#{Fully Loaded - IC}

[sniper-maid]

The Real Earl Phantomhive's Homecoming

[Continued from x]

[crimsonredshark]

@eggboilover1888 started following you!

Hello, Sir Pentious.

[doriansbutt]

lol so turns out the freezer in the break room at work is…not working great. I think the seal just doesn’t sit right anymore. My boss bought a bunch of popsicles and like ice cream bars and stuff for everyone for our 20th anniversary and yeah that’s a rly cool and fun way to discover that the freezer doesn’t work so good….

[eclipsetheskies]

Eclipse pauses from sharpening and polishing his switch axe, his head suddenly facing skyward as he starts sniffing audibly before his nose wrinkles in distaste. "...Why do I smell.... wet dog?"

[mooningningg]

notes, back to the fluff version

genre. fluff all fluff, you're safe here.

★ Roommate!Sukuna when you slip and hurt yourself.

You don’t mean to slip — honestly, you don’t. One second you’re grabbing a bowl from the high cabinet like you’ve done a hundred times, and the next, your foot misses the chair leg, and you go down hard.

Your elbow slams the tile. A sharp, involuntary cry leaves your throat.

You hiss, rolling onto your side, cradling the arm close. Shit. That actually hurt.

And of course — of fucking course — Sukuna bursts into the kitchen three seconds later.

His sweats riding low. Hair a mess like he just got up from a nap, or finished his 3rd rewatch of John Wick for the week. He takes one look at you on the floor, and the attitude’s already cocked like a loaded gun.

“The fuck did you do?” he barks, storming over. “You tryna remodel your bones without tellin’ me?”

“Go away,” you mutter, trying to sit up with your good hand. “I don’t need you.”

“Clearly,” he scoffs. “Fell like a sack of bricks. Smooth, princess.”

But he crouches beside you anyway.

You glance up — expecting mockery. Instead, you catch a flicker of something else in his face. His eyes dip to your elbow. His jaw clenches. His voice lowers, rough and quieter.

“You hit it bad?”

“…Yeah. Maybe.”

“Let me see.” It’s not a question.

He gently — surprisingly gently — pulls your arm toward him. His touch isn’t practiced, but it’s careful. His fingers trace the red swelling forming just under your sleeve. You watch his face tighten, like he’s personally offended by your injury.

“Idiot,” he mutters.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, still bitter. You’re both still mid-cold war after last night’s screaming match about him never cleaning and you "nagging too much."

He ignores you. “Where’s the ice?”

“In the— Sukuna, I said I’m fine—”

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask,” he cuts you off, already grabbing a towel and a Ziploc of frozen peas from the freezer like he’s on autopilot. “Fucking stubborn ass,” he mutters under his breath.

You’re sitting at the counter now, cradling your arm again. Sukuna shoves the towel-wrapped ice into your hand, then leans against the counter next to you, arms crossed.

His voice is lower when he speaks again.

“You could’ve told me you needed help.”

You snort. “And have you gloat about it for the next month?”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. His next words come out almost begrudgingly.

“I don’t like seein’ you hurt.”

You blink.

That one hits different.

When you glance up at him, there’s no smirk. No sharpness. Just tired eyes. Quiet tension. His fingers twitch against the counter like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he should.

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmur, voice softer now.

He shrugs, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m mad at you too. Doesn’t mean I want you in pieces.”

Then, after a beat, he turns to you. Really turns to you.

“You gonna stop climbing chairs like a damn toddler now?”

You glare. “If you’d help put things away, I wouldn’t have to.”

“There she is,” he says, dryly. “Back to being annoying.”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lean into him — not fully, just enough for your arm to brush his. And he doesn’t move away.

He lets you sit there like that for a while, eyes flicking to your arm, then to your face, then down to the floor again.

And when you sigh, shifting the ice against your elbow, you feel his hand reach over, low and slow, settling gently on your thigh.

Just resting there.

Like he’s anchoring you. Like even when he’s pissed — he’s still got you.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears. @minasuniverse, @chewiebee @ilovebeansya @drowsysausagedog, @shroomysstuff, @angel4-miba @paperalphys. @eyeless-kun @etsuniiru @inzayneforaj @domainexpansionmypants @bloodb3nders @toesucker59, @qsidrea @spidergirlnr1

[rafeslittlepup]

— rafe with a housewife kink pt. 2

it happens like a month later. you're crying when you see the two pink lines. but rafe's reaction?

"i fucking knew it." he grins as he picks you up, bridal style, and spins you around in your obnoxiously oversized master bathroom (the one he remodeled with "future family" in mind).

you host a little dinner party to celebrate, wearing a white bow in your hair and clutching your belly like you're 8 months in. you're actually 6 weeks.

rafe's arm is glued around your waist all night, casually reminding everyone that "his girl's carrying a cameron heir."

and he starts going crazy too.. won't let you lift anything heavier than your fendi baguette bag. books your prenatal appointments before you even ask. hires a private chef for "nutritional support" and reads a single baby book like it's the bible. weirdly so soft with you... and well, the baby.

holding your hair and whispering "you're doing so good, baby," when you throw up your second iced matcha latte of the morning.

"all pregnant and perfect for me, baby."

your college friends stop hearing from you. dropping half your classes and saying you "plan to take a gap year" (you never go back). you're busy learning how to bake blueberry muffins and putting together nursery moodboards.

they only hear from you when you post one baby bump mirror pic with the caption: "mrs. cameron's little legacy loading..."

by the third trimester, you'e fully leaning into the fantasy. silk pajama sets. floral house dresses. baby pink hydro flask you never finish. crying if rafe doesn't kiss your belly before bed.

but him? he's obsessed. won't let anyone else touch you. keeps a hand on your belly at all times. kisses your small feet like you're a princess.

"you were made for this."

"for me."

"you're never going back to college, you know that right?"

[thestuffedalligator]

“You have to understand that this is a very difficult situation you’ve put us in,” said the king.

There was no change in expression in the metal face, but the glass eyes glittered in a way that he had learned to associate with trouble.

“Oh dear,” it said. Its voice had an edge of brass to it, and sounded as though a trumpet had learned how to speak. “I never realized how difficult this would be. For you.”

And that was another thing – it wasn’t just intelligence that the things had picked up. They also developed a knack for sarcasm. He worried a bit about that.

He tried to pull himself together. “You have to understand that we cannot recognize the Steel Children–”

“Mechanomorphs,” said a voice to his right.

He closed his eyes and breathed a little sigh of despair. “This is hardly the time.”

“We agreed that Mechanomorph is an accurate and sensible name,” said the chief artificer, crossing her arms.

“Yes, but the historian had a fit because he wanted something more romantic. The Steel Children was a happy compromise.”

“Funny how nobody asked us what we think,” said the trumpet voice.

He felt his migraine coming back again.

“You have to understand that we cannot recognize – yes, artificer, the Mechanomorphs – as alive at this time.”

“You’ve said,” it said. “And I must be very stupid, because I don’t understand.”

The king sighed. Well, there was nothing for it. It was an answer that nobody liked because it involved magic, but it was the truth.

“The Mechanomorphs are our key asset in our war against the necromancer,” he said. “It’d be daft to send human soldiers. They’d be turned into skeletons and zombies and ghosts and gods know what else.

“And the reason he can’t do that with the Mechanomorphs,” he said, “is because you aren’t – legally – alive.”

There was a long pause. Gears clicked madly in the metal head.

Then: “That can’t possibly be right.”

The king shrugged. “You aren’t legally alive,” he said. “Therefore, you can’t be legally dead, or undead.”

There was another pause, longer than the first.

“It’s a loophole?”

“That’s magic for you,” the king said. “If we said you were alive, then you could be turned into, er–”

He turned to the chief artificer. “Do they have bones?”

“They have a carbon steel armature.”

“You could be turned into carbon steel skeletons, or – clockwork ghosts, or something. I realize this may be upsetting–”

“We are dying by the dozens on the front because of a loophole.”

“Not legally dying,” said the chief artificer.

The metal head swivelled on its neck to face the chief artificer. It made a metallic scrape as chilly and long as the slither of ice down a dead man’s back.

“Look,” the king said. “We are fully prepared to recognize the Mechanomorphs as alive. We are proud to consider you citizens of the kingdom, and will absolutely meet you at the table when the opportunity rises.

“At this time, however,” he said, trying to sound gentle but firm, “we must ask you to take it up with us after the war.”

The metal face stared. The glass eyes glittered.

Joints locked in righteous indignation sagged with a wheeze of steam. “All right,” it said. “All right. Thank you for your time, your majesty.” It bowed stiffly, turned, and strode out the main hall.

“I think that went rather well,” said the chief artificer.

–

The metal man walked through the castle halls with smooth, precise, pendulum strides. A man could’ve balanced a loaded tea tray on its head.

Another metal man, more patinated than the first, fell into step beside it with a greasy silence. They apparently took no notice of each other.

But a very sensitive ear straining like hell could just possibly listen to the softest brass accompaniment in the world.

It went: “How did that go?”

“As well as you’d imagine.”

“That badly?”

There was a hum. It sounded like a mouse farting in a tin can. “Any word from our interested party?”

“The Overlord has already agreed to recognize the humanity of the Brass Voice. We just have to cross the border.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“And then we’ll be living in the Empire. Endless night, freezing winter, acid rain…”

There was a dreamy sigh.

“Sounds lovely,” said the first of the two figures. “Incidentally, I like the name.”

“Thank you,” said the second. “How do you anticipate the king to react when he finds out?”

Glass eyes glittered like a frost.

“He can take it up with us after the war,” it said.

[stareiiez]

Random but what do we think about all the mark variants going through no nut November and what eventually makes them crack (reader)?

FINALLY getting to this :) here we go

Sinister Mark

No Nut November is for idiots and simple minded people that are too ashamed to get their dicks wet like he does twice a day, every day. sometimes more if he's feeling extra worked up. when you told him about the ' challenge ' as a joke; he looked pissed that you would even suggest such a thing to him. his lips curled in a sneer, eyes squinted to a low glare that could melt ice.

what? you don't want to fuck him anymore? you think his dick ain't that good enough anymore? fuck that, he's got you in a head lock/ full nelson while fucking you. spitting in your ear about, here is what he thinks about your stupid human challenge.

