#I’m gonna go sob in a corner thinking about this now

[riddlesdove]

boyfriend!mattheo gets his revenge for you teasing him at work (a continuation of this drabble)

c/w: 18+, dom!mattheo, dirty talk, edging, orgasm denial, piv,

Mattheo’s words are a consuming beat in your head, a mantra of sorts, winding you up tighter and tighter like a coiled spring as you attempt to prepare yourself for his payback.

“I’m going to ruin you tonight for being such a little fucking tease, gonna keep you on my cock for hours. Stuff that desperate little pussy full until you’re a sobbing mess."

You breathe deep.

Force yourself to push down the nervous excitement bubbling up in your chest like a soda can that’s been shaken too hard. It’s only making you twitchier the closer it gets to the time Mattheo is normally home and if you don't find some kind of way to fucking chill out, he’ll know.

He’ll be smug and merciless with the knowledge that he’s had you so strung out for hours and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so easily. It's enough that you already know that you'll break for him, you always do, the least you can do is make it a challenge.

But then you startle when the door slams shut behind you, too lost in your thoughts to hear the rhythmic thud of his footsteps echoing in the hallway, and rather than saying anything or coming towards you he just stays silent.

Mattheo doesn’t take another step at first. He doesn't attempt to round the couch to stand before you, he just waits.

Waits for you to slowly turn your body and meet his scorched gaze, your own eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights, and when they do catch his it’s like looking at the devil who’s come to take your soul.

"Bedroom. Now.”

Any thought about challenging him disintegrates. It's clear you don’t stand a chance of winning this battle, not when he’s sworn to ruin you before the night is over and seems to be possessed with the idea of seeing through.

You lurch to your feet, unsteady as a newborn foal as arousal pulses through you whilst you're all but scrambling to do as he says.

And then you can sense him behind you, hot on your heels, breath burning the back of your neck. He doesn’t touch you, just lets you feel the weight of his presence, the dizzying heat emanating from his body in waves.

“Matty…” You whisper.

“Strip, angel.” He commands. “Get on the bed and show me how you touched yourself."

You shiver. There’s a new intensity behind his words making you drip and choke down another needy mewl of his name.

He seats himself on the chair in the corner of the room as you drape your naked body across the bed, legs spread wide enough to give him a show and you flush as he tears his jacket from his body before leaning his elbows on his knees to watch closer.

"Look how fucking drenched you are already.” He muses. “Pretty pussy all swollen and needy.”

If he keeps talking you think you’ll combust, your fingers sinking as deep as they can reach into your slick walls when he nods at you, curling and scissoring with each rock of your hips and the grind of the heel of your hand against your aching clit.

This is a new experience for you. It feels dirty, filthier than when Mattheo watches his own fingers fuck you open but you like it. You feel powerful. His entire focus, ravenous and unyielding, concentrated on your fingers dipping in and out of your soaked pussy.

“I can hear how just how bad you want me, filthy little thing.” He murmurs, eyes blackened with want and glinting in the dim light of the room.

Maybe if you weren’t so delirious with pleasure you’d be able to recognise the teasing lilt to his expression, the light mockery in his voice.

“Oh god, Matty– please.” Your voice goes thin, a telltale sign you’re creeping closer to euphoria and Mattheo’s smirk splits to a wide grin.

“Stop.”

Wait.

What.

Your hand immediately follows the demand despite the noise of protest clawing up your throat as your impending release begins to fade. Your body feels sluggish, confused, and you fix Mattheo with a questioning glare when he chuckles and slips to his knees on the floor, prowling closer until he’s leaning against the edge of the bed between your ankles.

“Just wanted a closer look, that's all.” He says innocently. “Go ahead, baby."

He waits until you’re writhing into your hand, breath coming in sharp pants and his name whispered in jagged please. Waits until you’re cresting the wave, climbing higher, higher, ready for the crash and then he flattens it out from beneath you.

"Stop.” He commands and you throw your head back with a frustrated scream.

“Mattheo, what the fuck!"

But he doesn’t meet your angry gaze, too busy staring at the desperate way your aching pussy flutters around nothing but air, the way slick is pooling out of you and spilling onto the bedsheet below.

"Not fun being teased is it, pretty girl?” He laughs softly but it’s so taunting and smug that you’re tempted to kick that beautiful smile of his right off his handsome face.

You don’t though, forcing yourself to breathe and keep calm otherwise he’ll probably make you endure this torture forever.

“Matty, please, you’ve made your point. I’m sorry for teasing you at work, I won't do it again, I swear, please can I cum?” You ask, sweet as sugar and smiling gently when he quirks an eyebrow at your performance.

He doesn’t say anything but you take it as a green light anyway, slowly working yourself back up to that ledge once again only for Mattheo to stop you painfully at the last second once again. You could sob but you hold back, twitching as he lifts himself to slide between your legs, his hot breath hitting the sensitive flesh of your pussy.

“Keep trying all you want but the only way you’re gonna cum tonight is by my hands, my tongue or my cock.” He tells you, cheek nuzzling the tender skin of your thigh.

“Then fucking get on with it.” You spit.

He bites harshly into the meat of your thigh in warning. You’re getting bratty in your frustrated state and it makes him feral for your submission, to see the fire in your eyes sweeten into something soft as you cry for him. He surges over you, hand coming up to grip your chin as he brings his face inches from yours, eyes hungry and blow wide.

“If you want it, you can be a good girl and beg for it.” He snarls. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

You blink up at him and just for just a moment he’s worried it’s too much, a little too mean but then your eyes are fluttering, lips parting on a filthy moan and hips lifting up to rub against his clothed cock. He tries to press you into the mattress to still you but it only makes you rock against him harder and he nearly chokes on the sensation.

"Come on baby, I know you need it.” He urges, letting go of your chin to pin both wrists either side of your head and dropping his hips to drag the weight of his cock, heavy and coarse in his pants, across your soaked pussy. You cry out, high pitched and desperate and he knows you won’t need much more persuading.

“Just give in. Beg and I’ll give you everything you want, sweet girl.” He soothes.

You clench around nothing at the raw promise in his voice and it snaps the little restraint you have left inside you, your body goes pliant, wrapping itself so tightly around his there’s no telling where one of you starts and the other ends.

“Please Matty, give it to me.” You whine, words a little slurred, laced heavy with the lust that’s making your head swim. “I need it, baby, please, I want you so bad it hurts."

"There we go.” He smirks. “That wasn't so hard, was it.”

And if you weren’t so absolutely gone with need for the man you’d probably curse him out, but you’re too busy ripping the shirt from his chest whilst he frantically yanks at his zip and tears the pants down his thighs.

He all but throws you back down against the mattress and you gladly take the warm weight of him as lunges after you, crying out when he rubs his cock against your pussy, coating himself in your arousal before roughly sliding into you.

There’s no time for soft touches and gentle words, you’re both unhinged. Starved for the frantic roll of his hips, the bruising force of grasping hands and the sweet sting of nails raked across flushed skin.

“You’re squeezing me so fucking tight." He pants, the rasping sound of his voice foreign in his own ears. He’s never known hunger to devour him like it does with you and he can feel it now.

The heat of it searing you both as he fucks you hard and messy. Your arousal drenching his cock and smearing against his stomach the tops of his thighs, and he fucking loves it. Presses your legs further apart so he can sink in closer and feel more of it on his skin.

You’re a writhing mess beneath him, reduced to a puddle of molten lust and thin gasps of ‘Mattheo–fuck–right there–don't stop.’

You can do nothing but desperately cling to the sweat slicked muscles of his back and slam your hips up to meet his punishing thrusts, the thick head of his cock hammering against something cataclysmic.

It makes you scream. You’re body trembling with each hiccuping cry of exquisite, soul shattering pleasure that he wrenches from you.

He drags his face out from where it’s buried in the crook of your neck, lips slipping over your cheek until they’re moulding fiercely against your own to swallow every noise you make like a divine offering.

His tongue slides into your mouth to taste your desperation, the way you kiss him back just as hungrily before wrenching away with a pitiful whine when he grinds his hips harshly and catches your clit.

He repeats the action over and over and over until you’re sobbing garbled pleas, half mad with the overwhelming need for release.

And this time Mattheo doesn’t tell you to stop.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?” He growls, low and ragged. “Gonna scream for me and soak my cock, let everyone in the building know who's fucking you this good?"

You nod desperately and he rolls his hips harder, faster. Brutal in his desire to see you unravelled.

”Then fucking do it. Cum now.”

It feels like you’re suspended for a moment, everything stops and then your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave. Currents of pleasure dragging you under until you can't breathe before it finally ebbs and allows you to float back to consciousness, shaken and exhausted.

