⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚A Bloody Way To Show Your Love⋆.˚☾ .⭒˚

Jealousy, Jealousy with: Housewardens

Riddle Rosehearts

It was honestly impressive how oblivious some people could be.

You weren’t even doing anything particularly inviting—just standing in the courtyard, minding your own business—when someone you barely knew strolled up and started laying it on thick.

“Wow, you must be tired,” they grinned, leaning a little too close for comfort. “From running through my mind all day.”

You stared. Slowly blinked. “...I literally don’t know who you are.”

They laughed, undeterred. “Oh, a little mystery! I like that. We should get to know each other. How about a—”

Before they could finish, a very distinct presence materialized beside you, and suddenly, your hand was clasped in a vice grip.

You turned your head, already stifling a grin. Riddle stood stiffly at your side, his expression carefully neutral—too neutral—but his fingers tightened around yours with unmistakable possessiveness.

And then, in the most Riddle way possible, he opened his mouth and immediately started critiquing their uniform.

“Your tie is loose, your shirt is untucked, and your posture is abysmal,” he declared, gaze sharp. “It’s disgraceful. If you have time to loiter and bother people who are clearly uninterested, then you certainly have time to fix your appearance.”

The person, previously brimming with confidence, visibly withered. “I—wait, you’re—”

“Housewarden Rosehearts,” Riddle confirmed, tone clipped. “And if you ever plan to talk to my partner again, I strongly suggest you do so properly dressed.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—without another word—the person bolted, nearly tripping over themselves in their rush to escape.

The moment they were gone, you turned to Riddle, your amusement barely contained. “Riddle,” you said, voice dripping with mirth. “Were you jealous?”

He scoffed, tugging at his collar. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You raised a brow, glancing pointedly at the way his grip on your hand hadn’t loosened in the slightest. Then, you took in the very obvious, very intense red dusting his cheeks.

He refused to meet your eyes.

You laughed, delighted, and before he could protest further, you leaned in and kissed him, pressing a quick, affectionate peck to his still burning cheek.

Riddle went still.

“…You are jealous,” you whispered against his skin, just to tease.

“I am not,” he insisted, but his voice cracked ever so slightly, and that was enough to send you into another fit of laughter.

Still smiling, you tugged on his hand, leading him away. “Come on, let’s go do something fun before you start assigning uniform inspections as an act of vengeance.”

Riddle let out a heavy sigh, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he laced his fingers more firmly with yours, the corners of his lips twitching—just barely—before he let you drag him along.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona was going to lose his mind.

Three days.

Three days of watching you run around with those two idiots and that furball, pouring over textbooks, muttering formulas under your breath, completely oblivious to the fact that he existed.

You were studying. Fine. He got it. But you were studying with them.

And not him.

The moment the door to Ramshackle creaked open, you knew.

It was a sixth sense at this point—an awareness of a certain presence, of a lazy kind of arrogance that filled the air like a storm cloud waiting to break.

And break it did.

Because before you could so much as blink, a heavy arm was slung around your shoulders, and your entire world tilted.

You let out a startled yelp as you were bodily dragged from the dorm, Ace and Deuce frozen mid-review session, Grim’s tail puffed up in sheer betrayal.

“Oi—!”

“Not oi,” Leona drawled, utterly unbothered by your flailing. “Mine.”

You spluttered. “Leona, I have to study!”

“You can study later,” he dismissed, hauling you across campus with a grip so firm you had no choice but to stumble along. “You’re overdue for a break."

“I don’t have time for a break—”

“You do” he interrupted smoothly, and that was that.

You huffed, glaring up at him. “This is kidnapping.”

“Tch. If I was kidnapping you, I wouldn’t be this obvious about it.”

That was… not reassuring.

By the time he finally dumped you onto his bed, you were half-expecting him to declare an official study ban, but instead, he settled in beside you, his arms casually looping around your waist, his body half-draped over yours like an oversized, incredibly smug blanket.

“Go on, then,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice low and easy. “Study.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Here?”

He hummed. “Why not? I got old notes. Bet they’re better than whatever those idiots are using.”

You blinked. “You actually have notes?”

