#“do you want heavy?” YES ALL DAY EVERY DAY

[transgender-mothman]

If you read my response, you’ll see I have played and run other systems. I have a large collection of ttrpgs, and have played quite a few. Many of them are small or indie, and I also have friends who are indie game designers (shout out to @strangeharpy !). I think my actual second longest campaign was a powered by the apocalypse one, and I have designed a d6 magical girl game system from scratch because I couldn’t find what I wanted in a pre-existing system. And it worked great and was very fun, if difficult, to do! I am a staunch supporter of indie games.

Now. That said. My current group does double back to 5e. That is very true. I’ve been playing 5e off and on for a long time, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say we are necessarily constantly “supporting a monopoly” in that … we already own the books, either physically or digital copies, and there’s no buying of every single thing wotc releases. We don’t use d&d beyond. We don’t run modules or whatever it is that wotc calls the prefab campaigns these days. I haven’t bought a new 5e book in YEARS, because there’s no need to and tbh I don’t care to give WotC more money particularly with the direction they’ve been going. My group play very home brew, very tweaked, very RP heavy games using the 5e system as a base, and it works for us. And that’s our prerogative and that’s totally fine to do! My initial statement stands—- play whatever, however, and with whoever is best for the experience YOU want to have.

As for why we go back to 5e, just because there are things we drop or leave out, doesn’t mean there aren’t aspects of it we love. The races, classes, feats, spells, and combat system work for us and you can really have such a different experience from campaign to campaign by mixing up what you play and how, and there are tons of (free) resources by players for players online to assist or add to your game. There’s a ton of actual play content, which is accessible and fun to engage with, that gets newbies a solid idea on how a ttrpg flows or works, and this is such a help for people who are apprehensive about starting. And for older players who have started with previous editions, there’s at least some commonality between versions (I started playing 3.5 myself). Not everyone who plays or continues to play 5e is actively harming the indie community by using resources they already have or games they are comfortable/familiar with.

I very much believe everyone should try other games if they’re able. There’s such a wealth of cool, unique games out by smaller companies and indie developers. But I do understand why 5e has a lot of pull to it— yes, it’s THE mainstream system, which unfortunately comes with all the other trappings of capitalism. But the game isn’t bad in and of itself and I don’t believe playing it, any way you want to, is a moral or ethical failing.

5e is a gateway game now more than ever. I am a very nerdy horror film guy, but I didn’t start with indie arthouse movies… like most people, I started with major Hollywood franchises, because of mass accessibility. Everyone starts somewhere! And not everyone will branch out from mainstream d&d to games that are more off the beaten track, same as not all horror fans will go from the Saw franchise to weird experimental horror that no one outside of Letterboxd has ever heard of. But you know what? Some will. And that’s great.

I think an important part of the "D&D is easy to learn" argument is that a lot of those people don't actually know how to play D&D. They know they need to roll a d20 and add some numbers and sometimes they need to roll another type of die for damage. A part of it is the culture of basically fucking around and letting the GM sort it out. Players don't actually feel the need to learn the rules.

Now I don't think the above actually counts as knowing the rules. D&D is a relatively crunchy game that actually rewards system mastery and actually learning how to play D&D well, as in to make mechanically informed tactical decisions and utilizing the mechanics to your advantage, is actually a skill that needs to be learned and cultivated. None of that is to say that you need to be a perfectly tuned CharOp machine to know how to play D&D. But to actually start to make the sorts of decisions D&D as a game rewards you kind of need to know the rules.

And like, a lot of people don't seem to know the rules. They know how to play D&D in the most abstract sense of knowing that they need to say things and sometimes the person scowling at them from behind the screen will ask them to roll a die. But that's hardly engaging with the mechanics of the game, like the actual game part.

And to paraphrase @prokopetz this also contributes to the impression that other games are hard to learn: because a lot of other games don't have the same culture of play of D&D so like instead of letting new players coast by with a shallow understanding of the rules and letting the GM do all the work, they ask players to start making mechanically informed decisions right away. Sure, it can suck for onboarding, but learning from your mistakes can often be a great way to learn.

[fangdokja]

The man in your apartment knows you better than you know yourself.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Stalker x Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 908

The night swallowed the city whole, wrapping it in the kind of darkness that only amplifies your breathing. He had been watching you for hours now, hidden just beyond the edges of your comprehension, a master of shadows and silence. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, but he had memorized the fragile line of your existence—the tremble in your voice when you spoke too quickly, the way your hands fumbled over themselves when you thought no one noticed. You were art in its most raw form: vulnerable, flawed, perfect.

He thought about you every second every single day. You had no idea.

The first time he saw you, it had been accidental. A fleeting moment—your back turned to him, your hair catching the low golden light like the divine threads of some celestial loom. His breath had caught, just for a second, but in that second, his world shattered and reformed around one singular truth: you were his. He didn’t know your name then, but he didn’t need to. A predator never needs to introduce himself to his prey.

Tonight, he stands in your apartment, the silence of your slumber heavy in the air. You don’t hear him, don’t feel his gaze burning into your sleeping form. You’ve sprawled out on the bed like a lamb offered up for slaughter, limbs loose, breath even. He’s been here long enough to memorize the rise and fall of your chest, the vulnerable hollow of your throat, the pulse-point just beneath your jaw. His gloved fingers twitch, aching to reach out, to press down, to claim.

But he won’t—not yet. No, not yet. Anticipation is a wine best aged, and he has patience honed by decades of knowing how to break things.

His own reflection in the mirror catches his eye. He’s huge, monstrous compared to you—broad shoulders, scarred hands, a face carved by the violence of time and regret. He looks like someone who’s torn lives apart, because he has. The juxtaposition is delicious, isn’t it? You, all soft and warm and untouched; him, sharp edges and blackened depths. The lamb and the wolf.

He steps closer, boots silent against the hardwood. Every fiber of his being screams to touch you, but he resists, fists clenching at his sides. The air feels heavier the closer he gets, charged like the moment before a storm breaks. His voice, low and guttural, cuts through the stillness, though it’s barely a whisper.

“You don’t even know, do you?”

You stir faintly in your sleep, a soft sound spilling from your lips. His chest tightens at the noise. He doesn’t want to wake you, not yet, but the idea of you opening those innocent eyes and finding him here, towering over you like the monster in the dark, makes him shudder. Fear looks good on you. He knows it will. He’s dreamt of it.

“You’re so fragile,” he murmurs, the words more for himself than for you. “I could crush you with a hand around your neck, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The knife at his hip is a comforting weight. He doesn’t intend to use it—yet. It’s there as a reminder, a talisman against his own spiraling thoughts. He wants to keep you. He’ll have to hurt you, yes, break you a little to make you fit in his world, but he won’t destroy you. Not entirely. The line between possession and obliteration is thin, razor-thin, and he walks it with a surgeon’s precision.

You shift again, this time closer to waking. A soft noise escapes your throat, and his breath hitches. He steps back into the shadows, watching as your eyes flutter open, unfocused, scanning the darkness. You sit up slowly, the blanket falling from your shoulders. The room feels wrong, doesn’t it? You’re not alone, even if your logical mind is screaming that you are.

“Who’s there?” your voice is hoarse, tinged with fear. He doesn’t answer, of course. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, lets your panic bloom like some exquisite flower. You reach for your phone on the nightstand, but it’s not there. He has it. He’s been reading your texts for weeks, combing through every word for evidence of someone who might take you from him. There’s no one. Not yet. And if there ever is, he’ll handle it.

You’re standing now, edging toward the door, your breath quickening. It’s intoxicating, watching you like this. The fear, the confusion, the dawning realization that something is deeply, irrevocably wrong.

“Why are you running?” his voice comes from the corner of the room, low and smooth and dripping with menace. You freeze, your eyes snapping to the darkness where he stands. You can’t see him, not fully, but you feel him.

“Who are you?” your voice trembles.

He steps forward into the dim light, slow and deliberate, letting you take him in. He sees the fear bloom in your eyes, sees the way your body tenses like a rabbit caught in a snare. It’s beautiful.

“I’m the only one who will ever love you the way you deserve,” he says, voice soft but cold as the grave. “You’ll understand soon enough."

And then he lunges.

[cre8inghavoc]

Can't help it...

Part 9

inumaki x f!reader

pairing: inumaki x f!reader

summary: Transferring to a new school is tough, but having your three best friends there makes it easier. Things get even more interesting when you start falling for the mysterious boy who rides his motorcycle to school every day. What will happen next?

genre/warnings: [18+] Characters are aged up. Story contains cursing, new friends, alcohol, college!au, no curse!au, dark humour, SMAU and written parts, fluff, smut.

Inumaki's POV:

I’ve been staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours now, and I don’t understand why I can’t sleep. I mean, I’ve always had issues with sleeping—insomnia’s been my constant companion for as long as I can remember—but I thought it was getting better. This past week, for the first time in years, I actually slept well. It was odd, sure, but I wasn’t complaining.

But tonight? Tonight, it’s back to the old ways.

Back to no sleep.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I glanced over at the clock.

4 a.m.

Great.

Should I even bother going to school later? Maybe I should just skip. But then… I wouldn’t see y/n.

Fuck.

The thought of not seeing her tomorrow... or today, technically... made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to think too much about. I let out another frustrated sigh and turned my head to look at my phone on the nightstand. For a moment, I just stared at it, my mind running through all the reasons why texting her at this hour would be a terrible idea.

She’s probably asleep. You’ll wake her up. She’ll think you’re being annoying. Just leave her alone.

But then again… what if she’s awake too? What if she’s thinking about me the way I’m thinking about her right now?

Before I could overthink it anymore, I grabbed my phone, my thumb hesitating over the keyboard. I typed out a message and stared at it for a second, debating whether or not to hit send.

This is stupid. She’s not awake. You’ll look like an idiot.

But my thumb pressed send before I could talk myself out of it.

Hey… you up?

I tossed my phone on the bed beside me and ran a hand over my face, already regretting it. But now all I could do was wait.

Honestly, I was kind of hoping she would respond. It’s not like I can sleep, so maybe talking to her would help. But at the same time… I kind of hope she doesn’t even see my message. Because… what if I’m being too much?

What if she sees it, rolls her eyes, and thinks I’m just some guy who can’t get a grip? Someone who’s bothering her at 4 a.m. for no reason?

I sighed, staring at the faint glow of my phone screen as it sat on the bed next to me. What was I expecting? That she’d magically be awake, texting back right away? And if she did… what would I even say?

Hey, I can’t stop thinking about you?

Yeah, right. That would go over well.

I shook my head, feeling the frustration bubble up in my chest. Why was she in my head so much? Why couldn’t I just… let it go? Ignore it? Pretend I wasn’t thinking about the way she looked at me earlier, or the way her voice shook just a little when she was mad?

I groaned softly, rolling over onto my side and staring at the phone again. One minute passed. Then another. The screen stayed dark, and the silence stretched on. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe it was better if she didn’t answer.

Because if she did… I wasn’t sure what I’d say next. Or worse, what I’d admit.

But then, to my surprise, my phone buzzed.

I blinked, staring at it for a moment as if I’d imagined the notification. The screen lit up, her name glowing back at me. My heart skipped a beat, and I hesitated before picking it up, as if seeing her response would somehow make this real.

WARNING: SMUT (18+ ONLY) & HEAVY FLIRTING/TEASING

A/N

things are getting veryyy spicy now 👀

hope you enjoyed this little tease

im so sorry this took so look... it was very unexpected ive just been extremely busy and honestly haven't had the energy to write much

yes this is very short butttt i kinda just want some of yalls opinion on this... like would you actually wanna read the smut (next part)

ik its late ASF BUT ENJOY IT PLEASE OR ELSE ILL CRY FR

TAG LIST <3

@madaqueue @mikko-mikko @arabella0001 @swarachxle @s3ns4ti0n4l @jdgfsgdgdvf @tomikixd @arabella0001 @emotionalasf @unofficialsapphire @miowxh @hansl0ver @miowxh

[wulfdreaded]

with  his  hands  up  in  front  of  his  face,  claws  quite  obvious,  fangs  peeking  past  his  lips  to  begin  with  &  his  eyes  glowed  subtle  golden  (yes,  he  kept  his  ears  to  himself  for  now….  among  other  ..things),  "oh  yeah,  cause  humans  are  so  understanding."  was  he  for  real?  "would  you  have  let  me  get  anywhere  near  you  if  you'd  known?"  please,  they  both  knew  the  answer  to  that.  no.  it  was  a  miracle  zeke  was  here  in  the  man's  house  right  now  -  he'd  not  dare  imagine  ever  seeing  the  inside  of  that  bed  again.  it  hadn't  even  been  a  very  good  bed,  but  he  still  wished  things  had  gone  differently.  but  life  never  went  as  hoped.  no  time  to  live  in  the  past,  not  when  every  day  could  be  his  last,  though  he  doubted  he'd  die  any  time  soon.  not  to  toot  his  own  horn  or  anything,  but...  yeah.  perks  of  being  the  only  monster  around  these  parts  -  other  than  the  ones  of  his  own  making.  did  make  for  a  lonelier  life,  because  nobody  would  ever  truly  understand  how  he  felt,  but  still.  everything  was  fine.  "i'm  the  baddest  is  why."  zeke  retorted  around  a  little  grin,  worrying  his  bottom  lip  while  he  thought  how  to  properly  react.  that  ...had  been  dangerously  close  to  a  compliment  if  not  for  the  word  monster  in  it  &  yet,  zeke  called  himself  a  monster  all  the  time,  so...  there  was  that.  "want  some  help  with  that?  don't  exactly  got  plans  for  tonight  now  that  dinner  came  to  me  instead  of  the  other  way  around."  well,  he  had  things  he  could  do,  but  he  liked  the  farm  &  for  someone  like  him,  most  of  the  heavy  farm  work  was  pretty  easy.

technically,  it's  been  hard  to  forget  when  they  …  the  details  are  there  he  doesn't  have  to  think  about  it  too  much.  it's  actually  the  last  time  that  he  was  intimate  with  someone.  at  least  that  he  can  remember  their  name.  he  doesn't  do  well  with  the  whole  making  connections  thing,  but  with  zeke  it  was  easy.  “not  to  give  you  life  advice  or  anything,  but  do  you  ever  think  about  telling  before  before  …  you  know?”  or  maybe  only  going  for  other  monsters,  but  he  doesn't  want  to  bring  that  up.  mainly  because  vilem  doesn't  know  what  the  supernatural  dating  pool  looks  like  around  here.  also  because  he  doesn't  want  to  think  about  him  fucking  so  many  other  men.  no  thanks!  on  some  weird  level,  aside  from  rory,  he's  probably  the  one  that  knows  him  the  best  now.  biancenieves  and  florian  too,  having  stopped  by  here  while  they  were  in  hiding,  but  that's  still  only  a  handful  of  people.  so  when  zeke  mentions  he's  not  average,  he  knows  that  the  wolf  means  it.  he  tries  to  hide  the  proud  smile  forming  on  his  face  by  taking  another  sip  of  his  drink.  “just  like  you,  i  guess.  not  like  the  other  monsters  that  i've  met  either.”  vilem  pauses  for  a  second  to  think.  almost  like  he's  looking  for  an  excuse  for  the  other  to  stay.  “i  was  going  to  feed  some  of  the  animals  again  and  make  sure  they're  comfortable  enough  to  sleep.  then  pick  some  of  the  crops  that  are  better  seen  at  night.  make  sure  there's  no  pesky  little  thing  trying  to  get  them.” 