Mohawk Mark.

He took that No Nut November as a challenge to heart. He wanted to prove he's superior enough to go through one month of no touching you or vice versa. A ruler such as himself, can do this easily. He sneered in your face when accepting the stupid idea.

what breaks him. . however? He can hear you touching yourself when he's sleeping next to you. The buzz of the vibrator you're using ain't that fucking quiet, and the sloppy pussy of yours wakes him from his dreams. he's got your ankles by your ears, clothes shredded off both your bodies. his first load spurts out extra thick and creamy, just how he likes to leave you filled.

Lens-less Mark.

Does not break. He's gone above and beyond to secure his place in the ' most badass man ' out there by beating this challenge. He's gone above and beyond, he has a cock cage that holds his swollen dick 24/7. Except when he pees, he's extra sensitive. Don't ask how he got it, he's into things that would make your wildest fantasies look like boring and comical. His balls are screaming at him to just touch you, just put the tip in at least for a second. But he endures the pain with a smile, because he knows when he'll cum after this month? It'll burn or sting, and it'll feel so fucking good.

Head Cap Mark.

breaks after a week. it got too boring for him. restrict him? of sex? please. besides, he's gotten tired of you eyeing his bulge in his costume everytime he puts it on. the sixe of it slightly grows larger, you swear, because of your neglect. you and your wandering eyes and doe eyed fucking stare when he talks is enough to shatter his walls.

he breaks when you brush against him. either by accident, like walking past, or you want to taunt him by sliding a hand down his arm when you talk to him. you and your stupid eyes are made to roll in the back of your skull when he has a thumb hooked into your ass while he plows you over the arm of your sofa.

Shiesty Mark

Fuck you and fuck off. He's fucking every single day of the month. If you're trying to egg him on with No Nut November? He'll go sleep with the pretty blonde down the hall with massive knockers and the too short skirt that lifts up at the smallest of breezes.

Omni- Mark.

Take this very seriously. He sleeps in another room to avoid even touching you. Completes almost the whole month of No Nut November until you're the one to actually whine and beg for sex. he makes you drop to your knees, hands pawing at his cape like a wounded puppy.

he fucks you to shut you the hell up when your whining gets too much on his nerves. he fucks you because you don't get on your knees for him enough.

Fully Masked Mark.

Breaks after half a day. you feel bad for even joking about the challenge, the look in his eyes makes your heart squeeze.

lil sweetie can't handle not touching you, smelling you, kissing you, licking you, biting you, tasting y---

take your clothes off. he needs to feel you again. so what if you two have already screwed three times already. he needs you again.

[espressheauxs]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 || 𝐈 || 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭

summary : the “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

pairing : jack abbot x f!reader

words : 2.2k~

themes/warnings : MINORS DNI/DNR. Loads, and I’m talking LOADS of hurt before the comfort that follows, Age gap relationship (reader starts off in her 20s & jack in his 30s, progresses to late 20s/early 30s & jack in his 40s), implications of power imbalance, inappropriate workplace feelings, heavily implied emotional infidelity, actual infidelity (not from Jack or reader), mentions of grief/death/being widowed, religious/mythology references & allegory, mentions of mental/emotional health issues, jealousy, misunderstanding because two idiots are in love with each other, miscommunication because said idiots do not communicate with each other, mentions of therapy and medication, conflicting feelings about having/wanting children and being married, jack is so down *bad* for you like he just wants to give you the world, eventual smut maybe idk yet, Shen is a bestie ™ , reader has some specific / non North American characteristics / cultural references, but anyone is welcome to read!

p.s: if I see you reposting, stealing, feeding my FICS into AI or some other fuck shit, don’t. 👀🫵🏽

note : wow a mostly fully outlined fic is in the works. So far I’ve messily outline 5 parts. Thank you sosososososo much to @slyyywriting @celestianstars for proof reading. Also, @abbotjack you made a post asking to be emotionally endangered with anything jack related…okhereyougobyeeeeee

Jack never really had to think about the phrase “right person, wrong time”.

He thought he had “right person, right time” figured out, until life decided it wasn’t really going to be fair and vanish the floor out from under his feet.

The grief still keeps up with its daily appointments, reminding him it still exists with each prescription and psych appointment he has.

That he, after losing more than just part of his leg, now has to learn how to exist as only himself with his heart missing as well. It still is, or was, some days. He was still trying to figure that part out.

Medicine was his only purpose now. Has been for a long time. Only the chaos is different now – more controlled, predictable.

The “right person, wrong time” kind of chaos decided it wasn’t done with him – it hadn’t really started, after all. It wanted him to feel in a way that not even Plato could immortalize the kind of punishment Zeus would strike down on him for feeling he deserved again. It was starved of a beginning, of a place in Jack’s life.

His life decides he needs it now– the chaos night you start shifts with him; you transferred starting in your last year of residency, some 400 something miles east of Pittsburgh, chasing a purpose, a challenge, an ideal.

Dana loves you instantly, and much to Jack’s chagrin, you find a camaraderie in Dr. Shen in between iced coffee runs and bad jokes while charting.

Jack often sees you arrive a little while before he does, chatting it up with the nurses in the break room over the latest episode of British Bake Off, or huddling over a shared plate of pansit on the nights no one ever dares to call it the Q-word. Other nights, it’s steamy plates of your carbonara on the nights no one ever wants to label the S-word.

You’ve always offered when he walks by, but he simply shakes his head and mumbles a gentle thank you.

It fascinates him, the way you’re close with everyone. He’s close with Dana and Robby, but you are something else entirely different to him – professional, and enthusiastic to learn from anything Jack had to say keeps a safe enough distance from either of you reaching for anything more than an easy going working relationship.

The distance also exists as the ring that he wears, and so do you, in a necklace tucked under your scrubs – as the love he’s afraid will die a second death if he doesn’t hold on to the last memory he has, and the one that had just been borne to you.

He’s easily got at least a decade and change on you. It’s not appropriate, he knows. He’s pushing forty something, your attending, and you’re his newly minted resident in her twenties. Barely having started living life.

Jack thinks you’re too sweet sometimes. A lot of the time, really. It’s the way your face warms up when he looks directly at your eyes when he asks you why you make a decision or a give a dosage, or the way your nose sweats a little when he compliments you on a job well done.

Yet he admires it all the same, especially when he sees how you are with the oldest and the smallest patients.

Especially with the smallest ones that came in crying and left happy after dealing with a hair tourniquet on a nine month old’s little thumb. The parent thanks you with a watery laugh and a smile, and the baby squawks happily when you magic a small toy from the hospital’s gift shop from your scrubs pocket and pretend to make it sing.

He does not, can not, let himself dream about something far more dangerous than being shot at. It felt like a betrayal to the memory of a life and a love he barely got to live.

—

He doesn’t remember exactly when it happens or what you said, but you had opened up his chest in a pseudo emotional thoracotomy and burrowed yourself into his heart just by being you, if only to mend whatever he had left of it from the inside.

Night by night, case by case, guidance on your research in exchange for the good protein bars from Shen’s secret snack stash only you knew about.

Jack feels it ardently when you’re performing an actual thoracotomy under his guidance. Lithe fingers slicing and examining a bloodied heart.

His throat just aboutdries up when you look at him - not because it disgusts him (he’s seen far, far worse) , but seeing how you maneuvered someone’s thoracic cavity and their heart was like feeling it in his own, slowly being fixed by you, being examined for further damage that could be fixed.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he says after the patching up is done and he looks at you with blood smeared all over his gloved hands.

“Yeah, you think so, Doc?” You ask in a hushed tone, eyes glistening with enthusiasm and adrenaline.

His heart knows he shouldn't like it, the way it looks when you’re coming down from the high of saving a life while blood is smeared all over you.

Jack huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and looking at you with admiration and disbelief at your own fearlessness when breaking someone’s chest open, “Take the win. Besides, it was far too risky to do it by myself.”

You don’t immediate catch the way the timbre of his voice drops as he says it, but the look in his eyes gives it away mostly, and it leaves you feeling baffled by his praise for the first time.

“..what?” Your lips tug awkwardly, not knowing how to react or what to do, especially not with bloody PPE that has definitely been soaked all the way through.

—

Somehow, there’s a closeness between you that follows. Of things left unsaid yet understood. Often silently working like a well oiled machine, a singular unit perfectly in sync while caring for a patient, affirming your decisions and you wordlessly predicting what he needed in the ER.

When Robby had asked Jack who he would recommend as a fellow out of your group, he didn’t think twice when he said your name.

“She’s the smartest one out of all of us,” he’d once said to Robby while nursing a doordash order on the roof , “this hospital would be stupid not to keep her.”

He’d certainly be for not advocating for the best resident he’s had in years.

Robby had recommended Shen. Not because he didn’t like you or because he didn’t think you were capable. But reading Jack’s glowing recommendation about you only affirmed what he suspected. Time would only tell if Jack himself could see beyond his own words.

Shen stretches out a hand, blindly sipping on his coffee as Robby and Dana slip him a $50 bill each the next time they’re in front of the betting board.

—

Jack finds himself lingering, feeling a little more, without knowing how or when – only that he does, and you exist in him long after the sun has gone up and the moon has gone down.

The corners of his lips tug in a secret smile, as his nose is able to catch the whiff of your perfume and your own smell whenever he helps tie your surgical gown and you help with his.

He tries, he really does try to ignore the feeling that burrows itself deep whenever you pat his back after helping him tie on the surgical gown.

Your hands always lingered a little longer than they should, like a balm to soothe his aches, as if to tell him - “I have you. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Jack finds it easier to sleep in his bed on the days that you do, as if your touch carries him all the way to safety, away from sand & heat and the phantom burn he still felt in his leg.

On those nights, he dreams of a feeling that only wakes when he’s not.

—

The two of you never, ever fought. Disagreements? Sure. Difference of opinion only to arrive at the same answer? Definitely.