Leona scoffed, reaching over to grab a notebook from his desk. “What, you think I just guessed my way through school?” He flipped it open and, to your absolute shock, the pages were filled with neatly written summaries, key points highlighted with the kind of precision that suggested he did actually pay attention. “See?”

“…I hate that this is actually useful.”

“Told you.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself sink into the warmth of him, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers tapped lazily against your side, like he knew you were starting to relax and was deliberately making it worse.

Still. If you had to study, this wasn’t… terrible.

You let your head rest against his shoulder, flipping through the notes. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, it’s your fault.”

Leona smirked, his breath warm against your skin. “Then I guess you’ll just have to take a nap right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but the next time you felt him shift, the unmistakable curve of his smile pressing into your neck, you didn’t even bother fighting it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul Ashengrotto was a patient man.

A calculated man.

A businessman.

Which was the only reason he hadn’t already torn his hair out strand by agonized strand over the fact that you had been frequenting some other café for the past two weeks.

At first, he’d assumed it was a novelty thing. Maybe you had a moment of curiosity. Maybe they had some limited-time drink that you needed to try. Maybe you’d simply gotten lost—it happened more often than you liked to admit.

But no. You had kept going.

Loyal, devoted, regular patronage.

To a café that was not the Mostro Lounge.

Azul could not abide it.

So, instead of despairing in silence, he took action.

The next time you announced you were heading there, Azul smiled, adjusted his glasses, and accompanied you.

Because if there was something about this place that had captured your attention, then he would analyze it, perfect it, and eliminate the competition before they could even think about stealing away his most treasured customer.

(And partner. But semantics.)

At first, it seemed innocent enough. You gushed over some ridiculous limited-menu item with a starry-eyed enthusiasm that made him fond despite himself, but it was just cake. Cake was replaceable. Cake was replicable. Cake was nothing.

And then the owner came out.

Azul didn’t move, but his businessman’s smile settled into place with all the calculated precision of a predator fixing its gaze upon its prey.

The café owner, meanwhile, had their full attention on you.

And they were far too familiar.

Far too comfortable.

Far too eager.

Their eyes crinkled with warmth when they spoke to you, their laughter was just a touch too soft, and their entire demeanor—

Azul’s fingers twitched. He did not clench them into fists, because that would be petty, but—

He was going to destroy them.

With a pleasant, affable smile, of course.

By the time you finished your cake (which Azul had methodically analyzed with every bite), he had already formulated seventeen different ways to not only outdo this café, but to erase its relevance entirely.

He escorted you back to your room, silent for once, but his mind was racing.

And then, after a long pause, he asked, “Do you enjoy their presence?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“The owner.”

You stared at him, visibly baffled. “…I like their cake?”

Azul opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

And then, after a long, suffering pause, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, because of course you hadn’t noticed.

Because of course you had been utterly, entirely oblivious to the way they had been practically fawning over you.

He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

So, in the end, he simply pulled you close and kissed you, long and lingering, with a kind of slow, consuming possessiveness that had you melting against him in pleased surprise.

He held you the entire night, unwilling to let go, much to your delighted confusion.

And if, a week later, the Mostro Lounge mysteriously unveiled a bigger, better, and undeniably tastier version of that limited-edition cake, effectively nullifying any reason for you to return to that café—

Well.

Azul had no comment.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim insisted on picking you up after class every day, no matter how many times you told him it wasn’t necessary. He always laughed, dismissing your protests with a wave of his hand, as if the very idea of not meeting you after class was ridiculous. “Why wouldn’t I? I like seeing you first thing after class! It makes my whole day better!” And, honestly, how could you argue with that?

So, as usual, you waited outside, looking for that familiar flash of red and gold. You didn’t mind—Kalim was always quick, always eager, and always a little over-the-top about it, greeting you with his usual sunbeam of a grin and a greeting so enthusiastic it was like he hadn’t just seen you that morning.

But today, before Kalim arrived, someone else approached.

At first, you thought it was just an overly friendly upperclassman looking to chat, but the way they leaned in, the way their eyes swept over you, made your skin crawl. Their words were dripping with false charm, their smile just a little too knowing, and the moment they took your hand, something in you snapped.

You were seconds away from yanking yourself free and letting them know exactly what you thought about their audacity—

And then, before you could react, a firm hand wrenched theirs away from you.