[sugoroo]

#AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES...

ʚɞ summary: the chronicles of what happens when you share a living space with the jjk men: expect tension, embarrassing revelations and (of course) séx! . . . ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso + nanami.

warnings. fem!reader, masturbation, panty stealing, plushie humping in choso's, penetration (p in v), doggystyle, oral (f receiving), 18+ minors dni.

SATORU GOJO — THE LOUD ONE!

satoru gojo is the most irritating, annoying and overly loud roommate you could possibly have.

at all hours of the day, he can be heard through the thin walls separating your rooms doing one (or all) of the following things: shouting down the phone to his bestfriend suguru, raging at his teammates for losing a match in a video game... and even jerking off.

yes, that's right.

and whatever satoru is doing to himself in there simply cannot feel good enough that it warrants the sheer amount of obnoxious moans that he releases; you're sure of it. he has to be playing it up purely to get on your nerves — and to his credit, it works.

so eventually, after yet another hour of trying to focus on doing some work on your computer but being unable to get anything done due to the noises coming from the other room of the apartment, you decide to do something about it.

without stopping to knock, you unceremoniously barge through his door, mouth already open in preparation of the spew of complaints you have ready to throw his way.

but, rather embarrassingly, once you lay eyes upon what he's currently doing, any and every word in the english language disappears from your mind without so much as a puff of smoke.

satoru, for his part, doesn't react at all save for looking mildly amused at your reaction. in fact... you think the pale hand he has wrapped around his cock even speeds up its languid strokes at the sight of you.

"girl, finally!" he sighs dramatically, lips spreading into a wide, impish smile as he beckons you with the curled finger of his other hand. "been waiting for you to get the hint for months now. i was starting to think you didn't want me too, honestly."

"you— what?" you push out awkwardly, wincing through your confusion as you fight the fruitless battle to tear your eyes from his unnecessarily big cock and meet his bright eyes.

"you heard me," satoru hums with an easy shrug, letting out one of those all-too-familiar, almost pornographic moans when he squeezes his own hand around the leaky tip of his shaft. "...or do you not want me too?"

sighing, you raise your thumb and forefinger to rub your stressed temple, shaking your head at the sheer audacity of this man. "you're ridiculous, gojo. i was hoping you were just pretending to jerk off in here— but no, of course you actually are."

"mhmm," he groans raspily between increasingly loud squelches of his cock. wait; is your scolding only helping him get off even faster? oh, you can't make this shit up. "keep talkin' to me just like that, baby."

"first of all, don't call me baby," you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger in his direction with a scowl etching its way onto your features. "and secondly, if you're gonna do this... stuff right next-door to me, can't you atleast try to keep it down? some of us have work to do."

satoru rolls his eyes at this, as if he's somehow the one being inconvenienced here; but any real irritation quickly evaporates into pleasure when he starts fondling his heavy balls, tongue lewdly lolling out of his mouth like a bitch in heat.

"i-i'll keep quiet. shit— i'll do whatever you fuckin' want if you just... just get me over the edge here, pretty girl. hah— help a guy out, would you, roomie?"

and damn if that isn't an enticing offer. finally getting rid of the noise around here so you can actually submit a work assignment on time for once?

yeah... you're definitely on board.

"fine," you mutter, attempting to sound as uninterested as possible as you shuffle closer to the bed. "what do you want me to do, gojo? and don't even bother asking me to suck your dick or anything, because who knows the last time you properly washed that—"

satoru snorts out a strangled laugh, shaking his head quickly and peering up at you with wide, darkened cerulean eyes. "n-no... not that. just— just talk to me, please? and call me satoru, not gojo, damn."

"okay..." you huff thoughtfully, brainstorming what you can say to get this over as quickly as possible. eventually, you purr: "are you gonna be a dirty boy and make a mess all over your hand for me, satoru? hmm?"

and, to your surprise and... arousal? that's all it takes to get him to explode, thick ropes of sticky white cum trickling from the reddened tip of his cock as he whines in ecstasy.

huh. maybe your work can wait a little longer.

SUGURU GETO — THE ONE WHO MAKES YOUR PANTIES GO POOF!

suguru geto is a man of many talents.

but in his humble opinion, the one he is most proficient at? oh, it has to be stealing various pairs of his cute little roommate's panties without her even taking notice.

yeah; that's right, his entire underwear drawer is not actually filled with articles of his own clothing, but rather with scraps of material he has swiped from your room over the past few months.

"ugh, i lost another pair of panties!" comes a frustrated groan from you room; you must be on the phone to one of your friends, suguru muses. "i swear, it's like there's a black hole at the bottom of that washer or something."

ah, if only you knew.

if only you knew that while you're busy stressing over the mystery of your missing underwear, suguru is slumped just against the other side of the thin wall that separates your rooms, one of the aforementioned pairs wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock.

he does this more often than he would like to admit — waits until he hears you get on the phone to jerk himself off. why? well, because then he can listen to your pretty voice while he bucks up into his fist. that's why.

"such a clueless girl..." suguru mutters under his breath as his eyes flutter closed, letting himself get lost in the combination of the soft fabric of your panties surrounding his shaft and the sound of you speaking ringing in his ears. "has no idea where her precious underwear keeps wandering off to."

meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, you have a mischievous smile pulling at your lips as you pretend to be utterly oblivious about your panty thief to your confused friend on the other end of the phone.

as if you wouldn't work out it was suguru snatching them — after all, who else could it possibly be? but you figured it was better this way, letting him think he's holding all the cards in this situation.

it only makes it all the more enjoyable for you.

leaning a little closer to the wall, you can faintly hear the familiar sounds of him getting himself off as you slowly dip a hand beneath your own skirt; and you're not wearing underwear, of course, because you don't have a single pair left thanks to your roommate.

you end up dropping the phone carelessly to the ground when suguru's deep, satisfied groan sounds out from his room, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as his orgasm swiftly brings you to your own.

so lost in your own pleasure are you that when the door softly clicks open, you don't have time to compose yourself before suguru strolls right on in, seeming much too casual for someone who just came in his hand.

"well well well," suguru hums smugly, tilting his head to the side and peering down at you with a condescending smile. "what do we have here, hmm? did you really think you could outsmart me, beautiful?"

oh.

maybe you really are clueless if you genuinely thought he didn't know you were pretending to be as such... but would it really be such a bad thing if he decides to punish you for your attempt at deception?

TOJI FUSHIGURO — THE ONE WHO NEVER PAYS RENT!

toji rarely (if ever) pays his part of the rent for your shared apartment.

he doesn't even bother trying to lie to you and tell you he'll scrounge up enough cash to cover it next time it's due, because he already knows you wouldn't buy that for a second.

so, instead, he offers you something else to keep you sated. something that he can say without a shadow of a doubt he can give to you better than anyone else could even hope to.

cock.

because if he keeps you in a perpetual state of bliss underneath the sheets of his bed, how can you possibly have any time remaining to think of such trivial things like paying the entire monthly rent on your own?

"mmm... what was i saying again, toji?" you slur, voice just delirious with pleasure as he pounds into you from behind, one strong hand effortlessly keeping your face pressed against the mattress.

"nothin', baby," toji lies easily, threading his thick fingers through the back of your hair in a distractingly tender gesture as his mean hips keep up their ruthless pace. "just relax and let y'erself feel me, yeah?"

"but—" you protest weakly, followed by an involuntary hiccup as his pudgy cockhead reaches that spongy spot inside of you once again. "i have a feeling it was important..."

"nah," he grunts dismissively, free hand snaking down to where your bodies are connected to rub messy, stimulating circles around the puffy bud that is your clit. "don't worry about it, pretty."

"...okay. if you say so." you mumble eventually, brain far too hazy from his skilful ministrations to bother putting up much of a fight against his convincing words.

toji's scarred lips spread into a victorious grin behind your back at how easily you give in. he just loves having you like this — so cockdrunk you can't even remember what you were talking about from one moment to the next.

and when the time inevitably comes for you to pay the rent on behalf of both of you yet again, he already knows you won't bat an eye; because, in the big scheme of things, what's a little cash matter if it means you get to have access to his sinful dick game whenever you so desire?

yeah... he'd say it's a pretty fair trade.

but the best part of all is that toji thinks he's the mastermind behind this little arrangement when in reality, if you were looking for a roommate who could pay their rent, you would never have picked someone who looks as jobless as he does in the first place.

but you'll continue to let him believe it was his idea; because, after all, he fucks you better when he's feeling proud of himself.

CHOSO KAMO — THE SECRETLY PERVERTED ONE!

choso doesn't mean to be perverted; not really.

but whether intentional or not, he finds himself desperate for anything that reminds him of you each time he gets himself off: a t-shirt, a pair of underwear, or even one of the cute little plushies you have lined up on your bed.

he wonders, fleetingly, what you'd think of him if you could see him humping one of your stuffed toys while you're out at work — would you be disgusted? would you kick him out and start the search for a new roommate?

or would you, just maybe... take pity on the poor boy and lend him a helping hand?

by the benevolence of some undefined higher power, choso doesn't have to mull over the answer to his question for much longer. because apparently, he was so desperate to release the desire coursing through his veins that he forgot to check the time before starting like he usually would.

so when he hears the tell-tale sign of the door opening and indicating that you've just come home from work, he has nowhere near enough time to cover up what he's been up to in your room while you were gone.

well, shit.

"hey cho, what are you doing in my— oh." comes your dumfounded voice as you peek your head around the slightly ajar doorway, eyes widening in a manner akin to a cartoon character at the sight of his sinful state.

choso blushes profusely, attempting to hide his face by ducking it into his shoulder with a muffled whimper of embarrassment. to his horror, his pathetically hard cock is fully exposed to your view, nestled between the soft limbs of one of your plushies where he had previously been thrusting.

you both stay completely silent for a few long moments, neither of you daring to move a single muscle... but it isn't long before your body is climbing onto the bed to join him before your mind can even begin to process your movements.

"w-what are you doing?... are you gonna hit me? because that would be okay, you can d-definitely hit me if you want!" choso squeaks hurriedly, peeking out from his shoulder and looking for all the word like a puppy who just got caught doing something naughty by its owner.

"i'm not gonna hit you, choso," you chuckle softly, carefully tugging your abused, slightly sticky plushie out from underneath him and tossing it away. "i wanna help you. don't you wanna try doing that to something other than a stuffed toy, hmm?"

"...oh, f-fuck!" he whines loudly, hips rutting just once against the mattress before his cock cruelly betrays him and spurts buckets of cum at the mere thought of being inside of you.

choso hides his face in shame again, figuring he must've absolutely ruined his chances with you now. because there's no way you would still want to help him after witnessing that little display, right?

wrong.

when you tug his head away from his shoulder by one of his scraggly pigtails and pull him into a searing kiss, he realizes maybe his pretty little roommate was just as perverted as him all along.

KENTO NANAMI — THE RESPECTFUL ONE!

kento is very fond of you; his sweet roommate who always wakes him up for work in the morning if he happens to accidentally oversleep and leaves him homemade dinner in the fridge to cheer him up after a late shift.

he figures these things making him feel attraction towards you is fairly normal — but it's the other, not-so-intentional things that make him go crazy for you the most.

when he spots you walking around the apartment in nothing but one of his oversized shirts and a pair of socks because your clothes are in the communal washer... or when he silently observes you bend over to grab something from the bottom cupboard in the kitchen?

yeah, those are the things that really make it hard for him not to pounce on you like some kind of feral animal.

it all comes to a crux when you come home in tears one night, babbling about your fool of a boyfriend having the audacity to cheat on you. hmph, nanami never liked him anyway.

but there's no time for petty jealousies now — no, now is the time for him to make you realize that what you've been craving has been here all along, living in the room right next-door to yours.

so he pulls you into a gentle kiss, pouring all of his pent-up affection into the gesture as he effortlessly lifts you up onto the kitchen counter, positioning himself between your spread legs.

"i want to make you forget about him, beautiful," nanami whispers, voice rough with sincereness as he places a soft peck on the corner of your lips. "may i?"

and you're nodding shakily, but it isn't enough. he reaches up with a large hand to grasp your chin in a firm yet tender grip, thumb stroking over your skin. "use your words for me, dear. come on, i know you can do it."

"y-yes. please, kento."

and that's all it takes for nanami to fall to his knees, brushing his lips over the insides of your thighs as he slowly works his way upwards. god, he's wanted to do this for so long — if for nothing else then to thank you for taking such good care of him and never asking for anything in return.

but oh, is he going to give you something in return now; specifically, in the form of his hot mouth attached to your cunt, tongue lapping up every drop of your translucent juices as if it were the finest wine on the menu of a high class restaurant.

he can't help but wonder, while he's buried nose-deep in your sweet pussy, why on earth a man would choose to cheat on a goddess such as yourself.

but he supposes it doesn't matter, if it means that he's the one who finally gets to worship at your altar from now and for as long as you'll allow him the honour of doing so.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[tinystarbites]

accidents | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops [5.5k]

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst mainly Spencer doubting himself aww :(, Spencer is PINING for you hard (haha get it), nudes, Spencer loves you so much, pls someone give him a hug, m!masturbation, talk about sex, proofread but prolly not perfect lol, like you aren't probably ready for the amount of longing in this, *slaps Spencer* this bad boy can fit so much pining and yearning

read pt.II here

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Spencer swears it was an accident.