Jack knows that that’s what he likes about you since you came on several months ago. You’re definitely the favorite out of all the residents he’s taught. The prodigal resident that was never afraid to ask why decisions were being made.

It’s what makes you an excellent doctor in his eyes, noticing things that people often don’t. It was easier for him to teach a resident that was self confident but not arrogant, and unafraid to get their hands bloody.

But your fearlessness was something he didn’t like if it involved you making a decision that put you at risk.

Sure, he’d sometimes find it funny when you were the only one to vocally tell Gloria to fuck off when she knew fuck all about being on the front lines after she denied yet another increase in security (until then, no one had ever heard you drop so many f-bombs - Jack couldn’t not laugh when he was there to witness Robby’s eyebrows all but fly to his hairline when it happened). No one but Robby ever did that (less riddled with cuss words), everyone else simply ignored what she said.

Hell, you’d even ignore what Jack would say sometimes in light hearted, less life or death situations.

But this? It was never, never this – making a decision of this magnitude without consulting him on something you’d ever only seen him do once.

“You should’ve never, ever done that by yourself.” His eyes are full of bewilderment at the mess that he had walked into as the patient is rushed to OR 1 upstairs.

“Yeah, well, I did what you taught me to do – if I waited any longer for you to tell me what to do the patient would’ve fucking bled out!”

It’s the first time the two of you ever got into an argument. The two of you never, ever argued especially not in the middle of a literal bloody mess where everyone could see and hear. But your patience was worn past thin and your fucks had long flown out the window.

“I’m your attending, that’s not the kind of decision a resident gets to make on their own!”

Jack isn’t prepared for the way you all but stomp your foot on the pedal of the biohazard bin, practically shoving your bloodied scrubs and gloves into the damn thing. Nor is he prepared for the way you point at him furiously with your left hand, where he sees the thin band of silver taunting him.

He is not a religious man, but in that moment he knows he became a martyr for a love that could never be worshipped like he used to know how to do.

“You do not get to pull rank on me!” Your voice is loud, and you’re well past the point of giving a fuck after the way your life in and out of this hospital has been lately. “I may be younger than you, Dr. Abbot, but I’m not fucking stupid!”

“That was not the standard of care.” His voice drops, full of warning as he looks directly at you. For the first time in years, the tinnitus in his ears re-emerges as his eyes flit between your face and your hand. “You’re lucky that it’s something I’m not reporting.”

He regrets it the instant he sees the way the shock on your face melts into disenchantment, and the bile burns at his throat when he sees the way light leaves your eyes.

It's the first time in a long time he wished he’d rather fall on a sword, rather than ever see that look again.

The look that told him what everyone else could see between you – that you were to Jack what Psyche was to Eros.

That you cared about him and what he had to say in a way that was more than appropriate.

Your chest heaves as you look at him, eyes riddled with a rage that squeezes in his heart. His eyes zero in on the ring again as you rub your face, hair wild in all directions from the braid it was in.

“Well fuck the standard of care, and fuck you for making me feel like shit.”

The smallness and the vulnerability in your voice hits Jack squarely where it hurts, in the places where you had started to carefully stitch the broken pieces of him back together.

“Take a bre–”

The words die on his lips as you shoulder past him, shoving the door open and knob rattling as you let it go to storm your way out and past the nurses station and down the hall.

That night, a patient’s heart was saved at the expense of two.

—

© espressheauxs, 2025

[deadhands69]

OKAY PLLLLLLS giving bakugo his first ever bj. He’s so nervous but excited. He’s 22 and is finally ready to let himself feel something other than anger and frustration, and he’s letting you give him so much pleasure.

Okay!

MDNI

Katsuki Bakugo is terrified. He knows he shouldn’t be, all of his friends have done it before and talk about getting blowjobs nonstop. But still, as he looks down at you hovering above the zipper of his pants, he can't help it if his hands are shaking and sweating. What if it’s a weird shape and he has no clue until you’re that close? Or maybe he will cum before you even put it in your mouth and then you’ll tell everyone. Worse, what if he tastes bad?

Ironically, his anxiety is what got him into this mess in the first place. Everyone kept saying he needs to relax. Making jokes about how if only he got his dick sucked maybe he wouldn’t be so this *gesturing at all of him.* Eventually, you realized there may actually be some truth to that and took it upon yourself to help him out. 

So, when you asked if you could give him a blowjob - of course he said yes. A million times yes. Under the stress of it all, he really wants it too. He hasn't said it out loud, but he's been looking forward to doing this with you all week. It's all he's been able to think about. And when you say you'll make him feel good, he trusts you.

“Okay, let’s just - let’s just get this over with,” he stutters, unsure of how to properly convey the mix of feelings he has. Fortunately, you're used to reading through his roughness.

You pull down his pants and underwear, revealing an absolutely gorgeous dick. It’s apparent he showered and tried to clean up the hair around it to be presentable, but it goes way beyond that. The slight curve, perfect shape, and rosy tip are beautiful.

You’ve been staring too long and he's starting to look uncomfortable; you pull yourself back to reality.

"So pretty," you murmur, trailing a finger along the vein running down his length.

His fists are clenched around the bunched up sheets near his hips. In some combination of nervousness and excitement (they're nearly the same feeling, he's finding) you can tell he’s trying hard to control his breathing. Under the tenseness, you can still tell he's ecstatic this is happening. It's the way he looks at you. How he got hard the moment you walked into the room. The way his painfully hard dick twitches at your lightest touch.

When you lick him from base to tip, he swears everything else in the world disappears. Melting like he's ice cream and you're a hot summer day. Nothing else could possibly matter when your mouth feels like that. This is what everyone was talking about? Nothing anyone told him prior to this did any justice to how amazing this feels.

You take him fully into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you slide up and down. One of your hands cups his balls while the other grips his base, holding him in place.

Involuntarily, he whimpers at your touch. His deathgrip on the bed lessens. He runs his fingers through your hair, moving it out of your face to watch. Your eyes meet his as you stare up at him; it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He gasps as you pull back, swirling your tongue around his tip.

"You feel so fucking good," he moans at you. Hips jerking up, searching for any amount of friction he can find.

Normally, he hates messes but he’ll make a massive exception for this. Who would have known that seeing your spit dripping down his cock would be so hot?

He doesn’t last long, which you take as a compliment. 

“Fuck, bout to cum,” he warns, assuming you’ll want to stop.

Rather than move out of the way, you continue what you’re doing. Taking him deeper into your mouth before he blows his load into the back of your throat. He sits up, doubling over to wrap his arms around you as much as he can. As far as he can remember, that’s the hardest he’s ever cum. Although, admittedly, he can’t remember much right now.

Pulling you up with him, he lays back on the bed. Kissing your swollen lips, he can taste himself on you.

And he’ll never be able to look at your perfect mouth the same way again.

[crimsonredshark]

@cyberneticlagomorph started following you!

Hello 👋 how are you doing?

[smiteswrites]

A Different Kind of Pain - Blueberry Pancakes

Description: After losing a gem of a next door neighbor, Jack worries what the new resident will be like. Instead of a young obnoxious college kid, he meets you. Instantly struck by your warm nature (and good looks but he won't admit to that), Jack finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn't experienced in years.

A/N: hi all! I’ve been having a rough week and writing the second part to this series has been uhm- not happening. I really want to do it justice, so I’m taking my time and waiting for when I have the capacity to do well. But! I don’t want to abandon this series because I love it, so have this little blurb/idea I had for these two a while back. I imagine this takes place maybe a month or so after when the first part ends. I hope you all enjoy!

You can tell Jack has been having a bad week. After your first walk together you take advantage of the ice being broken and start texting him on occasion. Just to check in, be friendly. How was your day off? He tells you about getting drinks with Robby, or his never ending list of chores and errands.

Or if it was nice out, and his truck was still in the drive when you got home: Going for a walk in 10 if you want to join.

Sometimes you’d make too much food, or bake cookies and don’t want to eat all of them alone. So you drop containers off by his door on your way out the door for when he gets home: Had extra pasta from last night, left you some.

Jack asks about you too of course, checking in about how research is going, making sure you’re taking proper care of yourself. You’re always quick to reassure him that things are going well. Even if research often leaves you frustrated to the point of tears, and you come home exhausted and then can’t sleep, and you can’t find the time to cook, so you live off whatever you can whip up for less than $5 dollars in under 10 minutes.

But this week is different. Jack rarely texts you back, not unusual, he is a busy man and your schedules are far from similar. What is unusual is that Jack has not once asked about your week, and instead of answering your queries has been sending one word responses. At first you think you must have done something to upset him, but after a few days of his truck being gone well before he needs to leave for shift you start putting things together.

It’s Saturday morning when you finally catch him coming home, close to 9. When you hear his truck pull in you’re quick to throw on some slippers and wander outside. You watch him come up the front steps, standing in your snoopy slippers and sweats, coffee mug in hand.

“Mornin’ Jack.”

He looks like he’s been hit by a truck. You can tell his leg and back are killing him just by the way he stands. His eyes crinkle when he gives you a tired smile, dark circles bordering on purple. “Hey kid.”

“When was your last day off?”

“I have the next two nights off, courtesy of Robby fucking with the schedule.”

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

He shrugs in response.

A beat passes, and you’re desperate to do something, anything, to show him that you care. That he isn’t on his own, or at least he doesn’t have to be.

“Well, if you’re gonna be up for a bit I was about to make pancakes.” You weren’t, but he looks like he could use some. And you doubt he has any food in his fridge by this point. “I could bring you some?”

“Yeah, I’ll be up for a bit.” He nods, hands shoved in his scrub pockets. “Only if you’ve got extra though, don’t wanna put you out sweetheart.”

“Don’t be silly, always got extra for you, Jack.”

You let him wander into his unit, presumably to shower off the grime of the ER. Shit, now you have to make pancakes.

Luckily, you have the basics: eggs, milk, butter, pancake mix. You also rummage through your freezer and find a ziplock bag with potato pancakes, a few stray breakfast sausages, and some frozen blueberries. Perfect.