You turned, eyes widening in surprise, and saw Kalim standing beside you.

Only—this wasn’t the Kalim you were used to.

There was no bright, carefree smile, no cheerful energy. His expression was carefully blank, his eyes steady and serious in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He wasn’t angry—no, you’d seen Kalim angry before, and this was something different. This was controlled, quiet disapproval as he stared the person down, his grip on their wrist unyielding.

“Don’t touch them.” His voice was even, but there was no room for argument.

The person sputtered something, an attempt at an excuse, but Kalim’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t shout, didn’t make a scene, didn’t need to. The sheer weight of his presence was enough, and after a tense pause, the person hurried off, clearly rattled.

And just like that, Kalim let out a breath and turned back to you, his usual grin slipping easily back into place, warm and reassuring. “Are you okay?”

You blinked.

Your heart was pounding. Not from fear—not even from lingering discomfort—but from something else entirely.

Because, apparently, Kalim without his smile was unfairly, ridiculously attractive.

You managed to nod, clearing your throat, forcing yourself to breathe as he took your hand—gently, reverently, the complete opposite of the unwanted touch from before. He squeezed it lightly, beaming at you as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Later that night, as the two of you lounged together, he confessed, a little sheepishly, “I hated seeing them touch you.” His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if just remembering it made his stomach twist.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, leaning in to kiss him. He hummed against your lips, pleased, the jealousy from earlier completely forgotten.

And if, after that, Kalim insisted on being even quicker to meet you after class, practically appearing the second you stepped outside—well, who were you to complain?

Vil Schoenheit

You had been meticulous in your planning. A surprise party to celebrate Vil’s latest movie role—because, really, any excuse to throw a party for him was a good one. You coordinated with Rook (a double-edged sword, given his enthusiasm), found the perfect venue, picked out a cake that was as extravagant as he was, and carefully avoided any suspicion.

Or at least, you thought you had.

Vil, on the other hand, was about five minutes away from losing the last thread of his sanity.

You had been avoiding him. Not in the obvious, dramatic way—but in the subtle, infuriating way that made his stomach twist unpleasantly. Shorter conversations, quick kisses before running off, whispering in dim hallways with Rook, of all people.

Rook, who delighted in keeping secrets and spoke in riddles even when he wasn’t actively trying to be cryptic. Every time Vil so much as entered the room, your conversations stopped, and all he got was your innocent, suspiciously wide-eyed smile.

It was unacceptable.

But Vil was not jealous. Of course not. He was above something so irrational. Why should he feel threatened? The very idea of it was absurd. He was merely… curious. Concerned. Watching you sneak around with Rook had been horrible for his blood pressure, but jealous? Certainly not.

(And if his skincare routine had gotten even more rigorous to account for stress-induced breakouts, that was purely coincidental.)

So when you finally waltzed into his room, all bright-eyed and smiling, telling him to get dressed, his patience—what little remained—snapped.

In one smooth motion, he had you caged in against his vanity.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Uh. Hi?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have been distracted lately.”

“Uh.” Your bluffing instincts kicked in, but it was useless. Vil’s gaze was sharp, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t look angry, exactly—he looked… hurt.

And, well. That was enough to shatter your resolve immediately.

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” You blurted, hands flying up in surrender. “We planned a surprise party for your movie premiere, and I didn’t want to ruin it! That’s why I’ve been sneaking around!”

Silence.

And then—

Vil laughed.

Not a quiet chuckle. Not a delicate, amused exhale. No, he laughed so hard that he had to lean on you for support, his entire body shaking with it.

And just like that, the tension was gone. He exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before straightening. “Next time,” he said, smoothing his hands over your shoulders, “just tell me.”

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-fond. “That ruins the surprise.”

“Surprises are overrated,” he declared. “Now, come. You planned this party, and I refuse to let you attend it looking anything less than perfect.”

Before you could protest, he had already grabbed your wrist, dragging you toward his closet.

And honestly? After all that turmoil, matching outfits was the least he deserved.

Idia Shroud

Idia had been off all evening.

Not in the usual, grumbly, "the outside world is a waking nightmare" kind of way. No, this was different. This was pointed.

He was pouting.