You were all away on a case, somewhere in Florida. And of course, something like that can only happen in Florida, because as much as he dislikes connecting random events with random locations, non-sequitur fallacy and all that, he cannot not say that many of his most embarrassing moments aren’t attributable to the south-eastern state. (He will not elaborate on these moments, he very much likes to keep most of his dignity still intact, thank you very much.)

But his dignity isn’t really the only thing that had been shattered to pieces by… by the accident. Far from it really and it- well, it- God, this really won’t end well for him, will it? He’s well and truly, as Emily likes to say, fucked.

It happened on the fourth day he and the team were cooped up in a small, dingy police station, chasing down an unsub that liked to paint intricate body art on the victim’s corpses as part of his MO. Aside from, y’know, slitting their throats with what seemed to be an old, rusty saw. The paradoxical duality of these two aspects, of the interplay of carefulness and diligence put into the painting process and the absolute careless way the unsub ends his victims was fascinating really – but not as much as it is disturbing, still.

Thus, this case is a very photography-heavy one. Most of the cases they solve involve photographs of some kinds of course, but Spencer has never sat in front of quite as many pictures of art and gore in his life before. It was strange, to say the least, even to him. Strange and annoying, to be honest.

Because Spencer isn’t exactly fond of all things that come with some electrical inner life, i.e. smartphones, his old brick of a phone isn’t exactly helpful for this case. He still feels the need to roll his eyes at Garcia after she, for the umpteenth time, called him an old grandpa and his phone a potato trying to pass as a phone. And failing miserably, especially when looking at the pictures it takes and their quality. Well, Penelope would say “pictures”, because she would also say that a resolution of beneath 60 PPI should be considered a war crime against modern technology, but Spencer doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know what that even means, so. Jokes on her.

Well, actually, the joke is on him. And yes, he knows, the joke is almost always on him, he knows his pipe-cleaner physique and too big eyes and long hair and everything about him really, makes him the perfect target for the occasional bullying he gets still as an adult, but he’s used to that. It’s normal, part of his everyday life. He can deal with that (more or less).

What he so brilliantly cannot deal with however, is having you around him almost 24/7. Because Hotch had had the amazing idea of fixing you to his hip as his personal photographer to circumvent his technological potato-problem. Uh- not that you, that you take pictures of him, why would you ever do that, but more like, taking pictures for him. Of their victims. And the body art.

Spencer was actually waiting for your protest, because there seems to be nothing worse for you than to stay inside the office when you could be out there, on the fields, in midst of all the action. Where Spencer usually isn’t. But that’s fine of course. Completely, absolutely fine. Spencer doesn’t look up every time the door to the tiny room he’s set up his camp in opens to see if it’s you bringing him another coffee just the way he likes, if it’s your smile that will make him feel more energized than any overly sweet coffee ever could. If it’s your voice and smell and aura (Penelope is definitely getting into his head) that for the short while you are there, makes everything seem so much more manageable.

It’s an energy burst unlike any other and Spencer is aware of what that means, so aware his body burns with it sometimes… Often. Okay, fine, most of the time. He just prefers to ignore it and enjoy the precarious friendship he built with you for what it is because he just likes to have you around so very much and – this was so not the point he wanted to make. He’s hopeless, when it comes to you, and it really is kind of embarrassing.

So, this is why the joke is so entirely on him that it’s not even a joke anymore. It’s basically bullying, he feels bullied. Because you actually had beamed the prettiest smile he’s ever seen at him, said ‘Oh finally, I can unpack all the dark hidden talents from within me’ which was so cryptic but so you and then you also winked at him. And well, Spencer has to lie if he were to say that he was being totally normal about this. That you didn’t just upheave his insides like an earthquake of magnitude eight with a single wink. Oh, he’s in so much trouble.

The first two days the two of you work side by side proceed without any unforeseen occurrences. And Spencer is so glad about that he could cry. From the moment you had joined the team two years ago, from the moment he met you, it was an undeniable fact that you were nice. Not only that, but truly, selflessly kind in a way that has left him all too choked up to even speak on multiple occasions now. The team is nice to Spencer, of course they are, they’re his family. But nothing in the entire world could have adequately prepared him to the spring of kindness you so freely distribute to anyone willing to receive it. And god, Spencer is willing. Is it every time you listen to him ramble on and on, unable to really hold his tongue despite the embarrassment clouding his cheeks darker. Is it every time you ask him about the book he’s reading, every time you ask him how his mother is doing and just- all these tiny things that add up and completely smush his brain into a fuzzy mess of warmth that leaks down his body.

He literally could spend every minute of every day just sitting next to you and soak up your presence and he would be the happiest person alive. That’s why he cherishes your friendship to him so strongly, and that’s why it’s the worst thing that Spencer is, well, himself.

He knows that you would probably be too nice to outright state that something he does unsettles you. Changes the way you think about him. Still. There is the worry. Buried so deep in his mind it’s as if he was born with it. And that’s why he’s so relieved that he is keeping the worst of the ‘Reid effect’ at bay while working with you on this twisted painter case.

It all goes well, until it doesn’t. Of course. Good things never seem to last for Spencer.

It’s already later in the afternoon on the fourth day you are working the case, no end in sight, unfortunately. Spencer is bend over the table, hands entwined in front of his mouth as he’s staring down the printed pictures of the unsub’s latest victim from three days ago. The brushstrokes seem remarkably stable, the colours uncannily vibrant. Spencer does not know much about art, but he does recognise talent when he sees it. And this unsub seems to have it in abundance. It’s almost a shame he’s a deranged killer. But oh well.

He jumps in his seat when the door to his room abruptly bangs open and a dishevelled looking you is bustling into the room.

Your expression turns apologetic. “Oh Spencer, shit, sorry. I didn’t wanna startle you, but they just found another victim.”

And oh. Spencer feels his heart sink in his chest. Guilt tugging it further down into the abyss. Why wasn’t he faster with figuring out these paintings?

“Really? Where?”

You immediately launch into a rapid-fire list of details, all in the wrong order because you do tend to be a bit all over the place. Spencer doesn’t mind. Gives him a bit more of a challenge to order the information in his brain the way it works for him. You two work surprisingly well in that regard.

While talking, you round the desk that almost takes up all the little space available in the room. You sit in the chair next to him, so close he can feel the stressed warmth radiating from you and it takes a very good portion of his brain’s capacity to stop his hand from reaching out. Or do something else even stupider. More stupid? Oh hell. It’s a wonder he can talk in complete sentences with you.

He watches you pull out your phone, fingers typing in the passcode he guessed right after two weeks of knowing you. The indignant expression on your face had been adorable. That’s why he still guesses your new passwords weekly, just to mess with you a little bit. Because he’s apparently insane like that.

“Here”, you turn the display of your phone towards him, “Precinct’s out of ink. Do you mind looking at the pictures on my phone until I come back from the store?”

This is where Spencer should have said no. Declined politely, smile on his face. Tell you that sorry, I don’t really get the same detail on screen like on a printed version. Should’ve emigrated to Tristan da Cunha, change his name to Ferdinand. Whatever. Anything, except say, “Oh, of course. That’s no trouble.”

You smile that breathtaking smile of yours, fingers touching his slightly while giving him your phone. Spencer sucks his lower lip between his teeth to keep himself from making any kind of noise at the tingly feeling skittering down his back.

He can’t not smile back at you. It’s one of his many weaknesses. Jello, trying to out-solve himself every day with New York Times’ new crossword puzzles, dairy. Halloween themed socks. Old obscure movies no one has ever heard of. Reading the most difficult books in twenty minutes. You.

Once you left, Spencer starts diligently going through the photographs of their latest victim. Not yet identified white male. Average height, average weight. Short-buzzed sandy brown hair. Striking blue eyes that seem to stare at him accusingly even after death.

He works through approximately forty pictures taken off the intricate and detailed body art. This time, the unsub left many smaller paintings woven in a bigger, overall painting. There’s still one that Spencer hasn’t seen a close up of, that’s kind of hidden behind the victim’s ears. Maybe you saved it to a different folder. He clicks around your gallery for some time, opening and closing folders full of holiday pictures. Pictures of you, smiling, at the beach. A folder full of memes that he doesn’t get but is familiar with because you keep sending them to him anyways. Spencer is aware that he probably shouldn’t have just- perused your gallery like that. But he was in case-mode. Hyper-focused on finding the next clue, on detangling the next hint that would bring them further. That would finally be the key to end this case and bring justice to all the victims.

He isn’t really thinking, when he clicks on a folder titled ‘xxx lol’. Thinks it’s another one full of memes because of the abbreviation, but maybe you accidentally saved pictures of the case in there, wouldn’t be too out of character for you and-

Spencer sucks in a breath.

Drops your phone almost as an afterthought. The noise of it clattering to the table makes him flinch.

It lands display down. Small mercies and all that.

And Spencer is- he is-

… That was not-

Not -

There’s a weird buzzy feeling in his limbs, his chest and head. Like his blood turned into a swarm of bees. He feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head and like he’s on fire simultaneously.

Okay. Okay.

That was not- pictures of the case.

Definitely not.

Oh Jesus Christ.

Spencer was definitely not supposed to see. That. Not supposed to see you- like that. Ever.

His heart is totally beating itself into a frenzy. There are at least two litres of blood rushing to his head. The other four are gathering somewhere down down down and oh. Oh shit.

Spencer is actually fucked. More than that. He wants to get fucked and that’s. Just. Even worse.

He wants to scream.

He ends up biting his knuckles and letting out a frustrated noise against his fingers.

Did he really.

Did he really just see your nudes?

(And yes, he knows that word. Penelope is a bad influence on him.)

His head is kind of a- a mess. More than usual when you are around. And… what. What does he do now? He can’t just- can’t just leave your phone like that. You’d obviously see what he was looking at and that’s just- unacceptable.

But the other option appears just as preposterous. Because, because, he’d have to look at your phone again. At you, like that, again. To get out of ‘xxx lol’. Damn you. Why did you have to be so unserious and name your, uhm, very personal folder like that? And no password-block?

Spencer feels a different kind of warmth enveloping him because it’s just- so you, silly and funny and kind of unbelievable and Spencer is so deeply in love with you that he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Of course, you’d be like that about stuff like that as well. Spencer would give everything to just once experience what it’d feel like to kiss you. To feel your lips twisted in a silly smile against his, flicking a finger at his ear because you would. Do that. When kissing someone. And okay. Okay. Spencer needs to get his shit together, like, yesterday.

You could come back any second now, actually and fuck. He needs to close the gallery app on your phone, asap.

His hands are trembling as they retrieve your phone from the table.

He allows himself a deep breath. And then. With eyes squeezed almost close, he taps the return arrow. Well, tries to. He thinks he managed to escape your nudes-folder without any hiccups but well.

Spencer is freaking inept with technology.

So. He finds himself looking at another picture of you and god, it actually might kill him.

It’s inappropriate. So so so so inappropriate. You would kill him dead if you ever knew Spencer was ogling your pictures like that. Like a perverted stalker.

But. But.

There shouldn’t even be a ‘but’.

But.

You’re just. You’re just- You’re incredible. Not even in a sexual way, just-

You’re so beautiful it hurts.

And call Spencer selfish, a pervert, whatever. Because he knows, okay? But he also knows that he’d never, ever get to see you like that. And it hurts in a different way now, because Spencer just wants. Wants you so much. You and you, just you.

But…he’d never get to have you. Which is fine, of course. Having you as a friend is actually one of the best things that ever happened to him, and he’d never do anything to endanger that-

…Well. He’s not perfect. So, sue him, for only once, giving into his deepest darkest desires. He’s only human. And pathetically in love with you. And attracted to you. Oh, he wants to be with you so badly. Wants to- wants to get kissed and held by you. Wants to make love with you, which just. Sounds so dumb and cliche. But maybe he just is that for you.

Still. He shouldn’t think how absolutely breathtaking you look, sprawled across the white linen of presumably your bed. He knew you worked out regularly, but. Spencer feels hot all over when he thinks how easily you could just. Manhandle him around. To wherever you wanted him. And this is something he apparently likes. (He consciously stores that information away for later. Later.)

He shouldn’t think how you would tease him, how you would make him beg for you before he’d even taken off his clothes. He would. He would beg for you, go on his knees. Everything, everything.

He shouldn’t think how warm and safe you’d make him feel, even after knowing he’s inexperienced in everything. You’d take his face in your hands, smile at him so beautifully he’d cry. Tell that ugly internalized shame to go ‘fuck off to Jupiter’.

Oh, he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.

But there’s always so much he shouldn’t do. Friends shouldn’t think of other friends like that. Friends don’t imagine how it would feel to be taken apart and put together again by their friend. Friends shouldn’t want to touch, touch, touch-

Maybe, for once, he just. Has enough of that. Maybe, he could just. Indulge. For a minute. To know what it’d be like. Just. A little.

To know what it’d be like if this picture was meant for him. What it’d be like- Be like to see you. And for you to see him. Like that. What it’d feel like to crawl into your lap, bury his face in your neck. Set his teeth on the gentle skin there and hear you gasp for him. How you’d bury your hands in his hair, and he’d make the most miserable noises until you pulled and-

Something in the corner of his eyes catches his attention and- shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

That’s you. Walking towards the door.

His hands are shaking so badly he has difficulties navigating your phone. But thankfully, this time, he manages to leave ‘xxx lol’ and find his way back to the evidence folder.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Did he actually- He actually-

The door springs open. Spencer startles kind of violently.

(Oh god.)

You have a big grin on your face. Some magenta ink smutched across your left cheek. And Spencer knows what you look like without-

“Heya, Spence, you won’t believe what just happened-“

(Oh god.)

“Uh… you okay there?”

His face feels like it’s on fire. His heartbeat is spiking and, well. He’s never been quite this turned on his entire life. He feels himself hard and aching against his trousers and Spencer wants you to push him down on the table and-

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-

He needs to- leave. Right now.

“Fine”, he squeaks, voice all over the place and he cringes, “Just-“

He wags his hands around in a very confusing, general manner. Grabs some photographs.

“I need to- Need to. Bathroom”, is all he somehow manages, photographs surely placed in front of his, ahhhh, problem.

You look at him as if he lost his mind. He probably has.  “Oh-kay? Then… go?”

Spencer goes.

------------------------------

Spencer can’t stop thinking about those pictures.

He’d known it would come to this. Him, lying wide awake on the uncomfortable hotel bed.

Having an eidetic memory has never felt more like a curse to him as now.

He buries his head further into the pillow. Fingers digging into it. Pulling his legs closer to him and, ah. That. Probably wasn’t the greatest idea of his.

He’s still- turned on. Uncomfortably so.But just thinking of taking care of that. Well. He’s 100% sure that that’s not the way to go about forgetting these pictures.

Also, it’s bad enough already that he even saw them. It would be so much creepier to jerk himself off to them. To you. His best friend. But- ugh.

It’s always kind of uncomfy for him to be away on a case. He prefers his own four walls over anything else, kind of, except maybe the university library. And now, being sexually frustrated away on a case that requires even more focus than other cases do?

Oh, Spencer is so fucked.

------------------------------

You notice that something is off with him. It really would have been a miracle if not, because then Spencer would’ve had to question your profiling skills. But even then- he doesn’t think that you’d even need to have these skills to notice him acting off.

Because Spencer is so not the person to play incidents like that cool. He is painfully aware of that, thank you very much.

So, the next day, when you came to say hi to him (“Hey there, Mr. Doctor.”), after he basically ran off the day before, and you, as always, casually put your hand on his shoulder, Spencer, he-

He spit out his coffee.

He could feel you freeze through the hand on his shoulder. Your expression would’ve been comical if Spencer wasn’t dying.

“Uhh… Do you… Do you need a moment?”

Well, that was a freaking understatement. Spencer needs not a moment but all of them to try to get his act together.

…which he didn’t. Not for the rest of that day, and also not for the day after. And the day after. This case apparently will never end. Fucking Florida.

You, of course being the kind soul you are, tried talking to him.

(“Spencer, are you okay? You’ve been acting kinda-“

“What? What do you mean? I’m fine, completely.”

“Uhm… Sure. If you wanna talk about it, you got my number.”)

And well. Spencer feels like he is going insane.

It’s come down to him not being able to spend more than thirty minutes uninterrupted in your vicinity without getting semi-hard, because he knows. Without him almost doing something stupid and drop to his knees then and there and beg you to either forgive him or to please let him eat you out.

Ah, yes, because apart from being so frustrated he could scream, he’s also feeling so guilty it’s slowly killing him.

There you are, still being his absolute favourite person on the planet, unaware of what kind of person you are laughing with. Of what Spencer did. It was an accident yes, but- He should’ve said something. Maybe warned you so that it would not happen again. Ugh, but the more time passes the worse it gets. The more impossible it feels to just- go to you and say ‘ah, uhm, by the way, I saw your nudes and maybe you should put those behind a password block’.

Spencer is just- the worst friend. What friend doesn’t give their friend a heads-up about something like that? He’ so, hopeless, incompetent, and he gets it now why he didn’t have that many friends in school. 

It’s gotten so bad so quickly that the others started noticing too, obviously. It really is a curse working with profilers. Spencer should reconsider his move to Tristan da Cunha.

“What’s got pretty boy so worked up, huh?”, Morgan asked him on the day after the incident.

“Did something happen, Spence?”, JJ pulled him aside on the second day after.

“Are they cancelling Doctor Who?”, Emily, on the first day after.

“Kid, you need to eat something”, as Rossi pressed a protein bar into his hands.

Even Penelope texted him.

is it what i think it is? ;))))))

He did not dignify her with an answer.

When Hotch comes to him on the evening on the second day after, Spencer is a mess. He’s practically spent the entire day in some state of fluster. He noticed he’s trailing off when he’s info-dumping. That he’s just- staring off into space more often than he usually does. That he can’t talk to you properly without stuttering, that he avoids looking you in the eyes. So, it really was only a matter of time until their unit chief would scold him. Or whatever Hotch is here to do.

“Listen, Reid”, he says, tone of voice a little too similar to when he is talking to Jack when he did something mildly inconvenient, “whatever it is, and I don’t want to know unless it’s something bad, deal with it. We need you with a clear head here, okay?”

And well, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

------------------------------

He still thinks so once he falls into bed that evening. But now-

Deal with it.

How? How should he deal with that? It’s not like he can just press the ‘Delete’-button in his memories. Thanks for nothing, Hotch.

His eyes strain from staring at the ceiling in the dark. Closing them doesn’t really help because all he’d see is you. He’s such a mess.

A pining, pathetic loser mess and he’s so hard again he can’t properly think. It’s just- Spencer has had rather inappropriate thoughts about you before. Has actually spent way too many hours in his apartment just lazing around, thoughts occupied on all the countless ways he’d like you to make him lose his goddamn mind. It had been kind of an accident (isn’t that just the story of his life), the first time it happened.

Spencer had almost been finished with his report, he’d just needed an additional detail from you to finish up. He’d asked Morgan where you were, and this is how he found himself walking down the corridor to Penelope’s ‘Dungeon’. Which, he’d never say out loud because that’s just ridiculous, right?

He saw the door to her office was slightly ajar, a mix of yellowish-red light splitting the hallway in half where it spilled out of the open gap.

There’s a giggle coming from inside the room and Spencer smiles- can’t help it really, because your laugh is just so absolutely ridiculous, a kind of high-pitched screech that ends in airy laughter and he’s so obsessed with it he wants to engrave it on a CD to listen to it again and again.

“No way, gorgeous, I don’t believe that”, Penelope whisper-giggled.

Spencer didn’t realize his steps slowed down, too curious by what you two could be talking about. And also, kind of forgetting that you shouldn’t just listen to other people’s conversations like that.

“Oh yes”, your voice was low, and Spencer would be lying if he said it didn’t send a tingle along his spine, “He broke up with me, but he came crawling back to me not even two months later because I apparently ‘ruined him’ for anyone else.”

Ruined him? What did you mean?

Both Penelope and you were laughing now, louder than before.

“You really, really gotta teach me your devious ways, buttercup.”

You snicker. “I guess it all boils down to making them come so hard they cry and forget their own name, really.”

Spencer didn’t get the detail he needed from you that day.

He’d gotten something much worse and that was curious. From the limited sexual encounters he’s had in his life before (a rushed hand-job somewhen in university in a toilet cubicle by that one other student he was into back then) he couldn’t really imagine something like sexual gratification that made one cry. Sure, getting himself off felt good. Sure, that orgasm had been fine. But… it could feel better?

He kind of didn’t think of that before.

So, when flustered-he had returned to his apartment after that overheard conversation, he kind of… thought about what these things could be that you did, to make others feel so good they lose the basic functions of their memory.

And the rest is basically history.

Of course, he’d never touched himself while doing… research about your techniques. It just felt- wrong. You are his friend and despite of his crush on you, it didn’t feel right.

But now…

He really really shouldn’t. But, he’s just so- desperate. For you and for things to go back to how they were. Without him almost bursting at the seams each time you look at him because before, he never had any problems with categorizing his mind like he does now.

So maybe… Maybe he can just… Do it once? Real quick, to get it out of his system?

The longer Spencer turns the thought in his head, the more… it seems like a good idea. You’d never know. Spencer could forget about- about the accident and move on. Solve the case and finally leave cursed Florida behind. If he just does it this one time, it’s not that bad right?

The fuzzy pleasure that shoots up his spine when he finally, finally presses his hand against himself through his pyjama pants answers him. Yes, yes, it says and more more more-

Spencer has never been good in denying himself things that make him feel good, better than good, things that make him forget about any pain that has nestled inside of his body or mind. Right now, that thing is you. Oh, perfect beautiful lovely you. He can’t stop the way his lips twitch into a smile, almost shy, even though he’s alone. But something about you just- 

He gasps, back arching a little when he slides the palm of his hand along himself, still through two layers of fabric.

Something about you just- god, how can he put this into words- something about you just makes him feel- safe. Seen. Taken care of. And it’s just, so foreign to him. Strange. He’s always been looking after himself. After dad left and mom-

He’s kind of addicted to it. To the way you make him feel. Spencer can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of you. Never never enough.

His fingers trail circles around the head of his cock, light and unhurried, enjoying the shivers of good good amazing it sends through his limbs, to his fingertips. Spencer can feel the tension leaking out of him, can feel his muscles relax and his mind become hazy. He should do this more often, god he always forgets how good it is, it feels.

He almost forgets why he decided to get off right now. It had something to do with you. You. Naked and there, here with Spencer. He whines a little because you aren’t here, why aren’t you here he wants that so badly-

But all he has is the crystal-clear mental snapshot of your nudes. Spencer doesn’t remember ever remembering something with such clarity before. He feels kind of embarrassed by that, how obviously desperate he is for you. How he would do everything for you, with you. But this feels so good that he doesn’t care about any kind of embarrassment or shame that might trigger his self-loathing.

He increases the pressure of his palm slightly, oh god oh oh, it’s so good already and Spencer hasn’t even touched yet, not properly at least, but oh. Oh, he wants moremoremore-

It’s so easy letting his thoughts tangle, mixing old and new. Fantasies and reality. The you from the pictures merges with the you from his daydreams and oh shit. Oh fuck.

Spencer moans, high and needy at the back of his throat and god how are you so beautiful?

Imagined-you has absolutely nothing on the real you. Spencer could have never himself come up with you because he just lacks the imaginative capabilities to conjure the absolute vision you are. The vision you portray on those freaking pictures that have branded themselves into his very neurons. He’s sure, absolutely sure, that he will never get over them. Over you. Doesn’t even really want to.

Because he is quite certain that the sight of you, your stomach your thighs your arms your tits your- oh he forgot where he was going with this.

By now, Spencer’s hand has dipped beneath his pyjamas and beneath his boxers and he moans again, his lips pulled between his teeth and eyes shut because the feeling of good good better more almost peaks when he grabs himself, finally.

His right hand starts an even, slow pace along his cock because if he is only ever doing this once, he is going to make most of it.

It doesn’t take long for him to get close, though. He’s been so wound up the last few days, it really is no surprise. It’s actually more surprising he hasn’t come all over himself already.

Soft, keening noises are continuously spilling from between his lips, hips moving together with his hand because he just can’t help himself. The heat in his abdomen is building and building and he whimpers because he wants it to be you so so badly, his thoughts are a mess, he is a mess and he wishes he could be your mess, yours, yours to make a mess of and oh god he’s going to-

A knock. On his door.

He freezes, blood rushing loud in his ears, heart pounding and his cock hot in his hand and begging him to not stop but-

“Spencer? It’s me, can you let me in?”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

pt. II? 👀

[kurooh]

ROUGH N ROWDY ! — JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. when he’s rough with you, it only gets better and better.

⟡ feat. gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, kamo choso.

⟡ warnings: 18+ content (mdni), f! reader, various degrees of rough sex, spanking, face fucking, reader wears a skirt in choso’s, scratching, biting, one face slap, clit slapping, overstimulation.

⟡ xoxo, juno: my fav men <3 rbs are appreciated sososo much !!

— GOJO SATORU.

“fuck, so good..” satoru groans loudly, silencing your wails as he pushes your head deeper into the bed. he’s behind you, fucking your pussy with no regard for how rough he’s being.

he grips your hips so hard that his nails have left crescent moons indented into your skin, and it makes you cry into the sheets. satoru could always get a little rough, depending on the day and how you felt about it. but he’s always been really mean when he fucks you like this.

“toru, t-too rough!” you scream into the sheets, hole fluttering with delight when he slaps your clit.

“i don’t think so,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “seems like your pussy likes it, yeah? you’re always such a slut when i fuck you like this.”

your moans and cries are muffled when he slams your head further into the sheets, going so far as to rub your face in the puddle of drool you’ve created.

“aww, you’re sucking me in so greedily. i think i’ll keep slapping your slutty pussy, hm?”

he punctuates his statement with a stinging slap to your clit that has you sobbing, pushing back against him. satoru’s nails rake down your back, leaving puffy marks on your skin.

“satoru, harder!” you finally jerk your head to the side and stare at him, face messy with drool and tears.

his fingers thread through your hair as he adjusts your head and pushes you back down onto the sheets. “oh, but i might as well not touch you, huh? the agreement was to keep your face down, and your ass up.”

— GETO SUGURU.

“oh, come now, you can take it.” suguru’s voice is firm, and he accentuates his point with hard slaps to your ass. whiny, pathetic cries of his name leave your kiss-bruised and bitten lips as your head falls forward, eyes dazedly focusing on his cock pistoning in and out of you.

“s-sugu, please, it’s too much, i—” a slap to your ass, harder than the last, cuts you right off and has you moaning. your ass stings, the skin hot but still ready for more.

“hm, you wanted this, isn’t that right?” he groans, choking on pleasure as he tries to keep his voice still. the sound of his wet thrusts fill the car, the air heavy with sweat and the scent of sex. your fingers scrabble against the car door, nails biting into your palms when he thrusts particularly hard.

suguru’s cock slams into the deepest parts of you, punching moans from your throat every single time. he’s trying hard to be mean, keep his composure, but you’re squeezing him so tightly he can barely form a coherent thought.

“yes! yes, suguru, please go a l-little slower, it’s too much..” drool seeps from the corners of your lips, trickling down your chin as you pick your head up, craning your neck as much as possible.

behind you, suguru is smirking at you, the always loose piece of hair on the left side of his head sticking to his sweaty forehead. the rest of his lengthy tresses are pulled into a sloppy bun at the back of his head, strands escaping with the force of his thrusts.

“no can do, baby,” he whispers, fingers of one hand digging into the softness of your hip. “all that teasing earlier definitely calls for this.”

— NANAMI KENTO.

“i really hate having to work overtime, princess,” kento huffs, yanking your hair and making you arch, head turning towards him.

“i hate it too, kento!” you cry, nodding. more tears fall down your cheeks with the movement, and he lets your hair slip from his hands as he moves to wrap his hand around your neck.

“think i want to pound you so hard we both forget i was late to dinner, hm, angel?” kento’s voice is sweet and steady, although he’s fucking your overstimulated pussy so hard it’s squelching and dripping.

you’re bent over and entirely at his mercy, stuffed full of his cock, the pressure so tight inside you you want to almost run away from it. the large, strong arm wrapped around your entire midsection and his hand on your throat keeps you in place, causing you to press your hands into the wall for support.

you’ve gone dumb on his cock, words slow to form and confused at the amount of times you’ve cum. five? eight? every time you try to form a coherent thought he fucks it away quickly, so you’ve resulted to responding only to what he says and thinking about nothing besides kento. he hasn’t even let himself cum yet, he’s that dead set on making you forget about dinner..

“k-kento, i’m gonna cum again, ah!”

“mhm,” he mumbles into your shoulder, before biting down hard into your skin. with a whiny cry, you sob as you cum again on his thick cock, walls squeezing down on him.

he allows you mercy, staying still as he holds you tightly, hips pausing. the second you loosen up, hole still fluttering, he’s immediately fucking into you again.

“kento, it’s too fucking much, i—”

he stands straight, yanking your hair so you’ll look back at him with that pretty, teary face of yours.

“no,” kento says firmly, lightly slapping your cheek. “you can still cum a few more times.”

— FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“fuuuck, s’good,” toji tightens his grip on the back of your head, fingers twisting hard in your hair. he pounds your throat at an unforgiving face, his hips rough and demanding as his tip plows into the back of your throat.

“takin’ it like a damn champ.. good fuckin’ girl.” he groans, his voice raspy as he tosses his head back. tears pour down your cheeks as he completely stuffs your mouth full with his cock, and you rake your eyes up and down his shirtless chest before settling on his face.

a thin sheen of sweat gleams on his well-muscled chest, heaving while his abs clench. distracted by his attractive body, you slowly, unconsciously start to back off his cock.

“nuh uh,” toji grits, swiftly yanking you back into place and shoving his cock deeply down your throat, “i haven’t cum yet.”

you gag loudly, more tears falling from your pretty eyes. but, toji doesn’t really give a damn — he draws his hips back and shoves them forward before he’s back to the tempo he’d set before. you spread your knees, sliding a hand between your thighs and pressing at your clit through soaked panties.

he scoffs, caught between a laugh and a raspy moan, and smirks. “love it when you’re a slut for my fuckin’ cock. that’s real good..”

— KAMO CHOSO.

your back hits the wall, and a sharp crack of pain resonates through your body before choso’s pouncing on you, yanking your skirt up your thighs without hesitation.

“c-choso, slow down!” you gasp, but he just spreads your legs and slides his pants down. “my skirt’s not even off yet, wait—”

“mm mm, need this. need you.” choso leaves no room for discussion as he slots himself against you, hot and hard and pressing between your legs. “it’s been too damn long,” he states, tugging and rolling your shirt up to your shoulders.

his large palms smooth against your thighs, and he looks into your eyes and then shifts his gaze to your neck. “mhm, please..” is all you answer, voice soft as your hips buck into his own.

choso’s hand lands on your neck and he digs his fingers into the sides, not gripping yet, and tugs your soaked panties to the side. then he guides his cock between your folds, and shoves himself right inside you. your leg lifts, and he holds it tightly at his side, keeping you spread open.

as you gasp “choso!” he grips your neck hard, effectively choking you and making your eyes roll right back. with his lips pulled back and his teeth catching the low light of the room, he leans in towards your tits. teeth dig into your skin as he bites your nipple sharply, and your chest bounces as you reel back in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“oh, that hurts like hell,” you groan, slipping a hand into his messy hair and undoing his spiky buns; then you push him in. “bite me harder.”

choso’s grip on your neck tightens further, teeth baring down on your other tit in a flurry of bites, his hips slamming into you all the while.

you choke, garbling out some sort of expletive, and his thrusts are so fast and hard that you consider that they sting just a little. the thought of the little shocks of pain all over has you clenching on his cock like a vice, growing wetter and wetter.

his groan into your tits is whiny, and then he’s spasming and filling you with all his cum.

choso finally tugs himself off your tits, lips shining with drool. looking down, you see that your tits are bruised and fresh marks are blooming across your skin. cum starts to drip down his cock, and yet he still pushes himself into you with a whine. but he still stays hard inside of you — he loves to throw you around, mark you up, and use you like a fucking fleshlight, even though it means overstimulating himself too.

[lxvvie]

Couples Shit with Simon Riley (Part 2):

Having a giggle/chuckle fest almost every time you are intimate. It first happened at the beginning of your relationship when you would giggle every time you two kissed. It opened the floodgates, had let that nervous energy out, and Simon was right there chuckling with you. ("Heh—aw, fuck me.")

Swearing up and down that you're gonna fuck each other's brains out but as soon as you hit the bed, you and Simon are out like a light. The last time this happened, he was supposed to go down on you, but the next thing you know, you woke up to him fast asleep with his head on your stomach.

Kissing the bridge of his crooked nose and Simon turning into putty every time. Hell, kissing any and every dent, bruise, and scar, and making your man melt.

A nice round of horizontal tango turning into a cuddle session after you comforted Simon through a charley horse. Poor baby.

Initially making the telly watch you two make sex but turns out whatever you're watching was pretty decent after all so you guys are back to watching the telly again.

Getting hot and heavy one time but you were so intrigued with the mole you discovered on Simon's inner thigh that you spent the next half-hour or so trying to find other moles on his body.

Telling Simon that you "always wanted to do this" and when you get him hot, bothered, and hard, it turns out what you always wanted to do was measure him. His disappointment was immeasurable... even if he was interested to know the number.

Twinning in some way, shape, or fashion whenever you're out together.

Talking mad shit about his snoring but let him tell it, he doesn't say shit when you take up about 80% of the bed, covers, and sleep under him.

Speaking of talking shit, having disagreements like every couple does and when you go to bed, you're angrily cuddling each other. And yes, Simon still wants your kisses in the morning, even if you two are still mad at each other. Simon doesn't give a shit, you're still gonna love on him, dammit. And him on you.

Being mad with Simon when he arrived too late to get the creepy crawler that was harassing you. Harassing you by doing what it does best: be a creepy crawler. Simon tells you you'll have to conquer your fear one day. You tell him to conquer the couch tonight lmao.

Agreeing to disagree about the superior ice cream flavor in the house. It's too bad there's not any of his favorite ice cream in the freezer. There's some of yours, though. Why? You didn't get any because it was so superior that you wouldn't "dare sully it with your hands". Cue the judgemental stare and him eating YOUR ice cream afterward. Rude.

Scaring the ever-living shit out of Simon on the rare occasions he gets to sleep in. He woke up to you sitting up in bed with his mask and paint on. Oh, and he calls bullshit. He did not nearly fall out the bed. Nor did he jump. Okay, Simon.

Chilling and drinking with Simon. Finding out he gets hot and sweaty pretty easily and off comes his clothes. Waking up hungover the next morning and you're the big spoon to a naked and equally hungover Simon. Choosing to do fuck all but sleep it off that day.

Playfully calling or referring to him as the Missus, especially in front of your co-workers. When they finally meet Simon and ask him who he is, he replies in pure deadpan Ghost fashion: "The Missus".

[evilgwrl]

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (One)

Note: I'm having the WORST writer's block now so pls excuse my lack of proper writing... I'm currently sitting in front of a beach writing in hopes that ill gain inspo

CW: Angst, mentions of sex, jealous/possessive Simon, PLS DONT LEAVE YOUR KIDS IN THE CAR !!! Or break into someone’s house

Inspired by: Ex!Husband Simon

PART TWO

Simon stared at you. The shades of his eyes simmering into endless voids of obsidian, blonde lashes moulded against his greased lids, the residue of the perpetual torture his body had succumbed to during deployment.

“You want a divorce?” He spoke, voice deep as he flickered between your shaking heads, sweat soiling into the papers gripped firmly and your swollen face, cheeks feverish with a red hue, eyes even more so.

You held back a rough sob, throat stripped of all moisture evident in your hoarse voice as you spoke, “Yes, Simon. I think it would be best for our family… for us.”

He scoffed. “You think the best thing for our family is to separate?”

“We already pretty much are. You’re away for days, weeks, months at a time. We’re hardly a family and it’s difficult to explain to the children why I’m crying.”

“Ok then.”

That was it. You would admit, it stung. His lacklustre tone felt like a stab in the gut, the blade drenched with anthrax as it reared blistering sores internally, the effects having shown through your putrid complexion. Your skin was dull, practically lifeless, the only living form of you grew day by day through the darkening of eyebags that almost made you look apocalyptic.

It had been 12 months of separation, officially 8 being legally divorced. You kept his last name, the permanent burn of hearing Mrs Riley still searing through you with every syllable, yet you feel it would only hurt you more if they said Ms.

Simon was often away now, and the minimal family time he used to get felt pointless as the shabby apartment he moved into after the sudden interference of your mind-boggling news barely fit the two kids you shared. His body felt more relentless on him, the taunting of his mind fulgurated the inoperative reality that he would come home to you, to his family.

His voice, almost like it dropped an octave had grown richer in aggression, tormenting those he deemed suitable, both with his tongue and with his bruised knuckles, an oil painting of blue and purple hues radiating across the pale flesh as he shrugged it off to his team as “pushing himself and others to do better”.

Couldn’t you realise your mistake? Wouldn’t you prefer crying in his arms about his absence than never having it fulfilled again?

As he looked around the bleak environment, tan stained walls revolting the creaking mattress he had brought someone home to, someone who wasn’t you. It made him feel sick like a viral infection had slunk its way into his bloodstream as he laid next to a woman that failed to make his cock throb, endless images of you sprawled out under him flickering. No wonder he called out your name instead.

You felt the familiar shake of your hands every time your phone dinged; Simon’s dreary tone was evident through his dry “On the way” text. You ushered a day of your children’s life into their cartoon-themed backpacks, innocent smiles adorning their skin, doe-like eyes of brown, far too familiar to Simon’s staring up at you.

The sound of his car scraping into your paved driveway almost made you feel like throwing up, the nerves of seeing him combined with the already present pit of anxiety due to your date later turning you into one big shaky mess as you brushed it off as “too much caffeine”.

The echo of his car door slamming shut rung through your ears, staining you with the reiteration that your ex-husband was now at your door, heavy fists knocking upon the wood. The image you saw of him in your mind morphed back to reality as you stared at him, a blank expression on your face.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, Simon.”

Your frown was clear, the pet name you were so used to becoming a distant memory in the past few months. It was a hole you were attempting to fill, to clear yourself away from his teasing tongue and faux impression of a healthy relationship. You were divorced for a reason, you knew that, but as you gazed upon the lack of life in his skin, it was almost like he was holding a mirror up to you.

“Daddy!” You watched as your 5-year-old, Ella, practically leapt into his hefty frame, his hands coiling around her like second nature. You could feel his warmth, the heat that would build in your stomach when you felt those same digits touch you.

“Hi sweetheart,” his voice gruff, yet tone lighter as he placed a delicate kiss on the skin of her forehead, “You miss me?”

She nodded, her face buried in the hem of his neck as your other child cooed from the bouncy chair, tubby legs attempting to wheel himself to the door.

“There’s my boy,” Simon practically cooed as he placed Ella down, bounding inside as he lifted the toddler out, grabby arms reaching out to pull at Simon’s locks, gentle tugs causing you to laugh.

Your voice cut through the scene like glass. Why would you want to destroy such a happy moment? Weren’t you supposed to be reuniting? Just say it, tell Simon you want him to come home, that you need him.

“This is Ella’s bag,” you speak, holding up the pink Minnie Mouse bag, “And this is Toby’s.” Your son giggled as he muffled out the words, “Transformers”.

Simon nodded, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Ella practically screeched, “Mummy’s going on a date!” The thrill of her laughter that followed only seemed to make the situation more awkward.

“A date?” Simon’s voice was deadly, the hair raising on your arms as you shook your head, a tight smile on your suddenly dry lips.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just catching up with an old colleague of mine.”

“But he’s a boy, Mummy,” Ella giggled. Who was raising your daughter to be such a big mouth? Your face formed an annoyed look, eyebrows raising as a line of wrinkles crinkled against your forehead, your pointer fingers massaging your temples.

“An old colleague?” Simon practically gasped. Had he met him at your old work Xmas parties?

“Let’s get you guys in the car.” You fumbled with Toby’s car seat as you strapped him in, your nimble fingers shaking with anxiety before you shut the door, pressing a kiss against the window before wiping away the minimal residue of dirt. Gross.

“Who is he?” His tone was acerbic like he was looking for an argument. How dare you try and replace him? He was your husband, the father of your two kids? Have you seen this random man before? Had he fucked you?

“God, Simon-“

“Who is he?” Simon was relentless, bullying his way into getting the answers as his arms folded across his chest, tattoos practically screaming at you too.

“His name’s Andrew. I ran into him at a coffee shop a few weeks back and he just wanted to catch up. That’s it.”

A loud scoff sounded in the air. “You mean that geezer from that corporate job you hated? The one who didn’t know it was weird to blatantly stare down your dress when you were standing next to your fucking husband?”

“He didn’t stare down my dress! You’re not my husband anymore, Simon. I can see who I want.”

“I don’t want our children to grow up thinking they have multiple dads.”

You’ll admit, that stung.

“Multiple dads? You’re out of your mind. The only reason they would ever believe they have multiple dads is if their real one stopped showing up. And where have you been, Simon? When have you shown up?”

Simon held his tongue, the warmth of the metallic taste gashing through his teeth as he practically snarled past you. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

The dress you wore was practically suffocating you as you tucked your stomach in. Simon never minded the change in your figure after motherhood, he found himself liking it even more. He loved knowing that his seed put you through that, that he made you swell with his children, and he brought out the glow in your cheeks and the delicate stretch marks that laced your hips.

Andrew was nice. His tone was comforting as he walked to your door, ushering you to his car as he insisted you could order whatever you wanted. He was handsome, the salt and pepper hues of his hair settling your insecurity.

“We’ll take the Pinot Noir,” he spoke, looking at you with an almost arrogant sheer in his blue eyes. You only liked white. Simon knew that just like he knew everything about y-

You’re not with Simon anymore. You had to realise that. Maybe that’s why you brought Andrew home, let him shove his cock (that was a lot smaller than what you were used to) inside your heat, as you let out moans you had mimicked from the porn you watched with the actor that resembled far too much of your ex-husband.

Simon's fingers gripped the steering wheel early the next morning, your two children snuggled up in the backseat as he drove back to his old house, your old home. He wasn’t a man who gave up easy, he would show you, prove to you that you made a mistake. You needed each other.

Hold on. You don’t drive a red car?

His car lurched into the entrance of your home, nearly ramming into the garage as he shoved it in park, rolling down the two back windows slightly for air as he dug around in the small side compartment of his car.