You barely register pulling Mattheo into his own release, his pace stuttering and his body going tensing over yours as he pulses and spills into you with a hoarse groan pressed into your chest.

After some ragged breaths, he mouths lazy kisses wherever he can reach, spending a little longer at your lips when you sigh happily and loosely wind your arms around his neck. He doesn’t linger as long as you’d like though, ignoring your pout as he slips further down your body, trailing feather light presses of his lips and teasing nips of his teeth.

"Matty, what are you doing?” You mumble, growing restless under the light caresses and mouth dropping open in shock when he settles himself between your legs.

His gaze is both satisfaction and greed, flickering back and forth between your pretty, pleasure drunk face and the swollen, tender mess of your pussy that’s dripping with your joint release.

“Did you think I was done with you, baby? I promised you hours, remember?” He purrs wickedly. “And right now, I want to see if your ruin tastes as good as it looks."

[holyblonded]

can we have hcs about how alexia reacted and stepped in for her girls after olga was declared stable? especially estrella, how did alexia comfort her, knowing exactly what she needs when she’s that scared?

i love your work so much you have no idea!!

— the second olga is declared stable, alexia runs on pure adrenaline. her hands are still shaking and her heart’s going a million miles a minute, but she’s already thinking about the girls.

— when she finds estrella in the hallway outside the room, she doesn’t say anything at first. estrella’s sitting against the wall, knees drawn up, fists pressed to her mouth like she’s trying not to scream. her eyes are wild, but the second she sees alexia, they go even wider.

— “she’s okay,” alexia says gently, kneeling in front of her. “she’s stable. the baby’s okay too.”

— estrella tries to nod like she already knew that, like she doesn’t care. but then alexia cups her face with both hands and estrella crumples like paper. the sob that comes out of her is raw and awful, and she hates it, hates crying like a little kid, but she can’t stop.

— alexia pulls her in without hesitation. estrella clings to her like she’s drowning, arms wrapped around her neck so tight it’s almost painful. and alexia doesn’t tell her to calm down or breathe or stop crying, she just rubs her back and murmurs, “i’ve got you, mami’s okay, i promise.”

— azulita’s standing nearby, stiff, eyes red but dry. alexia pulls her in too, holding them both, kissing their heads and whispering soft, grounding things in between her own quiet tears. “you were both so brave. i’m so proud of you. she’s gonna be okay.”

— estrella eventually starts apologizing, for yelling, for losing it, for not doing something, and alexia shuts that down immediately. “you don’t ever have to be perfect, estrella. not for me. not for anyone.”

— she keeps one hand in estrella’s curls the whole time, grounding her with touch because she knows estrella. she knows she spirals when she doesn’t feel tethered. knows she’ll pretend she’s fine and then break alone later.

— once they’re allowed to see olga and val, both girls doesn’t leave olga’s side. but they keeps checking over their shoulder to make sure alexia is still in the room, still there. still solid.

— later that night, when the adrenaline crashes, estrella curls up in alexia’s lap in the corner of the hospital room. she won’t say she’s scared anymore, but she doesn’t let go either. alexia strokes her hair and whispers, “you don’t have to be the strong one right now. i’ve got you.”

[elliethejellie]

Heheheh…

“we need to be needed by you, otherwise how will we ever be sure you won’t leave??” or smthn along those lines, idk but Sun and Moon think it’s very romantic and sweet so it’s probably nothing to worry abt <3

[jazz-the-writer]

Loading…

Guyyyyysssss stop it. \(//∇//)\

Please I don’t need Chan finding me. I’m so down bad for his son Lee Felix. Like I don’t need them judging me on my fics 😖 I already know they’d have the restraining order paper work submitted.

Also I just wanted to say more text babbles to come on my undying love and unhealthy obsession with Lee Felix and Skz….. I never claimed to be a sane woman.

…..if you wanna know…..there was this fan meeting video I saw of Lix dancing in a Demon Slayer corp. uniform and guys I want a Demon Slayer Lix fic now 😫 but I suck at writing fics like that so if I do I’ll probably show you guys some drafts but keep it locked up on Patreon. I’m too embarrassed to post that shit publicly…. If there is ever a draft or notes I promise you I’ll post it in a fic ramble or skz text babbles……

Who tf am I talking to man ???!??😫no ONE SHOULD BE READING THIS

[faemurmur]

-> caleb ‘jealous’ of a vibrator colonel:

jealousy, thy name is caleb. caleb crosses his arms, glaring at the bedside table like it’s personally offended him. or, more accurately, at the small, traitorous piece of technology sitting on top of it. his eyes narrow.

“so that’s the competition.”

you stifle a laugh, adjusting your position on the bed as you watch him go through the five stages of grief over a vibrator. “competition?”

He scoffs. gestures at it. “i mean, what else would you call it?”

“a necessity.”

his jaw drops. “necessity?”

you shrug, feigning innocence. “it doesn’t tease. doesn’t make me beg. doesn’t get all cocky when i—”

caleb lunges, pinning you under him in a second. his hand wraps around your chin, tilting your face up so you’re looking right at him. the usual mischief in his golden eyes darkens, something possessive creeping into his expression.

“you think i don’t give you what you need, pipsqueak?” his voice is low, slow, tracing fire down your spine. you bite your lip, letting your lashes flutter just to provoke him. “…maybe i like the consistency.”

his smile is dangerous.

“alright then,” he murmurs, fingers ghosting down your stomach. “let’s see if you still think that when i’m done with you.”

guess you shouldn’t have challenged caleb like this, you’ve realized it long ago. the way his evol pins you down, vibrator smudged between your folds against your clit, pulsating, throbbing— for what feels like a long time. Your legs are pressed together, hands tied behind your back, “caleb-“ you mumble, mewling at the ache. Your scalp is sweaty, like you’ve done a rigorous workout. guess three orgasms is all it took to make your voice sound so tired and sexy.

you loved the first orgasm, the way the vibratore tore through your walls of pleasure and dropped you from that delicious high. Then… when it didn’t stop, when you could feel your nerves fry up, that you realized that caleb isn’t playing around. “caleb, please —“ you whimper and whine, feet moving like a caterpillar because of how closely your ankles are tied. It only adds to the torturous pleasure.

“caleb!” you exclaim, you beg, and when the third orgasm comes in…. Forcing you to see god. You break down. “caleb—“ sobs and sniffles echo through the room. “My name isn’t a safeword, honey.” Caleb soothes your back, kissing it softly, peppering tender lovings.

“do you think the vibrator is all you need pips?” Caleb asks once more, and you shake your head no frivolously and adamantly. “no no no caleb— please s’ too much!” your breath is ragged and bated, nerve endings hurting from every corner of your body.

it feels like caleb wants to associate discomfort with the vibrator so you only come to him and him alone… when you need pleasure. When you need anything really… “can’t— no more.” you struggle against his evol, feeling your begs and moans subside into something submissive, something broken.

it’s okay though, you know caleb would piece you back together. He carefully removes the vibrator, looking at your disheaveled body, your eyes drenched in tears. the warmth of his hugs feel like a necessity right now. you sob & cry in his arms, and he holds you through it, telling you how good you are, telling you how amazing you are and just how much he loves and adores you. until you finally calm down, body shaking every few minutes from post orgasm bliss, curled up in fetal position against him as he runs his hands through your hair.

“Gonna fucking get back at you.” You scowl, pouting when you feel your senses powerful enough to move again, to speak again.

“sure pips, but i don’t use anything apart from your delicious cunt to help me… you got nothing to be mad about.” Caleb smiles, kissing your forehead.

hmph…. That jerk.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ explicit sexual content, daddy kink, caretaking.

He expected to find you distracted. 

You didn’t text or call after breakfast, or your usual lunch time, but he was too bogged down with work to get off base to physically check in, lay eyes on you, make sure you’re alright. If you’re distracted enough you forgot to text, he’s worried it means you’ve lost track of the day completely, forgotten to eat or drink something other than coffee. Your little blue icon on the map tells him you’re definitely at work, but that’s all he has until he’s able to get away. 

When he does, and he slips through the back door of the bakery into the kitchen, he finds a scene he did not expect- 

and immediately knows the rules you broke today won’t result in a punishment. 

At least, not tonight. 

You’re standing at your work table, the rectangular butcher’s block that nearly stretches the span of the room, hands covering your face, hyperventilating. You’re covered in flour and there’s dried batter on your elbows, your neck, your clothes, a chaotic mess strewn across the tabletop.  

He calls your name softly and you turn with wide, wet eyes, a trembling lower lip. 

