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daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

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Joel Miller x Reader

Joel prides himself on his patience, but that little sundress of yours that you’re wearing to the summer solstice? It’s his undoing. He does his best to behave...until he gets you alone.

|| smut mdni 18+, he sure does fuck you in the sundress, pinv, f!receiving oral, teasing, pussy pronouns whoops, daddy kink, pet names praissseeeeeeee kinkkkkkkk, joel is in love, jackson!joel, established relationship, I pictured game!joel but you do what ya want || Inspired by these wonderful requests x x If you found this before I updated the banner sry

First and foremost, Joel was a polite man.

He was raised to say yes ma’am and no ma’am, never forgetting his please and thank you’s. It was something a Southern man like him held onto, even after the world had gone to hell.

Respect came first. Restraint. Control.

But then spring came to Jackson, and your layers of clothing started to shed. Bit by bit, the cold loosened its grip, and so did his discipline. Your neck was no longer hidden beneath those thick scarves you loved, your arms bare when the sun was shining, and every so often, he caught a glimpse of soft, warm skin—the dip of your lower back, the curve of your stomach when you stretched to reach something, the way your t-shirts lifted just enough to tease.

He told himself it was nothing—just the natural way of things. He’d seen you naked in his bed enough times to know your body like the back of his own hand. Cherished and kissed and loved every inch. Warmer weather just meant lighter clothes, more sun on skin.

Nothing to make a man lose his damn mind over.

And then—Christ—summer arrived, and he was no better than any other man.

Somehow, this was worse. Because now, that soft, sun-kissed skin he worshipped in the quiet of your home was everywhere.

Teasing him.

Tormenting him.

Joel had spent the whole morning baking under the sun, sweat clinging to his skin, dust settling in the creases of his shirt. The construction site had been brutal—hauling lumber, setting up new fencing, fixing the shit that kept breaking down in town. His muscles ached, his skin was hot, and by the time the afternoon rolled around, all he wanted was a cold beer and a quiet place to sit.

But Tommy had other plans.

“C’mon,” his brother had grinned, clapping him on the back as they finished up for the day. “Solstice picnic’s startin’.”

And as Joel opened his mouth, about to argue that he needed to get back to you, Tommy had cut him off, already a step ahead.

"She’s already there. Maria put her to work stringin’ up lights and pickin’ flowers or somethin’. Now get movin’ before she starts wonderin’ if you forgot about 'er."

Joel grunted, stripping off his work gloves and tucking them into his belt. His palms were rough, lined with grit, and as he wiped the sweat from his brow, he swore the damn heat had sunk into his bones.

Wouldn’t be the first time he showed up to one of these things straight from work, sweat-streaked and worn. No one gave a shit. So he walked beside his younger brother, looking forward to getting through another one of the town's little parties.

That was when he saw you.

That little sundress. White, lacy, soft. Light enough that it barely touched your skin, the summer breeze slipping beneath it and lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the bare skin of your upper thigh.

Joel swallowed hard, the heat rolling through him having nothing to do with the damn sun.

You were glowing—golden in the late afternoon light, hair catching in the breeze, your smile easy as you laughed at something Maria said. Just standing there, sipping something cool, completely oblivious to the way he’d stopped in his tracks the second he laid eyes on you. Tommy excused himself as they arrived, saying a short ‘catch up with you later’.

Joel made himself move, rolling his shoulders, setting his jaw.

Polite, he reminded himself. Gentle.

Joel had been raised right, after all.

So when he walked up to you, he made it seem easy, effortless. Like his hands weren’t itching with the need to touch. Like his pulse hadn’t just kicked up something fierce.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured as he approached behind you, his wide grip settling low on your hips.

You twisted around to face him, eyes lighting up at the sight of him. “Hey, handsome.” Your hands slid around his neck as you pressed up for a kiss—soft, warm, sweet with the taste of iced tea and that cherry chapstick you always wore.

Joel had to fight with every fiber of his being not to haul you over his shoulder and carry you straight home.

Didn’t help that you hummed against his lips, content and tender, fingers brushing at the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself before he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Pretty thing like you’s got half of Jackson lookin’.”

You grinned, fingers still playing lazily with the curls at his nape. “That so?”

Joel huffed, the corner of his mouth tilting up, but there was something weighted behind the way his fingers flexed against your hips, pressing in just a little firmer.

“Mm,” he hummed, voice dipping low. “S’pose I can’t blame ‘em.” His thumb brushed the fabric of your dress, right where it pressed into the soft skin of your waist. His restraint was hanging by a thread. “Ain’t their fault you’re the prettiest thing out here.”

“You’re sweet,” you said, a tinge of pink painting your cheeks.

His hand squeezed at your hip, just once, and then he exhaled sharply, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before finally—finally—forcing himself to step back.

Because if he didn’t, this picnic was about to end real fast.