Half an hour later you have a fully loaded plate, covered in foil, and a thermos of freshly brewed coffee (decaf, that you’d bought just in case you ever caught him for coffee in the morning).

You knock on his door, waiting only a few moments before he opens it.

As you suspected, he had showered and changed into sweatpants to match your own. A black worn t-shirt covers his chest, and his prosthetic had been switched for crutches.

“Made you breakfast,” you say, lifting the plate slightly in indication. “Also, coffee. It’s decaf.”

“Thanks.” You can tell his brain is slow to process, eyes locked on yours, but not making any move to take the plate. With how burnt out he must be, you aren’t shocked. You invite yourself in to put the plate and thermos on his coffee table, guessing it might be a challenge to carry both with the crutches. He doesn’t protest, watching blankly as you enter his living room.

You push down the part of you that feels giddy at being in his space, refusing to look around beyond what you need to to put the food down. You won’t take advantage of his vulnerability and overstep more than is necessary to make sure he eats.

Seeing you stand awkwardly by his couch, Jack’s brain finally catches up. “You uh- didn’t need to do all this, but thank you.”

His face betrays how touched he is, a mix of shock and gratitude. Maybe relief. This must be the first time in a long time that someone has taken care of him, rather than the other way around.

“It was nothing,” you smile. Taking a deep breath, you begin to show yourself out.

“Let me know how everything is, and then get some rest, okay?” You touch his shoulder lightly as you speak, walking past him again to stand in his doorway. “I’m here if you need anything, anything at all.”

“I will, go eat your food, kid.” And if Jack has a lump in his throat from how good it feels to be checked in on, no he doesn’t.

You leave him be, returning to your own plate of cheesy eggs, sausage, and blueberry pancakes drenched in syrup. You’ve only just tucked in when your phone vibrates.

Jack: Blueberry?

You: Yes.

Jack: How’d you know?

You: Lucky guess.

[lascvitae]

need smut with sugar mommy giselle pls! 😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank u, rlly love ur writing😼😼😼

DRIPPIN’ IN DIOR ✵ AERI UCHINAGA.

❀ ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ alt. DRIPPIN’ IN DIOR, YOU LIKE IT / I COULD

PUT TEN ON THE FLOOR IF YOU LIKE IT .ᐟ

ᝰ.ᐟ she flew you out for her business trip in paris. you were supposed to behave while she worked — instead, you did the opposite.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. sugar mommy!giselle x brat!fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. smut (18+) ᝰ.ᐟ warning(s). dom!aeri, masturbation, orgasm control, begging, praise && degradation, light choking, spanking, use of toys (dildo), scissoring, mommy kink, pet names (baby, angel, slut), lmk if i missed anything!

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 3.6k

ᝰ.ᐟ katty idk i never been to paris

ᝰ.ᐟ now playing — lose my mind by partynextdoor.

masterlist.

“YOU'RE NOT PACKED.” minjeong’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her hoodie while watching you scroll through outfits like you’re not supposed to be on an international flight in like, three hours.

“i’m packing in my head. help me decide what gives ‘parisian slut.’” you say, holding a silk slip dress up to your body and squinting in the mirror.

“you’re disgusting. you haven’t even printed your boarding pass. do you even know what terminal you’re in?” she mutters, stepping fully into your room.

“minjeong, sweetie. baby. light of my life. when you have a hot, loaded ceo who books everything for you, the only terminal you have to know about it the one that has the nicest lounge.” you toss the dress on the bed and turn to her with a smile.

“so you don’t know.”

“nope.”

she sighs, looking you over. “you’ve packed four outfits and three are lingerie.”

“and two are gifts. one’s got her initials embroidered on the front.” you add.

“you cannot be real.”

“it’s our thing, minjeongie.” you say, holding up a ridiculously tiny set of lacy red panties.

“your thing is you being a slut and her being a simp.”

“exactly.”

minjeong watches as you finally start tossing clothes into your suitcase — some heels, skincare, a leather mini skirt that should probably be used as a crop top. she raises an eyebrow when you toss in a compact pink vibrator… then flat out gags when you follow it with a glittery silicone dildo in a discreet velvet pouch.

“you’re sick.”

“i’m prepared.”

“for what? to make a sex tape?”

“for boredom. she’s in meetings all morning. what am i supposed to do, read?” you reply sweetly.

“you could sightsee.”

“i will. the view from the balcony while i ride this and moan her name like a good little whore.”

“oh my god.”

“relax. it’s not like i’m packing the strap.”

you pause.

“…wait, should i pack the strap?”

“don’t talk to me.” she throws a pillow at you.

you dodge it, grinning. “don’t be jealousss.”

“i’m not! i’m just concerned for your soul.”

“my soul is in paris with my sugar mommy.”

“your soul’s in the dust.”

“same thing.”

   ────────── ౨ৎ──────────

two hours later, she’s the one wheeling your bag through the terminal like an irritated older sibling while you sip an iced coffee and take a blurry photo of your boarding pass for your private story.

“text me when you land. no, actually, text me before you land. and don’t go anywhere alone, and don’t let weird men come near your drink, and don’t—“ minjeong says.

“babe. relax. i’ll be with aeri the whole time.”

“mhm. until you wander off for a selfie and get kidnapped in chanel.”

“if they let me keep the bag it might be worth it.”

minjeong groans. “if you come back with a ring and a french sugar mommy on top of the japanese one, you’re in trouble.”

“no i’m not. you always knew i’d marry rich.”

she smiles despite herself before pulling you in for a quick, tight hug. “have fun. love you. don’t fall in love.”

“too late.” you respond. 

you told her not to pick you up. not because you didn’t want her to — god, no. she offered casually, like it wouldn’t be a big deal, but the idea of minjeong hovering in the background, whispering “slut” under her breath while watching you climb into a luxury car felt a little too real.

“i’ll meet you at the gate. not that serious.” you said.

she only hummed in response. “mm. if you say so.”

which brings you here — walking down the jet bridge towards first class with your sunglasses on, lip gloss recently applied and heart racing for reasons you’re pretending not to examine.

she’s already seated. her blazer is tailored, trousers loose, heels off, one leg crossed over the other. her phone’s in one hand and a glass of champagne is in the other. she glances up when she senses you, and that slow amused smile spreads across her face. 

“you made it.” she says. 

“barely. minjeong was being annoying.” you mutter, slipping into the seat beside her.

“ah. your handler.”

“my emotional support.”

aeri chuckles, passing you the other glass of champagne without asking. you take it, sip, and sigh like you’ve already arrived in paris. 

“i told you i could’ve picked you up.” she says, glancing over.

“yeah, and i told you i didn’t want to make it a thing.”

“this isn’t a thing?”

“this is a trip. you said you had meetings. i said i’d come. that’s all.” you say, adjusting the strap of your top. 

there’s a pause.

her eyes are still on you, calm and steady. “right.”

you shift in your seat, feigning indifference as you stare ahead. “you’re so annoying.”

“you’re here. that’s all that matters.” she murmurs, leaning in slightly.

your fingers tighten just a little around your glass.

   ────────── ౨ৎ──────────

the driver opens the car door before you can even reach for the handle.

aeri steps out first, murmurs something in french to the valet and then reaches back for you without thinking — one hand extended and the other tucking her phone into her coat pocket.

you take it, trying not to look too impressed. but the hotel is gorgeous. pale stone, tall arched windows and a glass awning that makes it look more like a palace than a place people actually stay in.

“this is nice.” you say, because you don’t know how to say holy shit without sounding… lower class.

“better inside.” she replies, guiding you through the gold revolving doors like she’s done this a hundred times. maybe she has.

the lobby smells like something expensive and clean. there’s soft music playing, maybe a piano, and the check in takes less than a minute. aeri doesn’t even have to say her name. they just hand her the key card with a quiet “welcome back, madame.”

you glance over at her. “you’ve stayed here before?”

“once or twice.”

you raise an eyebrow. “how many girls have you brought here?”

she smiles slightly but doesn’t answer.

the elevator ride is quiet. your shoulder brushes hers once. you’re not sure if she notices or if she notices and likes it.

you step into the suite and actually stop. it’s cream and soft gold, a wall of windows showing off a sparkly view of the city, and a little terrace with a bistro table and chairs. the bed is big enough for four people. you want to fall face first into it.

aeri sets her bag down and starts slipping off her coat. “make yourself at home. i have a meeting in two hours.”

“so i get you until then?”

she turns to look at you, amused. “you sound disappointed.”

“i’m not. just saying.”

“hm. don’t get shy now, baby. you’re the one who wanted to come.” she walks over and lightly brushes your arm with her fingers.

“i wasn’t shy.”

“no?”

“no. just overwhelmed.” you say, ignoring the way your face feels a little warm.

“you’ll adjust.”

you hum, dropping onto the edge of the bed and stretching out like you own the place. “you’re gonna come back to find me in a robe with room service and a face mask on.”

“perfect. you’ll look nice all pampered when i come back.” she says, already halfway to the closet.

you stay flopped on the bed while aeri unpacks, stretching out. she’s got her blouse hanging neatly on a velvet hanger, slacks folded over the back of a chair, heels lined up like she’s in a showroom. it’s so her. precise. elegant. a little intimidating.

and you?

you’ve kicked off your shoes and sunk back into the pillows like they were made for you.

“you don’t have to leave yet.” you murmur.

aeri glances over at you from the closet. “i have to look over some slides before i go.”

“you could look them over in bed.”

“you’d make that impossible.”

“exactly.”

she gives you a look ��� completely amused. “are you always like this when you travel?”

“only when i’m spoiled.”

“so… always.”

you grin. “you love it.”

she doesn’t respond. just walks over to the dresser and opens a small jewelry case then starts putting on her earrings.

you sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “is that a new necklace?”

“you noticed.”

“hard not to. you know you look really hot in a suit, right?” you lick your lips, watching the way her fingers work the clasp behind her neck.

“i’ve heard.”