“What-” you nearly trip over yourself to get to him, falling into his arms, your tear stained face pressing against his chest, your own heaving. “Shhh, you’re okay, you're okay.” The front door swings open and Mara is there, pointing at the table, you, before making a motion with her hand like she’s cutting air in front of neck with a grim expression. Whatever it was, or is, it’s derailed the day completely, left you in tatters. He wishes you would have just called him, followed your rules so he could have helped, been here for you, with you, supported you. He nods at her, and cups your face, tries to tilt it up into his as you sob. "Okay, shhh, I've got you, I'm here. Let me look at you baby, let me see your eyes." They're laden with tears, broken with stress and anxiety, everything in you shaking and sparking like a live wire.

“I b-b-broke the ov-oven this morning,” you cry, clinging to his shirt, “I tried to- t-tried to fix it but... and I broke m-my rules..” His heart chips a little bit at the raw distress in your voice, the way your chest heaves like you’ve just run a marathon. He has to fix it, soothe it, bring you back and take care of you, of everything, properly.

“Okay sweetheart, you're alright,” Your face turns, ear pressing over where his heart thumps in his chest, and he automatically covers the other one with his palm, blocking out the world around you but continuing to murmur softly so you can feel the vibration of his words as he rubs your back. “You’re alright baby, everything’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, m-my rules-"  

“We’re not going to worry about the rules or what happened with them right now. We're going to get you home and taken care of, and we’ll talk about the rules when you’re feeling better. Do you understand?” You shake your head, still struggling to take a deep breath. “What is your number one rule baby, tell me.” 

“Listen to daddy.” 

“Good girl. I will tell you when it’s time to think about what happened today with your rules. Do you understand me?” You sniffle, but nod. 

“Yes daddy.” 

“Left arm.” One of the reasons he bought this house over the other ones is the tub. It’s massive, jacuzzi style with jets, perfect for a soak, or a scrub, which is what’s happening now. He turns your fingers up, runs the washcloth across them until the flour beneath is gone, soaping you all the way up to your shoulders, your collarbone that’s half hidden by bubbles. 

“Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. 

“Thank you for letting me take care of you, sleepy girl.” Once he got you out of your dirty clothes and into the bath you calmed considerably, exhaustion quickly setting in once you hit the hot water. 

“You’re welcome daddy.” A small mischievous smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and he chuckles. Sass.

He trails the washcloth across your chest and you arch your back a little bit, turning into the fabric as it brushes your nipples. 

“Alright?” This is not the moment to push you. Emotionally off balance and vulnerable, it would do more harm than good to test your limits. 

“Yeah,” your teeth find your bottom lip, and he moves downward, across your belly to your mons. You moan, hips flexing, looking for more between your legs and he rubs your cheek. 

“Do you want daddy to make you feel good sweet girl?” 

“Yes please.” He lets the washcloth sink to the bottom of the tub. 

“Open your knees f’me, like that, good girl.” He takes it slow. He’d ask you to get out if he thought you’d be comfortable, but he doesn’t want to move you, disturb how relaxed you are. When he slides down your pussy to your hole, he’s relieved to find you’re very wet, and there will be enough to last until the water in the tub starts to dissolve it, though he’ll have to be quick. You whine, wiggling as he thumbs your clit, middle finger of the same hand carefully pressing inside you to the first knuckle, the surprised gasp on your lips swallowed by his own. You’re already clenching down around him, trying to bring his finger deeper. So bloody tight.

“Ah-” He works up to his second knuckle, watching your expression, the crease of your eyebrows, the flutter of your lashes. Your grip tightens to the side of the tub, walls squeezing him as he slides all the way, circling your clit and angling upward inside you, dragging along your walls like he’s motioning for you to come here, all of his touch flexing in tandem. Your face is twisting, almost like you’re trying to resist, mentally digging your heels in. You’re getting in your own head, trying to shove your orgasm away, running from it. Punishing yourself.

He knows what you need.

“You had such a hard day didn’t you baby,” you whimper, "you worked so hard today, and daddy’s girl deserves to feel good after having such a bad day.” He passes over your clit in a faster rhythm, again and again as he strokes in and out of your pussy, bringing you to the edge. 

 “I-” 

“It’s okay sweetheart, you can come. Show daddy how good you are and come on my hand.” A lever is pulled, a dam released.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” your feet kick, water sloshes, and your face is like heaven, expressive and euphoric, just for him. “I’m coming, I’m…” your muscles tense and he stays with you, wringing every drop of your pleasure free until you go limp, chest heaving. 

After a while, he finds the washcloth. He methodically picks up where he left off, starting between your thighs, and then soaping the rest of you, making sure he gets all the remnants of the day cleaned off.  You smile, a little loopy, eyelids heavy. Time to get out. “No sleeping in the tub, c’mon.” 

“But-” 

“No buts. Up.” You pout. It’s adorable, and he’s a sucker, but the risk of you falling asleep is too great. “I’ll let you stay in until you’re all wrinkled next time, but you can barely hold your head up right now. Come on.”

He gets you dried off and into some clothes, pajama bottoms and one of his t-shirts before settling you in bed with a cup of tea, bare feet sticking out from the blankets so he can rub them, trying to knead away some of the tension in your arches. 

“You need better shoes.” 

“Mmmh, I know.” You had turned your switch on, but it sits abandoned now as you drain your chamomile just before snuggling down into the pillows, slowly losing your battle to sleep. “Daddy...” 

“”I’m here baby.” You sigh and reach blindly, looking for him with closed eyes. 

“Can you hold me?” It’s not even a question, you own him.

“Of course.” He slides in behind you and you turn, nestling your nose against his neck. A whole world, right here. An entire life, his, curled up in his arms, the safest place you'll ever be.

“Night.” Half yawn, half sigh, completely exhausted. He brushes his lips across your forehead. 

“Goodnight sweet girl.” 

[angstandhappiness]

DUDE, WHY

Do you ever think about how Bruce Wayne is such an human embodiment of the “can’t help myself” robot ?

I imagine him discovering it as billionaire Bruce Wayne who was invited to some fancy art gallery opening and as he’s walking through the exhibition he sees it and stops in his tracks. Not necessarily physically, he’s too used to hide his emotions to adapt to whatever environment he’s in and to any outsider, he seems vaguely politely interested, to some even bored.

But he’s rattled, he can’t stop thinking about it, long after the quiet drive home.

Bruce Wayne trying to do right by his parents and make sure the city they loved doesn’t destroy itself, to prevent every child he could from living the same fate as his. Bruce Wayne who cares, who believes in second chances and rehabilitation, who tries his best to fight the curse that has doomed his city without even knowing about its existence. Bruce Wayne who no matter how many criminals he puts away, rehabilitates, tries desperately to contain, there’s always more and yet, he still doesn’t give up. Not only does he not give up but he inspires other people into action, instills the same stubbornness and will to survive into everything he touches.

Bruce Wayne who has connected himself so deeply to this city, his city, that every tragedy hurts him more than any physical wound could. Bruce Wayne who can’t help himself, who continues to destroy himself in favour of saving the people he’s come to care for so deeply that their struggles, no matter how small, outweigh his own.

Just like the “can’t help myself” robot, which was completely powered by electricity and didn’t even need the fluid that it ultimately killed itself trying to contain, Bruce didn’t need Batman to survive. He could have been fine, he could have lived a decent life without endless tragedies. But he chose not to and took the consequences for it.

And honestly every time I see the gritty dark Batman depictions (even as a joke) about Batman “ruthlessly beating up people” I feel so sad because before Batman is a symbol of fear, he’s a symbol of hope. We’re talking about the man who has given a home to so many lost people (and continues to do so) and keeps lollipops in his utility belt for scared children. Come on.

[enhaflixer]

overstimulated!jay x f!reader - breaking his cocky ego. pure smut, he cries.

ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI

“You’re shaking,” you murmur, lips grazing the soaked head of his cock. “You okay, baby?”

He laughs—barely. A sharp breath that twitches out of him, mouth parted like he’s about to lie and say yes, even while his thighs are trembling beneath you.

Jay’s a cocky bastard. Always has been. Started this whole thing with a smug grin and a “You can try, babe, but I don’t break that easy.”

You didn’t say anything back.

Just pushed him flat on the bed, slid between his legs, and started sucking like your only goal was to destroy him.

Now he’s a fucking mess.

His skin’s flushed to his ears, jaw clenched so hard it’s shaking, fists tangled in the sheets above his head—not to hold on, but because if he touches you now, he’ll explode. Again.

You haven’t stopped. Not once.

Not after he came the first time, groaning through grit teeth.

Not after the second, his voice catching, fingers spasming against the mattress.

Not even after the third—when he sobbed into his own arm and whispered “Please.”

You’re still going.

Still licking around the base, dragging your tongue up his length while he twitches helplessly.

Still wrapping your lips around his tip, swollen and angry and red, tasting like ruin and salt and him.