You had first noticed it when he refused to meet your gaze, keeping his head turned at an almost comical angle whenever you tried to look at him. Even when you sat next to him, close enough that your shoulders brushed, he still wouldn’t acknowledge you.

At first, you thought he was just having an introvert moment. But then you noticed his fingers—tapping on his controller in short, stilted bursts, his usual fluid movements replaced with something far more sulky.

Something was wrong. And worse, he was refusing to tell you.

So, naturally, you did what any reasonable person would do.

You grabbed his face.

“??!!??!” Idia made an undignified noise as your hands squished his cheeks, forcing him to finally look at you. His wide eyes darted around frantically, looking for an escape, but you just leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did.”

For a second, he wavered. You could see it—the way his hands twitched, his lips pressed together in a battle between staying mad and melting like he always did when you held him like this.

But then—betrayal. Pure, unfiltered betrayal flashed in his eyes.

“If you don’t even realize your crimes,” he huffed, “then you don’t deserve to be told.”

…Huh.

You blinked at him, torn between concern and immense amusement. His cheeks were puffed up in an actual pout, his shoulders slightly hunched like an offended cat. His hair even flickered with a dramatic little sizzle, the blue flames crackling indignantly.

So, you did what any responsible partner would do in this situation.

You kissed his cheek.

He made another noise—this one more flustered than betrayed—but at least he wasn’t turning away anymore.

“Idiaaaa,” you coaxed, voice lilting as you gently rubbed soothing circles against his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

He hesitated.

Then, in a grievously wounded tone, he finally muttered:

“You did your dailies… without me. Who did you do them with?”

You stared at him.

“…That’s it?”

He gasped, looking even more betrayed. “That’s it?!”

Okay. Maybe not the best response.

“I just—” You tried to stifle your laugh, but failed miserably. “I didn’t know it was that serious—”

“IT IS,” he declared. “We have an unspoken promise! Every night! We do our dailies! We do our pulls! We suffer together in the gacha mines!” He gestured wildly, his voice spiking in distress. “And today—today, you—you—” His voice wobbled. “You betrayed me.”

You clutched your chest in mock horror. “I have committed the greatest of sins.”

“You HAVE.”

You bit your lip, barely holding back another laugh, but then—then you saw his face. The dramatic pout, the still-flickering flames, the way his fingers fidgeted against his sleeve.

And suddenly, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about the dailies. This was his time with you. The one moment of the day where it was just the two of you, side by side, relaxed and rambling about nonsense while farming loot drops.

And you had accidentally robbed him of it.

Your amusement softened into something warmer. You pulled him closer, letting your fingers trail through his hair as you pressed another kiss to his cheek—longer this time.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, resting your chin against his shoulder. “I didn’t realize how much it meant to you. I did them alone, by the way.”

He mumbled something under his breath, still sulking, but at least he wasn’t pulling away.

“I promise I’ll wait for you every day from now on,” you continued, letting your fingers trace comforting patterns into his back. “Okay?”

“…Tch,” he muttered. Then, after a long pause, he finally slumped against you, his entire weight pressing into your chest.

You grinned. Victory.

“…You are watching the Premo concert reruns with me as compensation, though,” he grumbled, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes, amused. “Fine, fine.”

And that was how you ended up in Idia’s room for hours, marathoning concerts.

And if you showed up to class the next day completely wrecked from lack of sleep?

It was fine.

As long as Idia was happy.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia is above petty emotions.

He is the Prince of Briar Valley, an ancient being of immense power, the strongest fae in existence—he does not succumb to something as trivial as jealousy.

…That is what he tells himself as he watches you, once again, being hopelessly kind to people who clearly do not deserve it.

He watches as you nod along to Crowley’s latest absurd request, despite the fact that everyone knows that the headmaster is little more than a well-dressed menace with a penchant for delegating all responsibility to you.

He watches as some random student—a student who has never once acknowledged your existence before—approaches you with a bright, eager smile, undoubtedly about to ask you for yet another favor.

And he feels a peculiar, simmering sensation coil in his chest.

Malleus is not petty. He does not get jealous.

But he does dislike seeing you taken advantage of.

So, before this interloper can even get a word out, Malleus simply appears by your side, materializing in that eerie, seamless way that only he can. His presence alone is enough to make the student stumble back in terror, but then—just to be certain—he reaches out and takes your hand in his, lacing his fingers through yours with casual ease.

