abby, his body lurching with your movement. He begged with his eyes, his scleras turning red from the lack of oxygen reaching his lungs, but no matter—you continued slamming against his ass, the sound echoing into the cracks of the alley. “Hhnngh, please— slow down, you—!”

Your other hand snaked around to his front, where his useless cock swung with each rut of your hip against his. You wrapped your fingers around the base of his dick, tugging until you reached the head. Abby jolted; his once forgotten cock was finally getting attention. “F–Fuck! Hhnnh, not there— it’s too much, gahh!”

The same hand that restricted his breath covered his mouth, silencing his pleads. Abby bit down on your fingers, groaning into them as your blood trickled into his mouth, but it was not going to be the reason you stopped. 

Your hips rutted into Abby’s ass, each thrust infused with desperation to release. Your hand stroked his dick in a faster tempo than your pelvis, panting directly into his ear. “Abby, I don’t think your hole wants to let go of me, hm? W–What do you think?”

He groans against your fingers, eyes rolling from how dead-set your cock hits his prostate. Are you sure this is your first time? He doesn’t believe so—with how your measured and seemingly practiced hands roam his body, you seem more like a liar than anything. 

That familiar, impending sizzle in his lower stomach surges, brought about by the stimulation upon his prostate by your cock and your hand stroking his. Abby’s right hand sheathes his claws, reaching backwards to press against your stomach, trying to at least slow the movement of your hips. Seeing his struggle, you loosen the grip you have on his mouth, settling that hand across his chest, groping his pec. “What’s wrong, huh? Nngh, c-close?”

His left hand envelopes the one across his chest once you start pinching the bud, twisting it between your thumb and index through his shirt. “What do you—hhaah—fucking think, d–dickhead?”

With his hands no longer bracing the wall, all he can do is recline into you, holding desperately as you rock into him. Your thrusts punch out pathetic whines, even when his lips are locked to each other. 

Abby seals his eyes shut, knees bucking under the pressure, but your one arm holds him up, pressing his back against your chest, making the arm that once was trying to slow you down to just grasp your hip in hopelessness. 

The coil in his stomach abruptly snaps, cum racing out the length of his dick and shooting out onto the wall. Your hand helps to deliver him to his peak, teasing just the head as he juts into your grasp. He opens his mouth to exhibit his pleasure, but your lips find his, swallowing each moan. He draws his claws, the sharpness digging into your hip, scratching out blood. 

Your hips move recklessly, chasing your own release, whimpering into his mouth. It’s sloppy work down there as your hips begin to stutter, losing its flow, to which you just slam forward, burying yourself as deep as his body would allow. You feel each nerve in your body charge your center, a shiver trails down your spine and slithers through your cock to pump violent, hot cum deep inside of Abby. He gasps into your mouth, shattering into a strangled moan. His claws puncture through your skin as he feels each rivulet of cum leak from the edges of his stretched rim, catching against the edges of his denim. You stay there, slowly grinding through the aftershocks until the wet squelches between you two drown out the sound of his whines.

As you pull away from his lips, Abby chases your mouth, and a thin thread of saliva is highlighted through your huffs in the cold, night air. He draws back his claws so you can properly step back from him, your softening cock sliding out of him, and immediately, thick ropes of your cum dribble down his thighs. He hisses slightly as the air chills instantly between you, but you’re too busy watching the mess drip from him with your chest heaving, until your gaze drags up to his face. 

Abby gives you a playful smirk—there it was. Finally, what he had been searching for all this time; the way your shoulders slackened, the lust-filled haze clouding your eyes, and the sweat dripping down your neck—you were exhausted.

A crack in porcelain.

You’re completely vulnerable to a beast in the wild; no defense surrounds you. 

A knowing curve stretches his lips. A quick dig under your ribs and… your soul will be his.

Abby’s mouth parts to speak, but a rustle rings down the walls of the alley from the entrance of it. A look of irritation flashes across his lips, bending to pull up his boxers and jeans, hurriedly bucking his belt. You follow suit, making yourself look presentable before lunging to grab at his wrist once you notice he’s looking for a way out.

“When can I see you again?”

Abby snorts in your face, tugging his wrist away from your grip. “Already want seconds?”

Gold dances in his irises and mauve patterns stain his skin, but you’re not discouraged, staring directly at him, past the physical features. He flinches at your gaze, but the rustling sounds make themselves present, causing him to step forward into your personal space. The shadows bend around him, engulfing his form into black and purple puffs, and a chilling, raspy voice promises in your ear;

“I can be your sanctuary.”

ᓚᘏᗢ

As you stand alone within the grimy alleyway, the rustle that scared off Abby physically reveals itself.

“Mreow.”

"..."

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should’ve added a warning for too much metaphorical language in hopes to appear intellectual☝️also guys… do you still read fanfic for.. mm.. how do i say this.. haikyuu?? 👁️👁️ also also… can you tell i rushed the ending 😹😹