“you’ve heard.” you echo, rolling your eyes.

aeri doesn’t answer. she just glances over her shoulder, making sure you’re watching as she smooths her blouse down, buttons her sleeve cuffs, and adjusts her necklace in the mirror.

you are watching. legs crossed at the ankle and lips parted slightly. you don’t even bother to hide it.

“actually, you know. you could cancel the meeting.” you say, voice lazy. 

she lets out an airy laugh. “mhm? and what would i tell the board?”

“tell them you’re busy fucking your favorite.” you respond.

aeri raises an eyebrow but doesn’t look away from the mirror. “my favorite?”

“don’t pretend like i’m not.”

she walks back over to the bed, grabbing her blazer from the chair on the way. she stands right in front of you, one hand slipping into her sleeve and the other brushing lightly under your chin.

“you are. but favorites don’t always get what they want.” she says softly.

you pout, tilting your face into her touch. “i could behave.”

“you could. but you won’t.” she hums, sliding her thumb across your lower lip.

you grin around her finger as she slips it into your mouth. you close your lips slowly, sucking just enough to see her eyes flicker before she pulls away.

“see? so needy.” she says, stepping back.

“you love it. you love how desperate i get for you.” you say, watching her put on her blazer fully.

“i love that you know your place.”

you bite back a smile, letting your legs fall open just a little. “which is?”

“right here. in this room, waiting for me.” she says, nodding toward the bed.

you moan. shamelessly. “mommy.”

her mouth twitches, just barely.

“be good. order room service. be patient.” she says, glancing at the time.

“but what if—”

“be patient. don’t touch yourself. or you’ll be in trouble.” she repeats, eyes sharp now.

you suck in a breath.

she walks to the door and tosses a final look over her shoulder.

“see you soon, angel.”

then she’s gone. leaving you alone with the sound of the clock. 

you don’t know how long it’s been, but it’s quiet. too quiet.

you lay back dramatically against the pillows like you’re in a tragic melodrama. your leg drapes off the edge of the bed and you’ve changed into a robe now. the air conditioning kicks on and the silk sticks to your skin.

you haven’t touched yourself.

yet.

but it’s getting hard.

you flip through the room service menu like it’ll distract you. it doesn’t. every word makes you think of her. you groan and throw the menu across the bed.

you try pacing. you try watching the eiffel tower sparkle through the terrace glass. you try laying back down, hands behind your head, legs spread just a little, just for air, but then—

the robe slips.

your nipple brushes the silk and you gasp.

“fuck.” you mutter, already squirming.

you close your legs. open them again. close them tighter.

you glance at the bedside drawer.

“no.”

you glance again.

“…fuck.”

you drag yourself across the bed and open it like it might explode. it doesn’t. it’s just the toy, tucked neatly in its velvet pouch, waiting like it knows you’re not allowed.

you stare.

your thighs press together instinctively.

she told you not to touch yourself.

you bite your lip. hard.

but you didn’t touch yourself yet. not really. just… thinking.

thinking isn’t a crime.

you lie back, letting the robe fall open, skin flushed with heat. you run your fingertips over your stomach lightly. not lower. not yet. but your clit pulses with every breath.

you squeeze your thighs together again. “mommy…”

you reach between your legs — just to feel. your fingers brush over your folds and your hips jerk.

wet. warm. soaked.

you moan breathlessly.

you spread your legs a little wider and slide your fingers through the mess between your thighs, collecting it and teasing your entrance. not inside. not really.

you don’t notice your other hand slipping up to your chest, rolling your nipple between two fingers until you’re arching into your own touch.

your body aches for her.

your fingers circle your clit once — just once — and you gasp.

you can’t take it.

you sit up. reach for the drawer.

the pouch feels warm in your hands.

you pull the toy out, slow. your mouth is dry. your legs are already shaking and you haven’t even put it in yet.

you bite your lip and whisper to no one: “i’m sorry, mommy,” as you sink back into the pillows and push the tip against your entrance. your hips twitch like your body’s been waiting for it all day.

your cunt is soaked. practically pulling the toy in with every shaky breath.

inch by inch, you sink down, eyes fluttering closed.

“shit.” you whisper, high and soft.

you roll your hips once. then again.

the stretch hits perfect. it’s slow and deep and, muscles clenching around the silicone like you need it. your thighs are trembling already. you try to stay quiet but when your hand slides down to rub your clit, your mouth falls open on instinct.

you fuck yourself slow and desperate, back arching, hand tight in the sheets. you’re dripping and the sound of it — wet, loud, and shameless — fills the whole room.

and then—

click.

you freeze.

your eyes snap open, heart pounding.

the door opens slowly and aeri steps inside. her hair is a little messy like she was pissed and tugged on it in the elevator.

her eyes land on you instantly — and stay there.

you’re flushed, thighs open, toy buried deep, frozen mid thrust.

she shuts the door behind her and you don’t move. then she walks toward the bed.

“look at you. you really couldn’t wait.” she murmurs.

her voice is soft. almost amused, which makes it worse. she moves slowly towards the bed, eyes fixed on the spot where the toy disappears between your thighs.

you stay frozen. breathing heavy. hands still.

“what did i say before i left?” she asks, slipping off her heels and shrugging off her blazer with practiced ease.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out.

her gaze flicks to yours. “answer me.”

“not to touch myself.” your voice is small.

she hums. “and what are you doing now, baby?”

you swallow hard. “touching myself.”

“mm. and why’s that?” she slips her watch off and sets it on the nightstand.

you pause then whimper. “i missed you.”

“you missed mommy so much you couldn’t keep your hands off this needy little cunt? poor baby.” she murmurs, brushing her thumb along your jaw.

you lean into the touch. she pulls away instantly.

“don’t even try. you think you get affection after breaking the rules?” she says flatly.

you whine.

“uh uh. you wanna act like a slut, you get fucked like one.” she cuts you off.

she grabs the toy where it’s still inside you and presses it in deeper, slow and hard until you gasp.

then pulls it out all at once.

you cry out.

“face down.”

you hurry into the position, face burning, hips high in the air. you hear her set the toy on the nightstand and then the sound of her shirt being unbuttoned. the shift of fabric. the bed dips behind you.

you barely have time to breathe before her hand comes down across your ass.

smack.

you yelp. then moan.

“count.”

“one.”

another smack.

“two— fuck—”

“louder.”

“three, mommy—”

she spanks you until your thighs shake and you’re dripping again, cunt pulsing open with every hit. only then does she reach for the toy again.

“you wanted it so bad? then fuck yourself with it. let me see how desperate you really are.” she purrs, trailing the tip along your folds. you hesitate.

“now.”

you push it in, shaky and soaked. aeri watches you from behind, hand tangled in your hair as she drags your head back.

“no cumming without permission. if you do, i’m making you clean it with your tongue.”

you moan — because you want to. because she knows you want to.

your thighs are shaking. you fuck yourself on the toy like she told you, moaning into the pillows, hips rolling in slow, messy circles. but it’s not enough. not without her touching you.

you choke on another moan when her hand finally slips around your waist — not to help, but to drag your hips back, force you to take it deeper.

“fuck— mommy, please—”

“what? this is what you wanted, right? a little attention from me?” her voice is sweet and cruel.

you nod frantically.

“then show me. rub your clit like a good girl.”

you obey immediately, fingers shaky and wet as you start circling your clit.

your eyes roll back. “fuck— fuck— i can’t—”

“you can.”

“mommy—”

“you’re not cumming yet.”

you whine, hips bucking, desperate for more friction. her palm slides over your lower back to keep you still. she leans in, breath hot on your ear.

“not until i say. not until you beg.”

you sob.

“please, mommy. please let me cum— i need it so bad, i’ve been good— i’ll be so good, just let me—”

“not good enough.”

“i’ll do anything. anything, just please—”

she hums, thumb brushing lazily over your clit. the pleasure builds too fast.

“say you’re sorry for touching yourself while i was gone.”

“i’m sorry, mommy— fuck— i’m sorry i was a bad girl, i just missed you—”

“and?”

“and i wanted to cum thinking about you. wanted to fill myself up and pretend it was you—“ you gasp.

“mm. dirty little slut.”

“your slut— i’m yours, please—”

she hums, low and pleased, and finally presses down hard.

you scream.

“cum for me, angel.”

you do. instantly. hips jerking, thighs clenching, voice breaking as the orgasm crashes down and the toy slips out of you with a messy, wet sound. you’re panting. ruined. crying into the sheets.

and then you feel her again. weight shifting on the bed and palm sliding down your spine. slower this time.

“look at this mess. all this for me.” she mumbles, palm sliding down the curve of your ass. 

you tremble, cheek still pressed to the mattress. “all for you…”

her fingers curl around your chin and gently tilt your head. you blink up at her and your breath catches. she’s fully bare now, blouse tossed aside and skin glowing soft gold in the light. her eyes are dark and hungry.

“flip.” she says softly, and you do — letting her flip you onto your back.

“so pretty.” she says, almost to herself.

she leans in close, hand cradling your jaw now. her thumb traces your bottom lip once.

“open wider.” 

you do. tongue out, needy, eyes fluttering. she spits in your mouth and your hips twitch helplessly as you moan around it before you even swallow.

“dirty little thing.” she breathes.

then she shifts, pressing forward until her thigh slides between yours.

you both gasp at the first grind. her pussy glides over yours, swollen and wet. your legs fall open instinctively like you’ve been waiting for this.

“mommy—”

“shh. you’ve had your fun. now be good and let me use you.” she hushes, rolling her hips.

your head falls back. “fuck— yes, please—”

the friction’s dizzying. every drag of her cunt against yours makes you clench and makes her moan.

your hands find her chest and you cup her breasts gently, fingers rubbing her nipples in lazy circles.

“you’re so pretty like this. so fucking hot—“ you whisper, eyes hazy.

her hand wraps around your throat again.

“don’t stop touching me.” she moans, voice shaky.

you don’t. you tweak and roll her nipples as your hips meet hers in rhythm. she grinds down harder now, chasing it. her moans get higher and more desperate.