The effect is instantaneous.

The student goes pale. Their entire body stiffens, eyes darting between you and Malleus as if calculating whether their life is worth whatever ridiculous request they were about to make. The answer, apparently, is no, because they immediately spin on their heel and flee.

Malleus watches them go, his expression carefully neutral.

He usually dislikes the way people fear him. But today?

…Today, he finds himself rather pleased.

Satisfied, he turns back to you, fully expecting you to be grateful for his intervention. Perhaps a soft smile, a quiet "thank you," maybe even a fond squeeze of his hand—

Instead, he is met with your grin.

That knowing, teasing grin.

The one that says you know exactly what he just did. The one that says you know he is not as above jealousy as he claims to be. The one that says, without words, oh, so you’re feeling possessive today?

Malleus pointedly ignores it.

“Come,” he says smoothly, giving your hand the lightest tug. “Let us go somewhere… peaceful.”

You let him pull you along, but not without looping your arm around his and leaning into him with unmistakable amusement.

Malleus pretends he does not notice.

Masterlist

RISKY

‘Cause you’re wearing nothing but your perfume… It’s one hell of a view…

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ featuring. blade x fem reader

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ content warnings. smut, meanperv!blade, potential dubcon, car sex, outdoor sex, jerking off, degradation kink, praise kink, rough sex, nipple play, choking, slight manhandling, breeding kink

౨ৎ˚⋆˖ synopsis. you call him out for being a perv — word count. 2.1k

Blade is quiet as usual while driving his sleek red sports car. You’re sitting on the passenger seat, occasionally stealing glances of him. You can’t help it—and I’m not blaming you. Bladie looks so attractive all focused on the road ahead as he shifts gears and accelerates the car. You’ve grown used to having a sleep-deprived, suicidal driver. And though your heart continues to beat like crazy, now it’s for entirely other reasons—impure reasons. 

The two of you have just finished a successful infiltration mission given to you by Elio. Everything went according to the ‘script,’ so all’s well that ends well. You barely remember what the mission was about, too focused on the man driving next to you. Suits look good on him, you think as your eyes roam over his body, clad in that perfectly tailored dark suit. Your own dress is just as perfect, a little gift from Kafka; a fitted long black dress of silk with a split leg on the right side. No wonder you and Blade stole the show back there. 

“You’re staring,” Blade says, not missing a beat, his eyes still focused on the road ahead. They flicker to you for a brief second, the hint of a smirk ghosting over his lips, before he turns his attention back to the peaceful night street. 

“I’m not,” you retort, folding your arms to your chest. Your defensive tone betrays you, earning a chuckle from him. 

“Mhm,” is all he responds, the sound laced in sarcasm. He doesn’t believe you one bit. 

“As if you weren’t staring at me back there,” you mumble begrudgingly. You prop your elbow on the door and lean against your palm, your eyes taking in the blurred images of your surroundings as the car pierces through the night, the air caressing your skin, your hair dancing behind you. You’re determined to ignore him, though you can’t help but murmur, “Perv.” 

Blade bursts out laughing, the sound rich and filling the entire car, lingering in your eyes long after he’s calmed down, somewhat. His shoulders are still shaking with small laughs. You narrow your eyes at him, clearly annoyed by his laughter, though he doesn’t look at you once, keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

“So funny, yes,” you say, sarcasm dripping all over your words. “I called you a ‘perv’ and you’re laughing. My, I didn’t know you’d find that so funny, Bladie.” 

“Were you hoping for another reaction?” he asks, his tone suggestive, hinting at what you were indeed expecting. 

“Hmph!” You turn your head towards the other side. “In your dreams.” 

The car comes to a stop at a red light, which confuses you, since you’re the only car around. Plus, you’re Stellaron Hunters, wanted posters of you are hung around all over the cosmos. A minor offence like crossing a red light is nothing compared to all the other stuff you’ve done. 

“Since when do you care for—” 

The sound of his seat belt unbuckling barely registers, as Blade interrupts you by capturing your lips. For a moment, you’re just looking at him, eyes widened, staring into his own, feeling his smirk against your lips. He wraps a delicate hand around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp, giving him the perfect change to slide his tongue through your parted lips. Your hands come up to his chest, meaning to push him away, but they ultimately just remain there, palms planted over the hard muscles of his chest, as you lose yourself in him. 