“Can’t,” he gasps. “Fuck—I c-can’t—baby—”

You glance up. His eyes are glassy, bottom lashes wet, lips trembling like he’s about to cry harder just from your gaze alone.

God, he’s beautiful like this.

All that quiet dominance, that usual calm, shattered underneath you.

Sweat at his temples, tears on his cheeks, chest rising so fast he can’t even speak straight.

“You said you don’t break easy,” you whisper against his cock, lips brushing that oversensitive slit. “Were you lying?”

His hips jerk like he’s trying to crawl away, but his thighs won’t cooperate.

They just tremble.

A sob punches out of him—raw, real, humiliated—and his hands fly to his face, trying to cover it.

You pull back slowly, licking your lips. His cock twitches in the air, leaking again.

“Jay.”

He shakes his head behind his hands.

“Jay, baby.”

He peeks through his fingers, voice wrecked. “I’m—‘m gonna come again, I can’t—I’m—”

You just smile.

“Good.”

Because the second you wrap your mouth around him again, he breaks.

Fucking screams, like it’s being ripped out of him.

His hips buck hard, his thighs snap tight around your head, and you moan as he shoots down your throat—again, again, again.

You don’t pull back. Not even when his moans turn into high, broken sobs.

You just hum around him, slow and wet, drinking every drop while he falls apart under you—body jerking, mouth open in a soundless cry.

He’s crying now. For real.

Choked little gasps, face red and wet, begging like he doesn’t care about anything except escape.

But he doesn’t move. He can’t.

Just lies there, twitching, trembling, letting you suck him through the aftershocks.

When you finally pull off, he whimpers like it hurts.

You crawl up his body, hands gentle now, brushing tears from his face. He’s gasping. Chest still shaking. Eyes dazed.

“Still think you’re tough?” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth.

And all he can do is nod—pathetically—and whimper out, “Y-Yeah. Just… gimme a minute…”

[maskedbyghost]

i have a breeding kink but at the same time i have a terrible fear of getting pregnant to the point where ive had nightmares about it and anxiety attacks (especially now that abortions are no longer a constitutional right in the US). yeah, not a great combo when in bed lol

just thought maybe my woe would spark some kind of lil story for ya :)

thank you for the request anon, hope you like it :) cw: breeding kink, smut, +18 content below

You shouldn’t want it... Not like this.

You’re on your back, thighs spread and shaking, and Simon’s weight is pressing down over you, with his hands under your knees, pushing your legs open wide enough that you can feel it in your hips, that sweet ache where stretch meets surrender—but all you really notice is the way he’s looking at you.

A little wild. A little too pleased. Like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head.

"You’re fuckin’ dripping," he mutters against your throat, dragging the thick head of his cock through your folds, teasing you with it, slowly. “You want me to fill you up, yeah?”

Your body screams yes. It pulses with it. You tilt your hips, chasing the friction, heat curling sharp in your belly. That filthy little corner of your brain lights up like a match—the one that wants to hear him say it, again and again. That he’s going to put a baby into you. That your body’s his, made to take it.

But just behind that is the fear. Always is.

The kind that hits in the dead of night, heart racing, breath stuck in your throat. The kind that makes you double-check your pill pack and panic at a missed period. That terrible, breathless dread of being trapped in your own body. Waking up from a dream where you were pregnant and sobbing like it had already happened.

Your fingers grip the sheets, tension building under your skin, about to snap.

Simon feels it. Of course he does. He always knows.

He stills, just slightly. Doesn’t let go of your legs, doesn’t pull away—he just watches you, his brows pulling together. "Hey."

You blink, trying to smile, but it doesn’t work. “I’m fine. I want it. Just keep going.”

He doesn’t move. "You sure?"

“I am,” you say too fast, then softer, “I think I just… my head’s being weird again.”

That look he gives you—the one that feels like a fucking hand on your heart. He leans in, nose brushing yours, eyes locked on you like nothing else exists, and in that moment, it doesn't.

“Tell me,” he murmurs. “Whatever it is. We don’t play unless it’s good for you. Yeah?”

You swallow, heart hammering. You hate admitting it. Hate feeling like your brain’s betraying your body.

“I like it,” you say quietly. “The dirty talk. The whole—breeding thing. I need it sometimes. But I’m also terrified. Like, terrified of actually getting pregnant. It’s… bad. Nightmares, panic attacks...”

His jaw ticks. Just once. That barely contained fury that only shows up when he’s angry on your behalf.

“Fuck,” he says. “Alright. Come here.”

He pulls you in, lets your legs wrap around his waist, chest to chest now, holding you close, grounding you. One big hand slides up your back, the other gripping your thigh, his voice right at your ear.

“You trust me?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Then let me take care of you.”

You nod against his shoulder, and that’s all he needs.

“Good girl,” he breathes, then pulls his hips back, just enough to push his cock against you again. “Gonna give you everything you want, every filthy fuckin’ word. Gonna ruin you like I’m tryin’ to knock you up. But I won’t. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want, yeah?”

You whimper. “Yes, Simon. Please.”

“God, you sound so sweet like this,” he groans, sliding in, inch by inch. “So needy. You like when I talk like that, don’t you? Gets you so wet, you don’t even care how wrong it sounds.”

He bottoms out with a growl, and your back arches off the bed. You’re already close, tension thrumming under your skin, clenching around him like your body’s begging to be used.

“Look at this little cunt,” he pants, pulling out halfway just to slam back in. “Taking all of me like it wants it. Like it’s fuckin’ desperate for it.”

You’re gasping now, fingers digging into his back, losing yourself to the rhythm, to the stretch, to the low, filthy sound of his voice.

“You want it, don’t you?” he whispers darkly, lips against your jaw. “Wanna be full of me. Wanna let me fuck you raw and finish inside, over and over until you’re leaking, stuffed, ruined.”

“Yes—Simon, yes—”

“But you don’t have to be scared,” he says, voice dropping lower, sweet and vicious. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you. Always.”

And somehow that undoing feels different.

Like you can want it—really want it—and still be safe.

He fucks you through it, one hand on your belly, pressing down just a little, groaning when you flutter around him.

“Feel that?” he growls. “That’s me. Deep as I can go. Where I belong.”

Your eyes roll back. You're shaking under him, every nerve lit up, body raw with pleasure.

And then he’s coming too, face buried in your neck, groaning your name like it’s the only thing he knows how to say.

He pulls out slowly and carefully. Your thighs are trembling, slick between them, and he’s already wiping you down with a warm cloth before you can even blink. No words—just his soft hands.

Then he climbs back in behind you, draping a blanket over both of you, pulling you into his chest.

“You’re not wrong for wanting it,” he says against your temple. “Wantin’ that kind of surrender. You just need someone who knows how to give it to you right.”

You smile, slow and sleepy. “And you’re that someone?”

He huffs. “You fuckin’ know I am.”

And yeah, you really do.

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

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[scap34]

bottom! sub! virgin! Toji x clan leader! top! sadistic! male reader

Turning your hired gun into your partner <3

warning: cussing, dirty talk, degradation, mild manipulation, loss of virginity, sex

The Zenin elders are stupid. You think idly as you look down. 

Dumb fucks that obviously didn’t notice a gem. You think as you thrust into Toji’s tight hole roughly. The man under you gasped, gritting his teeth, his face scrunched into a twisted expression of pain and pleasure. 

He squirmed away from you, unconsciously. You grabbed his bruised ankle and pulled him closer, a strangled moan left his throat, when your cock fully entered him. 

He clenched the sheets under him, with a white knuckle grip. The corner of his eyes reddened and shiny with tears. His eyes refused to meet your gaze as you leaned down, smirking. 

“Too much? Should I stop?” As expected he shook his head, too stubborn to quit halfway. His body trembled under you.

You leaned back grinning. Your hips rocking into his ass, as you took in every soft whimper and moan that left Toji’s mouth. 

It took all your effort not to hold him down and fuck into his tight virgin hole roughly, leaving your claim on him. To watch him fall apart under you, the big man, so small under you. 

Instead you steeled your will. You wouldn’t let this be a one time thing. From the minute you saw Toji. You need him. Under you, sobbing as you fucked him senseless. 

You knew about Toji. Of course you did. Everyone did, even your clan did. The black sheep of the Zenin family, Toji, was a taboo. 

Fucking stupid idiots. 

When you saw him first, he was trying to steal from you. The darkness had barely let you see the man. But when he stepped into the moonlight you could immediately tell. So you did nothing and watched as he snuck out without a single person noticing. 

After he left you pulled up your phone and placed a hit on a man. 

The next day he walked in through the front door instead of the window. More accurately he burst into your room, and tossed a head at your foot. 

Unseeing eyes met your own. It was the man you placed the hit on. A small-time sorcerer that was looking to go big in the wrong places. You looked up at him amused, crushing the head under your foot. Toji glared at you. 

“Pay up.” He said curtly, tossing the scrolls he stole back to you. You caught them and smiled at him. 

“I have a job for you. Sit down.” You said smirking. He gave you a suspicious glare, but you could see his weary shoulders, the grease in his hair, and the desperation in his eyes. Young and desperate. A perfect combination. “It pays a lot.” 

He sat down. 

It was absurdly easy to keep him close to you. A bodyguard post you said to him. He didn’t question it. No one in your clan questioned it. No one would. Other than your brother, you were the strongest. Being a clan leader had its benefits.

It was even easier to seduce him. A few gentle touches, soft glances and forgotten towels, and he was wrapped around your finger. All but crawling into your lap when you called pretty and selling his body to you with false reluctance. 

You hadn’t had the heart to tell him how his eyes betrayed his words. When he looked at you with such trust craving validation, all you wanted to do was to fuck him until you were all he could think about. 

So here you were, pinning the poor man to the bed, taking his virginity. You pulled your cock halfway out and thrust it into his hole. Toji bit his lip and whimpered, muscular thigh flexing like he wanted to break free. But he wouldn’t, they stayed in place, calves hooked on your shoulder exposing his pretty pink hole.

You leaned down, hovering over him. Kissing his tits, you licked his nipple. He arched into your mouth, moaning. His useless cock twitched against his stomach. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now.” You muttered against his chest, pulling out your cock and slamming it into his hole before he could respond. 

He let out a strangled moan, pretty face scrunched up as he let out muffled sobs. You could take it slower, let him adjust before you fucked him, but you wouldn’t.

It wouldn’t change the way his cock hardened, leaking pre-cum against his stomach. You rolled your hips, watching him twitch and clutch down on your cock with a moan. Large hands gripping your sheets tightly as he whined, so sweetly.

Face flushed, with moans slipping from swollen pink lips, he was a sight. Your sight. Yours to toy with, yours to protect, and yours to fuck. 

His body was so perfectly slutty despite being a virgin. his greedy hole sucking you in, begging for you. He was meant for you, to be yours. And now he is all yours now. All for a measly 50,000 yen. What a steal.

…

Life, it turned out, was hard without skills other than fighting. He’d gotten kicked out of 4 jobs within a week of leaving the clan. Living on the streets left him feeling more exhausted and dirty. 

If he couldn’t find a job outside jujustu, he’d find one within it. He’d be a killer, a hired gun. 

The offer came from a man who claimed to be a handler with promises of money if he joined. He accepted.

Money, was the fucking leading cause of all things shitty. He decided he needed a fuck ton of it. 

His first job was supposed to be simple: sneak into the Gojo clan and steal a scroll. 

But as it was, nothing would ever work out for him. A man was in the room.  A strong sorcerer too. Toji’s body was tense, expecting an attack at any minute as he took the scroll. 

None came. Instead, the man watched him leave. Curious. He didn’t care. 

His phone rang a few minutes from the meeting spot, in the morning. It was the handler, there was a hit placed on the man who asked him to steal the scrolls. 100,000 yen to kill him and return the scrolls. 

He’d known exactly who’d placed that hit. In the cold morning light, he strolled towards the man and cut off his head and delivered it to you. 

You were crazy or bored. He decided when you offered him a job. The rumors about him weren’t pleasant. He knew that. But here you were, smiling at him with that cunning light in your eyes. You, a sorcerer, that was strong enough to probably kill him. 

He hesitated for a second and thought about his life if he left. He’d probably go to the handler and take more jobs. Lose all the money with his shitty luck and end up living in shitty apartments eating cheap noodles. 

“It pays a lot.” You continued.

He sat down. 

…

He didn’t even realize when he got so invested in you. 

You were beautiful. It wasn’t just your face, your body was slender compared to him. Soft hands, and lean fingers that seemed to have never touched a weapon. Even the way you dressed was elegant, traditional kimonos and long sleeved shirts. 

He had fallen for you. You, the Gojo heir, a man he should hate. And yet when you brushed your long hair out the way looking frustrated he could do nothing but pull out a clip he brought with his own money and clip it back. 

The smile you gave him, washed away all the coldness he’d felt since his birth. Like all the cold words, sneers and abuse he’d received was gone, healed by a single glance from you. You were a spring waterfall, cold and bottomless, ethereal in the light, beckoning him to you.  

You, and your stupid mind games were all he wanted. So when you gave him a slutry smile and called him pretty, he immediately gave in, offering his body to you for 50,000 yen. He was worth less than that. He thought, distantly, as your hands settled in his hips. But he could never afford you. 

You were priceless and he needed you. So he played along. You were stupid to think he was the prize when he clearly won you.

[crushmeeren]

Hiii I hope you’re doing well!! I was wondering if you could write Hitoshi shinsou x reader of him absolutely destroying our guts 😊

Thank you!!!

-🐞

♡ Master List Link

♡ Everyone is 18+/aged up — scroll or block if that bothers you.

﴿ Note ⇢ Hello friend! I am doing well and I can definitely write this. I hope you enjoy!

﴿ Another note ⇢ P.S. I write it as ꙳ ﹡ FEM READER ꙳ ﹡ unless specified, but I did try to refrain from using things like good girl, pretty girl, etc. because I wasn’t sure. I did however use female anatomy.

You slam the front door shut so violently the frame rattles, threatening to crack under pressure.

“Everything alright baby?” Hitoshi’s smokey timbre calls out cautiously from the kitchen. He was forewarned about your god awful day out on patrol, so he’s treading carefully.

Your fingernails sink into your palms, teeth creaking as you round the corner to your kitchen. There’s a fury boiling in your chest that’s about to overflow.

“What the fuck do you think? You know how to read, don’t you? Because I already texted you what happened.” There’s a nasty bite to your words, eyes narrowing as your lip curls upwards.

Silence hangs heavily in the air for a few beats.

Hitoshi’s face remains impassive as he stands across the island from you. Casually, he folds his arms over his chest, arching one singular eyebrow at your bitchy tone.

Hitoshi may as well exhale frost when he replies.

“Do you really want to walk down this road tonight?”

Apparently, you do.

When Hitoshi bends you over the side of your bed five minutes later, you’re entirely naked.

He’s got your arms bent and twisted behind your back in the most uncomfortable position as Hitoshi ties your wrists together with part of his capture weapon.

It’s tight — you can barely wiggle your fingers, heartbeat thudding in your fingertips.

A brutal swirl of exasperation and anticipation churns in your stomach. When the underground hero yanks the material even tighter, a layer of sticky sweat gathers in the valley between your tits, and you spasm against the blankets.

“Hitoshi!” You squeak, sucking in air through your teeth. “That hurts, you jerk!” You rise up on your tip toes to try and pull away from his grip, but your shoulders only twinge in protest. Hitoshi looms behind you, snickering as he wrenches your bound wrists upwards and forces you to still.

“Too late sweetheart, you’ve been way too much of a brat tonight for me to care about your comfort. Now, I’m gonna teach you a lesson and fuck that shitty attitude out of you,” he says hotly, confirming what you already knew he was going to do.

A calloused palm presses down in between your shoulder blades, shoving you further down into the bed.

You don’t speak, clenching your jaw in frustration when a hot flush pours over your cheeks. The material of your current restraints dig annoyingly into your skin each time you flex your wrists.

Hitoshi’s hand rains down on your ass, a sharp sting radiating up to your tailbone. He made it his mission for that one to hurt.

A muffled scream of his name punches out of you into the sheets below.

“What is it sweetheart?” He snarls, teasing the soft tip of his cock between the lips of your pussy. “Can’t handle the punishment for being so fucking rude to me?”

Your breath catches, goosebumps taking over your arms. Your clit pulses, pussy eager to swallow his cock whole.

“Well?” He urges, yanking your forearms backwards until your spine arches, lifting your face from the blankets.

Your shoulders ache, throbbing dully and then suddenly a switch flips, all traces of your previous rage draining from your veins.

“I’m sorry Hitoshi!” You sob, voice scratchy and breaking. You shove your hips backwards, trying to get him inside you.

“That’s it pretty baby, good job,” he purrs, gifting you mercy and sliding his cock inside with one effortless motion.

Hitoshi starts fucking you as if he’s attempting to carve a space out inside your guts just for himself. Hips bouncing off your ass until your muscles are going taut, slick pussy suffocating his cock.

He fucks you until you’re a gooey, brain melted mess beneath him. Encouraging you to keep cumming for him, his husky moans dancing in the air when you curse his name.

Afterwards, once your chest stops heaving and your soul has returned to your body, you’re infinitely grateful for a boyfriend like Hitoshi.