The familiar gold key he had stolen from you the night he packed up all his stuff stared back at him, practically egging him on. Go on Simon, march in there. So he did. His hand rattled against the door knob, glancing back to peak into the car for a second before he slammed the door shut.

Your body froze. Were you being robbed? No. It was only Simon. A very angry-looking Simon. You stood, the white sheet barely shielding your naked body as he took in the sight of the man next to you, his hands wrapping around his shoulders as he practically ripped him out of bed, flinging him onto the floor as he grunted, eyes reared with hatred.

“Simon, what the fuck are you doing? WHERE ARE THE KIDS?”

Andrew groaned, on the floor, covering his groin as Simon chucked the masculine clothes at his head, the thin boxers soiled across the man’s scalp as he trembled.

“Our kids are asleep in the car, waiting for their Mummy to come to the zoo with them.” Simon’s words were despicable, laced with an acrimonious tone, small particles of spit seething through his lips as stared at you.

He turned to the man, a giant frame staggering over the top of him. “Get the fuck out, and if you wake up our kids when you go past, I will personally put a bullet straight in the middle of your skull,” he said, pushing a thick digit against his forehead as Andrew rushed out, clothes barely on before you felt the front door shut, a cry of apologises leaving your lips as you tried to assist him but Simon only held you back, a tight grip coiling around your arm.

“What the fuck was that? How’d you get in?” You couldn’t even place the words to say, humiliation roaring through you as you snuggled the sheet closer to you, away from his peering eyes.

“It’s time to be a family again, don’t you think love?”

[a-b-riddle]

Can’t stop thinking about poly141 who get so wrapped up in their own bullshit they begin to neglect reader. So you leave 🤷🏼‍♀️

It wasn’t a big deal at first. You understood that their jobs were intense to say the least. You own a bookshop, which in itself was exhausting, but you understood how they could get carried away with work.

You had excused the many delayed returned texts or missed FaceTime dates when they were deployed. When they came home, they almost always made it up to you. Showering you with attention and quality time.

But the past two returns home have been… different.

Usually at least one of them made a beeline to your shop or your loft if it was too late in the evening. You always held your breath when it was just one of them.

“They’re okay.” Was the usual answer. “Everyone made it back okay.” It was only then that you could melt into whoever’s hands you were in.

After one of their recent returns home you had voice to Price that you didn’t appreciate several days passing after they came back and no one had bothered to tell you. He had snapped. Arguing that a mission doesn’t finish just because they land back on soil. There was paperwork and debriefing to be done. If and when they wanted to see you they would.

He didn’t apologize until later. Crawling into your bed, using one of the keys you had given them. Blaming the stress. How they had almost lost Johnny for the reason of his outburst. What else could you do but forgive him?

So you had given them space after that one. Not holding it against them to decompress before seeing you.

The next time was the final straw. Solidifying how little they cared about you and how much power you had given them.

Johnny had come in around 7 one evening. He was dressed nicely, for civilian standards. You were reading a book on the couch when he had let himself in. You were wearing on of Simon’s sweatshirts and panties. He took you in for a moment before scooping you up.

He fucked you absolutely stupid. Adamant on having you cum on his tongue, his fingers and his cock. You were only able to bask in the afterglow of him filling you up before he started pulling his pants back on.

“What are you doing?” There were times that you would practically need a crow bar to get Johnny detached from you just long enough to relieve yourself. You had gotten many a UTI courtesy of Mr. John MacTavish.

“Dinner with my family tonight.” He explained by the time he was already buttoning his shirt. “The youngest just graduated and ma’ feels the need to go all out.” Now came the tie. Johnny was actually wearing a tie. To go to dinner. “A fancy dinner in London.” He huffed. “Meanwhile I’m out scufflin’ with bloody fuckin’ terrorists and I get a pat on the back.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. Promising to call you later.

You just sat in your bed. Still naked. Almost in shocked. He had fucked you and just… left. You were close to a panic attack as you called Simon.

Simon wasn’t the one to cuddle and coddle. But there was something so soothing at the sound of his voice or even how his heavy body felt perfect laying on top of you. Yes. Simon wasn’t the time to lift you up with words, but he was your own security blanket. Just having him close helped.

“Can you come over?” It wasn't unusal for Simon to be the one to come later in the evening. Insomnia was a bitch to deal with and you could sleep through the sounds of whatever he played on the tv. Most of the times you were content laying your head on his lap as he ran his hand along your head as if he were petting you. It was a bit cringe, but it knocked you out every time.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The low timber of his voice already calming you.

“Johnny came over.” You sniffled. “He just fucked me and left.”

“Not surprised.” He scoffed. You could almost see him rolling those deep brown eyes of his. “If you wanted to cum, I’m happy to come over and help.”

For whatever reason, that only seemed to make you more upset. “You’re not listening.” You said, trying to spell it out for him. “He left. Like didn’t even stay and cuddle just left. Fucked me and left.”

“That’s why you’re calling me crying about?” He almost seemed… annoyed.

“Yes!” You said, nearly snapping. All of the tension from the last several months coming to the surface. “I’m not just a warm body to keep a bed cozy until you assholes decide you need to get one off.” Assholes. You called them assholes. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“Johnny is Johnny.” Simon tried to defend, not really caring to continue the conversation now knowing that you weren't in any sort of physical harm. “He wanted his dick wet and from the sound of it, that’s what he did. Don’t hold it against him because he had other things to do.”

“It’s not just Johnny leaving.” Your throat felt like it was tightening. A telltale sign you were close to crying. Whether from sadness or anger you weren't entirely sure. “The only time any of you want anything to do with me anymore is to fuck.” You missed date nights and lunches. You missed texting any and all of them about your day, about theirs. About new books. You had been trying for months to tell them over dinner one of your books got picked up. Yours was being traditionally published.

None of them had bothered to even try penciling you in.

“You got yours.” You heard the popping of a can top. Simon was settling in for the night. Once he popped a top at home there was no getting him out. He wasn't coming for you. “I don’t understand what you’re bitchin’ to me about. Yeah, in the beginning we indulged ya a bit? Dressed you up, took you out. But you should have known spreadin’ them legs of yours wouldn’t end with one of us puttin’ a ring on your finger.”

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? These were the men that pursued you. Initially, individually, but when tensions became to much they offered a solution. All of them. Four times the attention, of the affection.

Four times the love.

But also four time the neglect. Four times the amount of heartbreak and disappointment. Loving all of them meant putting yourself in a position to let each of them hurt you in their own way and they had.

John's constant state of snapping at you as if you were one of his men.

Johnny swinging by as if you were just a fuck buddy. Not even bothering to give a peck before leaving.

Kyle essentially ignoring you for weeks now. Ghosting you for hours or having to cancel on date nights last minute or claiming that he really did forget that the two of you had planned to meet for lunch.

And now there was Simon. Telling you that all you meant to them was what was between your thighs.

Spreadin' them legs of yours wouldn't end with one of us puttin' a ring on your finger.

None of them ever intended on making this into something more. That much was clear now.

You didn't know what to say to Simon. You couldn't think of a witty retort. You couldn't find the proper insult to whirl his way. You couldn't convey just how much his words had hurt.

So you did the only thing you could.

You hung up.

[miupow]

hear me out...chan trying to fit it in but he's too big and he's whispering all kinds of stuff trying to get you to take it and you're frustrated and needy and you're just so !! done !! because it feels empty and he's so close yet he's not in and finally finally, his thick tip catches and he inches in agonizingly slow simply to hear you whine for it

꒰୨୧◞ ⤷ ❛❛ TOO BIG ! ❜❜ .ᐟ bang chan.

[ ⟡ ] ── minors do not interact ! ⭑ fem!reader , soft dom!chan , est. relationship , monster cock chris lol , size kink , dirty talk , praise kink , daddy kink , missionary/mating press , unprotected sex , bulge kink

a/n ⸝⸝ happy (late) comeback day !! i’m not very proud of this drabble but it’s here and i’m posting it anyway lol <3 save me big dick chris.. save me..

♡ ⸝⸝ ꒰ m.list ꒱ ‧ ꒰ reblogs and feedback appreciated! ꒱

“it’s too big, channie,” you whimper, peering down between your legs— the big fat tip of chan’s cock throbs an angry red as he slides it up between your pussy lips, taps it against your fluttering hole. your ankles dangle in the air over his shoulders, thighs pushed up to your chest by his body pinning you against the mattress, so close you could feel his hot breath, ache for a kiss from the plump, spit-slick lips he bit in arousal. he grips the base of his shaft in one hand, guiding it to push at your rim; you’re frightened by the sheer size of it, thick as a can, veins fat and pulsing… the pressure of it was already overwhelming yet you roll your hips down eagerly, desperate for it to slide in and fill you up.

“shh, stay still, babygirl,” chan coos so sweet, his veiny hand splayed out across your tummy. “and take this fucking cock. daddy knows you can.”

your pussy is making it difficult, so wet chan’s cock misses your hole, slides up your folds to bump against your clit. you shake in pleasure and frustration, reaching your hand down to take ahold of chan’s cock yourself— chan lets you with a warm smile, his thick arms shaking with every slick twist of your hand.

“you need me that bad, baby?” he chuckles, breathless. “thought you said it was too big.”

“i’m so empty,” you whine in response, angling his flared head to spear your core. “need your big cock, daddy—“ finally, finally his tip catches and slides in, sudden yet so achingly slow, your eyes rolling back in tandem with chan’s deep, guttural groan; the stretch burns deliciously, clouds over your senses as your mouth drops open in a moan for more.

“there you go, baby, just like that,” chan continues to bully his cock in past your tight rim, slow and gentle— but there’s nothing gentle about the way he fills you up, inch by fat, throbbing inch stretching your wet gummy walls to their limits. you can feel every ridge, every vein drag hot and heavy… you let go of his shaft in favor for scratching deep red marks into his flexing bicep, scrambling for something to hold on to and ground you. “daddy’s good girl, taking his cock so well— feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“b-big—!” you croak in a daze, an echo of your earlier sentiments; it was all you could manage to make yourself say, rendered brainless in an instant as chan’s blunt cockhead kisses your cervix. “so— so fucking big! ‘n deep, daddy, fuck—“

“yeah?” chan huffs, hips stuttering flush against yours. “am i too big for your little cunt, baby? feel me all the way up here?”

he presses down on the bulge his cock makes in your belly, causing the both of you to keen, your little dripping pussy fluttering around his cock as he twitches inside of you; you desperately want him to move, start pounding your pussy like you’ve been wanting so, so badly… you eagerly nod at chan’s teasing words, buck your hips the best you can folded in half. “yes, yes!” you wail, voice slurred, “give it to me daddy, please!”

“you’re so pretty when you’re begging for me, angel,” chan grins crookedly, pulling his hips back to slide himself out of your hole. you hold your breath in wicked anticipation. “beg some more and i’ll give you what you need.”

[sttoru]

your boyfriend cannot stop himself from kissing you all over. kissing you is his favorite thing to do - no matter when or where.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. suggestive, mild (to somewhat) nsfw, fluff. lots of kissing. lots and lots of kissing and loving. he fondles and gropes you everywhere basically. clingy satoru. tiny bit size difference (yes ok im a slut, what about it). body worship kinda. readers gets called ‘sweet / pretty girl, baby, princess’. beta read? what’s that.

you fell for it again; satoru told you it was only going to be a quick peck on the lips. ‘i promise, baby, c'moooon’ — you recall him begging in that whiny voice of his. that's all what was needed to make you putty in his hands.

“fine, but only one kiss, okay?” you gave in and walked over to satoru, climbed onto your shared bed and leaned in for a swift kiss—only for his strong arms to cage you in and never let go. it had been ten minutes since; the apartment was silent, except for the lewd sounds of your shared kisses and heavy breaths.

satoru’s soft hands are wandering everywhere. from cupping your cheeks to rubbing your sides and gripping your ass. the clock was ticking loudly, but the sound of it was drowned out by your moans. and satoru’s low, needy whimpers.

the appointment you were getting ready for had long slipped your mind.

“mh, you’re such a good kisser, baby,” the white-haired man sighs. he absolutely loves the way you follow the movements of his glossy lips—your head tilting to the side and back—automatically accomodating to satoru’s motions. he was kissing you with an urgent need. one you had never known or witnessed before, “more, ngh, need more of you, please.”

satoru was not letting up. you couldn’t blame him; it was easy to get lost in this warm and cherished moment of peace. his sweet kisses switched intensity—going from innocent kisses to sloppy ones, resulting in your chin dripping with a mixture of saliva.

you whine and straddle satoru’s lap which earns you a happy hum from your lover. that was his plan all along: to completely distract you from the fact that you had to leave the house. that you had to leave his side. others would call it annoyingly clingy, but satoru absolutely needs your lips on his.

he is sure that he would go insane if he spent a whole day without kissing you. an hour is already too long, if he is honest.

satoru would love to kiss you until the end of time. until death comes knocking onto his door. the last thing he desires to feel is your plump lips and wet tongue wrapped around his. a peaceful, warm death. one with no regrets.

“mhmmm, fuck, you taste so sweet.” satoru's eyebrow furrow in delight. he is nearly overstimulated by the taste of you. the way your small body clings onto him, your hands holding onto his jaw and sliding down his chest, your sounds of pleasure that only he could ever have the honour of hearing.

it was perfect. all of you was perfect.

your parted lips make way for his tongue again. satoru slips his tongue inside your mouth. it was tender, yet demanding. your throat tightens up and a choked moan fills his ears. his cold fingers make contact with the warm skin of your midriff. they were aiming at one place; your chest.

the one satoru loves to fondle no matter when or where. the same one he loves to use as a pillow every night.

“nnh, ‘toru, need’to breathe,” you are running out of air. the short gasps you took between the heated kisses were not enough to fill your lungs. but, it was addicting. the shortness of breath the two of you experienced only served as more proof of your love.

neither of you want to pull away—to pause the make out session for even what could be a split second.

the older man below you is hesistant. he does not want to let go of you. it's like you’re asking him to break up—that’s how much it hurts him to stop kissing you.

however, he felt a bit light-headed from the lack of oxygen as well. satoru pulls away, but not without sweeping his tongue over your bottom lip, lapping up the drool that dripped down the corners of your mouth.

his eyes are half-lidded and glazed over with both love and lust. you stabilise yourself by holding onto his broad shoulders and satoru rubs your back to help calm you down further. a ghost of a grin tugs at his lips. he surely is enjoying your adorable, exhausted demeanour. your chest was heaving up and down—his fingers sneaking to your front and wrapping around a breast to feel its tenderness.

“pretty,” satoru sighs. he takes the chance once your lips part to take a deep breath. his tongue quickly slips in, invading your mouth and exploring every inch before separating the two of you again. he can not go a minute without kissing you. you sure are like a drug to him, “thank you, princess.”

you are surprised by the sudden tongue kiss, but brush it off with a chuckle. you know how satoru is; not able to keep away from you in heated moments like these. his large hands fondling, groping and squeezing every area of your body only proves that point.

“thank you for what?” you ask, planting a soft peck on his lips. your boyfriend responds by holding the back of your head. he leans in for another kiss like a man depraved of any affection. you shudder and hold onto him like he there is no tomorrow. he does the same back, squeezing you against his chest.

satoru slightly tilts his head back to answer your question. his breath was hot on your mouth, a faint string of saliva hanging between your bottom lips. he can not hold the urge. he can not answer. his lips are already colliding with yours once more.

over and over. until the two of you were out of breath and needed a break again.

“thank you for being with me,” satoru answers in a quiet whisper. the pad of his thumb brushes back and forth against the waistband of the shorts you are wearing. there is an urge to pull them down and reveal those pretty little panties you are wearing, but his current priority is to feel your mouth on his.

until he gets enough. which is never. never in a million years.

“thank you for everything, honestly,” satoru continues and leaves a couple wet kisses down your neck. his hands do not leave your perfect body. he’s admiring every curve - every body part that had yet to be touched, “could have never believed that i’d end up with such a pretty girl. but, here i am, with the prettiest girl in the world in my arms.”

satoru had a way with words. one that left you flustered like crazy each time. he looks at you and that’s when you know that he means every word. his eyes were shining, even when half-lidded. the admiration in them more than just visible.

he looks at your face and body like he’s witnessing the world's greatest treasure. and that you surely are.

“stop saying that.” you giggle embarrassedly. you cover your mouth to hide your smile, though satoru is quick to grab your wrist and pull your hand away. he keeps holding onto your arm to prevent you from hiding your face from his sight. and to stop you from hiding your lips from his, of course.

the older man clicks his tongue, scolding you jokingly for trying to hide that precious smile from him. he kisses the corners of your lips, touch lingering against your hot skin, “how am i supposed to admire my pretty girl if she keeps hiding herself, hm?”

you squirm due to satoru’s flirty words. his gentle tone of voice is making you feel those tingles in your lower abdomen. there has not been a single moment in your relationship where your lover made you feel unwanted. it’s been the complete opposite every day.

“someone’s getting a bit squirmy, aye?” your boyfriend teases. he knows that the combination of his words, looks and actions make you weak in the knees. you always react like it’s your first time kissing and that is both endearing and amusing to him.

you can’t control your bodily reactions either. the sight of satoru beneath you is simply too much. his fluffy hair that sits messily due to your fingers that tugged and played around with the strands, his black top riding up to reveal a glimpse of his defined abs and happy trail. . . the faint blush on satoru’s cheeks and the needy look in his eyes.

you surely can’t leave him alone while he looks like that.

“shut up and kiss me already.” you respond with a huff. and so, satoru does. wasting not a single second. kissing you is his job—his passion. the only thing he ever craves for.

the room once again fills with noises of pure contentment, enjoyment and pleasure. it’s just you two in that moment—no one else mattered.

as long as your lips stay attached to each other, no one actually does.

[s0dium]

Needier

A/n: Thanks for all the support. It is not necessary to read pt.1 to read this <3

Word Count: 3.6k

Pt.1

Warnings: Pervert Yuuta, panty sniffing, pining, male masturbation, pre mature ejaculation, edging, pussy eating, thigh humping, mentions of breeding, slight dubcon, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk

Yuuta Okkatsu would like to say that he is a patient man.

In fact he would even pride himself on this quality, that no matter how thin his restrain was stretched, no matter how much he was tested, out in the open, Yuuta Okkatsu remained composed

Of course, you wouldn’t know that. No, you certainly have no idea what a patient man Yuuta has been. Been for you. You have no idea that since that day, simply being near you is the ultimate test of his restraint. That every accidental touch sent a surge of electricity through his veins, coursing hot blood straight to his dick, and a swarm of most unholy thoughts on what he'd fucking do to you. You certainly haven't the faintest clue that beneath his calm smile, dark tired eyes, and casual conversation, his mind explores your body, fucks you until your creaming all over him, and makes you swallow every last drop of cum he'd fuck into your cute mouth.

There are times when he treads a line though. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, Yuuta finds excuses to be near you, to catch the faint scent of your shampoo or the unique fragrance that seems to encapsulate your essence. One time, he found himself in the dorm's laundry room, where your belongings were left slightly askew, a common sight among the hustle of Jujutsu student life. Among the disarray, a piece of your laundry accidentally catches his eye—pink underwear and a beige bra. His heart races with a mix of guilt and absolute longing as picks up the fabric and he buries his nose into the cloth, desperately breathing in your smell.

"F-fuck" Yuuta groans upon breathing your scent. How could you smell so fucking sweet? Damn it, his dick is already getting hard. But almost as quickly as he picked it up he puts your underwear down, chastising himself for the lewdness of his actions, the vulgarity.

Yes, Yuuta has resolved to bide his time. He will wait for the perfect moment, a serene pause in the rush of daily life, it is then when he will confess his feelings to you. It is then he won't have to be patient anymore.

His restraint always wavered at nightfall though. This night was no exception. Throughout the day, glimpses of you in your gym shorts and tank top haunted him, aroused him, etching a vivid image that refused to fade with the setting sun.

As he retreated to his room, the weight of the day's impressions bore down on him. The moment the door clicked shut, a sigh escaped his lips as he pulled out his dick and languidly fisted his length. Pre-cum was already dribbled on his pretty pink tip but he used the milky liquid to guide his hand up and down in fast fluid motions.

"Please, f-fuck please y/n" He whined, stumbling over to his bed where he could pull out the polaroid you took of him and yourself together. What would you think if you knew he had fucked himself almost every night to this seemingly wholesome selfie you took? Through heavy eyelids he gazes upon your face, the motion of his hand speeding up as the thoughts of you intensified. He wants to feel you so bad, be inside you, feel your walls squeeze around him struggling to take him in. How would your moans sound? How would your boobs feel like in his large palms, would you let him eat you out? Oh what a dream that would be, Yuuta doesn't think he'd stop licking your cunt if he ever got your chance. Yes, he'd make you feel so good, you'd make him feel so good, so much better than his fist, he's so close to cummin-

*ping*

Amidst the pleasure, Yuuta feels the vibration of his phone on his bed. He doesn't want to look not now, not now when he's so close, but his eyes accidentally wander to the screen, widening when they see the message is from you.

Blinking back the pleasure, Yuuta stops his ministrations, wipes his dominant hand on a piece of tissue, and grabs his phone. The screen lights up, and a jolt of surprise sends his heart plummeting when he sees your name. The message is simple,

"Wanna come over for a movie night in ten?"

His response is almost immediate.

"Yeah sure."

Yuuta's fingers tremble as he sends the message. Is this it? Is this the chance he has been waiting for? Hastily, he cleans his hands with a towel, discarding his current attire for something more casual. Stifling a soft groan, he tucks his half-hard dick into his sweatpants under his boxer's waistband. Then he replaces his white uniform coat with a graphic t-shirt, a more relaxed and inviting look

Checking his appearance in the mirror, he runs a hand through his black hair. He's always wondered how you perceived him. Did you find him as attractive like he did to you? Finally, unable to wait any longer, he exits his room. The short walk to your door feels like an eternity, each step heavy with a mix of nerves and excitement. He arrives, takes a deep breath to steady himself, and knocks softly.

Yuuta's breath almost catches in his throat when you open the door and his eyes fall upon your body and what you are wearing. You stand behind the door, bathed in the dim soft light of your bedroom, wearing a simple white tank top that Yuuta thinks is almost ethereal against your skin. One strap hangs loosely, teasingly off your shoulder, revealing the gentle curve of your collarbone and the subtle hint of your breast's outline. The fabric, light and airy, falls just short enough to offer a glimpse of your cute stomach and your black shorts that cling to your curves, sculpting the fat of your ass and the contours of your hips.

Is this what an angel look like Yuuta wonders?

"Yuu, hello Yuu, are you listening?" you wave your hand gently in front of his dazed eyes, trying to snap him back to the present.

"Oh yeah," Yuuta chuckles softly, "sorry just a little tired."

"Well you dont have to stand there come in!" you say through a smile, opening the door and stepping aside so Yuuta can come into your room.

As Yuuta steps over the threshold, a wave of your room's scent envelops him—the subtle blend of lavender and vanilla that he's caught hints of whenever you've been close, but never this intense. The scent sits on his tongue making Yuuta's head grow fuzzy. It's inviting, sweet, and intimate, filling the space with a warmth that makes the room seem cozier than its plain decor suggests.

Your room is tidy, with a soft pink rug adding a splash of color against the otherwise neutral tones. Your laptop is open on the bed, surrounded by a few scattered notes and pens. You sit down on the edge of the mattress, the bed shifting slightly under your weight, and pat the spot next to you, a silent invitation for him to join.

He takes a moment, thickly swallowing before moving towards you and taking the offered seat. The bed dips under his weight, bringing him slightly closer.

"So," you start, your voice a soft murmur in the quiet of the room, "wanna watch the new haikyuu movie? Ive been dying to see it'"

"S-sure" Yuuta manages to nod, his voice catching on the single syllable as he tries to focus on what you're saying rather than how close you are. He doesn't think he's ever been this close to you, your bodies are practically touching. He can see your facial expressions up close, and catch things he's never noticed before; like the twitch of your eyebrow or how you lick your lips when you focus on something 

The movie begins with its vibrant opening scenes, characters leaping across the screen in intense volleyball matches, but you couldn't even ask Yuuta the names of the characters. It seems to be about some guys getting their panties in a twist over volleyball ball. He doesn’t know and frankly, he doesn’t care. He's too acutely aware of your presence just inches away, the warmth of your shoulder brushing against his every so often. How if he really tried, he could lean in and see down your shirt.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts, and steals a glance at you. God you are beautiful. He wants to say something, to make some comment about the movie to show he's paying attention, but words fail him. Instead, he just shifts slightly, moving a fraction of an inch closer to you under the pretense of getting a better view of the screen.

Something important must've happened because suddenly, you grab his thigh in reaction to a particularly intense scene in the movie. The sudden touch sends an electric jolt through him, and his dick jumps with excitement. Yuuta has to bite his lip to stifle a groan just from your touch. His face flushes a deep red, and he turns to look at you, catching your excited expression as you watch the screen. Of course you have no idea what you are doing to him.

Yuuta tries to refocus on the movie, but it's a futile effort. The warmth of your hand seeps through his clothing, igniting a fire that makes his dick strain against his waistband. His mind races with thoughts of turning to you, of closing the distance between you with a kiss that he's been fantasizing about. Is this it? Is this the moment he has been waiting for? Yuuta swallows hard, his mouth dry, his thoughts swirling with the possibilities of what could happen if he just leaned in and fucking kissed you.

Now, now now.

Yes, Yuuta is a patient man, until he isn't.

Without another moment's hesitation, Yuuta acts on the impulse that has been building within him. His hand, shaky with anticipation and nerves, reaches out to gently grasp your chin, turning your face towards him. The sudden contact startles you, pulling your attention away from the screen to his intense, longing gaze.

"Yuu- what?" You say softly but he doesn't respond. Instead, as if driven by a force beyond his control, Yuuta leans in and his lips meet yours in a kiss that is both tentative and desperate. It's, needy, messy, and hungry, his lips devouring yours with all the pent-up yearning and silent adorations he's harbored, a kiss that speaks to how god damn patient he's been.

Your initial shock gives way to the unfolding reality of the moment. The warmth of his lips against yours sends a surge of emotion through you, mingling surprise with an escalating thrill. He didn't know it, but you have been patient too.

Yuuta's heart races as he senses your hesitation melting away. This can't be real, you are actually kissing him back. Your lips are so soft against his, Yuuta is damn near having an out-of-body experience from how sweet you taste. His fingers slide into your hair, deepening the kiss with a gentle assertiveness, as if afraid you might pull away. But you don't. Instead, you lean into him, parting your lips to let his tongue slide in and entangle with yours. Your own hands find their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them for balance and perhaps, in a way, for anchorage amidst his desperation.

As your lips part, you both are left breathless, a string of saliva connecting your panting mouths. You feel warmth blossom in your stomach when you meet Yuuta's gaze. He looks entirely bothered, pupils blown and dark black hair tousled from your roaming hands.

"More, please" Yuuta barely whispers before meeting his lips with yours again. This time he's bolder, one of his hands snaking under your white top to cup your boobs. "Oh fu-" He groans into your mouth, feeling the fat of your breasts fill in the gaps of his fingers as he squeezes and presses on the squishy skin.

Suddenly, Yuuta moves, his body positioning over yours in a fluid, careful motion and so his groin is on top of your thigh. For a moment your too absorbed in his messy kiss that you almost miss how he starts to grind his dick against your thigh.

"Ngh so good," Yuuta moans into your mouth, dragging his clothed crotch up and down your lower thigh, full on humping it. He knows he should stop, that he shouldn't be acting like some pervert, but Yuuta's brain is so fuzzy, so lost in the realization that you reciprocate his feelings and that this is actually happening, that he can't bring himself to do anything besides hump your leg like a he's in heat.

"Yuu, please...." You whine amongst his incessant kisses. You can feel a wet spot start to form on his sweatpants and you moan at the feeling of being used like a sex toy.

Yuuta wants to say something, something about how good he's feeling, something about the buzzing in his head and the warmth spreading through out his body. But he can't. Everything feels too good right now, too heavenly he can't even open his eyes or ignore the colors dancing across his eyelids. Your tongue feels so good against his, and your lips are so soft, he can't help but rut against your soft skin faster and harder, he can't stop himself from climbing high and higher into a euphoric bliss.

Then, it hits him. With a choked whine into your ear, Yuuta cums into his pants, leaving your thigh wet and sticky.

"Oh god baby I'm so sorry," he babbles, choking on each syllable from the aftershocks of his orgasm. Shit shit shit. How could be fuck up the opportunity so badly? Surly you were going to be disgusted by him, any moment now you were going to ask him to leave.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, taken aback by what he sees. You're panting, cheeks flushed, lips glossy from his kisses, and your eyelids heavy with arousal.