When Blade finally breaks the kiss, your ragged breaths echo in the deafening silence, though that infuriating smirk on his lips is louder than the thrumming of your heart. He looks so maddeningly smug as he buckles up again, you want to smack that smirk off his face. You raise your hand to hit him, only for Blade to catch it midair, interlacing your fingers, as your entwined hands rest now on his thigh as he drives away. 

“Fucking perv,” you curse under your breath, though you can feel the heat increasing in your cheeks. 

Blade casually handles the car with one hand, while raising your hands to his lips. “Right, I’m a ‘perv,’” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin. He doesn’t break eye-contact with the road ahead as he kisses your hand, sneakily biting you, before resting your hands back on his thigh. You try to slip your hand from his, but he only tightens his grip. And eventually, you give up. 

After a while, when the car comes to a halt and Blade cuts the engine, you look around at the secluded spot he’s stopped. No cars, barely any lights, only a vast and open space by the side of the highway. This time, you hear it, loud and clear, the sound of his seat belt as he takes it off. Blade leans closer to you, his eyes roaming over you like a predator sizing up its prey, his fingers threading through the silky locks of your hair. 

“Why did you stop here?” you ask, your voice thankfully coming out steady. “We need to head back and report to Elio.” 

“Elio can wait,” Blade responds, clicking your seat belt open and leaning even closer, practically caging you between himself, the seat and the door. “But a ‘perv’ like me can’t.” 

“Y-You mean…” You gulp down hard, your eyes nervously looking around at your surroundings as if expecting someone to show up. “Right here?” 

“What?” Blade says, feigning ignorance, though his smirk betrays him. “Isn’t this what you wanted, princess? I thought all that staring and you calling me a ‘perv’ was because you wanted me to pull up to the side of the highway and pay attention to you.” His hand slips underneath your dress through the opening, climbing higher to your core. His fingers briefly rub over your panties, the damp fabric making his smirk more vexing than it already is. “Or was I wrong?” he taunts, as if the answer isn’t obvious. 

His hands cup your ass, lifting you off the seat, as he kisses your body over the fabric of your dress. One hand keeps your hips up, whilst the other fists the dress, pulling it up to your waist. You watch with a bated breath as Blade takes the waistband of your panties between his teeth and slides it down, lifting your legs up to take it off. When he slides it off your ankles, he brings it to his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal, your cheeks catching fire at the sight. 

“You—! What are you—!” 

“Isn’t this what a ‘perv’ does?” Blade asks, stuffing your panties into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. His fingers grab the zipper of your dress, easily unzipping it and taking it off over your head, throwing it down on your legs. He cannot help but let out a low growl, the sound reverberating through his chest at the sight of your naked body. 

“S-Someone might see us,” you protest, although you lean your head back to give him better access to your neck, as he kisses you, sucking and leaving hickeys. 

Blade smirks as he looks up at you, his hands moving to your waist. “Nobody will see us,” he reassures. Before you have the time to complain once more, he shuts you up by kissing you again. One arm wraps around your waist, while the other slides up, gripping the back of your neck, as he pulls you closer to him. He keeps you hostage as he devours you, pressing your naked body against his suit-clad one, your breasts flattening against the hard muscles of his chest, your nipples erecting into little buds at the friction. 

When he pulls back, he lets you slump on the passenger seat as Blade leans against his own seat. Your eyes never leave him, watching him effortlessly unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers, shoving them down along with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock. You watch as he angles himself better to look at you, his calloused hand wrapping around his dick and stroking the shaft, as his eyes roam over you, focusing on the marks he’s already left on your neck. 

“Your gaze tells me you want to ride my dick,” Blade coos, his hand still stroking his cock, his eyes now locked on yours. 

“I-I don’t!” Your cheeks burn and you hate how your high-pitched tone betrays you, even though all you want is to refute his words. But even if you managed to sound more unbothered, he can see it in your eyes and all over your body that you’re burning up with desire, just like him. 