“Hitoshi, thank you. I really needed that,” you mumble, throat raw as sandpaper. Hitoshi hums as he swiftly works to free your hands.

“No worries baby. I’ll fuck you into your place anytime you need it,” he teases, tilting his head back in laughter as you punch his shoulder halfheartedly.

Your wretched day is entirely forgotten as you climb into bed that night.

[lightlybloomed]

You Knew Without Asking (G.C)

You show up at George Clarke's flat after a breakup. He’s always known the things you never had to say — and maybe that’s exactly what love is.

thank you to anon for the request :)

You never expected the moment of clarity to hit you in a booth at a ramen place you didn’t even like.

Your boyfriend — well, now your ex, though you hadn’t said the words aloud yet — sat across from you, chopsticks clumsily clinking against the ceramic bowl, talking about someone at work and laughing like everything was fine. Like everything was normal.

But it wasn’t.

The miso was too salty. The noodles were rubbery. And worst of all, he hadn’t noticed your silence.

You’d told him before that this place wasn’t your thing. Three times, actually. And yet here you were, again. The same corner booth, the same indifferent waiter, the same ache in your chest.

“Everything alright?” he asked mid-laugh, sipping his beer.

You smiled, tightly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

And maybe that was the most honest thing you could say.

Because you were tired. Tired of pretending, of accepting crumbs and calling it love. Tired of forcing small talk when what you really wanted was someone who noticed. Who saw you.

You let the conversation drift around you, your mind miles away, quietly folding the corner of your napkin over and over in your lap. When he suggested going for drinks after, you shook your head. “I think I’m gonna head home.”

He nodded, unfazed. “Cool, I’ll see you later then.”

No kiss on the cheek. No concern. Just… cool.

You were halfway down the street when you opened your phone and typed out a message without thinking:

You up for tea?

The reply came seconds later.

Always. I’ll put the kettle on.

You nearly cried, standing there under a flickering streetlight, phone clutched in your hand like a lifeline.

George’s flat was warm and soft-lit, smelling like bergamot and whatever candle he always had burning in the corner. He opened the door in joggers and a hoodie, hair slightly messy, a tea towel flung over his shoulder.

He looked at you like he knew.

Not just that you’d been crying in the Uber over something you couldn’t quite name, or that your jacket wasn’t warm enough for the weather. But like he knew you.

“Hey,” he said, gently.

And that was it. That one word broke something in you.

You barely got inside before you were in his arms, sobbing into the fabric of his hoodie. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, and he didn’t ask questions. Just held you like he’d been waiting to.

It took a while for the tears to stop.

When they did, George handed you a mug of tea — just the way you liked it — and guided you to his couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You sniffled and leaned into the corner of the sofa, hands wrapped around the ceramic for warmth.

“I broke up with him,” you said eventually, voice hoarse.

George didn’t flinch. “I figured.”

“I mean, I didn’t say it, but… it’s done. It has to be.” You looked down at your lap. “He didn’t know me, George. Not really. Not in the ways that count.”

George stayed quiet, but you could feel the weight of his attention.

“I told him I hated that ramen place,” you continued. “I told him three times. And yet he booked it for date night like it was this big gesture. And he doesn’t know my favourite colour. Or that I hate coriander. Or that I hate being the last one to leave a party.”

Your voice cracked. “He doesn’t see me.”

George leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Some people love the version of you that’s easiest to be around. But not everyone wants to learn the parts that take time.”

You stared at him.

“And you?” you whispered.

He looked up at you then, eyes soft. “I want to know all of it.”

You fell asleep in his hoodie, curled up on the sofa, your head resting against his shoulder. He stayed up beside you, scrolling quietly through his phone, his other hand tucked beneath the blanket near yours.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you mumbled something in your sleep — something about daffodils, and missing your mum, and the smell of old books. He smiled.

Even in your dreams, you made sense to him.

You woke to the smell of pancakes and the low hum of George singing something under his breath in the kitchen. Your heart did this weird, warm flip in your chest.

He was there, sleeves pushed up, flipping pancakes with a confidence that probably wasn’t deserved, but the smile on his face made up for any culinary failures.

“These might be slightly undercooked,” he admitted when he caught you watching from the doorway, “but I remembered you like crispy edges. And syrup on the side.”

You blinked, stunned. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t have to.”

You sat across from each other at his small kitchen table, sleepy and silent in the golden morning light.

After a few minutes, George cleared his throat.

He leaned forward slightly, “I'll always notice, you know. When you’re quiet in a way that doesn’t feel right. Or knowing when you need space but not distance. Or that you always hum when you're focusing, and your left eyebrow twitches when you're lying.”

You blinked at him, completely still.

“I know you, because I want to,” he said simply. “Not because I’m trying to get it right. Just because… I care.”

Something in your chest gave way.

He looked suddenly shy. “That was probably too much.”

“It wasn’t,” you whispered. “It wasn’t too much.”

You didn’t plan to kiss him.

But when you stood up to bring your plate to the sink, and he met you halfway with his hand on your waist and those familiar, kind eyes — it happened.

Soft. Sure. Real.

The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. Just gave.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I think I finally am.”

That afternoon, the two of you sat in his living room, wrapped in blankets and watching your favourite show. You sipped your second cup of tea, your head on his shoulder, and for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for something else to happen.

“What now?” you asked.

George tilted his head, thoughtful. “Now we take it slow. Or fast. Or somewhere in between. Whatever you want.”

You looked up at him. “As long as it’s with you?”

He grinned. “As long as it’s with me.”

[logoleptic-since-06]

Every Corner of This House is Haunted

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: Fem!Reader, Marriage in Crisis, Angst, Profanity, Reader and Nanami are in their 30s, Not Proofread

Chapter III -> Masterlist if this Series

Listen to this for the full experience.

You sit in Shoko’s living room with puffy eyes and a glass of water still shaking in your hands. You have just stopped sobbing into her shoulder. An involuntary shudder runs down your spine every time your phone buzzes with a notification from your husband.

You look at the wedding ring on your finger, now just a jewellery that holds no real significance to it. Your head turns towards the sound of a phone ringing. Not yours, but Shoko’s this time. 

She looks at you. “It’s him.”

“Tell him you don’t know where I am.”

She nods and picks up the call. “Hello?” she says as she puts the phone on speaker.

“Hi, is Y/N there with you?” you hear Kento’s voice from the other side.

“No, she isn’t here, why, what happened?”

There’s a pause before he says, “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying, I don’t know where she is,” your friend insists.

“Spare me that,” he says as he cuts the call.

You and Shoko give each other a knowing look. “You think he’s gonna be here?”

Before she can get her answer out, the doorbell rings. You hesitantly move towards the door and peek through the peephole. How did he even get here so fast?

Going against your perseverance, you open the door to reveal a panting Kento– dishevelled hair, wrinkled shirt, half-done tie, and a desperate, unstable look in his eyes. You can barely recognise your husband; no one has ever seen this side of Kento as opposed to his usual prim and calm demeanour. You almost feel pity.

“Y/N,” he exasperates.

“No, Kento, stop.”

“Please,” he comes near you and you step backward, “I’m so sorry, love.”

“You could’ve at least told me.”

“I know I messed up, please.”

“You look pathetic.”

“I am pathetic, my love. Shout at me all you want, let’s go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” 

He stumbles forward and tries to touch your face but you back away. “Don’t say that.” His voice quivers as the words leave his mouth, his eyes all red and blotchy.

You hold your ground. “Leave me alone. Do this one thing right.”

“I won’t let you go.”

“Please, Kento. Leave.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you your space for now. Can we talk this out later?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Kento, I want to be alone. Please leave.”

He steps back slowly. “I’ll come back tomorrow. And if you don’t talk to me then, I’ll come back every day until you do,” he says as he steps out of the apartment. With the heaviest you heart has ever been, you slam the door on his face.

Turning your back against the door, you fall to your knees and begin to sob.

A/N: Not my best work tbh, I've had the worst migraine 😭

tags: @itsafairytalekay @qualitygiantshoepsychic @uzuimirika @coffeeandcrimeshows @lov3vivian @lady-of-blossoms @lavenderdaydream97

[sturnsblogs]

MOODY MORNINGS

Teacher!Matt X Milf!Reader

—

You’ve been feeling off for two weeks now. Exhausted. Nauseous every morning. Moody like hell. Your chest aches, your appetite is weird, and you swear you cried at a commercial for laundry detergent last night. But what’s worse? You’ve been fighting with Matt. About everything. Over nothing.

“Why would you put the mugs there, Matt?”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “They’ve literally always been in this cabinet.”

“Well, I don’t like that cabinet anymore.”