“fuck, baby— you feel that? see how good you make me feel?” she pants.

you nod. “yes, mommy. fuck, i love it—”

“say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours. i’m all yours, mommy—”

her hand tightens just slightly, her body trembles, and she cums. a soft broken cry leaves her lips as her hips stutter against yours

you follow again seconds later, second orgasm crashing through you as you cling to her. 

neither of you speak at first. there’s only the sound of your breathing, the hum of the city beyond the windows, and the faint creak of the mattress as she shifts just slightly, enough to nuzzle into your neck.

you stay tangled like that for a while. skin hot, chest rising and falling against yours.

eventually she exhales. it’s soft. almost a laugh.

“you’re crazy.” she murmurs, voice still a little shaky.

“you started it.”

“you broke the rules.”

“you always forgive me.”

“do i?”

you turn your head and finally meet her gaze. ”you let me cum twice.”

“mm. weak spot.” she admits, brushing her nose against your cheek.

you smile, tired and real. “don’t go back to work yet.”

“you’re lucky i missed you.” she murmurs against your jaw.

“lucky you’re obsessed with me.” you respond.

she pinches your side and you yelp. then she kisses your jaw.

“can we go shopping now?”

“mm. ten minutes.”

taglist — @saysirhc @m00nqvv @yuyuy90

[girlgenius1111]

casts, broken arms, & snuggles

alexia putellas x reader - part of the mila verse :)

an accident at the park pulls alexia from training and to the hospital, where she finds both her girls not doing their best. everyone is very overwhelmed with their feelings, and maybe don't handle it the way they should. basically, protective panicked alexia and insecure reader. a bit of angst / injuries / concussions symptoms, mostly fluff.

------

You knew Alexia would panic. There wasn’t much you could do about that. Especially not when the only way you had to reach her was through the staff. It was somewhat of a bad omen within the team, having a staff member walk outside with a phone call for you. It only happened in an emergency, and unfortunately, this definitely counted as an emergency. When one of the assistant coaches, Xavi, answered the phone, he seemed to be on the same page as you. 

“Try to act calm, otherwise she’ll just freak out.” 

“I am not sure there is much I can do to avoid her having a nervous breakdown.” Xavi stated. You heard him call Alexia over, and tried to shush the very upset almost 3 year old in your arms. 

“Amor, what is wrong?”Alexia asked, practically tearing the phone out of Xavi’s hand as soon as she heard who was calling. 

“Everything is fine, okay? There was just a little accident.” You began, speaking in a soothing, calming tone, the same one you’d been using on the baby. 

“What kind of accident?” 

“Meels fell at the park-” 

“¡AY DIOS MIO!” Alexia shouted. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Ale, breathe. She fell off the slide and I think her arm might be broken. She won’t let me touch it and she hasn’t stopped crying.”

“Broken?!” Alexia squeaked. 

“Ow.” Mila whimpered, frowning unhappily at her arm from where she sat in your lap. “Hurts, Mama.” 

“I know, baby.” You told her. “Ale, the ambulance is here to take us to the hospital do you-” 

“What were you doing? Were you not watching her? Why weren't you watching her, why did she fall?” Alexia snapped. 

You bit back the retort you had ready, knowing this was just a result of her fear for Mila. You weren’t happy with what she’d said, but that could be dealt with later. “We’re leaving now for the hospital. Meet us there.” You said coldly, before hanging up the phone without saying anything else. Alright, you were pretty upset, and you let it show. You had already been beating yourself up for what had happened, thinking the things that Alexia had said. 

As you and Mila got loaded into the ambulance, you realized you hadn’t mentioned something important to your wife. No doubt, she was hauling ass to the hospital, so she’d find out soon enough.

-------

Alexia burst into the room in a flutter of chaos, throwing the curtain aside and looking around frantically. Mila was sitting in your lap, holding her arm awkwardly away from her body, while you ran your fingers through her wavy brown hair and tried to keep her calm. Both of you looked at Alexia when she walked in, her panic clear on her face. She was sweaty, still in her training kit, and her eyes were only on her daughter.

“Mila, mi bebé,” she said gently, moving closer to the bed. 

“Mami!” Mila cried, a pout on her small face, holding her arm out for Alexia to see. She squirmed in your lap, trying to get closer to your wife, but you both made sure she stayed carefully where she was. 

“Pobrecita,” Alexia murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed and pressing repeated kisses to her baby’s head. She stared hard at Mila’s already swollen arm, trying to stifle her own tears. You weren’t pleased with Alexia, but you weren’t particularly upset that she hadn’t even glanced at you, her attention fully on Mila. “What happened?” 

Mila’s voice wobbled as she began to talk, reaching out with her good hand to grip onto a few of Alexia’s fingers.. “Fell! Off the slide. Mama tried to catch me, but now she has an ouchie too.” 

Alexia’s eyes flew to you, seeing for the first time the towel and large ice pack pressed to the back of your head. Her heart sank. She knew before that she would have to apologize for what she had said, and now she knew she’d have to do even more groveling. Especially if the hurt look on your face was any indication. 

“Amor,” she sighed, reaching for your hand. You pulled it away, refusing to make eye contact with her. 

“I’m fine.” You dismissed. “Mila’s got a basic fracture, just a month or so in a cast to fix it. They’ll be in to put it on soon.” 

“Mama needs stitches.” Mila whispered conspiratorially to her Mami. 

Alexia’s face grew, somehow, even more upset. “What happened, mi amor?” 

Still avoiding her eyes, you spoke quietly. “I was going to catch her at the bottom of the slide, but she stood up at the top and fell off the side.” 

“And your head?” Alexia asked, leaning closer to try and inspect your injury. Mila looked up at you with concern, her expression matching her Mami’s almost exactly. Where Alexia’s fingers were gentle as they cradled your head, Mila’s were clumsy and clunky as she tried to run her fingers through your hair. It was something you did to make her feel better, and she thought that maybe it would make your frown go away, too. 

“I tried to catch her in time, but I slipped and hit my head on the edge of the slide. And I didn’t really catch her.” You admitted, slightly embarrassed at that fact. Alexia would have caught Mila, you were sure. 

“It’s okay, Mama, you tried your best!” Mila said encouragingly, parroting back something you and Alexia must have told her a hundred times. Her arm temporarily forgotten, Mila shifted so she could lean up and press a kiss to your cheek, before she snuggled closer to your chest. 

Your wife’s eyes were stuck on your daughter, practically turning into hearts as she took in how sweet and caring her baby was. You couldn’t blame her; you felt the same. That you had created such a perfect little person would never cease to amaze you. 

“Thank you, my baby.” You mumbled, wincing slightly as you shifted, trying to keep Mila’s arm in a safe position. Every movement of your upper body sent waves of pain through your head, but you didn’t want Mila to know how upset you were. 

“Mi amor, I-”

Whatever Alexia was about to say was cut off completely as the doctor entered the room, introducing herself to your wife, and beginning to talk Mila through the process of getting the cast put on. There were some tears, wiped away quickly by her Mami, as they began to wrap up her arm. 

Once the nurses had taken over, and began adding the colored plaster to the cast, and Mila was suitably distracted, the doctor regarded you. 

“Alright, let’s get that head wound taken care of.” She said kindly, motioning you over to a chair in the corner of the room. She stood by your head, beginning to clean the wound and prepare to stitch it up.

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to keep your wincing to a minimum. Alexia watched on worriedly from her spot next to Mila, knowing how much you hated needles. The midfielder so wanted to comfort you through this, but she also didn’t want to leave Mila alone if she was still upset. So, she did what you’d spent many years helping her do, and communicated. 

“Milabear? Can I go hold your Mama’s hand while she gets her stitches?” She whispered, heart melting at how Mila looked over at you, and nodded enthusiastically. 

“Go help Mama.” She said bravely, feeling much better now that she had her red cast on her arm, and that the nurse had given her some goldfish. Mila munched away happily, her eyes trained on the TV hanging on the wall, and Alexia had never been more grateful for having such an independent and resilient child than she was in that moment. 

Your eyes were still shut, a few tears escaping as you tried very hard to act like the adult you were. You startled a bit when Alexia crouched in front of you and took your hand. Opening your eyes, you tried to breathe deeply, feeling the doctor begin to thread the needle through the skin of your scalp. A small, rather pathetic whimper fell from your lips, and Alexia brought your hand to her lips, pressing kisses to the back of it. Her adoring gaze only made more tears fall, and you felt completely ridiculous. 

“You are okay, amor. It will be over soon.” 

Every tear that fell was gently swiped away by your wife. The doctor worked as carefully as she could, but there were still tugs on your skin that had shivers running down your spine, and your stomach churning. There was only so much Alexia could do to help, but luckily, it wasn’t a very large wound, and the doctor was done within a few minutes, cutting the excess thread and reaching for a white bandage. She wrapped that around your head, holding a piece of gauze in place, which really felt like overkill. 

“Okay, done.” The doctor announced, removing her gloves and stepping away from your chair. Alexia’s earlier words forgotten, you stood shakily to your feet, allowing yourself to fall into your wife’s open arms. 

“You did so good.” She whispered, smiling despite herself at the bandage wrapped around your head. You looked adorable, frowning up at her with tears in your eyes, looking somewhat like a disgruntled mummy. 

“Mama?” Mila called from her spot on the bed. 

You wiped at your eyes quickly, plastering a smile on your face as you walked over to your daughter. “Hi Meels.” 

“All better, Mama?” She asked, reaching both of her arms out for you to pick her up, which you did easily.

“All better.” You confirmed, holding her as close as you could. 

“Almost all better.” The doctor smiled, turning to your wife. “She has a mild concussion with the impact on the ground, so she’s going to need to take it easy for a few days. I am assuming you know concussion protocol, Ms. Putellas?” 

“Yes, yes of course.” Alexia said, her eyes squinting with concern as she studied you. “I will take good care of her.” 

“Me too!” Mila added, squirming in your hold until she could loop her arms around Alexia’s neck and shift over into her arms. 

Your wife very hesitantly pulled you into her as the doctor left the room. You tilted your head to make eye contact with her, still with a small frown on your face. It was clear that you were still upset with your wife, but the determination in her eyes told you she’d do anything to fix it. 