"No no, It's okay, Yuu" you murmur, petting the back of his black hair, "I mean, we can stop if you want-"

"No!" Yuuta cuts you off. "Please, I... I want this. Wanna fuck you so badly baby please." He whines into your neck, peppering kisses on your soft skin.

And how could you stay no?

You nod and Yuutas eyes light up. Immediately he’s pulling down your pants and underwear, eyes widening at the sight of your cunt. If you wanted, Yuuta thinks he could cum again just from looking at you. Your first instinct is to close your legs, to shield yourself from being so exposed from Yuuta's intense gaze. However, two strong hands firmly grasp the underside of your thighs and press them towards you, effectively folding you in half and spreading you wide open.

"Yuu..." You whine, but your protests fall upon deaf ears. Right now Yuuta is in a whole other world. Right now, in this moment, Yuuta thinks he must have died and gone to fucking heaven. His tongue darts out to wet his lips because oh god he is practically drooling right now at the sight of you. He knew you where beautiful but Jesus christ. He releases one of your thighs to spread your wet folds with his pointer and thumb, pupils dilating at the sight of your tight hole clenching around nothing.

"Yuu pl~"

Yuuta doesn't let you finish the sentence because he is already on you, his eager hot mouth enveloping your twitching clit, licking and sucking. His tongue flattens, softly lapping at your sensitive pearl before swirling it around, fast and gentle enough to have you whining.

“Oh god yuuta m’ gonna c-cum”

Your voice has him moaning into your cunt and aggressively rutting his hips into the bed for relief. At this rate he was going to cum before you again, and that couldn't happen, no he needed to be inside you first.

Yuuta immediately relinquishes his ministrations on your pussy with a loud ’pop’ making you whine at the loss of your release that was so close.

“Not now baby ok?" He says through a groan. "Wanna feel you first, been dreaming about."

Yuuta's pulling down his sweatpants now, and you watch with wide eyes as his long length springs out. You don't know what you expected but you didn't expect him to be so big. Pre-cum dribbles down his pink tip and along the length of his member.

"Yuu, I dont think- I think its gonna hu-" You choke out but your words fall upon deaf ears. He's already aligning himself with your hole, and you jerk at the pressure of his tip against you.

"Slow, slowly please." You whisper and Yuuta wants to listen to you, he really does, but every cell in his brain is screaming at him to do the opposite. Yuuta stills against you, and for a moment you think he's going to say something, even acknowledge your words.

"M'sorry baby." He murmurs into your ear before bullying his length all the way inside of you. The world spins and for a second Yuuta's mind goes completely blank, he doesn't even hear the moan that's been ripped from your throat. All the nights he's fantasized about this moment, the hours he spent jacking off and touching himself, everything, all disappeared the moment he slipped inside you. You felt good? Try euphoric. Yuuta wasn't even thinking thoughts he was seeing colors. How could he ever think his fist could compare to you? The way your walls sucked in and hugged him, so wet and warm, god, no amount of fantasizing could've compared to the real thing.

“Y-you gotta l-loosen up baby or im gonna ah~”

It was all too much, he had just slipped in you, and yet and he was down for the count. Everything was too good too fast, he couldn't stop the high that was approaching even if he wanted to.

"fuckfuckfuck baby pl-" Its too late. Thick ropes of cum spill inside you, there's so much of it it's escaping from the sides of his dick and dripping out your hole.

You whine at the warm feeling blossoming in your stomach, and before you can even get a word in, Yuuta reels his hips back and slams into you.

“No not gonna stop,” He said through gritted teeth and your eyes widen when you feel his already hard again dick continue to push into you.

Your toes curl at the sensation of Yuuta's dick pressing against your cervix. The friction and the stretch of his member has your mouth falling open and your tongue panting out. In a great display of strength, he pulls both of your legs over his shoulders and grabs your hands to pin them down with his. The new position has his dick reaching spots you could only dream about hitting with your fingers, and as his thrusts speed up, you desperately hold onto Yuuta hands with yours.

"So good yuu!" You wail as he presses kisses along your neck, his hips not so much as stuttering as they thrust in and out of you like he is in heat.

“So good baby you feel so good wanna fuck you every day, never stop fucking you." He feverishly groans into your skin. Every time he thrusts into you, his hips reel back so his length leaves you almost empty, only to ram back into you again to keep you full and dumb on his dick.

Unable to handle the sensation, your back arches and your heels dig into the muscles of his back. Yuuta doesn’t let up his pace, in fact, he increases it, pounding your cunt like he will never get a chance again. He wants to make you shake, make you moan and whine with pleasure, and fill your brain with only thoughts of him until you're begging him to fuck you more and more. His mind is foggy, everything just feels and looks so good, he’s not even thinking when he lets go of one of your hands and shoves his two fingers in your mouth, digits pressing down on your tongue and swirling around in the spit.

“Your gonna let me use you when ever I want right? Gonna be good for me right?"

You nod repeatedly, sucking on fingers like candy.

"Gotta lot of time to make up for, for teasing me so long"

You can tell he's close because his words start to end in curses, and his breath his getting ragged and faster. Luckily for him, you're close too. The pleasure building in your core is starting to become unbearable, and the muscles in your leg where becoming weary from how long they have been tightened.

"Please cum on me baby," Yuuta begs into your ear, punctuating his words with sharp fast thrusts.

Fap,Fap,Fap

The sound of his skin against you filled your ears and almost as soon as Yuuta asks, your hurled toward the best orgasm you have ever experienced. You felt like your mind was exploding, like electric white hot arrows of pleasure coursed through your vains. You could feel your body shakes from the euphoria, and Yuuta watches you with blown pupils as you cum on his dick.

"S-so pretty when you cum, your so pretty to cu-" Yuuta is quick to follow, and with a whine his body tenses up and his back arches like a bow. As he blows his load, you feel his warmth soak your battered pussy and his hot breath panting against your ear. Yuuta almost feels drunk right now from how intense the pleasure is and his mouth partly falls open as his orgasm washes over him. Even as his dick starts to soften, he still ruts himself into you, riding the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"So good baby so so good." He murmurs into your ear.

Yuuta is so glad he doesn't need to be patient anymore.

Tags: @saintani @strxwberryfetish @memi-sempai @thejujvtsupost @shuuji71 @yutaokkotsuluver @nyxypoo @kaiyanaarichi @procyonnn @fdeegbffi @isagistar @lei-athara @paper--angel @mayiw @badbclub @anathemaspeaks @atinymonbebestay @korebringerofded @lea-is-lame @leviswifey-act62 @hyperfixationer @soraokkotsu

[rafesangelita]

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 rafe is tired, but never too tired to have pretty little sheep!reader bouncing on his cock <3

warnings: dealer!rafe, light fluff, sleepy sex, riding & reverse cowgirl, dirty talk, praise, spanking, hair pulling, use of the name ‘daddy’, tit sucking

a/n: sheep!reader has been getting heavily requested.. so ask and you shall receive! i’ll be giving longer fics a small break until my pogue!sweetheart!reader series is done because my brain is actually going to explode lol

nothing felt better than coming home to you after a long day of bullshit and seeing you in nothing but those cute thigh high socks of yours. especially when you were so needy and willing to do all of the work. you’d give rafe what felt like a thousand kisses all over his face, his arms wrapped around your waist as you gushed about how much you missed him and thought about him all day. “yeah? i missed you more.” you’d smile at his words, quickly getting him out of his clothes.

you massaged the tension out of his shoulders and left trails of kisses along his skin, your boyfriend growing more relaxed as your skilled hands worked to get him unwinded. by the time you were finished, he was barely able to keep his eyes open, his heavy-lidded gaze meeting yours. “what do you want, baby? you’ve been looking at me like you got something on your mind..” your cheeks heated in response, his fingers dancing along your flesh.

“i know you’re tired.. but can i get on top?” a lazy smile made its way to rafe’s lips before he pulled you onto his lap.

“fuck, yeah.”

those two words were all the confirmation you needed, your shaky hands planted on rafe’s thighs as you moved on top of him, his cock filling you to the hilt. watching you move so fluidly on top of him was enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head, the sight of your soaked cunt gripping him with every drag of your hips drew more moans from him than the last. “ah, f-fuck! you’re just taking that shit..” rafe was mesmerized, his large palm resting in the curve of thigh.

you cried out when his hand came down on the globe of your ass, a stinging sensation spreading across your sensitive skin. “riding me dumb, huh?” rafe grunted, wrapping a fist in your hair before pulling you back against his chest. you were arched almost painfully in this position, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. “poor baby, here by herself all day..” you whimpered, his free hand snaking down your tummy until he had your clit pinched between his fingers.

you shrieked, white, hot pleasure blinding your vision. rafe knew your body like the back of his hand. he knew what would have you yelping in pain, and what would make you all soft and warm like putty in his hands. “riding daddy makes you so fucking wet,” your hips stuttered when rafe starting rubbing hard circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves, a sharp gasp leaving your lips at the lewdness of his words, “just letting me use you like the cock slut you are, right?”

“y-yes!” you whimpered, sighing in relief when he let your hair go. “make yourself cum, ‘pretty girl, let me feel you.” rafe watched as you leaned forward, your back arching deliciously as you bounced on his length. your ass met rafe’s thighs in rhythmic claps, the sound making both of you moan. “turn around, precious, ‘needa see that pretty face.” you slid off of him for a moment, finally swinging a leg over his lap before sinking back down on his cock.

pushing his face into your chest, you whined when you felt him take one of your tits in his mouth, his tongue circling around the sensitive bud. he licked and sucked as you worked to make both of you cum. you relished in these moments when you two were panting into each other’s mouths, skin hot and burning with fiery need and desire, never wanting it to end. rafe’s abs constricted as he inched closer and closer to his climax, your thighs aching for a break.

“don’t fucking stop..” rafe dug his fingers in the flesh of your hips, “oh, my god, don’t stop!” he repeated, your eyes brimming with tears as your clit slapped against his pubic bone. as soon as you doubled over, your head falling against his shoulder, rafe knew the band in your tummy finally snapped, his own orgasm hitting him at the same time. embracing you tightly, rafe thrusted up from below you so you could just cum without keeping up your pace.

you shook against him, tears rolling down your cheek and onto his collarbone as you reveled in each wave of pure bliss. rafe’s mouth stayed open, his eyes screwing shut as you milked him for all that he had. eventually, you two came to a stop, your breaths being the only sound in the room. if rafe felt tired before, he was even more drained now.. literally. nothing beat his pretty thing of a girlfriend taking his load at the end of the night.

[diejager]

Stepdad!König taking a call from your mother while she’s at work - and while he’s brutalizing your sweet pussy in your room, his hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speaks to your mother over the phone like normal 😊

Phone cw: p in v, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, smut, rough sex, creampie, exhibitionism?, tell me if I missed any.

Your heart jumped out of you chest when his phone rang, you panicked, but König looked unbothered, reaching over to pick it up as he kept up his pace, driving his hips forward roughly and ruthlessly. He chuckled lowly, showing you the caller: your mother. Your breath hitched, teary eyes widening and mouth agape with drool rolling down the corner of your lips, you struggled against him, begging for him to ignore the call or to stop if he wanted to answer it.

“You can keep quiet, can’t you, Schatz?”

“No no- please-!”

His hand came down on your mouth, muffling your cries and whimpers, pleading for him to adhere to common sense. Despite your cries, he answered the phone, clicking on speaker - to antagonize you - and your mother’s voice rang out in the room. He greeted her with a normal hi, his tone calm even through the strenuous session, rocking into you, his thick girth and throbbing cock milking your cunt of the load he left this morning after she left.

“I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, hun,” she sounded tired, spending the day working until 7pm.

“It’s okay,” König hummed, placing the phone down beside your head, beside your covered mouth and tear-streaked cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be home later than usually,” she sighed, oblivious to your muffled whines. “I’m going to swing by that Italian place, do you want anything?”

Unlike your choked mewls and breathless keens, your stepdad was still, chest puffing up and pressing down on you, shifting your legs over his shoulders as he drove himself deeper. He was rough, thrusts hard and words degrading, cooing in your ear harsh, degrading names. Telling you what a slut you were for you stepdad, how you were a bitch for whoring around him and Horangi in skimpy shorts and baggy shirts, and how your sweet pussy was so wet and loud for him.

“Could you ask (Name) about supper?”

“Give me a second, ja?”

He flashed you a mean grin, putting the call on mute for better acting, playing the scene of him walking towards your room or where ever you were. His hand moved down to your neck, giving you a hard grip and holding you down, folding you in half, knees bent to your shoulders and feet jerking over his head. Seeming satisfied with his manhandling, the wet slaps of his hips hitting your thighs louder and the head of his cock ramming your spongy cervix, he picked up the phone, unmuting it and pressing it to your ear.

“Dear?”

“H-hi mom-” you gasped, the heavy curve of his cock and the bulging veins rubbing your back wall, you spasmed around him, teeth biting down on your lower lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip.

“You remember that Italian place we went last week?”

“Ye-ah-yeah.”

She paused, her silence ringing louder than every slap that made your stomach bulge. You feared that she heard your slip up, the high-pitched mewl and pants you let out; you feared that crooked grin on his scarred lips and that proud and scheming gleam in his eyes. He changed his fast and rough pace for a deep and precise one, repeatedly aiming for that spot that made your eyes roll and back arch, finger thumbing your engorged clit.

“Are you okay?” You hated the worried tone mixed with that exhaustion, it picked at your heart.

“Yes-!” It came out harsher than you intended, pearly tears slipping from your squinted eyes.

König’s manhandling and pointed hits made your walls clench around him, the coil in your navel tightening to a delirious amount, making your head spin and mind dumb.

“Okay… Do you want anything for tonight?”

“Ro-rosé, please.”

“All right, I’ll see you tonight then.”

Any later and she would have heard you scream your mind off, you let moans roll off your tongue without restraint, nails digging into his back and back arched upward. He lowered your legs to his elbows, opening your legs to watch you come, your cunt swallowing him to the base, pumping in and then back out with a white ring around is cock from your shared pleasure. He made a sound of satisfaction, hands wandering down to grip your hips, riding out his pleasure leisurely and yours a fiery white blaze that burned through your body.

“You heard her, ja? Looks like we have more time to play.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973