You snapped at him about the toilet seat. About how he folds towels. About how loud he chews. One night you even accused him of loving the dog more than you. (You don’t even have a dog.)

And Matt, to his credit, tried to be patient. Tried. But last night? That patience snapped.

“You’ve been on edge for two weeks and I don’t even know why!” he raised his voice for the first time in days. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? You want space? You want to fight? You want me to tiptoe around you while you glare at me like I murdered your childhood goldfish?”

You stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, eyes glassy. “I don’t know what I want, okay?! I just—” You paused, swallowing hard. “I feel weird. I don’t feel like me.”

He softened just a little. “Baby… are you okay? Is something going on?”

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him, grabbing your keys from the hook. “I’m going to Target.”

“Again?” he sighed, frustrated. “That’s the third time this week. Are you even buying anything or just running away from every conversation we have?”

You stopped in your tracks and whipped around. “You know what, Matt? If you don’t like how I’m acting, maybe you should just leave for the night and go stay with Nick.”

He stared at you. And then quietly asked, “Do you even want me here anymore?”

The words stung. They hung between you both, sharp and heavy.

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you slammed the door.

But sitting in the car—hands shaking on the steering wheel, nausea twisting your stomach again—you muttered to yourself, “God. What the hell is wrong with me?”

You already knew the answer.

You just didn’t want to admit it.

You didn’t even make it out of the driveway.

Your keys stayed in your lap, engine off, as the streetlights blurred through the tears in your eyes. You weren’t angry. Not really. You were scared. You were overwhelmed. You were two seconds away from either screaming or sobbing—or both.

So you came back inside.

The door creaked open quietly, like even the house was holding its breath. Matt was still on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. He didn’t look at you when you walked in. He didn’t say anything either.

You stood there for a minute, awkward, picking at your fingernails, tugging at your sleeve, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

You didn’t want to apologize.

You didn’t know how.

So you just… fidgeted.

Eyes darting around, fingers wringing together, toe tapping quietly against the floor. You weren’t good at this part—being vulnerable when you felt cornered, when you didn’t even have the words for what you were feeling.

Matt finally looked at you. His features weren’t angry anymore, just tired. Concerned.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, “are you gonna talk to me or just keep pacing like you’re waiting on a verdict?”

You looked at him. Then at the floor. Then back at your hands.

He stood up, walked over, and stopped right in front of you. “You don’t have to say sorry,” he murmured. “I just want to know what’s going on with you. Really.”

You blinked a few times, and your voice cracked when you whispered, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Matt gently took your hands, steadying your nervous fingers in his. “Then let’s figure it out. Together.”

You stared at him—at his messy hair and worried eyes, at the man who has loved you through everything.

And for a split second, the fear you’d been swallowing down all week bubbled to the surface.

“…I think I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air.

Matt didn’t flinch.

He just blinked once.

Then quietly asked, “Do you want me to go buy a test?”

You nodded.

He kissed your forehead, squeezed your hands, and headed toward the door—murmuring as he passed you, “We’re gonna be okay. No matter what.”

—

A/N- Am i locked in? Yes.

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset-deactivate @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @sturnns-world @realuvrrr r @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k

[rafesorchid]

Hii, just wondering if do a little blurb for a reader who cries when they're angry. Like Rafe and the reader are in an argument and maybe he's yelling or smth but after the reader says a few things she like breaks down sobbing while trying to argue but failing

★ don't cry, baby

wait i actually lov this

you weren’t even trying to argue, not really. not at first.

you’d just asked a question—maybe a little sharp, maybe too much tension curled in your tone—but it had been innocent in your head. a simple “where were you?” that somehow struck a nerve.

he looked at you like you’d said something cruel. like you’d accused him of something he didn’t do.

and maybe that’s where it all started.

“i told you i was with topper,” he snapped, standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed, shoulders tight. “why do you keep asking me that?”

you blinked, trying to keep calm. “because you didn’t answer your phone all night.”

“my phone died,” he shot back. “what, you think i’m lying?”

you didn’t say anything, and maybe that’s what pissed him off the most.

rafe had always been like this—his fuse a little too short, his voice a little too loud when he felt cornered. you’d gotten used to it, most days. he never meant to yell. he never meant to make you feel small. but tonight, your skin already felt raw, and every word he threw sounded sharper than usual.

“jesus, y/n, what do you want from me?” he barked, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to pull the frustration out of his skull. “you want a fucking minute-by-minute breakdown of my night? is that it?”

you flinched, just a little, but enough that his face changed for a split second—like he noticed. like he regretted it.

but you were too far in now.

“no,” you said softly, voice trembling despite your best effort. “i just wanted to know why you didn’t come home.”

he scoffed, shaking his head. “i fell asleep, alright? topper’s couch. didn’t know i had to report back to you like i’m on parole.”

“you said you’d be back,” you whispered.

“and i didn’t realize that meant i was gonna get interrogated like this if i wasn’t. god, y/n, i can’t fucking breathe with you sometimes—”

“don’t say that,” you cut in, your voice cracking, and that was the beginning of the end.

your chest felt tight. your face hot. and even though you were still trying—still trying to argue back, to explain, to stand your ground—your eyes were already burning.

he didn’t notice at first. or maybe he did and ignored it.

“you always do this,” he muttered, pacing now. “always think the worst of me. always turn shit into a fight when i’m already f*cking trying.”

“i’m not trying to fight with you,” you said, louder than before, but your voice wobbled on the last word.

and that’s when it happened.

you opened your mouth to keep going—“i just wanted to feel like you cared, like you didn’t forget about me”—but all that came out was a strangled little sob. not cute. not quiet. not something you could play off.

you were crying. fully crying.

and rafe went still.

your hands came up to your face instinctively, wiping at the tears like you could stop them, like that would fix the way your voice broke every time you tried to speak. you shook your head, trying to get it together, trying to finish what you’d started.

“i’m not—” another sob cracked through your words. “i’m not trying to fight, i’m not—god, i’m so tired, i just—i don’t even know—”

rafe’s expression crumbled like wet paper.

“baby—” his voice dropped, suddenly soft, hesitant.

but you kept going. you were spiraling now, sobbing into your palms, barely able to form words between gasps for air.

“you’re always mad at me, and i’m always scared of saying the wrong thing, and i hate feeling like this, i hate crying, i hate this—”

“baby, no—shh, hey, come here, come here,” rafe was in front of you before you could move, hands on your arms, panicked. “fuck, i didn’t—i didn’t mean to make you cry.”

you hiccuped through another sob, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let you.

“don’t,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest despite your protests. “don’t push me away. not right now. i’m here, i’m right here.”

you were shaking.

your tears soaked through his shirt. your hands clutched at his sides without meaning to, like your body needed the comfort more than your brain wanted it.

“‘m sorry,” you gasped, half-incoherent. “i don’t cry like this, i swear, i just—I get mad, and then i cry, and i can’t talk when i’m like this, and—”

“shh, baby, stop. don’t apologize. please don’t apologize.”

he held you tighter. rocked you a little. kissed your hair.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmured. “this is my fault. i shouldn’t have yelled. i didn’t mean any of that shit, okay? you didn’t deserve that.”

you sniffled, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

he moved one hand to the back of your head, cradling it gently, and kept whispering.

“i just get so fucking stupid sometimes. when i think you’re upset with me, i get loud, and i get mean, and i hate that i do that. you’re the last person i ever wanna hurt.”

you didn’t answer, still catching your breath, tears still leaking from the corners of your eyes even as they slowed.

“you have every right to be mad,” he said softly. “i told you i’d come home and i didn’t. you were just worried, weren’t you?”

you nodded against his chest, miserably.

“and then i showed up and started yelling like a f*cking asshole. jesus, baby, i’m so sorry.”

you mumbled something unintelligible, and rafe leaned down, tipping your chin up gently so he could see your face.

“say that again?”

“i didn’t mean to cry,” you whispered. “i hate crying when i’m angry. i hate it.”

“hey,” he said, brushing your hair back. “look at me.”

you did, barely.

his expression was nothing but soft now, like all the anger had drained out of him the moment he saw your tears.

“you cry because you care,” he said, voice low. “and that’s not a bad thing.”

you swallowed thickly, lip trembling.

“it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s not,” he promised. “it’s not, baby. not to me.”

he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb, lingering there for a second too long. like he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving you upset.

“you’re so strong all the time,” he murmured. “sometimes you forget you’re allowed to break a little. you don’t have to hold it in with me.”

you leaned into his touch without meaning to, and he took that as a sign to guide you to the couch. he sat down first, pulling you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“you warm enough?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you again. “want a blanket?”

you shook your head, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

he kissed the top of your head.

“i’ll be better,” he said quietly. “i promise.”

you didn’t say anything for a while. your tears dried slow, breath returning steady. you could feel your face aching from crying, throat raw, head pounding.

but rafe held you like he had nowhere else to be. like you were something fragile he couldn’t afford to let go of. he didn’t try to make it better with jokes or fake promises. he just stayed, quiet and steady.

and eventually, when your voice came back, you whispered:

“i just wanted you to come home.”

his arms tightened around you instantly.

“i know,” he said. “and i will. every time. i swear.”

you closed your eyes, exhaling shakily.

“okay.”

he kissed your temple.

“don’t cry, baby,” he murmured again, softer now. “you got me. i’m here.”

[gweelczz]

Sunflower

Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)

Genre: Hurt and comfort, angst, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of deceased parent, violence (Y/N hits Sammie’s chest a few times as he’s trying to hold her)

Summary: Y/N breaks and Sammie is right there to pick up the pieces

The Mississippi sun hung high, beatin’ down like it didn’t care none ‘bout anybody’s sorrow. Sugar had been wearin’ her smile like armor all damn day, walkin’ side by side with Sammie through Clarksdale’s dusty streets, helpin’ run errands for Smoke — fetchin’ sacks of flour, jars of molasses, strings for the bass. She cracked little jokes, kept her chin up, kept her voice bright like church bells on a Sunday mornin’.

But Sammie saw it.

Saw the way her eyes lingered too long on mothers walkin’ hand-in-hand with their daughters. Saw the way she gripped the edge of her dress when nobody was lookin’. The way her laugh never quite reached her eyes.

He ain’t said nothin’, not yet. Just let her have the space to pretend.

It wasn’t until they reached the flower stand — last stop of the day — that the cracks began to show.

“We need somethin’ simple,” Sugar muttered, brows furrowed as she stared down the buckets of blooms. “Maybe the white ones… them lilies’ll do just fine.”

Sammie raised an eyebrow, slow. “Lotta white in the juke joint already. Somethin’ with color might liven the place up some. What about them daffodils?”

“I said lilies,” she snapped, sharper than she meant to, hands curlin’ into fists at her sides. “Don’t matter what you think, Sammie.”

His jaw worked for a moment, but he stayed calm. “Ain’t tryin’ to fight you, Sugar. Just think—”

“I said it don’t matter!” she shouted, and just as she turned to storm away, her eyes landed on a small bucket tucked in the corner — fat-headed, golden sunflowers, bent just a little like they was bowin’ their heads in prayer.

She froze.

Like all the air had been sucked from her lungs.

Her mama used to grow ‘em. Said they reminded her of warm summers and better days. Said they always turned to face the light.

Sugar’s chest rose once, twice — then caved in.

She let out a sound that was somewhere ‘tween a sob and a gasp, droppin’ her purse to the dirt. Her knees went weak, but Sammie caught her before she hit the ground.

“No!” she cried, pushin’ at his chest with both hands, hittin’ him again and again, tears spillin’ down her face in hot, silent streaks. “Why today, Sammie? Why’d you bring me here today?”

Sammie didn’t move. He didn’t flinch, didn’t let go, didn’t so much as rock back on his heels. He just held her tighter, foldin’ her into his chest like he could shield her from the whole damn world.

“You think I forgot?” she sobbed. “Three years… it’s been three years… and I still feel like she gonna walk through my front door any minute now.”

“I know, baby,” Sammie murmured, his voice low and steady like the river. “I know you do.”

“I ain’t fine,” she choked, fists still beatin’ weakly against his chest. “I been actin’ like I’m fine all day, and I ain’t. I’m not.”

He cradled her head against him, kissin’ the crown of her tightly coiled hair, his arms wrapt strong around her like roots holdin’ steady in a storm.

“You ain’t gotta be fine, Sugar,” he whispered. “Not with me. I’ll hold you up when you can’t do it yourself. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, hear me?”

And in his arms, the sunflowers behind them swayin’ gentle in the Delta breeze, Sugar let herself fall apart.

And Sammie — strong, silent Sammie — was right there to catch every piece.

They didn’t say much on the walk home.

Sammie kept one hand at the small of her back, gentle but firm, guidin’ her like he always did when she couldn’t quite find her way. Sugar didn’t have no more tears to cry — just silence now, heavy and hollow, like the bell that used to ring outside her mama’s church.

Her granddaddy’s house sat quiet at the end of the road, framed by cypress trees and the gold wash of the settin’ sun. Sammie opened the door for her, like he always did, and she stepped inside barefoot, not even botherin’ to take off her hat.

She went straight for the couch, sinkin’ into it like she couldn’t carry herself no more. Her arms curled around her middle, her eyes distant, lookin’ out the window but not seein’ much.

Sammie moved around the house quiet — lightin’ the little oil lamp, closin’ the shutters against the dusk. Then he knelt down in front of her, big hands reachin’ to undo the laces of her shoes.

“You don’t gotta do that,” she whispered hoarsely.

“I know,” he said. “Wanna do it anyway.”

Once her shoes were off, he stood and offered his hand. “Come on now. Let’s get you out them clothes. You’ll feel better once you bathe.”

She hesitated — pride still clingin’ to her, even through the ache — but when she looked up and saw the softness in his eyes, she took his hand without another word.

He led her into the little bathroom, lit the water on the stove, and poured it into the clawfoot tub slow. The steam rose up, warm and sweet-smellin’ with the lavender soap she always kept on the shelf. While it filled, he helped her undress, patient and careful, like she was somethin’ breakable.

Sugar stood in front of him in her slip, arms crossed over her chest, lookin’ like that little girl he used to know — the one who scraped her knees climbin’ trees, who cried quiet at her mama’s funeral and never once asked to be held.

But tonight, she didn’t have to ask.

Sammie came up behind her and wrapped his arms ‘round her middle, pullin’ her in close, his cheek restin’ against the top of her head.

“She’d be real proud of you, you know,” he said soft. “Ain’t no doubt in my mind.”

Her throat worked, but she didn’t speak.

He kissed her shoulder, then her neck. “Let me take care of you now. Just for a little while.”

He helped her step into the tub and settled behind her, his legs on either side of hers, the water lappin’ up against their skin. He dipped the cloth in warm water and ran it slow over her arms, her back, her legs — gentle like a hymn. Then he poured water over her hair, workin’ in the soap tenderly with his fingers.

Sugar leaned back against him, her body finally lettin’ go, her breath slowin’.

“Ain’t no shame in hurtin’, Sugar,” he murmured, mouth close to her ear. “But you don’t gotta hurt alone.”

She didn’t say nothin’ — just reached for his hand beneath the water and held it tight.

And Sammie, quiet as the grave, held her there ‘til the hurt got a little softer.

The bathwater had long gone lukewarm when they finally pulled themselves from the tub, Sugar wrapped in an old towel, Sammie’s shirt draped over her shoulders like a shield.

He didn’t say much as he dried her off, didn’t rush her none neither. Just watched her with those steady eyes, the same eyes that used to catch hers across the churchyard when they were just kids.

The house was quiet now, save the creak of the floorboards and the cicadas hummin’ outside the window.

In her bedroom, the moonlight spilled in through gauzy curtains, paintin’ soft patterns over the quilt her mama once stitched by hand. Sammie helped her into a nightdress, then pulled back the covers. She crawled in slow, like her bones were made of sorrow.

Sammie went to leave — just outta habit — but her voice stopped him.

“Don’t go.”

He turned. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere, Sugar.”

He climbed in beside her, layin’ on his back, one arm open. She wasted no time curlin’ up against him, her cheek pressed to his chest, ear listenin’ to the rhythm of his heart like it was a lullaby.

She was quiet for a long while.

Then, in a voice small and hoarse, she said, “Mama used to hum when she cooked. I still hear it sometimes… when I’m alone. Like it’s still floatin’ in the air.”

Sammie stroked his hand down her back, slow and sure. “What’d she hum?”

“Church songs mostly. Or somethin’ she made up. She said God liked when we made our own music.”

Sammie smiled faintly, pressin’ a kiss to her hairline. “Reckon she was right ‘bout that.”

Another pause. Then she whispered, “She woulda liked you.”

He held her tighter, his voice barely above a breath. “I woulda liked her too. But I like what she left behind even more.”

Her breath caught — just a little hitch — and she buried her face deeper into his chest.

Outside, the wind rustled the trees, and somewhere down the road a dog barked once before fallin’ silent again.

But in that room, in that bed, with her heart beatin’ against his, the world felt still.

Safe.

Sammie didn’t sleep right away. He stayed up watchin’ the ceiling, one hand gently runnin’ through her damp curls, listenin’ to her breathing slow and settle.

And when she finally drifted off, mouth slightly parted, lashes wet but peaceful — he whispered into the night, just for her:

“I got you, Sugar. Always.”