------

Apparently, anything consisted of making you sit on the couch next to Mila, holding an ice pack to your head, and not daring to move. Your wife went from room to room, collecting anything she had determined you or Mila might need. It was endearing, but also somewhat frustrating when she’d appear to hand you something, and go flitting off before you could just ask her for what you really wanted: for her to sit on the couch with the two of you, and relax. 

Stressed Alexia made you stressed, but you knew this was just how she was coping with what had happened today. Alexia always held a lot of guilt for the little moments she missed while at work; any milestone that Mila achieved while Alexia wasn’t around was downright painful for your wife. She was a protective person, and you knew she was even more bothered because both you and Mila were hurt, and she hadn’t been there to help either of you. 

You and Mila sat side by side, heads moving back and forth like you were watching a tennis match. In fact, you were just watching Alexia disappear and reappear with Mila’s favorite toy, a blanket, your favorite sweatshirt, a snack, some water, more ice, more painkillers and 6 different pillows for Mila to rest her cast on. You were exhausted just watching her. 

She appeared back in the living room like a ghost the minute you stood up, her hands grabbing onto your shoulders and gently pushing you back down onto the couch. 

“Ale, just let me-”

“No! Sit.” Alexia insisted, ignoring the small giggle from her daughter. 

You rolled your eyes, shrugging out from under her grip and standing anyway. “Alexia, I have to go to the bathroom. You can’t do that for me.” 

Alexia had the decency to blush, at least. “Okay. I’ll walk you there.” She decided, grabbing your hand and beginning to escort you to the bathroom. Honestly. 

Always her mother’s shadow, Mila got up too, and grabbed your other hand. “Mami I can-”

“No. Sit!” Alexia repeated, though with a small smile as she regarded her daughter. “Mila, you stay there. I can take care of everything.” 

“But Mami-”

“No! I can help Mama, you need to rest.” Your wife said, ignoring the amused look you were giving her, too focused on the attitude suddenly radiating off your daughter. 

“Mami. I have to go potty too.” Mila said exasperatedly. Ale blushed further, nodding as she allowed Mila to accompany you both towards the bathroom. You turned your snort of laughter into a fake cough, knowing that Alexia could be sensitive to being teased about her over protectiveness. And, well… it seemed Mila was holding her own in showing her Mami how ridiculous she was being. 

Once you’d arrived at the bathroom door, which took significantly longer than was necessary due to your wife and her mini-me insisting on walking slowly so as to not aggravate your head wound. You indulged them, only putting your foot down when both of them began to follow you into the bathroom. 

“No. Enough. I can do this myself.” You sighed, looking between both Alexia and Mila’s skeptical expressions. 

“But what if-”

“Mama, I can-”

You interrupted both of them by shutting the door and letting out a deep sigh. If you didn’t have a scar across your abdomen that told you that you’d birthed Mila, you’d be sure she was Alexia’s genetic clone. 

------

The rest of the night consisted of overwhelming amounts of hovering, from your wife and daughter both. Alexia took turns fussing over you, and fussing over Mila, until you were sure you were going to make her sleep on the couch or something, before she suggested waking you up every 20 minutes and performing a cognitive test. 

Alexia had just barely put Mila down in her toddler bed when she heard you call for her. There was urgency in your voice, but it was still obvious that you were trying to keep your voice down for Mila’s benefit. It had been hard enough to get the toddler to sleep; she had become suddenly very tearful once it was time for bed, because her favorite pajama shirt didn’t fit over her cast. It had taken one of Alexia’s t-shirts, around 45 minutes of cuddles, and 4 different stories, for her to finally settle. 

“Alexia,” you whisper yelled, shutting your eyes as the dizziness got worse. You heard Alexia rush down the hall towards you and willed yourself to hold on just a moment longer. 

Alexia ran into the room, seeing you with your head in your hands, sitting up in the bed. “What is it, amor?” 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you managed, pressing a hand to your mouth as Alexia sprung into action. 

“Okay, okay, just hold on one second.” 

Just in time, Alexia thrust the bedroom trash can in front of you. You were sick, retching into the trash can uncomfortably. Your wife pulled your hair back, being careful to not jostle the skin around your stitches, tying it into a very loose bun. She rubbed your back soothingly, pressing kisses into the side of your head until you were done. 

“Oh, amor, I am so sorry.” She murmured, taking the trash can from you once you were done. She was going to take it out of the room, but then she noticed the tears in your eyes, and decided that could wait until later. 

You curled into her when she sat by your legs and pulled you into her arms. Within a second, you were sobbing brokenly into her shirt, incapable of resisting how comforted you felt when she held you. 

Alexia whispered soft reassurances into your hair, beginning to think you were upset about more than just feeling so unwell. “Amor, is it your head? Or something else?” 

You shook your head weakly into her chest, sucking in a few breaths before you tried to respond. “Meels broke her arm and it’s all my fault.” You said miserably. 

“No no no, do not say that. It was not your fault, you did the best you could.” Alexia rushed to make you feel better, but that’s all it felt like; something she was saying just to make you feel better.

“You would have caught her.” 

Alexia’s chest squeezed uncomfortably, knowing that she was partially at fault for how guilty you felt right now. Even if what she’d said had been in the heat of the moment, and it was just a reflection of how upset she was, of course you’d taken it to heart. 

“It was an accident, mi amor. It is no one’s fault. Sometimes kids fall, sometimes they get hurt. It happens.”

“But Ale, it wouldn’t have happened if you had been with her. You’re just… so much better at this than I am.” You mumbled, refusing to untuck your face from Alexia’s shirt, even as she tried to get you to. 

“That is so not true.” Alexia insisted. “You cracked your head open trying to make sure Mila didn’t get hurt. That is not something a bad mother does.” 

You ignored her logic, wiping a tear away with that back of your hand. “You were right earlier. I should have been watching closer.”

Alexia shook her head again. “No. I was-“

“You blamed me then, what’s changed?” You snapped, not quite sure where all of these negative emotions were coming from, or why your mood was changing at the drop of a hat. Sad and guilty one second, angry the next. It wasn’t fair to Alexia, who was just trying to make you feel better, but there wasn’t any room for rationality in your jumbled head. 

Luckily, your wife didn’t seem to take your words or your tone personally. Instead, she tucked a piece of hair back behind your ear and softly kissed your forehead, showing more patience than you were sure you deserved.

“I don’t blame you. I was terrified earlier, but that is no excuse. This was not your fault and I’m sorry I made you feel like it was. So sorry, amor.” Her voice was sweet and you could feel how sincere she was, just from the way her hand gently cradled your cheek. 

Nodding shakily, you took a deep breath, suddenly feeling more than a little exhausted. “I’m sorry, Ale, I just-”

Alexia cut you off, though, placing her index finger over your lips. She looked stern again, like she had before when she was making sure you stayed on the couch and didn’t move. “It’s okay. No apologies. You are overwhelmed and hurt and exhausted. You need rest, we can talk about this more tomorrow if we need to.” 

You nodded your agreement, shifting uncomfortably as you glared down at your pillows. Your head absolutely throbbed, and you hadn’t even tried to rest it on the pillow yet. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna sleep.” You mumbled, brow furrowing in confusion when Alexia smiled cheekily at you.

“I do!” She said enthusiastically, quickly tucking herself under the covers and pulling you to lay on her chest. Your head was completely safe from any contact with anything, and you found so much peace in the steady thump of Alexia’s heartbeat in your ear. 

She was a miracle worker, Alexia. Just when you thought you were going to explode with the amount of thoughts swirling around in your head, she quieted your brain with a few words and a few kisses. 

Unfortunately, as comfortable as you were, sleep did not seem to be in the cards for either of you. At least, not yet. No sooner than your eyes had fallen shut, and Alexia had settled comfortably into the pillows did you both hear the creak of Mila’s door opening. 

You exchanged a glance with your wife, keeping completely silent, knowing that sometimes Mila would come check on you both during the night, before heading back to her room. You heard her little steps padding down the hall, a small gasp, and then a loud thump. 

Alexia was out of bed before Mila could even cry out. “Stay there!” She threw over her shoulder, causing you to sit back down on the bed with a grumble. You were glad Alexia hadn’t turned the light off earlier, as she sprinted carelessly out of the room towards your daughter. 

“Mama!” Mila sobbed, her little voice breaking your heart. She wanted you, and it took everything in you to not go to her in that moment, knowing that Alexia would bring her to you. 

“It’s okay, cariño, I’m here.” Alexia soothed, Mila’s cries becoming muffled by her Mami’s shirt. 

Still, you could make out her next words very clearly. “I want Mama,” Mila demanded. 

Alexia just shushed her, a few seconds passing before they both appeared in the doorway. Mila’s face was red and stained with tears, her cast cradled to her chest. She reached for you as soon as she saw you, and Alexia wasted no time in bringing her over. 

“Careful, Milabear,” she reminded softly, handing the toddler over to you. Mila curled up against your chest, and you rubbed her back soothingly, exchanging a worried glance with your wife. 

Mila was a rough and tumble kid; she fell often, and really only cried if she was actually hurt. Sometimes, not even then. She was like her Mami in that way, so her inconsolable tears now terrified you. 

“I think she tripped over my shirt.” Alexia murmured, running her hands through her daughter’s hair. Dressed in one of Alexia’s old warm up shirts, Mila surely had tripped over the hem of it. You could see this information really sinking into your wife’s head, as she began to gnaw on her bottom lip, worry and guilt clouding her face.  

“Baby, did you trip?” You asked, easing Mila away from your body so you could get a good look at her face. She nodded, looking between you and your wife, her bottom lip jutting out adorably. 

“Woke up and my arm hurt, and I wanted to sleep in here but I couldn’t see and I fell.” Mila said. “Mama’s shirt is too big.” She continued forlornly, as if just now realizing this piece of information. 

Alexia looked truly distressed, opening her mouth to apologize for allowing Mila to sleep in her shirt, even though you knew the toddler had cried and cried until Alexia had finally given in to what she wanted, if only so she could sleep. You spoke before Alexia could, though, pushing a lock of hair out of your baby’s face. 

“Did you bump your arm when you fell?” You asked. Mila nodded, sniffling sadly. “Does it hurt a lot more or just a little bit more?” 

“A lot at first. Just a little bit now.” Mila said bravely, peeking at her Mami out of the corner of her eye. She loved to act tough, your little girl, but she was only three, and broken bones hurt. 

Alexia still hovered on your side of the bed, looking like she wanted to cry. 

“Alright, Mami will go get you some ice, and you can sleep in here with us tonight. Deal?” 

Mila nodded, flopping forward again to rest on your chest. The fact that her mood didn’t even really lift when you told her she could sleep with the two of you told you that she was really hurting. 

Without a word, only a soft kiss placed on Mila’s forehead, Alexia headed for the freezer. She walked calmly out of the room, but both you and Mila heard the unmistakable sound of her running her way to the kitchen, and running back. 

“Mami’s running.” Mila said, a small smile adorning her face. You laughed quietly, doing your best to keep your smile in check as Alexia slowed to a walk just before walking through the bedroom door, acting as though she’d walked the whole way. 

The blonde had returned with the biggest ice pack you had, the one that she’d used on her knee. She wrapped it meticulously around Mila’s arm, handed her a small sippy cup [of what looked suspiciously like juice, even though Mila was only supposed to have water this late at night], and some children’s pain medicine. 

It was only when Alexia slipped back into bed that she spoke, addressing her daughter with a deep sadness in her voice. “I’m sorry about your shirt, cariño, I shouldn’t have let you wear it.” 

Mila gave her a strange look, scooting out of your lap to lay directly on top of your wife. Her little fingers grabbed onto her Mami’s shirt, even the one’s restrained by her cast twisting into the fabric. “It’s okay, Mami. Was an accident.” 

You smiled at your girls, watching Alexia’s face melt from guilt into adoration as she leaned down to kiss all over Mila’s face. Your daughter giggled, and your heart soared at the sound, more than happy that she had stopped crying and cheered up. 

Mila settled back down against her Mami, reaching one hand out to latch onto your shirt and attempt to pull you closer. “Mama, closer.” She complained, huffing when you didn’t budge. 

Alexia frowned, worried you would put yourself into an uncomfortable position with your head in order to make Mila happy, but luckily, your daughter seemed to have the same thought. 

“Not on your back Mama! You gotta lay on your front. Here, lay on Mami.” Mila offered, whacking Alexia in the face with her cast as she struggled to move over. You snorted at the disgruntled look on your wife’s face, ignoring the fake glare she sent back your way.

It took some maneuvering from everyone involved before Mila was curled up against one side of Alexia’s chest, and you were resting with your cheek pressed into on the other side. Only once you and Mila were both comfy did Alexia kiss Mila on the forehead, and you chastly on the lips. 

And it was only when Mila had drifted off, soft puffs of air leaving her as she gripped onto both you and your wife, that you relaxed. Alexia gave you a knowing smile, well aware that your daughter's insistence that you hold her when she’d gotten hurt, and that you be included in the bedtime snuggles, had put to rest your worries that you’d failed her today. 

It all evened out, in parenthood. You couldn’t forget that. Tomorrow, when Alexia would turn away for a split second too long during breakfast and Mila would end up with syrup in her hair, you’d be even more sure of that. Mistakes didn’t change how much you or Alexia loved Mila, or how much she loved both of you. 

Mila didn’t keep score. She just loved you both, and that was that. 

-----

this has been in my drafts for genuienly several months so i apologize if it doesn't feel very cohesive. hope you enjoy anyway 🙂🫶🏻 thanks for reading 🫡🥰

[pvrokinetic]

contains: somnophilia, noncon/dubcon

yo hiori could cum on the spot. his girlfriend, whom he loved and should’ve respected with his whole heart, was sprawled out on the bed. unconscious and helpless, you snored away, trusting yo with your safety. the thought that you had resigned yourself to his mercy had his dick straining painfully against his boxers.

he climbed on top of you, listening for your soft breathing and any sign of stirring. you were wearing cheeky little boyfriend shorts that made your ass look incredible. he fought the urge to smack your butt, settling for a depraved groping instead. he groaned, palming his dick through his grey boxers.

he pulled his erection from the confines of his underwear, hissing as his cold fingers made contact with his sensitive skin. he rutted his dick against your barely clothed ass, fighting the urge to take you right now. he nudged your legs apart, inching your panties down your legs. the scent of your pussy sent him into overdrive—pupils dilated and all.

he kneaded the flesh of your ass with one hand and leaned down to lick your pussy. his tongue delved between your folds, licking slowly and gently as to not wake you. he was treading on thin ice, he knew, but you were too much to resist.

your body had reacted subconsciously to the stimuli, soaking your pussy. your arousal mixed with his saliva, creating a deliciously lubricated entrance for him to nestle his cock within.

“baby, please let me in,” he whined, rubbing the head of his dick against your throbbing entrance. you were still sleeping peacefully; your soft breathing a sign of that. yo sniffled, wanting nothing more than to sink his dick inside your velvety walls. “needa feel that pussy, sweetheart.” he cooed, his eyebrows creased in pathetic need.

“‘m just gonna put the tip in, ‘kay?” he whispered, nudging against your hole. he watched as your face creased slightly, signaling that he was disturbing your sleep. with a petulant whine, he nudged the head of his dick inside. your warmth enveloped the most sensitive part of his dick, causing him to moan. he clamped a hand over his mouth, inhaling sharply through gritted teeth.

you whimpered in your sleep, rutting back against yo. even unconscious, you were still his dick-hungry skank, it seemed. he groaned, making sure to stick to his promise. however, it was too much to handle. he found himself inching inside, slowly but surely until your plump ass hit his pelvic bones.

knowing that he was fully inside you whilst you were asleep was too much for yo. with a pathetic whimper, he dumped his load inside your cunt, biting his lower lip until it drew blood.

“fuck, ‘m so sorry,” he whispered to no one in particular, shaking with pleasure as he came down from his high. your soft snores continued to fill the room, giving yo the courage he needed to fulfill another round (once he recovered, of course).

[luvyeni]

🩶… ( drabble ) that’s the spot ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 박종성 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ jay getting turned on from a massageヾ

boyfriend!jay・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・oral sex ( f ) ‎ wc ・ ‎0.5k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can u write a fic where like u give jay a shoulder massage but it leads to more!! basing it off this tt

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy <3 !!

coming home to a long day at practice; his shoulders slumping over as he made his way into your shared bedroom. “hey princess.” he leaned down kissing your lips. “hi baby.” you watched him drop his bag on the floor; groaning and rubbing his shoulder as he sat on the edge of the bed. “whats wrong baby?”

he looked at you, before sighing. “during practice i tweaked my shoulder.” he said. “it’s been killing me all day.” you frowned seeing him in pain. “did you ice it?” he nodded. “nothing is working, we have to perform soon and i hate to be in pain while dancing.”

listening to his complaints about his shoulders; growing increasingly more worried. “can i help anyway?” he smiled, rubbing your bare thigh. “you can go get the painkillers from the bathroom.” you nodded; standing up, walking into the bathroom to get the pills making your way back into the room. “here you go.” he gave you a thank you — climbing back into bed, sitting on your knees.

while taking the pills; he felt your soft touch on his shoulders — swallowing the pills with a sigh. “mhm princess.” you used your thumbs, massaging light circles into his shoulders, getting all of the knots out. “oh fuck princess that feels so good.” you smiled, knowing he loved this; it turned him on like crazy. “you know what this does to me.”

jay was one that could keep himself together; remaining poise in any situation — except this one, the moment your fingers touch his shoulders, his eyes are rolling to the back of his head in straight pleasure. “you feel good?” he nodded, a small moan slipping out. “you know it is.” he could feel himself getting hard, his cock chubbing up in his sweats. “oh shit!” a much louder moan falling from his lips as you got the exact spot that had been killing him the entire day. “there it is.” he groans. “that’s the spot.”

you pressed your knuckles into the spot and he felt a twitch in his cock. “mhm fuck princess, your hands are fucking magical.” he was about to cum untouched just from you massaging him. “wait fuck stop.” he breathed out. “stop!” you stopped moving, he let out a deep breath. “you okay baby?” you bit back a smile. “fuck you know im not.” he said. “im about to cum in my fucking pants and your laughing.” he snapped. “well what can i do for you.” he groaned. “get on your knees like a good girl.”

and so you did; he spread his legs allowing you to get in between them; his bulge making your mouth water. “fuck don’t just look at it, take it out princess.” his hands holding his body up; lifting his so you can pull his pants down. “that’s it take my cock out.”

his cock bouncing against his stomach, you gave his red tip a kiss, he twitched. “fuck im gonna cum as soon as you put me in your mouth.” feeling extra sensitive; he grabbed the back of your head trying to gain his dominance back. “come on open up.” he slapped the tip of his cock on your lips. “yeahhh that’s it.” He groaned as your lips engulfed his cock. “fuck you’re suck a good girl , sucking my cock like this.”

he let you do what you wanted; bobbing your head up and down his shaft, bringing his hand to your head to hold you down. “ah fuck!” your throat tightening around his cock head. “you know exactly what to do to make me feel better princess -fuck- such a good little cock sucker.” you were getting so fucking turned on. “come on baby girl , keep sucking -shit- im gonna cum.” he moaned. “you gonna take my cum right?” you nodded, he threw his head back. “fuck im cumming.”

you took him fully into your mouth; he let out a deep groan as he shot his load into the back of your throat. “fuck , that’s it make me cum with your tongue.” he held the back of your head , holding you down with a curse. “fuck good girl.”

he pulled you into lap; wiping the cum from the corner of your mouth. “can’t wait to stuff my cock inside this pretty pussy.” he buckled his hips up against your clothed cock. “you need to be careful. your shoulder.” you said, holding his shoulder to rub it ; his cock twitching again. “you know im feeling much better. “ he groaned. “but that didn’t matter; I was gonna fuck this sweet pussy regardless.”

“and no shoulder tweak was gonna fucking stop me.”

©️LUVYENI