Blade reaches out to you and helps you climb on his lap, your back to him. You feel him align himself with your entrance and your hands reach up to grab onto the windscreen. He grabs your waist and roughly slams your body down against him, groaning at the familiar sensation of your sweet cunt wrapped around his girth. 

“Fuck… I missed this,” Blade breathes out. His hands hold your waist as he sets a relatively slow tempo at first, giving you some time to adjust to him. Soft moans and mewls leave your lips, the sounds all the reassurance he needs to pick up the pace. He thrusts up inside you in rhythm with him slamming you down on him, hitting that spot deep inside you that has your eyes gazing at the back of your skull. 

“B-Blade, s-so big…” you shamelessly moan into the night. “Slow down…” 

Blade slaps your ass harshly, making you clench around him, as he caresses the already reddening spot. “I thought you were scared we’d get caught,” he coos. He leans closer, leaving a kiss to your shoulder blade. “What happened? Is this perv’s cock so good, you forgot all about your shyness now? Hmm, princess?” 

His hands move up to cup your breasts, feeling their weight and how they fill his palms. He toys with your nipples, pinching and twisting them to draw out more of your sweet little whimpers he adores. All the while you’re now riding his cock all on your own; just like he had said you would. Your knuckles have turned white from how hard you’re gripping the windscreen, but you couldn’t care less right now, your mind only filled with Blade. 

He kisses your back, biting at your sides and inhaling your signature perfume, getting intoxicated in the aroma and that scent that’s uniquely you. He can feel you getting close to your orgasm and can’t help teasing you. “Look at you, princess,” he taunts. “Such a good cock sleeve for a perv like me. Will you let me cum inside you too? Hmm? Will you let me fill this pretty pussy?”

“Yes! Oh Aeons— Yes, please!” you moan, completely out of your mind. The only thought ruling over you is your impending orgasm. “Please, Blade!” 

“My my,” he coos, his hands returning to grab your waist. Wasting no time, Blade grips your waist bruisingly tight, as he starts fucking you even rougher than before, driving both of you to the edge of pleasure and ecstasy. 

You’re babbling all kinds of incoherent words along with his name, when Blade slams you down on him one last time, burying himself to your depths as he cums thick ropes of cum inside you. Your pussy flutters and convulses around his shaft, milking every last drop of his seed, as he pulls your trembling body to rest against him. 

“Such a perfect cum slut,” Blade whispers in your ear, eliciting a whiny moan from your lips. He tilts your head to the side and kisses your lips, consuming all of your whimpers and complaints along with the rest of you. 

When the kiss breaks, you’re slightly dazed, the remnants of your orgasm still gleaming in your beautiful eyes, letting your body rest against his. Blade doesn’t move for a few moments, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion. 

But then, he starts thrusting up inside you, a white ring forming around his cock from your mixed essences. 

“Blade!” you scold. “We need to get back! Elio will be furious if we take any longer!” You try to escape, but his hold on your body is as solid as steel. “And… I’m somewhat sore…” 

Blade laughs, the sound reverberating on your back. He sucks on your neck and leaves another hickey to an empty spot, all the while still pounding into you. “Elio can wait,” he finally responds to your concerns. “As for being sore already…” he trails off as his eyes lock with yours. 

There’s a fire in his red orbs that threatens to burn you alive. And despite your mind’s warnings, you find yourself wanting to eternally burn in this man’s fire. 

“I can only promise you’ll be sore for a long time after I’m done with you, princess.”

© strawchocoberry — do not copy, repost, translate or reuse my work

I know you said it would be a one time au but I'm currently suffering in customer support hell and I just have to say I love that au and I have fantasies about just going ape and just attacking Crowley lol so thx for that

Tumblr's demographic is so funny. I throw a dad-bod Leona and an exhausted customer service worker at y'all and you immediately go apeshit xD

Too slow~

Love cartoon style ✏

There's been a lack of my brother the hedgehog au art on this blog I apologise

The mechanic

I NEED their clubs to have a collab pleaseee

mooooorreeeee of them

I never gate-keep my tricks

Here are shape references for Sonic, Amy, Knuckles and Tails!

Updated:

Here are more shape references for Shadow, Silver, Cream and Blaze

Léocore💅 (Léonore my OC, not Leona.)

(It was an old drawing I had left lying around heh.)

It’s inspired by this: