#IT DRAGS ME FORWARD EVERY MOMENT

[softcryz]

EEECYSTATIC PATHAWAYSRUNAWAY FLOOD MY MINDD OVERSTIMUALTIONMAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M ALIVE

[intertexts-moving]

feeling fine & normal & not stressed and terrified abt anything at all !!!

[khioneee]

‘honey, i’m home.’

simon, presumed dead for the past five years, appears at your doorstep, very much alive.

the knock at the door cut through the quiet night like a knife, startling you from restless sleep. rain hammered against the windows, and the wind howled through the cracks. your heart pounded in your chest as you shuffled toward the door, dread curling deep in your stomach. no one visited at this hour. not anymore.

you hesitated at the door, hand trembling slightly on the knob. for a moment, you thought about ignoring it—letting whoever it was go unanswered. but something pulled you forward, a strange sense of familiarity, even though you couldn’t place it.

when you opened the door, your breath caught in your throat.

there, standing on your doorstep, was simon.

simon stood before you, drenched from the rain, looking like a ghost dragged back from the edge of the world. his hair clung to his forehead, water dripping down his pale face, and exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. it had been five years since you’d gazed into those stormy eyes—five years of grief, heartache, and learning how to live without him. his familiar eyes, shadowed by exhaustion and pain, locked onto yours. his clothes were soaked, his body thinner than you remembered, like he had fought every step of the way just to stand on your doorstep.

your breath hitched painfully. ‘wake up,’ you said to yourself, heart racing. ‘please… wake up.’

but you didn’t.

‘lovie…’ simon whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it for a long time. ‘i’m home.’

your mind swirled and shock paralyzing you. it felt like a cruel trick your mind had conjured. the world around you blurred, and your heart ached in your chest. it couldn’t be real. he couldn’t be here.

simon’s expression softened, and without a word, before you could react, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet thud. he reached for you, pulling you into his arms without hesitation, and the breath left your lungs. his grip was tight, desperate, as if holding you was the only thing keeping him grounded. his cold, rain-soaked body pressed against yours, but you didn’t care.

he was here.

you froze for a moment, and then, slowly, your hands gripped the wet fabric of his jacket, your chest pressed against his. tears welled in your eyes, the disbelief crashing into a flood of emotions—relief, anger, and love. his familiar scent, rain-soaked, earthy, and undeniably him, flooded your senses, overwhelming you.

‘they told me you were dead,’ you sobbed against him, your fists clinging to his jacket as if that could keep him here. ‘they said your plane crashed. that you were gone.’

you clung to him, your heart shattering in your chest. he held you as if afraid you might slip through his fingers, as if his entire world depended on you being real.

simon buried his face into your hair, holding you tighter, his breath shaky. ‘every bloody day, i fought my way back for you,’ he said, his voice heavy with the weight of everything he’d endured. ‘you were the only reason i stayed alive.’

you sobbed harder, burying your face into his chest, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. all the years of mourning him, the endless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, the desperate ache of thinking you’d lost him forever—all of it shattered in his arms.

but then, simon’s grip on you faltered. something had shifted in the way he held you. slowly, he pulled back just enough to look down at your hand. his thumb brushing over the bare space where your wedding ring used to sit.

his body tensed. he pulled back slightly, just enough to glance down at your hand, and his breath hitched. the wedding ring you once wore was gone.

‘where’s your ring?’ he asked, voice quiet but edged with something fragile, as if the answer might break him.

your throat tightened, guilt and sorrow clawing at your chest. ‘simon…’ you started, voice cracking under the weight of it all.

his jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked past you. that’s when he saw them—new photos hanging on the walls. the ones of you and him were gone, replaced by pictures of you and someone else.

it was like the air had been knocked from his lungs. his jaw clenched, shoulders sagging under the realization. his face a mask of exhaustion and heartbreak as the weight of what he was seeing sank in.

you looked away, guilt pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight. ‘i waited…’ you whispered. ‘even when they told me there wasn’t a chance you were alive, i tried.’

his face didn’t change, but the subtle pain and betrayal in his eyes was unmistakable. ‘i came back for you,’ he uttered softly, almost to himself. ‘i told you i’d come to you.’

‘i thought you were gone,’ you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks. ‘i didn’t know how to keep waiting when they told me you’d never come back.’

simon’s hand cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. despite everything, his touch was tender, grounding. ‘i didn’t survive just to be a memory, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. ‘i fought every day to come back to you. and if i have to fight again… i will.’

you leaned into him, your heart breaking and mending all at once. the years apart, the lost moments—they still weighed heavy, but he was here. he had kept his promise, and that was all that mattered now.

‘i told you i’d come back,’ he said, voice low but steady. ‘and i’m not going anywhere. not ever again.’

[kateschi]

cradled in strength

synopsis: after anxiously awaiting news from the delivery room, when katsuki holds your newborn daughter, everything changes.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: congrats you're parents now

the hospital is chaos around him. katsuki paces the hallway, his hands clenched into fists, knuckles white, and his sharp eyes dart toward the closed door of the delivery room every few seconds.

his chest heaves with each breath, the tension and fear he’ll never admit boiling beneath his skin. his heart pounds like a war drum, and all he can think about is you.

you, the love of his life, who is inside that room, fighting.

a nurse approaches again, trying to calm him down, but katsuki’s fiery glare cuts through her attempts like a blade.

“why the hell haven’t I heard anything yet?!” he barks, his voice thick with anxiety—a tone no one is used to hearing from the explosive hero.

“mr. bakugou, it’s—” she starts.

but katsuki isn’t hearing it. he storms past her, making his way toward the doctor who just exited the room, his eyes wild, fists trembling.

“if my wife dies,” he growls, his voice dripping with venom and something much more fragile, “I will fucking kill you.”

the doctor, seasoned in dealing with panicked fathers, meets his gaze with calm professionalism.

“mr. bakugou, I assure you, your wife is in good hands. we’re doing everything we can to ensure both she and the baby are healthy.”

katsuki’s breath catches in his throat, his chest heaving with helplessness. this isn’t a battle he can fight with brute strength or explosions.

kirishima, who has been quietly waiting in the background, steps forward, placing a steadying hand on katsuki’s shoulder.

“you’ve gotta trust them, man. they know what they’re doing. she’s strong. you know that better than anyone.”

katsuki’s eyes flash, his lips curling as if he’s about to snap, but the words stick. instead, he lets out a harsh breath, running a trembling hand through his unruly blonde hair. “damn it…”

the minutes drag on, each one stretching longer than the last, every second ticking by like torture. katsuki’s whole body is coiled tight, ready to spring into action, but there’s nothing he can do except wait.

and he hates waiting.

finally, the door creaks open, and a nurse pokes her head out. “mr. bakugou, you can come in now.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice. katsuki shoves past everyone, nearly sprinting into the room.

his eyes scan the space, and when they land on you, lying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted but alive, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. relief floods through him so fast it makes his knees weak.

you’re there. you’re okay.

“hey,” you murmur weakly, your voice soft but steady as you give him a tired smile.

katsuki is at your side in an instant, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his large hand reaching for yours. he squeezes it tightly, like if he holds on hard enough, you’ll never leave his side again.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice low and rough around the edges, betraying the fear that’s consumed him the entire time.

you nod, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you try to steady your breathing. “I’m fine,” you whisper, your thumb brushing across his knuckles in reassurance. “just… tired.”

katsuki lets out a shaky breath, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the back of your hand. he stares at you, his crimson eyes wide with concern, the sharp edges of his usual persona softened.

you’ve never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so exposed. his gaze flickers across your face like he’s memorizing every detail, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

unable to resist the urge any longer, katsuki leans down and presses his lips gently to the top of your head. it’s a soft, lingering kiss.

he rests his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “you scared the shit outta me.”

a weak laugh escapes you, your fingers tightening around his. “I know… but I’m okay. we’re okay.”

katsuki doesn’t respond immediately. his other hand slides under the blanket, resting gently on your stomach where the baby had been. the weight of everything hits him all at once.

his family. you. his daughter.

“I thought…” his voice cracks, barely above a whisper, and he shakes his head, the words stuck in his throat. “don’t… don’t ever do that again, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” you tease softly, offering him another smile. “but I can’t make any promises.”

he huffs, his mouth twitching at the corners, though his eyes stay fixed on you, swirming with worry. then, as if on cue, the nurse approaches with a soft smile, holding something small and swaddled in a blanket.

“mr. bakugou,” she says gently, “would you like to meet your daughter?”

for a moment, katsuki freezes. his chest tightens, the world narrowing to the tiny bundle in the nurse’s arms. daughter. your daughter. the words seem surreal, and his heart pounds.

you nudge him softly, breaking him out of his daze. “go on, katsuki. she’s waiting for you.”

he blinks, swallowing hard before standing, his movements slower now. the nurse gently transfers the tiny bundle into his arms, and katsuki moves with more care than he ever thought possible.

his hands cradle the little girl, his breath catching as he stares down at her.

she’s so small, so fragile. a perfect little being wrapped in a blanket, with a tuft of spiky blonde hair peeking out. his hair. he lets out a small, shaky laugh, his lips parting as he whispers, “she’s got my hair…”

he stares at her, his chest swelling with something so overwhelming he doesn’t know how to process it. a fierce, protective love that rivals any rage or anger he’s ever felt before.

katsuki, the explosive, fiery hero, is brought to his knees by the tiny life in his arms.

you watch him, tears brimming in your eyes at the sight of katsuki holding your daughter with such tenderness. his usual harsh demeanor is replaced with something almost reverent.

he leans down, brushing his lips against her forehead before resting his cheek against the top of her head.

“she’s perfect,” you whisper, reaching out to place your hand over his.

he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leans toward you, pressing his forehead gently to yours again. “yeah,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

katsuki doesn’t need to say more. he holds her close, her soft breathing the only sound in the room, grounding him in a way nothing else ever has.

you chuckle tiredly, leaning against him. you let out a small breath, "thank god she doesn't have your ugly face."

you swear you hear a vein pop in your husband, before he turns to you with a scowl, "I am not ugly, you ass."

"you were an ugly baby, and if you deny that," you smile, "then you're a liar, and that isn't a good look to sport in front of our daughter, is it?"

he pauses, the weight of your little family settling over him, “yeah..." he smiles, "our daughter.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[lovelookspretty]

routledge!reader x rafe, after big john comes back and finds out that both of his kids are dating the camerons, he gets mad, especially at his daughter, cause he thought that she wasn't thinking straight. After a few days, he throws a stupid comment about rafe when they were with the rest of the pogues and reader just snaps at him. pure angst now 🥰 she realises that he's never been a good father, only caring about treasures and yells that she wishes he never came back. Then goes to rafe, crying, for comfort 💕 (i love angst im sorry.)

hold me close

rafe cameron x routledge!reader

warnings: angst, swearing, a kiss, pretty safe !!

authors note: OKAY ik thats trevor n not rafe but erm, we’ll pretend bc that pic is what gives the energy for this oneshot. anyway hii, hope u guys enjoy this one. feel free to send any requests guys! n thank u for 1k followers yesterday. ilyasm <33

you sit in the backyard, the soft hum of cicadas filling the warm night air. the pogues are just behind you, laughing and talking in a huddle. it feels good to see them like this again—normal, for once, after everything.

after the chaos of the last year, of treasure hunts, betrayals, and close calls. you’ve always tried to stay out of it, letting john b and the others chase after the gold while you lived your life. but eventually, you couldn’t stay on the sidelines, not when rafe got involved, not when it became a matter of life and death.

it’s been hard, being stuck between two sides, torn between your brother and your boyfriend. but tonight, you just want peace.

you glance over at your dad, sitting a little ways away from the group, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin on his face. big john routledge—alive, after these three years. you still can’t believe it sometimes.

he looks different, a little more worn, a little rougher around the edges, but the way he carries himself hasn’t changed. he’s still larger than life, still full of stories, still your dad. and god, you missed him.

he catches your eye, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. like you’re just a kid again, sitting with your dad, listening to him talk about his crazy ideas, his wild adventures.

“you know,” he starts, leaning forward, “i remember that time you and john b tried to catch that fish out by the dock, and you both fell in. i swear, i thought i was gonna have to drag you two out myself,” he says, chuckling to himself, shaking his head like the memory is some long-lost treasure of its own.

you smile, even though it feels a little bittersweet. “yeah,” you murmur under your breath.

you pull at a piece of grass by your feet, your fingers absentmindedly tearing at it. you’ve waited so long for this moment—for him to come back, for your family to feel whole again.

but now that he’s here, you don’t know what to do with it. you can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed, that he’s not just the dad you remember, but something else entirely. still, you can’t help but feel like the little girl who always looked up to him, who wanted nothing more than to make him proud.

“i never thought we’d see you again,” you mumble, your voice low, barely above a whisper. you don’t look up from the grass, your fingers still picking at the blades, but you can feel his gaze on you.

“i never thought i’d be back either,” he admits quietly. “but i couldn’t stop thinking about you two. every day out there . . . i thought about coming home.”

you scoff softly, a bitter smile pulling at your lips, even though you don’t mean for it to. “but you didn’t,” you say, barely above a whisper. “you didn’t come back for three years.”

he shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping against the arm of the chair. “it wasn’t that simple, y/n,” he says. “i was trying to protect you. there are dangerous people out there, people who want what we’re after. i couldn’t come back until i knew it was safe.”

you nod, but it’s a hollow gesture. you’ve heard it all before from other people—the excuses, the treasure, the danger. it always comes back to that.

you glance at your friends, laughing and sharing stories with each other. you’ve spent so long trying to push this life aside, to live outside of the mess of treasure hunts and betrayals. but it always pulls you back in.

“yeah, you always did put the treasure first,” you murmur as you face forward again. you’re not even sure if you mean to say it out loud. it’s more to yourself, just a thought that’s been living in the back of your mind for too long.

“don’t do that.” he leans forward, his voice soft, almost pleading. “i did it for you and john b,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “for our family. i wanted us to have something—something big, something that would change everything.”

“yeah, but we didn’t need that,” you say, your voice small, but firm. you’re still pulling at the grass, twisting it around your fingers. “we just needed you.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment. it’s like he’s trying to figure out what to say, but there’s nothing that can fix the years of distance. nothing that can make up for what you lost when he left.

there’s a long silence, and for a moment, you think maybe this is as close as you’ll ever get to understanding each other. you don’t want to fight tonight. you just want to sit with him, to pretend that things could go back to how they were before.

“so,” he starts again, his tone shifting back to playful, like he’s trying to lighten the mood, “you and john b teaming up with the others to chase down treasure? guess it runs in the family.”

you laugh, but it’s a little forced. “yeah, well, i tried to stay out of it. but . . .”

“but what?” he presses, leaning forward with a smirk. “got a little taste of adventure, didn’t you?”

you glance up at the marsh, a faint smile on your lips. “something like that,” you mutter.

but you don’t mention rafe, don’t mention how he’s become a part of this tangled mess, how hard it’s been being caught between him and your family. you’ve already told your dad the day you reunited a few days ago in barbados. didn’t end well that time either. you don’t want to ruin the moment, don’t want to start another fight.

but, as if the universe is reading your mind, your dad shifts the conversation in a way that makes your stomach drop. “just promise me,” he says, suddenly serious, “you won’t let that rafe cameron kid get too close. he’s no good, y/n.”

the words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you just sit there, staring at him. it takes you a second to process what he’s said, to even understand the casual way he’s dismissed rafe, like it’s nothing. like he’s nothing.

“and i hear john b’s with sarah now, too?” his tone shifts, bitter and disapproving. “so now both of my kids are wrapped up with the camerons. hell of a choice you both made.”

you freeze, your stomach tightening. there it is. you knew it was coming, but it still hits you like a punch to the gut. it’s not the first time he’s made a comment about rafe, and you thought you were doing the right thing confessing what’s changed since you last saw him, but now he’s dragging john b into it, and that makes it worse. so much worse.

“dad,” you start, trying to keep your voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning. “don’t.”

he shakes his head like you’ve said something ridiculous. “no, i am gonna say something. sarah, rafe, they’re cameron’s kids. ward cameron’s kids. you’re smart enough to know better than to get mixed up with people like him. they’re bad news. always have been.”

“yeah, but they’re not like him,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. “sarah’s not ward. rafe’s not ward. they’re not their father.”

he just laughs, but there’s no humor in it. it’s harsh. “you really believe that?” he asks, shaking his head again. “they’re camerons. it’s in their blood. you think you’re any safer with rafe than you were without me here? because i’m telling you right now, you’re not.”

you stand up, your hands balled into fists at your sides. you’ve heard enough. for days now, you’ve listened to him make little digs about rafe, about the camerons, and you’ve kept your mouth shut. but tonight, it’s too much. you can’t keep it in anymore.

“three years, dad. three years you were gone, chasing your stupid treasure, while we were stuck here. john b and i had to figure it out on our own. so don’t stand there and act like you have any right to tell me who i should or shouldn’t be with.”

big john looks at you, stunned, like he’s seeing you for the first time. but you’re not done. there’s too much you’ve kept bottled up, and now it’s all spilling out.

“you care more about that gold than you ever did about us,” you say. “you care more about treasure than you do about being a father. you don’t know anything.”

big john’s face hardens, his jaw clenching as he stares at you. “i know enough,” he says, his voice cold. “i know who the camerons are.”

“yeah?” you snap, your voice breaking. “well, maybe if you’d been here, you’d actually know something about me too.”

you turn on your heel, ready to storm off, but the moment you move, you notice it.

the pogues are silent now, all of them watching. sarah, jj, pope, kie—they’re still, their conversations dropped as they stand there, wide-eyed and uneasy. john b, though, he’s just sitting there with his can of beer held low in his hands, lips pressed together. you can tell he’s heard it all before. he’s not going to step in because he knows you need to let it out.

you’re just done with it. you take a step forward, ready to leave this backyard and the suffocating tension behind. but something stops you, a feeling gnawing at your chest, pulling you back. you hesitate, turning just enough to glance at your dad over your shoulder.

he’s still staring at you, his expression set like stone, as if he’s waiting for you to say more, to take it all back, maybe. but you won’t. not now.

your voice wavers, but it’s steady enough. “i wish you never came back.”

his face doesn’t move, but something flickers in his eyes. you don’t wait for him to respond. you turn away for good this time and walk out, leaving the backyard behind.

before you know it, you’re at rafe’s house, your knuckles rapping against the door almost frantically. you pace, glancing down at your phone, watching as the notifications keep coming—texts from john b, a few from kie, and even jj. they're all asking the same thing: ‘ where are you? ’ or ‘ are you okay? ’

you drag your hand down your face, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest. before you can get lost in your thoughts, the door swings open, and there he is.

rafe stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable. he leans against the doorframe for a second, his lips slightly parted, taking you in. you know he’s already pieced together what’s happened from the voice messages you left on the way over. not that he’s the type to acknowledge it with some grand gesture or comforting words.

he doesn’t say anything, but he steps aside without much ceremony. you slip past him and leave your phone in the foyer, tossing it carelessly on the side table as you pass, the pinging of messages finally fading into the background.

you make your way down the hallway, not even sure where you’re going, but your feet carry you to the living room. rafe follows close behind, his presence looming, but not overbearing. his eyes are trained on you, watching as you take in the dimly lit room. there’s a bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table, a glass next to it, already finished. it’s so rafe—quiet, controlled chaos.

you stop, your breath shaky, your chest tight, and before you can hold it back, everything comes spilling out.

“he doesn’t get it, rafe. he just doesn’t fucking get anything,” you start, your voice louder than you intend. you turn to face him, your hands gesturing wildly as you try to make sense of the mess of emotions coursing through you. “i mean, he’s been gone for years, and he comes back, and suddenly he thinks he can just . . . control everything? like he gets to have an opinion about my life after everything he’s done. he doesn't even know me anymore.”

rafes eyes are fixed on you, and he’s listening, letting you get it out. his jaw twitches slightly, but he stays silent, just watching as you unravel in front of him.

“and it’s like . . . it’s like no matter what i do, no matter how hard i try, it’s never enough! not for him, not for john b, not for anyone!” your voice cracks, and you press your palms against your temples, trying to hold yourself together, but the tears are already brimming, threatening to spill over. “i didn’t ask for any of this. i didn’t ask to be stuck in the middle of all this shit with my family and you and . . . god, it’s too much.”

you turn away from him, your breath coming out in shallow gasps now as you try to steady yourself. but it’s no use. you’re falling apart, and it feels like the weight of everything is finally crushing you.

before you can say another word, rafe steps forward, his arms sliding around you in one swift motion. “alright, alright, c’mere,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. “c’mon.”

you collapse into him, burying your face into his chest, the tears coming freely now. he holds you tight, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as his hand rubs slow circles on your back.

rafe’s not one for words, and you don’t expect him to be, but this—this is enough. the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his arms keep you grounded, it’s enough to make the world stop spinning for just a moment.

you don’t say anything else. neither does he. the silence stretches on, but it’s not uncomfortable. for once, you feel like you can breathe.

even though he’s holding you, his mind seems elsewhere—his jaw clenched, muscles rigid beneath the surface. it’s not hard to guess where his thoughts have drifted, especially after everything you told him in those voice messages.

you can tell he’s upset. not just because you’re upset, but because of what your dad said—about him, about his family. his body is stiff as he holds you, and you know him well enough to see the silent anger simmering just beneath the surface. his eyes aren’t on you; they’re somewhere distant, staring past you as if he’s imagining your father’s words in his head.

“i’m sorry about what he said, rafe,” you whisper into his chest, feeling the way his breathing shifts, more shallow now, controlled. “he said something about sarah and john b, too.”

he doesn’t respond right away, but you feel his hand pause against your back, fingers pressing a little harder. for a moment, it feels like he might pull away, but instead, he just tightens his grip on you. his silence speaks volumes. rafe is the type to internalize everything, to let it fester until it boils over, but you can feel it now—the tension thrumming through his entire body.

“doesn’t matter,” he finally mutters, though you can tell by the way his voice is low, that it does. “it’s nothing i haven’t heard before.”

you pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and his eyes flick down to meet yours. they’re darker than usual, clouded with frustration, but he still tries to soften his expression for you.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you say quietly. “he doesn’t know you.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. rafe’s hand resumes its slow, steady motion against your back, though the tension hasn’t fully left his body. you can feel the war going on inside him—the part of him that’s angry, defensive, but also the part that’s trying to be here for you, to let go of his own frustration long enough to comfort you.

“fuck him,” rafe mutters after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “he doesn’t get to talk about you like that. or me.”

there’s a dangerous edge to his voice now, but you know it’s not directed at you. he’s angry, not just at your dad, but at the situation—the impossible mess you’ve both found yourselves in, caught between your family and his.

“i don’t care what he thinks,” you murmur, holding onto him tighter. “i’m here with you. that’s all that matters.”

he doesn’t respond, but his hand moves to the back of your neck, his fingers curling gently into your hair as he exhales, long and slow, like he’s finally letting go of whatever was eating at him.

for the first time tonight, the room feels quiet as the two of you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms.

you’re gazing up into his eyes, searching for something—comfort, understanding, maybe a little reassurance. your hands find their way up his shoulders, one resting gently on his collarbone while the other slides higher, rubbing the area around his ear and jaw.

“you know that i love you,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady, as if the confession can dissolve the tension still hanging in the air.

rafe stares down at you, and in that moment, you can see everything in his eyes. he’s never loved anyone more than he loves you—the way you stood your ground against your own dad tonight, defending yourself and defending him and his family. it’s a vulnerable space, one he doesn’t often let himself occupy, but with you, it feels different.

he nods, pressing his lips together as if trying to hold back a flood of emotion. then, with a sudden urgency, he leans down and kisses you deeply. the taste of whiskey lingers on his lips. it’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken.

but just as quickly as it begins, he pulls away and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. you close your eyes into the gesture, feeling the warmth of his lips linger against your skin.

rafe goes back to resting his chin on your head, his breath steady as he holds you close again. you breathe in his familiar scent, a mix of sea salt and something distinctly rafe, and let the silence wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

in this moment, nothing else matters. not the fights, not your dad’s harsh words, not the stupid tangled web of family and expectations.

just you and him, together, holding onto each other for as long as you can.

[nemesyaaa]

rafe cameron x sleepy!reader

summary : you were just the sleepiest girl of the town. (kinda sweet smutty prompt / etablished relationship. soft! boyfriend!rafe.)

warnings : except smut, nothing much. bad sleeping shedule.

author's note : /.

“ I’m fucking tired.” you yawned as you entered the room. since the beginning of the evening, you had only been looking forward to getting back to the soft comfort of your bed.

you couldn't help but become sleepy, which meant letting your boyfriend take care of you because you were unable to stay awake. you never needed to be careful because rafe cameron always had his eyes on you. and as long as you were next to him, as long as he could feel you even if you were dead asleep and drooling over his chest, he allowed you to take a nap on his lap for hours. it was one of your few privileges.

something he didn't allow was people waking you up. if it he had to shut down every fucking noisy kook in a room to let you sleep, he would do it. it was his own version of let me burn the world for you but in a better way, more like let me quit this entire world for you.

you loved these moments of calm and peace when you slept wearing only one of his t-shirts acting like a dress around your naked body, and white high socks.

rafe was spooning you while you were already falling asleep, the reassuring and warm feeling of his cold fingers slipping under your t-shirt, his large hands covering the flesh of your waist , letting his strong arms gently slowly pulling you towards him. the shushing sound of his lips hovering your neck as you were dragged by his thick fingers. your barely covered body lazily comes closer, as soft breaths break the silence of your mouth, quickly followed by the sleepy whines of your tall boyfriend that holds his grip tighter in your hips, making sure you can't go anywhere, even if you were in a deep sleep.

you had a complicated relationship with your sleep schedule because you were sleeping both too much and not enough at the same. you could be fully awake at 5am but literally dead asleep at 12pm. for the simple reason that you were not sleeping at the right time, nor at the right hour, nor in the right place. you were one of those sleepiest girls who would disappear for hours not because you were going out on the town with friends or even stepping foot outside, but because you would sleep for hours on end.

you told rafe that you were just closing your eyes to take a nap but you ended up waking up in the evening.

when you woke up, you were completely lost and disorganized but above all so tired. it was almost ridiculous. your boyfriend was now used to your eyes half-closed, your hair completely messed up and across your exhausted face, drool on the corner of your lip with that oh-so-stupid expression.

he lay down on the bed, while you looked at him with wide opened eyes. at this point, you weren't even sure you recognized your own boyfriend. “ rafe ? ”

“still asleep, babe? "

his voice was usually low, while he brushed away the trail of drool that was leaking from your mouth with his thumb. you nodded, and he smiled. “ such a baby. ”

you were a terrible temptation. he could have fucked you while you were sleeping. and maybe that was even what you wanted sometimes when you slept so scantily dressed, leaving your tiny thong in full view while you lay on your back, legs unconsciously spread.

“let me help you…” he whispered as he flipped you onto the bed, pushing your thighs apart to make himself a place. he had pulled down his boxers without removing them completely, before forcing your legs open with one hand. "fucking wet. i bet you dreamed about that dick inside you."

the smirk on his face was pretty charming and sick, and he pushed the fat tip of his cock against your soaked slit, before making morning slaps on your little glistening cunt. his length was so hard, hitting your sensitive bud. the plushy mushroom getting glossy from your weeping hole. he looked at you, holding his dick in a hand with your wetness dripping from the shaft, as you had a hard times focusing on his movements but he squeezed your cheeks on his hands, pulling your face closer to him. “ get that mouth open, want to be able to spit on it whenever i want. ”

it was also a pretty excuse for him to force you to keep your eyes open. when he first pushed in with a hard thrust that literally arched all your body, you screamed out of pleasure and pain. he didn't wait before starting working his dick faster in your swollen cunt. you always take him so good, and he can't help but pound you even deeper every time he hears your sleepily voice moaning softly, the whining getting louder and bigger as he stretches you open. you were too good, a forbidden pleasure for sure, your sloppy pussy fully soaked him.

little by little, you begin to be fully awake, eyes filled with shining tears. you were a mess that was crying and panting from the roughness of your boyfriend, crybaby whines begging for rafe’s attention. your mouth getting muffled by his, he shushed you through the kiss, heavy breath and drool falling between your lips. “ s-s-slow down ! ” you cried out.

he mocked you gently, answering with a wicked smile. “ what about faster ? thought that's what you wanted ? ”he was still fucking you, but now a hand reached your throat, as the thickness of his length stuffed the inside of your walls, hitting all the spots. “ r-rafe. ” you exploded.

you were shaking, gasping for air and throbbing, eyes still locked in rafe's gaze while you lost your mind, thinking of how deep he was inside you. your cunt still twitching around his cock, making you unable to catch your breath and literally choking against the hand pressed on your throat. you were already tired, the inner of your thighs dripping with arousal and legs breaking with each thrusts. and those massive orgasms didn't help. his face was now sweaty from the heat and the sex, hot breaths escaping his lips and absolutely no sign of exhaustion. he could fuck you to death. and you wish you could reach this level but you were already too drained by the fast back and forth. “ this is how i should wake up my sleepy girl every morning. don't you think ? ”

he finally managed to cum, spilling thicks of loads inside you. your head failing in the bed as he slowly pulled his dick out, before pushing it into your mouth. the sight of your tongue licking every single drop of juice left him even horny, your pretty lips weeped with cum and wetness, that he smeared with the tip of his cock, before letting you clean everything.

“ it was not a fuck, it was an attempted murder. ” you told him.

“ don't inspire me for round 2, you will regret it. ”

“ don't complain me about why i sleep this much when you fucking me like that. ”

“ i'm fucking tired…” you said, a little yawn leaving your mouth as rafe and you entering the room after a living pool party, were you literally rested on your boyfriend’s lap during all the event, falling asleep on his shoulder as he was still talking with his friends.

he was now used to since he dated you from a long moment. he was now able to take care of you every time you fell asleep. as always, there was no warning. you could be smiling, living the party, it doesn't mean you were not sleepy. He sometimes complained about how much you slept, but at the same time, how much you didn't get enough sleep.

“ no shit. you were literally drooling over me. ” he said sarcastically. “ lift your arms. ” he commanded, before helping you remove your dress.

he almost passed out when your breasts literally bounced out of your bra as your arms leaned down, his dick slightly growing and forming a bulge inside his pants. but damn, it was not the moments because he knows for sure that you will now fall asleep. AGAIN.

“ do you think topper is mad at me for sleeping at his birthday’s party ? ”

“ do i look like the type of boyfriend that i care about what another man is feeling about my girlfriend ? because, i'm not. ”

“ it was rude…. it's his birthday ! ”

“ babe, i could even fuck you right in front of him that he wouldn't even care or remarks. don't you see how he was just drooling like a dog because of my sister ? ”

“ maybe, i should call…”

rafe had raised an eyebrow, his jaw twitching slightly as you pulled on one of his t-shirts. “ since when do you have topper’s number ? ”

“I mean with your phone. Why would I have his number. Anyways, i'm sorry for this…it's pretty embarrassing. ”

“ What about looking me in the eyes if you at least want me to believe you about your apologies?”

“ Don't fight me right now, i'm tired.”

“ And actually, when you're not ? ” he mocked, and you finally looked at him.

“ When i'm sleeping, it's obvious. ”

“ You forget when i fuck you’. It doesn't seems like you're very tired. ��

after showering and brushing your teeths, you moved to your favorite place in the world — your bed. you loved the clean of the sheets. you covered yourself with the blanket, dropping only your head out.

when rafe appareaded, you couldn't help but stare at his perfect body. you followed his moves, lurking to the good and big shape of his biceps, the well-sculpted ridges of his abs, the visible v-line curved on his hips. “ don't look at me like that. ” he warned.

“ then i will look at someone else. ”

“ funny. ” he said, chuckling without smiling. “ that you think i will let you do such a thing. but keep daydreaming. ”

“ no need to be jealous. there is no kooks better than you. ”

“ does it mean there are pogues better than me ? ”

you sighed, shaking your head and crossing your arms.

“ i don't even hang out with pogues ! don't take it in the wrong way. what about watching a good movie before sleeping ? ”

“ be serious. i know you well, you're gonna fall asleep before the movie even starts. ”

“ no ! i'm fully awake. ”

“ which movies do you want to watch ? and there is no way i'm gonna watch that fucking film with a black cat and a ladybug. ”

“ then what about five nights at Freddy's ? ”

“ sounds better. ” he simply said, while typing on the dashboard.

your gaze leaned down on his ringed fingers, fast and thick. your slowly opened your lips, imagining how much they can stretch your mouth, leaving her with a pool of drool from how wet they're from your saliva. but also, how much they will manage to keep your mouth open without effort.

a sparkle shone in your eyes, and you wrapped your arm around rafe's one, making him look without really giving you full attention. “ what you want ? ”

“ nothing. did you find the movie ? ”

“ you like horror movies ? ”

“ no, i like josh. ”

“ bet he died at the end of the movie. ”

“ rafe ! ”

“ yea, keep crying. ”

he started the movie but you were very sleepy. again. you forced yourself to keep your eyes open but it was really hard. you blinked so many times to fight the urge of sleeping, but you're finally falling asleep.

rafe didn't stopped the movie because he was now too invested in it, but let your head rest against his naked chest, stroking your hair gently.

at the beginning of your relationship, it was so new for him to be this close to a person, to reach this type of intimacy but now he was craving for it, finding peace and comfort.

you were his sleepy girlfriend that was now sleeping over him, but will probably wake up in five hours when he will be dead asleep while, you will be looking for a nocturnal activity, trying to not wake him up.

sometimes, and a lot of times, you have sleepless nights that make you even more tired, and fall asleep early or late in the morning. you could feel though the sleep, rafe's arm loosening around your body as he manages to leave the bed to start the day while you just catching your night.

“ good morning, rafe. ”

“ it's 7pm. ”

“ ... ”

[laracrofted]

let me drown

you meet qimir for a morning swim (qimir x fem!reader)... because i couldn't be normal about that scene.

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, an ode to manny jacinto's collarbones and also his shoulders and arms, slightly painful sex (but like... in a hot and consensual way), possessiveness, pwp basically (wc: 800+)

Droplets of water pool in the hollow of his collarbone, running down his broad shoulders in rivulets, shimmering in the morning sun like jewels, as Qimir cuts through the water. His muscled arms effortlessly slice into the still surface, sending ripples in every direction.

He looks ethereal, swimming in the cerulean pool. A long forgotten sea god, waiting to hook you by the ankle and drag you below the surface, drown you and breathe new life into you at the bottom of the sea.

It's beautiful and frightening in equal measures.

You wait on the shore, seawater lapping at your ankles and bare feet, arms around your knees, ignoring the puddling water that's soaking through your bottoms.

You wait for him to notice you there.

He doesn't keep you waiting – or maybe, Qimir sensed your presence from the moment you'd stepped onto the shore, from the moment your eyes had opened in the cave and looked for him, finding him gone.

A suspicion that's confirmed when Qimir lifts his gaze, unsurprised, sweeping escaping strands of damp hair from his face, and calls out softly, "Aren't you going to join me?"

His voice. You love his voice, as smooth as the surface of the water lapping at his strong shoulders, as the salt-licked rocks on the shore and the cliffs, as the weather-beaten pebbles that dig into your soles as you stand.

You undo the robe in a smooth motion and let it fall from your shoulders, baring yourself to him in the morning light, and Qimir doesn't look away.

He catches his lip between his teeth, dragging his gaze down your naked form, drinking you in with a kind of possessiveness that feels heretical; coveting you without so much as laying a finger on you, owning you with his dark eyes.

You wade in, and Qimir drifts toward you, moving silently and swiftly, predator-like.

An uneven rock catches on your foot under the surface, sending you forward. You tumble into him with a soft curse, and Qimir catches your arms with wet hands, steadying you, guiding your hands to his shoulders.

Flexing your fingers is almost an instinct, searching for a hold, like scaling a cliff, digging in to the muscles, and Qimir shudders, long lashes brushes against his cheeks, inclining his head to meet your gaze.

"Careful," Qimir cautions, soft and honeyed, a kind of music, and you don't know if Qimir means to be careful with the rocks or with your wandering hands.

You gamble on the former and let them wander further, moving over him, mapping him like an uncharted planet. One of your arms slips around his neck, giving him your weight, and Qimir's hand slips under your knee to catch you.

His hand is rough, guiding your leg around his hip, finding a balance.

He is pressed up against you now, cock hardening against your stomach. An involuntary gasp escapes from your mouth, and Qimir nips at the sound, sucking at your lip, beads of seawater dripping from his mouth into yours.

"Careful," Qimir repeats, only this time, it sounds like a question.

Should I be careful? Do you want me to be?

You shake your head slowly, a fine mist of salt water blowing in from the sea, coating your lashes, and Qimir's lips part in a half smile, pleased.

He's not careful. Careful is gentle caresses and the press of his mouth between your legs, warming you from the inside out, drinking from you like a nectar.

This isn't careful.

He doesn't get you ready, doesn't warm your cunt with his fingers, doesn't press you open in increments. He invites your legs around his hips, grasping at your ass with one hand for leverage, and pushes into you in one long and interrupted stroke that knocks the breath from your lungs, knocks your bones from your body.

You press your face into his shoulder, biting down with a whimper, probably leaving marks. That's okay. He likes marks, likes the feeling of your nails dragged down his back.

You're at war with yourself, split in the same way that Qimir is splitting you in half with his cock; a need to squirm away from the overpowering sensation; a need to invite him deeper, harder, faster.

He makes a soothing– borderline mocking – sound against your cheek and strokes your hair back from your wet cheeks; and holds you there, pinned open for him, fluttering and adjusting to the size of his cock.

"Oh? How does it feel?" Qimir asks, still stroking your cheeks.

"Good."

He smiles and lifts your chin with his knuckles and drinks a salt water kiss from your lips. "Good. You're ready for more."

It's not a question.

Seawater runs down your stinging cheeks, sensitive from the stubble on his carved jawline, mixing with the moisture that streams from the corners of your eyes as Qimir finally moves inside of you, dragging his cock out and pushing back in with a sweet and lethal slowness that borders on painful, so controlled; reaching inside and unraveling you from a place so deep that no one else could ever hope to uncover it; no one but him.

He likes it that way. Just him.

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

[lostfracturess]

BACKSEAT MISTAKES — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x female!reader

summary — satoru gojo and you have been driving each other crazy all night with your constant teasing. just your luck, the only seat left in the car heading back home is right on his lap. with every bump and turn on the road home, you can't help grinding against him and with his moans in your ear, it's only a matter of time before something more happens right?

word count — 6.3 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, mentions of alcohol usage, unprotected sex, penetration, fingering, public sex, kinda breeding kink, praising, needy female, overstimulation, edging, oral (both male and female), satoru is a bit insane as always.

author's note — no need for fancy intros, don't act innocent, we both know you didn't click this for the plot. this is basically a continuation of this headcanon. if you enjoyed watching satoru lose his mind, i'd appreciate a reblog or comment, and now happy reading <3

masterlist

Satoru Gojo's lap was absolutely the last place you expected to find yourself tonight. Yet here you are, perched on his muscular thighs, the crowded car speeding towards your place after the party.

Trying to get comfortable, you shift your weight, accidentally brushing against his crotch. Satoru sucks in a sharp breath.

"Easy there." His hand grips your waist tighter, pulling you flush against his chest. "Or are you trying to start something?"

"You wish," you fire back.

"Oh, I do wish." He smirks, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt "Been wanting to get my hands on you all night."

You merely huff, pretending indifference even as your heart races at his words, his touch. Satoru Gojo is the biggest tease on campus, and he fucking knows it.

Tonight's party was no different.

From the moment you arrived, Satoru was there, looking infuriatingly handsome in his tight shirt that clung to his every muscle, flashing that cocky grin whenever he caught you staring. Which was often.

Now, crammed in Suguru's car, the only seat left just had to be Satoru's lap. Before you could protest, Suguru hit the gas and the car lurched forward.

Satoru's arm snakes around your waist to steady you. "Careful there," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Wouldn't want you to fall."

Biting your lip, you stare out the window, trying to focus on anything but the way your bodies are molded together. Every bump, every turn presses you against him in the most maddening way.

Heat pools in your core as you fight the urge to grind down onto him. Blame it on the alcohol, but it was damn hard to think straight when you were rubbing against his rough pants.

But then a glance at Satoru nearly makes you gasp. Head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted. His arm tightens around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

Then, he dips his head, lips grazing your ear. "Keep squirming like that, love, and we're gonna have a situation." His other hand finds your thigh, fingertips dragging over your skin. "Not that I'm complaining. Grind on me all you want."

Your breath catches. Heat courses through your veins, and it's only partly from the alcohol. Maybe it's liquid courage, maybe it's weeks of pent-up frustration. But now it's payback time.

Slowly, deliberately, you roll your hips, relishing his sharp intake of breath.

Satoru shifts beneath you. Unmistakable proof of his hardening length brushes your backside, a whimper nearly escapes him.

"Fuck, you feel what you do to me?" Satoru's groan is quiet in your ear. "Been hard for you all damn night."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"

"Oh, I've got plenty in mind." Satoru's fingers dig into your hip. "But not sure you could handle it with an audience."

"Try me. I dare you."

"Don't tempt me. When I get you alone, you're gonna regret being such a tease."

Boldly, you rock your hips against him, teasing him just a little bit more.

His hips buck up involuntarily, seeking friction. His cock presses against your backside. He dips his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another moan falls from his lips, this one deeper, needier, muffled against your shoulder.

"Keep moving like that and I won't be able to control myself," he warns, his words hot against your shoulder. "Gonna end up taking you right here in this car, audience be damned."

And oh, how you wanted to take him up on that challenge.

You shift again, this time with clear intent. You grind down against his hardness, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate circle but subtly to avoid drawing attention from the others in the car, the flowing fabric of your skirt thankfully providing enough coverage to conceal your movements.

His fingers dig into your waist, a strangled groan escaping his throat. You feel him grow even harder beneath you, straining against the confines of his pants, his thick length digging into your backside.

Biting your lip, you reach back and palm him through his pants, squeezing gently. You can feel him throb through the layers of clothing separating you.

Satoru jolts, a high, needy whine catching in his throat. His head falls back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to maintain control.

"Shit, shit, wait," he pants, fingers circling your wrist to stop your teasing touch. "Stop that."

"What's the matter, Satoru? Can't handle a little teasing?"

"You're going to regret this," he warns, voice thin with strain. "You're in so much trouble when I get you alone."

Wetness pools between your thighs, soaking through your underwear. You've never wanted him more than in this moment.

Satoru's mouth finds your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "But you know, two can play at this game, love," he rumbles against your throat. "And I play to win."

To punctuate his point, his free hand slides up your inner thigh, fingers brushing feather-light over your feverish skin. Even that small touch makes you gasp, hips pressing against his.

"Better be careful. Keep up the teasing and I might just make you come right here, audience or no."

Your breath hitches, body torn between the desire to let him do just that and the knowledge that you're very much not alone.

But Satoru seems determined to push things further. His fingers grow bolder, wandering further up your thigh, skimming over the sensitive skin with feather-light touches that have you squirming.

Higher and higher he goes, until finally, finally, he reaches your clothed core. Your pulse pounds in your ears as he traces the lacy edge of your underwear, the barest hint of a touch.

"Satoru," you whisper, half plea, half warning. You're not sure if you're begging him to stop or keep going, but it doesn't matter. He does what he wants anyway.

"Shh," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "Just keep quiet and let me make you feel good."

With that, he presses his fingers more firmly against you, rubbing slow, lazy strokes over your clothed clit. Biting your lip hard, you try to stifle the moan rising in your throat. But then his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, and the first direct touch of skin against skin has you shuddering in his lap.

"So wet," Satoru marvels, fingers gliding easily through your slick folds. "All this, just from a little teasing? You're going to be drenched by the time we get home."

"Satoru," you whimper. "Please..."

"Please what, love?" His fingers circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your head spin. "Tell me what you want."

"I want—" you start, only to cut off with a gasp when the car hits a pothole, causing his fingers to slip lower, teasing your entrance.

"Sorry guys," Suguru calls over his shoulder, "road's a bit bumpy."

"Yeah, no problem," Satoru replies, voice surprisingly steady for a man with his hand between your legs. "We're good."

Good is an understatement.

The way his fingers are moving against you, dipping just slightly into your entrance before sliding back up to your clit, has you seeing stars. Your hips rock against his touch, desperate for more.

He traces the very edge of your entrance, circling you with a barely-there pressure that makes you want to scream. Dipping just the tips of his fingers inside, he gathers the wetness before gliding back up to your clit.

His touch is maddening. You're desperate for more, for the thick slide of his fingers deep inside you, for the delicious stretch and fullness. But Satoru denies you, keeps his touches feather-light and fleeting, never quite giving you what you need.

"Please," you whimper, hips canting shamelessly against his hand. "Please, Satoru, I need..."

"What do you need, love?" he purrs in your ear, fingers continuing their torturous movements. "Use your words."

"Your fingers. Inside me. Please, I need you inside me."

Satoru hums, considering.

His fingers dip into your entrance again, just slightly deeper than before. Your breath hitches, walls fluttering around the teasing intrusion. But before you can grind down, before you can take him deeper, he withdraws, sliding back up to circle your clit.

"Satoru," you whine plaintively.

"Patience, love. I'll give you what you need. Eventually."

His fingers glide down again, tracing through your slick folds, teasing at your entrance without ever breaching. It's torturous, the ghosting pressure where you're empty and aching.

Up and down, up and down, never pushing inside but just hinting at the pleasure of it. Your core turns molten until you think you can't take it any longer.

You're so wet you can hear it, the obscene sound of his fingers gliding through your arousal seeming impossibly loud in the close confines of the car.

"Fuck, you're dripping. I've barely touched you and you're already this wet for me."

As if to emphasize his point, he circles your entrance again, dipping just the very tips of his fingers inside, stretching you open around him for a fleeting second before withdrawing.

"So desperate to be filled. You want it so bad, don't you, love?," he marvels, pressing just slightly deeper on the next pass. "Want my fingers buried deep inside you, want me stretching you open and fucking you until you scream."

"Yes," you sob, head thrashing against his shoulder. "Yes, please Satoru, please..."

He rewards your begging with another barely-there thrust, the very tips of his fingers breaching your entrance before retreating again. It's simultaneously too much and not enough, the fleeting fullness stoking your desperation to a fever pitch.

"Satoru, please. I can't... I need..."

"Shh, I know. I've got you, love. Going to give you what you need now."

Slowly, torturously, he sinks one long finger into you. The slide is smooth and easy, your body offering no resistance. You moan low in your throat, head tipping back in relief and pleasure as he bottoms out, buried to the knuckle.

"Fuck, you're tight," Satoru whispers, sounding almost pained. "And so wet, fuck. Can't wait to feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around my cock."

The thought makes you clench hard, walls rippling around his finger. Satoru groans, hips grinding up against your ass, the thick line of his cock digging into you.

Slowly, he starts to move, pumping his finger in and out of you. But it's not enough, the stretch too slight to truly satisfy the ache inside you.

"More. Please, Satoru, more."

He obeys with a second finger, the added thickness making you gasp and arch. Satoru sets a deep rhythm, fingers curling to stroke that spot inside you that make you bite down your lip.

"Fuck, Satoru. More, please, more..."

You feel his answering groan more than hear it, the vibration of it rumbling through his chest pressed against your back. "Such a greedy girl, always needin' more."

He punctuates his words with a particularly deep thrust, before you can do more than gasp, he's withdrawing, ignoring your whimper of protest. But it's only for a second, just long enough for him to add a third finger on the next plunge.

The stretch is maddening, bordering on too much. It tears a gasp from your throat before you can stop it. It's loud enough to make Suguru glance back briefly. "Everything okay back there?"

You bite down you lip to keep from whimpering. With his fingers still inside you, Satoru keeps his expression impressively neutral, even as his other hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise.

"Yeah, we're good. Hey, can you turn up the music? I love that song."

Suguru shrugs, seemingly oblivious to what happens in the backseat. "Sure thing, man." He reaches for the volume dial, cranking up the pounding bass until it fills the car.

You've never been more grateful for loud music in your life. As the beat thrums through the vehicle, you pray it will drown out any further sounds you might make. Especially considering Choso and Kento, passed out drunk were literally sitting beside you.

Satoru bottoms out, three fingers buried as deep as they can go, stretching you impossibly full. For a moment he stays like that, let's you just feel the perfect ache of it, the way your inner walls ripple and squeeze around him.

"Oh fuck." You grind your hips down to take him even deeper. "Satoru, yes..."

"That's it, take it. Take everything I give you like a good girl."

Slowly he begins to move. It's a smooth, deep glide, his fingers stroking you from the inside with devastating precision. He curls them just right, rubbing over that sensitive spot he found as if he knew it by heart.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent moan as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

"God, the sounds you make," Satoru groans, pumping his fingers faster, harder. "Sexiest fucking thing I've ever heard. Could listen to you moan for me all damn night. I wonder why he didn't do that sooner?"

Every thrust of Satoru's fingers, every glancing brush of his thumb over your clit, drags another broken whimper from your throat. Pleasure builds rapidly fast, your body climbing higher and higher, chasing the release that shimmers just out of reach.

"Satoru, please," you gasp. "I'm so close, I need... fuck, I need..."

"I know what you need," he rasps, doubling his efforts. His fingers piston in and out of you. "Need to come, don't you? Need to soak my fingers, drench my hand in your cum until it's dripping down my wrist."

"Satoru. Need you. Please."

"Shh, I've got you," he soothes, even as his thrusts grows harder, faster. "Just let go, love. I'll catch you."

Thank god for the loud music and low lighting. If not for that, everyone in the car would be clearly aware of exactly what Satoru is doing to you right now, how you're trembling and writhing in his lap.

His fingers speed up, his thump rubbing firm circles against your clit. You're close, teetering on the knife's edge of release.

"That's it. You're being so good for me, staying quiet while I make you feel good. You gonna come for me, love? Gonna soak my fingers while trying not to scream?"

His words make you clench hard around his fingers. Your thighs start to tremble. You're so close, body drawn tight.

Satoru feels it too. "That's it. Come on my fingers, love. Wanna feel you let go."

But just as you're about to tip over the edge, just as your eyes are fluttering closed, the car rolls to a stop. Satoru's fingers still deep inside you, a frustrated groan rumbling in his chest.

"We're here," Suguru announces, glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

It takes a moment for the words to reach you through the haze clouding your mind. You blink dazedly, struggling to catch your breath as Satoru carefully withdraws his hand form you.

"Thanks for the ride, man," he says to Suguru, voice strained but level. "I'll make sure she gets in safe."

"You sure you don't need a ride too? I don't mind, it's on my way."

But Satoru is already shaking his head, one hand reaching for yours, lacing your fingers together. "Nah, I'm good. I'll walk or catch a cab later."

He doesn't wait for a response, practically yanking you out of the car and slamming the door shut behind you. Satoru's grip on your hand tightens as he drags you to the door of your house, impatient to get you inside.

You fumble with your keys, doesn't help that Satoru is pressed against your back, the hard length of him digging into you, making it difficult to concentrate.

"Hurry," he urges. His lips find your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the heated skin. You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder as he sucks at your throat.

Finally, blessedly, the door swings open.

You barely have time to step inside before Satoru is on you again, kicking the door shut and pinning you against it. His mouth on yours in a bruising kiss, tongue delving deep, claiming you.

He kisses you like a starving man at a feast, consuming you, devouring you. It's all you can do to cling to his shoulders as the onslaught continues, feeling dizzy and breathless.

Large hands roam your body, pushing your skirt up around your waist, squeezing your ass. He grinds against you, the rough fabric of his pants creating delicious friction against your sensitive core.

"Satoru," you gasp as his mouth trails down your neck, teeth nipping. "Bedroom. Now."

"Takes too long." In one swift motion, he grasps your hips and lifts you up, turning to set you down on the stairs instead.

Your breath catches as your back meets the cold wooden steps. His body covers yours, his weight on you as he settles between your thighs. You can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing against you.

He braces a hand on the stair by your head, the other trailing down your side. "You've been teasing me all night. Strutting around in this tiny little outfit, bending over in front of me, brushing against me 'accidentally'. Driving me fucking crazy.”

He rolls his hips, grinding against your core. Even through layers of clothing, the friction is maddening. Your back arches, pressing closer.

"Maybe I like driving you crazy," you manage breathlessly. Your own hands tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. "Maybe I like seeing you so desperate."

"Careful what you wish for, love."

Satoru's electric blue eyes burn into you, pupils blown wide. With a swift movement, he pushes you up against him and tugs your shirt over your head, tossed carelessly to the side.

You gasp as the cool air of the room hits your heated skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. But it quickly turns into a moan when his mouth is on your chest.

"That's for teasing me all night. Need me to mark you as mine, huh? Show everyone who you belong to?"

You moan, high and breathy, as his lips wander lower, tongue swirling against your sternum. When he reaches the edge of your bra, he doesn't hesitate, dragging the cups down to free your breasts. His large hands cup the soft mounds, squeezing gently.

"Fucking perfect." His large hands cup the soft mounds, squeezing gently, thumbs brushing over the hardened nipples. Then his mouth is on you, hot and wet, and coherent thought becomes impossible.

His tongue laves over one nipple, lapping at the sensitive bud, teeth grazing lightly. He sucks it deep into his mouth, the pull of his lips sending heat straight to your core.

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft white strands as you hold him to your chest. Desperate, needy sounds spill from your lips as he works you over, every swipe of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth stoking the fire within you higher.

He lavishes the same attention on your other breast, sucking and licking and biting until you're writhing against him, hips rolling restlessly, seeking friction. Your core throbs, molten heat gathering between your thighs.

"Satoru," you gasp, arching into his touch. "Feels so good."

He hums around your nipple, the vibrations making you shudder. His free hand glides down your side, skimming over your ribs and waist, before gripping your hip possessively.

Satoru releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the wet nipple before his lips trail lower, peppering open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. He sucks a mark into the curve of your hip, tongue soothing the sting.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, starting to tug them down. But then he pauses, looking up at you through his lashes with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Tell me what you want, love. Tell me how you want me to pleasure you."

“Your mouth.” You swallow hard, mind hazy. "Want your mouth on me."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "As you wish."

With deliberate slowness, he drags your underwear down your legs, baring you completely to his gaze. He settles between your thighs, hands smoothing up your trembling legs to grip your hips, spreading you wider for him. Fingertips press into your skin, hard enough to leave bruises.

"Look at you. So wet for me already. Bet you've been dripping for me all night, haven't you?"

Then, he dips his head, and the first hot swipe of his tongue through your folds has you crying out, fingers scrabbling for purchase in his hair. Satoru moans at your taste, the sound vibrating against your core.

He licks a long, slow stripe up your slit, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. Your hips buck, seeking more of his tongue on you, but his hands hold you firmly in place. He teases you with slow licks, ghosting over where you need him most.

"God, Satoru, please," you whimper. "No more teasing."

"So needy."

But he obeys, diving in like a man starved, mouth hot and wet against your core, his lips around your clit and sucking hard. Before his tongue delves deep, fucking into you with lazy, wet strokes.

Your hips buck against his face, a strangled moan rips from your throat. Satoru's hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

"That's it, love," he encourages, pulling back just enough to speak. "Let me hear you. Want everyone in the building to know who's making you feel this good."

Your thighs tremble around his head, the obscene wet sounds of his mouth on you filling the room. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core with every stroke of his tongue.

"Tell me, love. Tell me how desperate you've been for me, how soaked you've been all night thinking about my cock."

"So badly," you gasp out, fingers tightening in his hair. "Needed you to touch me, to fill me up. Please, Satoru, I need you to fuck me already."

He swears under his breath.

"You can't just say things like that. Gonna fucking ruin you, you know that?"

Then suddenly, without warning, he thrusts two thick fingers deep into your dripping core. A silent scream falls from your lips at the stretch, back arching off the stairs.

Satoru sets a relentless pace, pumping his fingers in and out of you, while his tongue works on your clit. "Like this? Is this what you needed?"

"Yes, yes. More."

"Fuck, I need to be inside you," Satoru growls.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, ignoring your whine of protest. You watch through hooded eyes as he hurriedly strips off his clothes, revealing inches of toned muscle.

When Satoru finally frees himself from the confines of his pants, you mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His length is impressive, long and thick, the smooth skin flushed a deep rose color. The broad head is shiny with moisture, a bead of clear fluid leaking from the tip.

Satoru wraps a large hand around himself, giving a slow stroke from root to tip. His cock throbs in his grip, another pulse of slick pre-cum dripping from the slit. He groans low in his throat, head tipping back momentarily at the sensation after so long spent straining against his zipper.

You watch transfixed as he pumps himself lazily, putting on a show. His fist twists over the head on every upstroke, smearing the leaking liquid to ease the glide.

"See what you do to me?" Satoru rasps, blue eyes boring into yours as his hand speeds up. "See how hard I am for you, how much I'm leaking? I've been like this all fucking night."

He swipes his thumb over the weeping tip, gathering the drops of pre-cum beading there. "Been thinking about this all night. I know you wore that skirt just for me, didn't you? Wanted to rile me up, tease me until I snapped?"

Then he's bringing his thumb to your lips, painting your bottom lip with his cum, parting your lips. Your tongue flicks out to taste him, eyes never leaving him. Satoru's eyes darken as he watches you lick his cum from his fingertips.

"Mm, and what if I didn't? What if I put this skirt on for Suguru, hoping he'd be the one to take me home tonight?"

"Is that so? Well, tough luck. Couse I'm gonna stuff you so full with my cock you'll be ruined for anyone else. Gonna make it so you never forget who you belongs to."

"Oh really?" you challenge.

Licking your lips, you reach out to wrap your fingers around him, marveling at the hot, silken skin and the way he throbs against your palm. Satoru hisses through his teeth at the contact, hips canting into your fist instinctively.

"Fuck, your hand feels good." He watches intently as you start to stroke him from root to tip. "You have no idea what you do to me."

You tighten your grip, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. Satoru groans, low and guttural, as another pulse of slick pre-cum leaks from his slit. You smear it with your thumb. Satoru's abs clench, his cock kicking in your grip.

You lean in to drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the thick vein there from base to tip. Satoru shudders, a broken moan spilling from his lips as you swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, lapping up the salty-bitter cum of his.

Desperate to be filled, you suck the broad head past your lips and tonguing at the sensitive underside.

Satoru's hips buck, forcing himself deeper into your mouth. You moan around him, relaxing your throat to take him as far as you can. Satoru's hands reach for your hair, fisting in the strands as he guides your movements. He rocks into your mouth, clearly holding back from truly fucking your face.

"So good, fuck, just like that. Taking me so well, so fucking good."

Saliva pools in your mouth, dripping down your chin as he works himself deeper into your throat. Your eyes water but you don't pull off. Just as you're starting to get lightheaded, lungs burning with the need for air, Satoru eases you off him with a groan.

A string of saliva connects your swollen lips to his cock for a heated moment before snapping. You gulp down air, staring up at him with watery eyes.

"Fuck, you're going to be the death of me," Satoru rasps, thumb swiping tenderly at the spittle on your chin. "I could spend all night fucking you and never get enough."

"Then fuck me already," you say, before giving his length a parting long lick along the underside.

"Oh, I'll fill you up alright, Gonna stuff you so full with my cock you'll feel me for days."

With that, he takes himself in hand, rubbing the thick tip through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal. He's not penetrating, not yet, just teasing you with the promise of it. The broad head of his cock catches on your entrance with every pass.

"Feel that, love? Feel how hard I am for you? How much I want to bury myself in this tight little cunt?"

You can only whimper in response. But Satoru holds firm, keeping his movements shallow and teasing. He drags the thick length of his shaft up through your folds, the underside rubbing against your clit.

"Satoru, please. Stop teasing. I need you inside me."

"Patience," he coos, even as his hips stutter slightly, betraying his own desperate need. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long, dreaming about having you spread out beneath me. At least let me torture you a little bit first."

He punctuates his words with another slow drag of his cock against you, the head notching into your entrance for a breathless second before sliding up to grind against your clit.

"Please," you whimper, past the point of caring how desperate you sound. "Please, I can't take it anymore. I need you, need to fuck me."

Satoru hisses through his teeth. "Fuck, the things you say," he groans, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "You have no idea what you do to me, how crazy you make me."

Despite his words, he doesn't relent, continuing his shallow thrusts, painting your folds with your combined arousal.

"I want to savor this," he breathes, voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Want to feel every inch of you before I bury myself deep. Want you trembling and desperate, want you to fucking fall apart before I even get inside."

And oh, you're close, so dangerously close to doing just that.

Every slide of his cock against your clit sends sparks skittering up your spine, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Satoru, I can't... I need... oh fuck, please, please just fuck me, please."

Your desperate rambling seems to shatter the last of Satoru's restraint. He lines himself up and sinks into you in one smooth, powerful thrust, not stopping until he's buried to the hilt.

You've never felt so full, stuffed to the brim as he works himself deeper, inch by maddening inch. When he's fully seated, hips flush against yours, you both moan at the sensation. He's so deep like this, touching places inside you that have you seeing sparks.

For a moment, you just breathe together, foreheads pressed close, savoring the feeling of being connected so intimately. Then Satoru starts to move, and coherent thought becomes impossible.

He sets a deep, maddening rhythm, hips withdrawing nearly all the way before surging forward again. The drag of his cock inside you is intoxicating, hitting every sensitive spot, stroking the ache that's been building for what feels like hours.

Your nails rake down Satoru's back as he fucks you closer to the edge, leaving red lines in their wake. His pace quickens, thrusts becoming shorter and more focused, the sound of slapping skin echoing off the walls of the stairwell.

"Satoru," you moan, his name the only word you remember, the only one that matters. "Satoru, please, I'm so close…"

Bracing one hand against the stairs next to your head, he picks up speed, pounding into you faster, harder. The force of his thrusts threatens to push you up the steps, your head perilously close to banging against the hard surface.

You reach up, pushing your hands against the stairs above you for leverage, using the resistance to meet Satoru's increasingly powerful strokes.

"Fuck, just like that," he pants, blue eyes wild and heated as they bore into yours. "Take it, take every inch of me. Want to feel you come on my cock, want to feel you squeezing me so fucking tight."

His words, the relentless thrusts of his hips, the long drag of his shaft against your walls — it's all too much, too good. You can feel your orgasm building, ready to snap at any moment.

"Please," you whimper. "Please, I need… I need…"

"I know what you need, love."

He snakes a hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He rubs your swollen clit in tight, focused circles, the added stimulation exactly what you need.

With one last deep thrust, the head of his cock kisses your cervix, and that's all it takes. Your body convulses around Satoru's plunging length.

Satoru works you through it, hips never faltering even as your spasming muscles threaten his control. He fucks you through your orgasm, grinding deep and rubbing your clit until you're shaking and sobbing.

Only when you collapse back against the stairs, boneless and spent, does he allow his own release to overtake him. With a last few erratic thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his thick cock pulsing as he spills deep inside you.

His fingers dig into your hips, surely leaving bruises, as he rides out his orgasm, hips stuttering and jerking with each pulse of his release. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, his movements slow, then still.

Satoru collapses forward, his trembling arms barely supporting his weight as he rests his forehead against yours. You both struggle to catch your breath, chests heaving.

"Fuck, that was... incredible," he pants before capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he straightens up, his softening cock still buried inside you. His heated gaze drifts down to where your bodies are joined. He watches as his cum begins to trickle out of you, coating his length and dripping down your thighs to pool on the stairs beneath you.

"God, that's so fucking hot."

With a shuddering exhale, he slowly pulls out of you, a low hiss escaping his lips at the drag of your walls against his oversensitive cock. His eyes remain locked on your well-used sex, watching as more of his cum leaks out of you.

"Look at you. So messy and full of my cum. So perfect."

Unable to resist, Satoru settles between your thighs once more, his broad shoulders pushing them even further apart. He takes a moment to admire the view before diving in again.

A moan spills from your lips as he drags the flat of his tongue over your sensitive core, lapping up the evidence of your coupling with long strokes. He hums against your core, the vibrations making you shudder and clench around nothing.

Satoru takes his time, cleaning every inch of you. His tongue delves between your folds, circling your entrance before dipping inside to chase the lingering taste of your combined releases.

"Could spend hours just like this," Satoru murmurs between licks. "Would you like that, love? Like me to keep you full and sloppy and dripping all night?"

"Satoru," you whimper, thighs trembling around his head as he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. "I can't... it's too much..."

"Oh, I'm sure you can take one more. Just let me take care of you. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

He works his way inward, tongue tracing teasing circles around your entrance before delving inside. He laps at your walls, coaxing his own cum from your depths only to fuck it back into you with deep, sloppy strokes.

The wet sounds of his tongue between your legs fill the room, punctuated by your needy moans and gasps. Heat coils tight in your core once more despite your exhaustion.

Satoru feels you tense. "There she is. I knew my greedy girl had one more in her. Gonna give it to me, aren't you? Gonna come all over my tongue like a good girl."

His words set your blood on fire, a broken sob escaping your lips as he seals them around your clit once more. He sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly over it as he fucks into you harder, faster.

"Ah, oh god. Satoru, please..."

Then, two thick fingers ease into you once again, curling forward to stroke that spot that makes your toes curl. He works them in tandem with his tongue, thrusting and scissoring and rubbing until you're keening his name, hips rolling mindlessly against his face.

His nose nudges against your oversensitive clit with every thrust, sending sparks shooting up your spine.

"Come on, love" he praises. "Ride my tongue, fuck yourself on my fingers. Want to feel you come all over me, want to taste you."

It only takes a few more purposeful strokes of his fingers and flicks of his tongue before you're come undone once again with a wordless cry, back bowing off the stairs as your walls clench and flutter around his fingers.

Satoru works you through it, pulling back just enough to watch your face contort. Only when the last aftershock fades does he ease his fingers free. Satoru presses a final, tender kiss to your clit before crawling up your body, pressing sloppy kisses to your sweat-dampened skin as he goes.

"You did so good for me, love, coming so hard for me. So perfect," Satoru praises, pressing kisses to your neck and chest as you try to catch your breath.

When he reaches your breasts, he palms them gently, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples and making you gasp. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him to your chest as he dips his head to take one nipple into his mouth once more.

He laves it with his tongue, swirling his tongue around it before he lavishes the same attention on your other breast, alternating between soft licks and lazy swirls, while his hand starts to dip lower.

"Satoru? What are you doing?"

Eventually, Satoru releases your nipple with a wet pop, soothing the ache with a final swipe of his tongue, his hand skating over your ribs and belly with clear intent.

He grins up at you, boyish and unrepentant. "What does it look like I'm doing? Maybe you've got one more in you, hmm?"

"Absolutely not. I'm fucking done, Satoru."

He pouts playfully, fingertips still tracing feather-light patterns on your lower belly. "Aw, come on, love. Just one more? I bet if I just…"

His hand starts to dip lower, fingertips just brushing your still-tingling clit. But before he can make contact, your foot plants itself firmly in the center of his chest and pushes him away. "Hands off, Satoru."

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint," he says, hands raised in surrender. "No more orgasms for you. For now."

"You're impossible."

Satoru grins. "You love it."

"You wish."

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[xlatrina]

Show Me

Tags: 16(+)* (*Minor kissing, nothing crazy fr), Gender Neutral Reader (despite canon), Words of Affirmation/Sweet Talk, basically fluff

Not proofread so… hopefully no typos or clunky sentences anywhere lol. Mr. Crawling is being “high-maintenance,” as always, lol. After playing this game for HOURS, I just couldn’t help but crave more content. Buuuutt, given that the game is more or less finished (as far as I understand), I simply had no other choice but to do as writers who play VNs do and WRITE. This is my first “Canon x Reader” fic (well, formally, at least) too, so… please be kind 😅 Anywho, enjoy!

$$$ $$$ $$$

Mr. Crawling leaps into your arms with such speed that the bed smacks into the wall. A shake travels through the room, jostling the single photo hanging from the gray, textured surface. His hair falls against your skin, the bed sinking in a bit as you feel his body drag over your own. Every breath that reaches your face is cool, no thanks to the room you’re in.

“I enjoy you,” He chirps. His head comes to rest in the crook of your neck. The smell of metal fills your nose, and you scowl for a moment before your face relaxes. It’s a smell you'll simply have to get used to, especially now that you’ve promised to be his.

His body ever so slightly warms yours, though the blankets do more of the work. “I enjoy you,” he says again. “You enjoy me?”

“I enjoy you, Mr. Crawling.” You loosely run a hand through his dark hair. Surprisingly, your fingers only get caught about twice, and the small knots aren’t too hard to pull apart.

“You lots enjoy me?” Suddenly, the cold draft flying through hits your neck as Mr. Crawling lifts his head. Though, you never see his eyes: only the growing festers that conveniently disappear right at his bangs. He tenses in your arms, and you’d think the air froze him or something if it weren’t for his soft, whistling breaths. Mustering up a little smile, you cup his face with your hands.

“I lots enjoy you.” He giggles like a little schoolgirl, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Show!” He shouts.

“Huh?”

“I enjoy you, you enjoy me. Am happy lots you come here. I lots enjoy you being together me. You say you lots enjoy me, Ϛօ show!” He bursts each sentence out right after the other, and the bed squeaks from his shifting body as his arms reach around your torso. Show… Ah, that’s what he meant. He wants you to prove it.

For a moment, you frown. How exactly were you supposed to “prove” something like that?

Noticing your face, Mr. Crawling frowns as well. “You ok? No want to do?”

You shake your head and smile reassuringly. “I want to do. I can show you.” This shouldn’t be too hard. In fact, it’ll be easy… so long as Mr. Crawling doesn’t decide to use those sharp teeth of his.

Pulling him forward by his face, you two stare at each other. You focus on Mr. Crawling —first, his gaze, somewhere behind that curtain of hair, and then his lips. They’re ever so slightly purple, just like his cheeks that have become a little warmer while pressed against your palms.

Your eyelids lower as your lips graze his, the small sensation alone sending a shock throughout your body. Is Mr. Crawling feeling the same way? He’s tense all over again. “You ok?” You ask.

Quietly, he responds, “Am ok.”

You close your eyes, breathing in that slightly metallic smell. You exhale, and then pull Mr. Crawling firmly into your kiss. He remains stiff for a while until a muffled sound escapes him. His arms wrap around you tighter. He finally allows his body to fall limp against yours, and just as this happens, you pull back. A little smack bounces through the room. Lying upon your chest, Mr. Crawling drags himself a little closer to your face. Seizing the opportunity, one hand reaches to brush across his hair and the other remains on his cheek. Your thumb rubs against his face in slow, winding circles. Then, you pull his face even closer, catching him into a trap as you lock lips again. Both of you hum contentedly, the sound only accompanied by smacks and the fluorescent light buzzing above. Suckling his bottom lip, you tease him with a strong pull. He sighs into your kiss, and when you finally free him, he chases you.

“… Finished?” He asks. He seems to be pouting a little, already missing the sensation.

“Finished. You now know I enjoy you?” You ask. More or less: do you believe me now?

Mr. Crawling pauses, and then he giggles —much louder than before! He plops his head into the crook of your neck again.

“I know now,” he says. You bring your hand up to join the other in stroking his hair.

The two of you lie together this way for a while, enjoying the silence and the closeness. That is, until you eventually fall asleep and Mr. Crawling leaves your embrace to watch from afar.

[screampied]

Not sure if this is too specific but I NEED top geto that lets fem!reader top him just for once thinking reader would fail but geto immediately gets humbled !!! Not to mention geto is definitely very very vocal !!!!🤭

❤︎ ໋𓈒 cocky geto find the idea of you topping him adorable but he soon gets humbled quickly

warnings. fem! reader, cowgirl, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, unprotected sex, choking geto, mdni.

“baby, are ya sure,” he’d hum with a coy grin, leaning back against the cushioned sofa. he had the look is pure amusement plastered on his face. his tone and the way he structured his tone to make himself tease you even further made you lightly pout. with a hand gripped against your waist, he runs a thumb against your bare skin. “you…you wanna ride me?”

“you don’t think i can?” you furrow your eyebrows, just barely hovering over him. geto has a free arm stretched against the edge of the couch, eyeing you up and down with a sly grin.

he swiftly shakes his head. “i’m not saying that baby, i jus’ think it’s cute.”

“cute.” you repeat, giving him a brief deadpan before you start to align yourself. you intake a breath…feeling his leaky tip marginally brush against your entrance. geto liked getting underneath your skin whenever he could, but you wanted to show him how wrong he was.

geto snickers at your reaction, softly grazing his thumb repeatedly down your side before he murmurs in a soft raspy tone, “prove me wrong then.”

“i’m going to, suguru. so shut up and lie the fuck back.”

“y-yes ma’am.” he suddenly stammers, feeling your hand lightly go around his throat. you slowly rock forward against him, and geto leans back, getting turned on from the grip you had.

his back leans against the cushion before he stares at you, a sudden cold sweat running down him metaphorically. “shit, you’re serious?”

and despite everything, he still had a coy grin poking against his lips. the feeling of your hand that went around his neck, it made his dick twitch a bit. you choking him briefly. adding just a bit of pressure, you drag a thumb, rubbing up against his adam’s apple. “i like your confidence princess, but—”

“suguru,” you grumble, and the moment you start to sink down on his thick base, he lets off a grunt. in the midst of your pussy taking him fully, you move your hips forward a bit—a quick jerk to make him eat his words. geto’s head goes back, feeling your hand still around his neck.

“if—if you’re gonna choke me, at least do it harder princess.” he grunts, a left hand of his snaking towards your ass. you nearly slip off a moan, remembering how handsy he was. he grips your ass before giving it a light spank.

a brat even till the very end.

with a swift eyeroll, murmuring a, “fine,” you squeeze his neck a little bit tighter — geto looks so pretty underneath you.

once you start up a rhythmic pace, his groans become more vocal. the grip your cunt made against him had him nearly in shambles.

geto’s smirk never fades. you start to grind against him in such a way that he just can’t shut himself up.

he’s balls deep, stirring up your insides to where you lean right up against his chest to nip near his neck. soft chaste kisses.

“fuckkk, good. kiss my neck, jus’ like that.” and his voice, it was a pitchy low. a bit of rasp underneath it, he continued to pause every few seconds to swallow and he’s panting.

heavily…

the way your skin slaps and clouts ruthlessly on his thigh turns him on entirely so.

the recoil of your ass—geto was forevermore a handsy man. he’d run and trace his fingertips on your skin, low husky grunts skidding past his spit-glossed lips each second.

he loved grabbing your ass as it fucked back against him. you studied his facial expressions. such a pretty man. his hair was a mess, it wasn’t tied up so strands just went all across his face as you rode him. purely occluding his vision.

“…mhm, you’re such a tease,” he murmurs, feeling you start to playfully suck on his neck. geto’s thigh starts to bounce idly in the background and you press your hands on his chest.

he had an abashed expression, eyes half-lidded, and speaking of eyes…his dark irises, they were dilated. all because of you.

his pretty girl that was making him eat his words up. he catches you starting before scoffing.

“f-fuckkk me,” he huffs out, feeling you vigorously clamp down on him again and again. it had him dizzy, mind unintentionally spasming,

your perfume scent making his heart race. “grippin’ me so tight, ‘s no fair.”

massaging the middle part of his neck, you lean in to kiss geto.

he returns the gesture, his tongue moving against yours and he moans. it’s more of a whiny moan if anything. jerking your hips slightly, he squeezes a hand against your waist—huffing and puffing.

he felt a bundle of nerves surge all through him. the way you moved back and forth against him, a groan gets caught in his throat and before he knew it, he starts to feel himself coming close. that quick.

“y-you’re gonna,” he breathes, his chest kept heaving and heaving..

geto’s bare chest, a few dark hairs of chest hair decorating his skin. you hum, dragging a finger down his chest, giving his perky nipples a playful pinch to watch him whine. “gonna make me cum too quick, s-shit.”

“what happened to your confidence, sugu?” you mutter, keeping up a pace. you start to quicken a bit to where he can barely keep up.

geto could barely register anything, his mind—it was ditzy. thinking of nothing but the way you pussy soaked down on him, clenching stupidly around his cock. “you said i couldn’t ride you, baby.”

“you still can’t,” he pants, trying to keep up his façade but you could literally hear from his tone.

he was so close to the edge. feeling you play with his nipples, geto bites his tongue. “i-im sensitive there, woman… you’re so f-fuckkk..”

you smile, nipping near his neck again before he groans—eyes rolling back, he gnaws on lip as he feels his orgasm unsteadily approaching.

your hips, the rhythm it had made him so woozy. he wanted more, he brings you in for a kiss again, and you move some of his long strands from his hair.

geto shivers, feeling you ride against him faster before within seconds…it happens.

he shoots right inside your gummy walls, a raspy groan departs from his lips once he feels himself pouring right into your cunt. dumping such a thick loud, you slow down your hips to stare at geto.

“don’t… don’t look at me.” he retorts, a near pout going against his lips. he wasn’t use to this, you getting the higher up on him.

you giggle, pressing a plethora of kisses near his nose at how he came too early. he grunts, the second you inch closer towards him, his dick that was still inside you twitched. pumped so full, you felt him coat your walls with every drop. “give… gimme another kiss, i need it.”

“you don’t need a kiss, geto,” you tease, being more of a chaff by refusing for a second.

as you moved closer towards his lips. he lets off a needy whine, his glossed lips were so trembly. he wanted more of your taste… so much. “if you want it that bad, just say pretty please.”

his eyes narrow at you, still letting off breathy pants before replying with a grouchy. “…no.”

“then you’re not getting a kiss.” you snicker with a shrug, watching the pout go against his lips again.

it was cute, seeing him try to keep up this bratty act. but not even seconds later, he deeply sighs with an adorable half eye roll. “okay, okay…. um. give me a kiss. pretty please. f-fuck, i want you.”

“good boy,” you mutter, giving him a quick kiss that he barely blinks. he wants more of you.

geto’s face flushes hard from the sudden pet name, and he groans once he feels you reach down towards his dick still perfectly buried inside you. you realign yourself, giving him another long kiss before briefly departing, softly uttering a, “now lie back, baby. ‘m not finished.”

“this…doesn’t mean anything by the way,” he tries to elucidate, yet shuts up the moment you softly wrap your hand around his neck. geto leans back, going manspread before with a pant, he smiles—still a brat. “but.. do your worst, baby. finish fucking me then. if you can, h-heh.”

[theosbaby]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ casually thinking about...

flashing mattheo during an argument

NSFW content ahead, +18

one second, he's shouting some unintelligible shit at you, and the next one, he's almost drooling at the sight of your pretty tits, naked just for him to see. he's falling silent in fucking milliseconds. but god, they're so bloody perfect... how could he not stare at them?

It's not fair, you know he loves them, and you use that knowledge against him. every. fucking. time.

he can't even remember what you were fighting about in the first place, not that he cares anymore, anyways. your full, round tits have him fucking mesmerised, the only thing in his mind at the moment being his feral need to bury his face in them and never come out again, not even for air.

"baby," he would growl, eyes not able to look away from your boobs.

you swear you can see a faint blush appear on his cheeks as you tell him, "i don't wanna fight anymore." you pout cutely at him while you're still tugging your top over your breasts, the piece of clothing it's so small that mattheo wonders how they were fitting inside it in the first place.

"me neither," he replies quietly, starting to walk towards you, not being able to stay away for a second more. "i'm sorry, a'ight?"

"it's okay... 'm sorry too," you also apologise, a little smile tugging at the corner of your plump lips as you watch him leaning forward to wrap his strong arms around you, lifting you up so your tits are right on his face.

and when he finally gets to bury his face in your glorious tits, he's not letting go. he's dragging you to his bed and dropping you in it without pulling an inch away. he lays on top of you, between your spread thighs, lips kissing your soft, pillowy flesh.

"fuck, i love these," he'd mumble against your chest, his hands squeezing your sides tightly. "so fucking perfect."

you chuckle softly at that, which makes your tits bounce slightly, and god, the sight makes him hard in seconds. he hums contently against the supple flesh of your boobs as he teasingly starts sucking and licking your tits everywhere but your nipples, alternating between the two as if he can't decide which one he wants to focus on.

his hands are roaming over your body, groping and caressing your curves as if he's re-learning them. he's squeezing your thighs, your ass, and occasionally, going up to your soft tummy, rough finger pads making goosebumps erupt in your skin.

you don't disturb him, letting him play with your boobs as he pleases while you run your slender fingers through his unruly curly hair. sometimes, you caress his face tenderly, watching with heavy lidded eyes while he worships your body. you find it cute, how much he loves your breasts. he's always wanting to touch them, lick them, kiss them... and it fucking turns you on so much, because you're so sensitive there.

you moan when finally settles on one nipple, sucking on it hard while his hand kneads the other breast. he'd push both boobs together, his mouth dropping the already hard peak he was sucking on to lick at the other. his hips are bucking against you the whole time, grinding his hard on against your drenched core.

he's definitely leaving marks, which you complain about, but he just looks up at you, pupils blown, and says, "they're mine, aren't they? i'll mark 'em if i want to."

after that, he slips his hand inside your shorts and panties, finding you completely soaked for him and that fact makes him groan as he returns to suck on your perky, reddened nipples. his fingers rub your swollen, little clit, making you whimper and squirm beneath him, but he uses his free hand to grab you and keep you still while he stuffs you full of his fingers, burying them knuckles deep. he's making you cum in minutes, orgasm so good that feels like fireworks exploding inside your tummy.

and then, once he's satisfied you, he rips both of your clothes off and makes you ride him. he'd be such a mess beneath you as he watches you jump on top of him, little whimpers escaping his lips against his will. the sight of your perfect tits bouncing right on his face while your tight little pussy squeezes his cock makes him cum so fucking fast that he's almost embarrassed... almost.

more.

[mcrdvcks]

Sweet Nothing

Summary: Mornings were Logan's favorite part of the day.

Word Count: 2.6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: i came up with this idea yesterday when i took a nap instead of writing an essay for my energy policy class. this is my first time writing smut for logan so any critiques are welcome!

warnings/tags: no use of y/n, porn with no plot, pet names (baby, sweetheart), unprotected piv, creampie, not proofread

You were like a cat, practically purring into his neck as you slept peacefully, your arm around his chest and your leg hoisted around his stomach.

But Logan wouldn’t trade it for anything, not when he could watch your chest rise and fall steadily, your bare body pressed up against his own.

Logan’s arm tightened around your waist, the weight of you grounding him. He loved the way your breath hitched when he shifted, your skin pressed flush against his. "Mm, baby," his voice came out low, almost a growl, lips brushing against your forehead. His fingers grazed your bare hip, pulling you tighter against his side.

Your leg slipped further up his body, your thigh brushing his stomach, every part of you tangled with him. His chest rumbled, the warmth of your skin driving him wild. He couldn't help but dip his head, nuzzling the soft spot just beneath your ear, breathing you in, "Can’t get enough of you like this," he murmured, his hand roaming down your spine.

A sleepy smile tugged at your lips as you shifted, nuzzling closer into his neck, the feeling of his stubble grazing your cheek sending shivers down your body. The heat of the morning sun was nothing compared to the heat between the two of you, the sheets a tangled mess beneath you both, the air thick with something else entirely.

Logan’s rough hand slid lower, finding the curve of your ass, fingers splaying across the soft flesh. "Always gotta be all over me, don’t you, sweetheart?" His voice was thick with need, each word a low, gravelly tease as he squeezed, hard enough to make you hum softly into his neck. He loved the way you responded to his touch, every sound you made driving him deeper into the moment.

You shifted again, your hips rolling instinctively against him, and that was it. Logan’s breath hitched, his cock stirring against your thigh. He let out a quiet grunt, rough fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh, teasing your skin with lazy circles. "You keep that up, baby," he warned, voice darker now, more possessive, "and I’m not gonna be able to hold back."

Your eyes flickered open just a bit, catching the hungry look in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched as he gripped your ass harder. You couldn’t help but smile, that playful, knowing smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing. And so did he.

Logan groaned, his hand slipping between your legs, fingers brushing the heat between your thighs. "Fuck, you're soaked," he rasped, fingers gliding over your folds, teasing you just enough to make you squirm. "Needy already, huh? Such a good girl for me."

You whined softly, your hips pushing back against his hand, desperate for more. But Logan wasn’t about to let you have it that easy. He kept his touch feather-light, teasing, dragging his fingers over you just enough to drive you insane.

Logan’s fingers teased along your wet folds, barely brushing the surface, just enough to make you whine again, hips rolling forward, desperate for more than just a teasing touch. "Needy little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, voice a gravelly rasp that sent shivers down your spine. His breath, hot and thick against your ear, only added to the tension building between your legs.

You pressed yourself harder against his hand, a soft, pleading moan slipping from your lips. "Logan," you whispered, the word coming out like a prayer, breathless, full of need. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your neck as he nuzzled deeper into the crook, stubble scraping your skin in that way that always drove you wild.

"Patience, sweetheart," Logan muttered, his fingers finally dipping between your slick folds, parting them with agonizing slowness. His touch was firm, yet still teasing, fingers gliding through your wetness, but never quite giving you the pressure you were aching for. His thumb circled your clit, slow, lazy movements that had you squirming in his arms, a quiet whimper escaping your throat.

You gasped, grinding against him, desperate for more friction, more anything. His body was a solid, immovable wall, warm and grounding, but that teasing hand had you on edge. "Fuck, Lo," you moaned, barely able to keep still, your hips rocking against his touch. Logan’s other arm tightened around you, holding you in place, his lips grazing your ear.

"That’s it. Keep making those sweet little noises for me," he growled, fingers sliding down to circle your entrance, teasing just enough to have your breath hitching. He pressed the tip of one finger inside you, just enough to feel how wet you were for him. "So fucking wet already," he murmured, his lips pressing against your neck, teeth grazing lightly. "You want it bad, don’t you?"

You nodded frantically, the need building in your core, hips pushing back against him. His finger slid in deeper, slow and deliberate, making you squirm even more. "God, Logan, please," you begged, your voice thick with desperation, body trembling with want. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh, throbbing with need just like you.

He chuckled again, low and dark, before adding a second finger, curling them inside you, finally giving you that delicious pressure you’d been craving. Your back arched, a moan ripping from your throat as your walls clenched around his fingers. "There you go," he muttered, his voice rough as gravel. "Take what you need, baby."

You were a mess, grinding against his hand, your body moving on instinct. His fingers moved faster now, pumping in and out of you, slick and wet, the sound filling the room. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you gasping, your body tensing as you climbed higher, faster.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. His hips rocked against you, his hard cock pressing insistently against your thigh. "Gonna make you come all over my fingers before I even think about giving you anything more."

The knot in your stomach tightened, your entire body trembling, on the edge, so fucking close. Logan knew exactly what he was doing, his fingers curling just right inside you, his thumb relentless on your clit, pushing you closer and closer. "Come on, baby," he urged, his voice dark and commanding. "I want to feel you come for me."

His words sent you over the edge, your body shuddering as the orgasm ripped through you, a cry spilling from your lips. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your hips bucking against his hand as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Logan didn’t stop, his fingers still working you through it, prolonging the sensation, his other arm holding you tight against him as you rode out the high. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling, oversensitive and overstimulated, but still craving more. You wanted him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered, pulling his fingers out of you, wet and glistening. He brought them up to your lips, brushing them against your mouth, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Taste yourself," he growled softly.

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucking his fingers in, tasting your own slickness on his skin. Logan groaned, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you, the heat between you both palpable. His fingers slid from your lips with a wet pop, leaving your mouth craving more.

Before you could even catch your breath, Logan shifted, rolling you onto your back with ease, his weight pressing you into the sheets. His body hovered over yours, his chest brushing against your breasts as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, hungry kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting, claiming, while his hand trailed down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet," he muttered against your lips, his breath hot, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand slipped lower, finding your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist. The pressure of his hips settled between your legs, his hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

Logan moved slowly, his hips rocking just enough for you to feel the length of him dragging against your folds, the friction making you gasp, your hands clenching in the sheets. "Shit, baby, you’re dripping for me," he growled, his voice thick with need, as he ground his hips harder, the tip of his cock pressing lightly against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

You bucked your hips, desperate for more, your body aching for him to fill you. "Please, Lo," you breathed, your voice trembling with desire. "Need you inside me."

A low, feral groan rumbled from his chest as he nudged your legs wider, positioning himself at your entrance. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that made your heart race. Slowly, torturously, he pushed in, stretching you inch by inch, filling you completely. The sensation of him inside you, thick and hot, made your head spin, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Fuck," Logan hissed, his jaw clenched as he buried himself to the hilt, his body still for a moment as he savored the feel of you wrapped tight around him. "You feel so fucking good, sweetheart." His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the rhythm steady but deliberate.

You moaned softly, your hands sliding up his back, nails dragging across his skin as he set a slow, sensual pace, his cock gliding in and out of you with maddening precision. "Logan," you gasped, your back arching off the bed, the pleasure building steadily with each thrust. "Fuck... that feels so good."

Logan's mouth found your neck, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his teeth grazing your pulse. "I know, baby," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear as his hips rocked into you, deep and slow, every movement calculated to drive you insane. His hands roamed over your body, fingers squeezing your ass as he angled his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your toes curl.

Your breath hitched, a broken moan slipping from your lips as you wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him closer, needing more. Logan growled low in his throat, his thrusts becoming more insistent, his cock driving into you harder, deeper, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body.

"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he groaned, his voice rough and thick with desire. His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles that had you gasping, your hips grinding against his, desperate for more friction. "Come for me, sweetheart," he growled, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, his thrusts growing rougher, faster. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

You could barely breathe, the pleasure building to a fever pitch, every nerve in your body on fire as his fingers worked your clit, his cock pounding into you with just the right rhythm. It was too much, the heat, the pressure, his low growls in your ear driving you over the edge. With a strangled cry, your body tensed, your walls clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

"Fuck, yes," Logan groaned, his pace faltering as he felt you tighten around him, his cock twitching inside you. With one final thrust, he buried himself deep, his body shaking as his release hit, spilling inside you with a low, guttural moan. He held you tight, his breath ragged against your neck, his body trembling with the aftershocks.

For a long moment, the only sound was your mingled breathing, bodies entwined, his weight a comforting pressure holding you to the bed. Logan's lips hovered over yours, brushing them softly, like a lingering promise. His rough fingers skimmed along your side, tracing the dips of your waist, as if savoring the way your body still hummed from the intensity.

He shifted beside you, the warm length of him pressing into your skin, a quiet rumble in his chest as he nuzzled your neck again, his stubble scraping against your pulse. "Still with me, sweetheart?" Logan's voice was low, teasing, his mouth ghosting over your jawline. The rasp of his tone sent another shiver down your spine, even though your body was still heavy from release.

"Mmhmm," you murmured, barely able to form a coherent word, your breath catching as his lips trailed lower, grazing the soft skin just under your ear. Logan chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, as his hand slid down, resting on your thigh, fingers splayed out across your skin.

He pulled back enough to meet your eyes, the intensity in his gaze making your pulse quicken again. His thumb rubbed absentminded circles into your skin, like he needed the physical connection just as much as you did. "You really wore me out this time," he teased, smirking that cocky grin of his, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t fully faded.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging him back down toward you. "Don’t act like you didn’t love every second of it," you shot back, breathless but smiling.

Logan chuckled, low and deep, dipping down to kiss you again, slow and deliberate, savoring the way your lips felt against his. "Damn right," he muttered between kisses. "Could stay like this forever."

For a moment, the world outside the room felt distant, forgotten, the only thing that mattered was the heat between your bodies, the steady rhythm of your breaths, and the soft warmth of the tangled sheets beneath you. Logan's fingers skimmed your hip, then slipped around to cup your ass, squeezing gently, making you hum softly in response.

"You're a handful, you know that?" His voice was thick with affection, despite the rough edge to it.

"Mm, you love it," you teased, a grin tugging at your lips as your fingers traced the hard lines of his shoulders.

"Yeah, I do," he growled, his lips pressing harder against yours. "Too much sometimes." His breath fanned across your face as he spoke, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart, matching your own.

Logan's hand slid up your back, pulling you closer to him, his chest warm and solid against yours. For once, the urgency had faded, replaced with something slower, deeper—like he didn’t want to let go of this moment, this feeling. "You good?" he asked, voice quieter now, more tender.

You nodded, resting your forehead against his, your hands curling around his arms, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go. "Yeah," you whispered, feeling the weight of the day melt away with him there beside you.

"Good," he murmured, kissing the top of your head, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the wild, raw passion from earlier. But that was Logan- rough and intense, but capable of surprising softness when it came to you.

His hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him again as he let out a long, contented sigh. The steady rise and fall of his chest was soothing, grounding, as you drifted into the comfort of the moment, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield from the world outside.

"Stay here," he rumbled, his voice barely more than a growl, but there was something deeper in his tone, something protective.

You smiled softly against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin. "Always."

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 3: Breeding

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) p in v sex, breeding kink/creampie, dirty talk, Joel cannot shut the fuck up, spanking, if I missed anything please let me know!

“Keep your legs up, ‘round my waist—there y’go,” Joel mumbled his words into your ear, the scruff of his beard scratching the side of your face as he spoke.

He hadn’t said a word to you when he’d gotten home, riled up and pissed off at yet another ill-prepared patrolman who had nearly let it all go to hell. He’d opted instead to shuck off his jacket, leaving a trail of shoes and socks in the front hall before using his whole body to pull you into a bruising, much needed kiss.

You didn’t mind. You liked when he used you to blow off some steam, especially after being gone for so long.

So there you lay, spread out on the kitchen table for him, your hands in his hair. You planted your lips on him wherever they could reach when he leaned over you to admire the way your expression changed when he moved.

“Joel, Jesus Christ—so deep,” your moans were chesty, thick with the desire you’d been waiting all week to share with him.

And by god, was he delivering.

“Just gotta whip this pussy back into proper shape,” his hands caressed your sides, and when he reached your hips he dug his fingers into your skin so harshly that they’d be sure to leave bruises. He used his grip as leverage to drag you over his cock. “Only been a week and she almost forgot me.”

“Never—oh,” you whimpered when he moved one hand off of you before using it to deliver a sharp smack against your thigh, “Never forget about you, Joel—oh, fuck—feel so good, I nev—never forget about it.”

“Gonna have to make sure,” he moaned at your praise. Pressing his hips firm against you, he deepened his strokes and increased his pace ever so slightly.

You whined, head falling back against the table as your eyes closed, heightening the pleasure of the position he had you in and the way he spoke.

“Sound good?” He continued, landing another spank on your thigh, “Look at me—is that what you want?” He grabbed you by the calves, pushing your legs to your chest and bending forward to capture you in a kiss. “You want me to make sure you remember? Make sure you know who you belong to? Who this perfect fuckin’ body belongs to?”

You had to battle with yourself to keep your eyes open, lost in the joy of being full of him. The nudge of his cock on your cervix and the way he pressed against your clit with every thrust kept you dangling over the edge, almost ready to fall completely into ecstasy.

“Y—es,” you hiccupped through the haze of arousal, “Keep me full like this—keep me open all the time, Joel, please.”

“Do you one better,” he looked smug, the smirk he wore nearly morphing into a sneer as he situated himself on his forearms above you. “Gonna fill you up nice and deep, put a fuckin’ brat in there—‘nd every time you look in the mirror, every time you look down, you get to remind yourself what you’re carryin’.”

“Joel—!” You were so close, and the promise of being pumped full of him, the way he delivered the promise, and the notion of him actually and purposefully attempting to get you pregnant all worked in tandem to make your toes curl and your eyes roll back.

“Yeah, s’a good idea, right?” He was smiling, babbling on as he watched you approach your high, racing towards his own. “Breed this greedy fuckin’ hole, that’ll show everybody whose you are—show you.”

“Yes—yes, fuck, please,” you were close to tears, desperately trying to move your hips to match his pace and speed up the process of what he was vowing to do. “Joel, please, cum in me.”

“Oh, I’ll cum in you,” he took a moment to really admire you, nose pressing against your own, gaze piercing into you, “Cum in you as many times as it takes to make it stick.”

And with one final shove of his hips, you were floating. You let out a strangled moan, something that came from low in your abdomen and exited your lips in a whiny, breathless cry. He relished it, pressing his face into your neck as he continued his ministrations, letting the sounds and signs of your pleasure coat him, body and mind.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he sucked marks into your skin, feeling your pulse, quick and jumpy, against his mouth. “Good girl—you want it?”

“Yes…” You were spent, body trembling and eyelids heavy, but you needed to see this through, aching for the warmth of him deep in your stomach. “Please—as many times as it takes…cum in me.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” Joel’s eyes were screwed shut, his mouth falling open when his hips began to stutter against you. He pushed himself deep, grinding himself against your cunt. “Shit—goddammit, I’m—yeah, yeah, sweetheart—fuck!” He came with a groan, and you moaned at the way his cock twitched inside of you.

You were both panting, sticky with sweat and exhausted. He stayed on top of you, nosing your neck and pressing dainty kisses into your skin.

Joel found it in himself to pull out after a few moments, still trying to savor the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him. But when you tried to lift yourself up, a calloused palm pressed into your chest.

“Stay like that, darlin’. Legs up.” He walked around the table, coming to stand where your head nearly dangled off the edge. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll be ready again in ‘bout an hour.” He grinned, leaning over you to catch your lips with his.

With the way his tongue dove into your mouth, hungry to explore, capturing your whines, you could tell you wouldn’t have to wait a full hour if you played your cards right.

“How about you—mm—how about you carry me up to bed?” You purred, sliding a hand up to toy with the curls on the nape of his neck.

“Can’t risk lettin’ all’at leak out of you,” he muttered against your lips, “As pretty a sight it may be…”

“So slide back in and carry me like that,” you batted your lashes, and he let out a groan. “And if any of it drips, you can just do it all over again.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart,” he shook his head, but he took your advice.

[leejenowrld]

“cum all over daddy’s cock.”

word count — 2.5k

pairing — lee jeno x reader

synopsis — you ride your boyfriend, jeno’s, cock, using him for your own pleasure. you bounce and fuck yourself dumb on it until you crash out

warnings — explicit sexual content, explicit language and swearing, sexual themes, reader is a warrior!!, bouncing and fucking herself dumb on jeno’s cock, her thigh and core strength are next level, kinda dom!reader, she uses jeno and his cock for her own pleasure, taking control of the pace, big daddy themes, overuse of the words ‘daddy’ and ‘baby,’ jeno praising and guiding her, rough handling, and mutual exhaustion from going all out.

“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice low and almost in awe of how hard you’re going. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

──────────────────────────────

As you lower yourself onto Jeno’s cock, a sharp gasp escapes your lips, the stretch of him filling you completely in one slow, deliberate motion. The fullness makes your thighs tremble, and the effort of taking him so deep already has your body tensing. You take a moment, catching your breath, feeling him pulse inside you as your body adjusts to his size. He fills you perfectly, and you can’t help but bite your lip at the sensation.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Jeno groans, his voice rough with arousal, his hands gripping your waist just enough to guide you. Every inch of him presses against your walls, the feeling almost overwhelming. Your thighs quiver, but you hold yourself still, grinding slowly to savor the feeling. Small, deliberate movements—your hips rolling lazily against him to preserve your energy. You know you’ll need it later.

You lean forward slightly, hands planted on his chest for balance, your nails digging into his skin as you move in slow, teasing circles. “Fuck… you feel so good inside me,” you whisper, your breath coming out in soft, shaky gasps.

Jeno’s eyes are dark, locked onto yours, his lips parting as a deep groan escapes him. “God, keep going,” he growls, voice thick with need. His fingers press deeper into your waist, encouraging you, but you can feel your legs beginning to strain already. You slow down, your hips grinding against him with careful control, letting him feel every inch of your walls tightening around him.

Your head tilts back as the pleasure builds steadily, his cock stretching you just right with every slow roll of your hips. The friction, the heat—it’s all starting to build, but you know you can’t go too hard too fast. “I need to pace myself,” you murmur, biting your lip in frustration. You want to give him everything, but the burn in your thighs is already starting to make itself known.

Jeno smirks, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer as his hips start to shift beneath you. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. His hips lift, thrusting up into you slowly, meeting your grind and making you gasp. The way he moves beneath you, matching your slow rhythm, sends sparks of pleasure through your body.

“Fuck, Jeno…” You moan, barely able to hold back. Each slow, deliberate thrust from him presses deep, dragging against your most sensitive spot. “You feel so good,” you whisper breathlessly, your fingers curling into his chest as you lean forward, your forehead resting against his.

“Yeah?” His voice is deeper now, more intense, and his hands grip your hips tighter. His thrusts become slower but harder, each one pushing deeper, filling you to the brim. “You feel how deep I am?” His voice is rough, his eyes locking with yours, daring you to answer.

“You feel me here?” Jeno growls, his hand pressing down firmly on the slight bulge in your lower belly, right where his cock is buried deep inside you. The sensation of him filling you completely, combined with the pressure of his hand, makes you whimper in response. He smirks, eyes locked on yours, knowing exactly how much control he has over your body. “Fuck, you’re so full of me,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. “Daddy’s cock stretching you so good, isn’t it?”

You nod desperately, but it’s not enough for him. “Use your words, baby,” he demands, his grip tightening on your waist. His cock pulses inside you, and the way he’s looking at you—like he owns every part of you—sends a rush of heat through your entire body.

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you gasp, barely able to form the words, your breath coming out in ragged pants. “I can feel you so deep… so fucking deep.”

You can feel the pressure building in your core, the need to take things further, faster, more desperate. Your thighs are already burning, your body on fire from the way Jeno is filling you, but it’s not enough—you want more, and you’re determined to get it. Gritting your teeth, you start to move faster, grinding down on him with purpose, then shifting to bouncing on his cock with renewed intensity.

“Fuck… just like that,” Jeno groans, his eyes wide as he watches you take control. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t try to stop you. He knows exactly what you’re doing, and he’s loving every second of it. “You gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby? Huh? You gonna ride me until you come?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, the words spilling out of you between gasps. The pace is brutal now—every time you drop down onto his cock, it’s like you can’t get enough. You bounce harder, faster, your whole body moving with reckless abandon as you chase your release. “I’m gonna fuck myself dumb on your cock, Jeno… fuck, I’m so close.”

His grip tightens, but he lets you ride him, lets you take what you need. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Take it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me.”

Your thighs are trembling violently, your muscles screaming for relief, but you don’t stop. The need, the desperation, is driving you forward, and all you can think about is the way his cock feels inside you—how perfectly it stretches you, fills you up, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. You’re losing yourself to the pleasure, the pace so fast and rough that you’re barely coherent anymore.

“Jeno… fuck… Jeno!” You scream his name, your hands bracing against his chest for leverage as you ride him harder. The sound of skin slapping together fills the room, your body bouncing violently on his cock, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna break me,” Jeno groans, his voice strained. He can barely keep up with you, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are glued to you—the way your tits bounce with every thrust, the way your body is completely out of control, driven by nothing but pure lust. His hands move up your body, grabbing your breasts roughly, squeezing them as you ride him with reckless abandon.

He knows what you’re doing, he watched with pride at every desperate push you make to chase your own pleasure. His voice is hoarse, rough with arousal, as he watches you come fuck yourself dumb on top of him. “You look so hot like this,” he groans, his fingers digging into your waist as he lets you set the pace. “You’re so fucking hot when you ride me like that. You’re using me to get off, aren’t you?”

“Look at you… fuck, you’re fucking wild right now,” he growls, his voice low and almost in awe of how hard you’re going. “You want it so fucking bad, don’t you? Taking my cock like you were fucking made for it.”

His words fuel the fire inside you, pushing you above your limits, bouncing on him so violently that the bed shakes beneath you. The sound of your bodies slamming together fills the room, the wetness between your legs making everything even dirtier, even hotter. You can barely breathe, barely think, the pleasure taking over every part of you.

“Fuck, your tits are perfect,” he groans against your skin, his voice rough as his lips tug on your nipple. “I could suck on them all fucking day, baby.”

Your tits bounce wildly in front of his face, so he takes the opportunity to brush his thumbs over your hard nipples, teasing them before he leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. The sensation of his tongue swirling around your nipple, the way he sucks hard, sends another wave of pleasure through you, and you nearly collapse on top of him. “God, you’re fucking perfect,” he growls, his voice strained as he tries to keep control. “Keep going, baby. Use me. Take what you need. I want to see you come all over me. I want to feel how fucking tight you get when you come.”

You’re going so hard, mixed with the pleasure of his mouth on your nipples, it makes your vision blur. The sensation of using him to chase your own release is overwhelming, sending shockwaves through your body. “Fuck, yes, suck my tits, Daddy,” you gasp, your voice shaking from the intensity.

He switches to the other nipple, sucking hard, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until you’re whimpering above him, your body trembling from the added pleasure. “That’s it… ride me, baby. Ride my cock. Don’t stop.”

“God, Jeno…” you gasp, your voice barely audible through the haze of pleasure, but he hears you.

Jeno growls against your skin, sucking harder on your nipple, his other hand kneading your other breast roughly. “You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice muffled as he devours your tits. His tongue flicks over your sensitive skin, his lips tugging at your nipple, making you moan uncontrollably. “These tits… fuck, they’re so perfect. Bouncing for me, baby. You like when I suck them?”

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you whimper, your movements becoming more frantic as the pleasure skyrockets. The way he’s sucking your nipples while you’re riding him is almost too much to handle. “Fuck, I’m so close… I’m so close…”

Your entire body is trembling, your thighs burning from the intensity, but the pleasure is too overwhelming to care. “Please, Jeno,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for at this point, your voice broken and needy. “Please, I don’t want to stop.”

“You’re not fucking stopping until you come all over my cock,” Jeno growls, his eyes dark and filled with lust. His hands grip your waist tighter, controlling your movements as he thrusts harder into you. “You feel that?” His voice is rough, his breath hot against your skin as he leans closer. “You’re gonna come for me, baby. I want to feel you fucking dripping for me.”

The roughness of his words sends a shockwave through your body, and you can barely hold on anymore. His cock is hitting so deep, each thrust dragging against that perfect spot inside you, sending your mind spiraling. “Fuck, baby, I’m so close,” you whimper, your voice barely a whisper.

That's all it takes. With a final, desperate bounce, the tension snaps, and you’re sent spiraling into the most intense orgasm of your life. Your entire body locks up, your walls clamping down around his cock as you scream his name. You ride him through it, your body convulsing uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

The wetness between your legs is already soaking him, but as you come, it feels like your entire body explodes. Your walls clamp down around his cock, squeezing him with pulsing, uncontrollable contractions. The heat spreads through your belly, radiating down your thighs as your body shakes. The slickness grows even more intense, the wet sounds between your bodies filling the room as you drench him, a mix of your release and his cock driving deeper into you with every thrust.

Your breath catches, your head spinning as your vision goes white for a second, the intensity of the orgasm hitting like a tidal wave. Your hips stutter, unable to maintain the same rhythm as your muscles tremble violently, your body clinging to him, shaking uncontrollably. The warm slickness dripping from you pools between your legs, coating him, making each thrust even wetter, more intense. Your skin glistens with sweat, your chest heaving as you come undone, completely lost in the sensation.

"That's it, baby," he growls, his voice full of satisfaction as he watches you fall apart in his hands.

"Come all over my cock. Let me feel it." Your mind is spinning, completely lost in the pleasure, and you can feel yourself dripping around him, your release coating his cock as he keeps thrusting into you. His hands never leave your body, guiding you through every moment of your orgasm, his voice low and filled with pride. "You're so fucking perfect like this," he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck between deep, guttural moans. "So fucking tight for Daddy."

Jeno’s hands slide up your back, pulling you down against his chest as you both lie there, utterly fucked out, your bodies trembling from the intensity of it all. His lips find your neck, pressing soft kisses there as you come down from the high.

“Fuck… you… you fucked yourself dumb on my cock,” Jeno groans, his voice still full of lust even as his body relaxes. “You’re fucking incredible.”

“Mmm… we need to do that more.” You sigh.

Jeno chuckles softly, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as he holds you close. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “So fucking perfect.”

[gutsby]

Cry, Baby

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Warnings: 18+. Dacryphilia (kinda). Unprotected p-in-v. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Daddy kink. Jealous Joel.

Notes: Sorry for using pussy pronouns. It will happen again.

Joel Miller was a man of few words in most every place except the one where he found himself about to beat the brakes off your pussy. Then he never shut the fuck up.

“Uh-huh…just a little more…I know, sweet girl, I know.”

You had your hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel of his ‘71 Ford F-100, but rather than driving anywhere, your ass was comfortably parked on the front of his jeans—straddling his lap backwards while you rubbed your half-clad cunt over stonewashed denim. It was hell.

You’d been grinding against the bulge beneath those jeans so hard, and for so long, your white cotton undies had parted to the side, and your pleasure was nearly stretched commensurate with just how pathetic you felt.

Your head dropped between your two hands on the black molded plastic of the wheel, and you let out a whine.

“Joel—”

“Keep goin’.”

“This ain’t fair!”

Without hesitation, the hands that were holding your hips tightened their grip, and now Joel was raking your lower half over his. Rutting your core back and forth.

“You wanna know what ain’t fair?” he seethed.

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“How much she’s been droolin’ over me all night.”

‘She’ meaning your unfucked cunt, of course.

Joel then punctuated his sentence with a particularly hard press of his palm—forcing you to lay flat on the steering wheel, hips tilted back to him. With just one callused finger of his other hand, he found you soaked between your folds. He dragged it from your clit to your aching hole, and you heard him sigh, as though sad.

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Joel said. Lamenting.

You were almost lost to the sensation of his finger rubbing you up and down, but somehow, you managed, ‘W-W-What is, Joel?’ in between soft, plaintive sounds.

Sometimes you forgot how much older he was than you. Sometimes you said he was just like the boys your age. Other times he had you pinned like this, breaths calm and cruelly measured while you damn near came apart beneath his hand, and then you remembered everything.

“You just couldn’t wait ‘til we got home,” he grumbled.

Using the same hand he’d been stroking you with, Joel laid a quick slap to your cunt, and you jumped. Your head narrowly missed the roof of his truck; still, you groaned.

“‘M’sorry, Joel,” you keened.

You weren’t. The old man knew you weren’t.

The hand that had been splayed over your back sank in. The force of that push pressed your belly to the chipped Ford logo at the center of the steering wheel, and with the added pressure went the blare of the car’s horn.

The sound might’ve lasted two seconds before you scrambled back, desperate, into Joel’s broad chest. A couple old-timers making their way from the bar to their cars in the parking lot cocked their heads curiously in your direction a couple yards away. Seeing nothing of note, they lost interest just as quick and kept walking.

“Sorry for what?” Joel said.

At the moment, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that his truck was parked a mere stone’s throw away from the Tipsy Bison, and bar-goers were milling freely between the building and the cars all around you. His belt unbuckled all the same, zip came down in a blink, and his thick, veiny, throbbing, and angry cock came to rest between your cheeks. He started to push you forward.

“Sorry for— for flirtin’ with Tommy,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when you felt him run the head of his cock between your lips. You could hear a soft squelch.

“And Lucien?”

“And Lucien.”

“And—”

“And Dieter, and Frankie, and Javi, and Marcus.”

Rattling off the names of all the men you’d been flirting with at the bar to make Joel jealous and take you back home to fuck you became an embarrassing chant.

“And?”

“…and Mayor Garcia,” you completed, sheepishly.

Back in there, you hadn’t been too proud to stoop to a politician’s level, even. That was how needy you’d been to get attention, and now Joel was giving it to you.

As hard as he could—he didn’t wait for the ‘OK’ before seating you on his cock. You were simply pulled back from the wheel and into his lap, onto his stiff erection, and before you could steady yourself, he started drilling.

“Even through these panties—” Joel tugged at the cream-colored cotton he’d easily slipped past, “—even through that slutty little skirt, I could feel how wet she was.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands found purchase in the torn-up leather of the seat, fisting strings and patches of fabric in a helpless sort of plea as Joel took over. With the buttons of his dark green flannel searing a stripe down your spine and his grey-speckled chin coming to nudge between your neck and your shoulder as he fucked you, you felt content. Secure.

Spilling more for him, then. Seeping rivers down the length of his shaft as he breached your walls and made you his all over again. And again. Leaving trails of arousal with every thrust, and rolling your head, limply, into his.

“She cryin’ for me?” Joel breathed, “Or somebody else?”

As if on cue, his cock hit the most sensitive ridge inside you, and you felt yourself gush even more. Dripping now.

“You.” Your voice was raw.

“Me?” Joel’s degradingly sweet.

Before you could answer ‘you’ once more, the driver’s door cracked open beside you both. For one panicked, terrifying second, you thought someone from the bar might’ve caught you two—then you were stunned to look over and see it was Joel’s own tough, steel-toed boot that had propped the door open to the cool night air.

The truck was facing the bar’s front door, shielded only by some foliage and a hatchback car about half its size. Other than that, you were exposed to whoever happened to pass by the big, bay window and take a look inside.

Joel felt you tense, and he pressed a kiss to you neck. Then he slid you carefully, almost tenderly, to the left until you were perched over the side of the seat with your legs dangling out of the truck—still filled to the hilt with his cock and pressed tight to the front of his chest.

“Cry a little more,” he urged.

Then, when your pussy gave an involuntary clench and drenched him some more, he slipped a hand around your front and started toying with your clit. Your gaze was wide, almost frightened as you stared ahead at the bar and saw patrons making rounds about the tiny place, fearing one might see you and Joel, but it felt so good. And wrong. And reckless, having this man who was easily decades your senior bouncing you up and down on his cock and letting you soil the front of his Wranglers.

“Pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, pretty girl,” Joel let out a chuckle and gave your shoulder a playful bite when you pulsed around him again, “Squeezin’ me real tight, too.”

It was like your body was beyond your own control. You scarcely even realized your cunt had him gripped with such force, much less made a mess of his old denim. He just held you to him and kept pressing rough, stubbled kisses to your shoulder, reminding you over and over how sweet you were, how well you were taking him, how nice and tight and goddamn pretty that pussy must’ve looked gushing around daddy’s cock—maybe we can fuck in front’a the mirror so we can see it later, huh, baby?

You would’ve said yes to anything he said, you reckoned.

Especially when his arms moved over your front and you felt him grin, and he hugged you while he fucked you—nobody made you feel quite as special while they were splitting you open. Nobody’s balls felt quite as heavy and firm and full while hitting your ass by turns, and certainly no one but Joel could make you cum just as quick when he leaned into your ear and said, ‘Let go for me, darlin’.’

You did, and you felt his warmth follow inside you with the friction of just two more thrusts. Your head fell back on his shoulder, a moan clawed out of your throat, and the warm, euphoric feeling of release washed over your senses in waves, one trembling sensation after the next. Joel’s groans were quick to spill into your own, and, likewise emptying himself, he held your hips to his and made sure every drop stayed right where he wanted it.

His spend was always heavy, but this load felt larger than usual—like he’d been aching to fuck you full of his cum. Just as you both were coming down from your highs, you couldn’t help but key in on that soft, sticky warmth, likely to come oozing as soon as Joel pulled out of you.

In fact, you got to be so focused that you jumped when you felt something press to your cheek a second later.

It took another moment to register it as a kiss from Joel.

Then his tongue, dragging softly up the side of your face.

You started to laugh, about to ask him what the hell he was doing, when you felt a tear slip out of your other eye. With the sudden, sharp influx of pleasure, the moisture had leaked out without you even feeling it. Joel grinned.

He gave your cheek a light squeeze, wiped the other tear with the pad of his thumb, and kissed you again before mumbling in your ear, almost teasing as he said it:

“Crybaby.”