You turned to grab him a beer from the cooler, Tommy’s homemade brew—practically gold now that the days were creeping past eighty degrees. The glass was cool against your fingertips as you popped the cap and turned back, pressing it into Joel’s waiting hand.

“Figured you could use one.”

Joel took it with a small nod, taking a slow sip. “Thanks, darlin’.”

His voice was warm, easy like he hadn’t spent the last several minutes imagining what he planned to do you tonight.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Anything for you, cowboy.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner, “Don’t say that just yet,”

Something in the air shifted, something subtle, something unspoken but you felt it coursing through you, a warmth that brought a flush to your neck.

Joel’s eyes lingered, dark and steady, holding yours like he had all the time in the world. A slow, searching kind of stare, like he was committing the sight of you to memory, like he had something he wanted to say if you were surrounded by a crowd.

You felt the heat of it traveling from your cheeks to your stomach with toe curling intensity..

The fire crackled nearby. Someone laughed in the distance. The music played on.

But before either of you could say anything else, someone clapped him on the back—Tommy again, grinning, dragging him into conversation with a few others, leaving you standing there with a knowing little smirk.

Still, you stayed close.

And so did he.

The afternoon passed in a slow, easy blur. Music drifted through the warm air, laughter rang across the field, and Joel—Joel was everywhere.

His hand at your lower back as you walked through the crowd.

His arm slung over the back of your chair when you sat beside him at one of the makeshift picnic tables.

His fingers brushing over your thigh when he leaned in to murmur something low in your ear, just for you.

It wasn’t deliberate, at least not in the way most folks would notice. But you felt it—felt the way his touches lingered a second longer than necessary, the way his gaze dropped to your legs when the hem of your dress rode up just a little, the way his jaw clenched whenever you gave other men any of your attention–as kind and endearing as you were. It wasn’t your fault. You were kind, warm, effortlessly magnetic. People were drawn to you, it was just who you were.

Joel Miller was trying to behave.

And failing miserably.

By the time the sun had long dipped below the mountains, the stars shining in the dark blue sky above, he was done pretending.

You were settled on his lap, your bare legs draped over his, firelight flickering against your skin. The air was balmy, thick with the scent of burning wood and cool summer breeze, but your skin was warm against him.

His hand rested easy on the outside of your thigh at first, a casual thing, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin. But as the fire burned lower, so did his restraint. Slowly, lazily, his palm inched higher—skimming up, up, until his fingers slipped beneath your dress, disappearing into the soft folds of fabric.

And then he gripped you, fingers pressing into the juncture of your thigh and ass, squeezing like he just needed something to hold onto.

You jolted slightly, a sharp breath slipping past your lips as you swatted at his arm. “Joel.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t even pretend to be innocent, his fingers flexing again, kneading the flesh beneath his palm.

You tried to glare, but the traitorous smile pulling at your lips ruined the effect. “Behave yourself.”

Joel huffed out a quiet chuckle, looking up at you with something wicked in his eyes. His hand stayed exactly where it was.

“You gon’ make me?” he murmured, voice low, rough enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitched. And then, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud—like it had slipped past his lips before he could stop it—he exhaled, voice all gravel and want:

“This dress.”

His hand beneath your dress slid back down, fingering at the hem of the white lace, so pale now compared to your warm skin.

Your breath caught, eyes flickering down to where his fingers toyed with the fabric. His own gaze stayed locked on your face, watching every little shift, every little reaction.

When his thumb ghosted over your kneecap, you swallowed hard, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Look so pretty, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and rough with want as he leaned into the shell of your ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to drive me outta my mind.”

And maybe you were.

You knew how much Joel loved you in dresses. It was something about the way they softened you, how the fabric clung to your curves just right, how effortless and feminine you looked draped in lace and light cotton. He never outright said it, but you saw it in the way his hands lingered, in the way his eyes darkened whenever you wore something delicate—something that made you look like you were made for pretty things.

Joel might have been a rough man, all grit and strength, but it was the softness that undid him.

Your back arched into him just an inch, barely anything, but enough that he felt it. Enough that the warmth of your body, the scent of you, the soft brush of your hair against his cheek made his brain go sluggish, thick with something hot and needy.

And then you looked at him.

Heavy-lidded, dazed, lips parted just slightly—like you were already halfway gone before he’d even laid his hands on you. It made something tighten in his chest, made his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh, an involuntary reaction to just how badly he wanted to feel more of you.

Your hand came up to his face, and before either of you could think twice, you were leaning in.

The kiss was nothing like the ones you’d shared earlier—no teasing, no gentle sweetness. This was urgent, all heat and hunger, your tongue kitten-licking at his bottom lip, testing, tasting, making his half-hard cock twitch beneath his jeans. He nearly groaned, nearly let it slip from his throat, but his grip on control was thin, fraying at the edges.

Because when you pulled away, instead of giving him space, you leaned in, lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and an octave lower than your usual sweet lilt.

“Let's go home,” you whispered, kissing along his earlobe, voice barely there—but it hit him like an electric shock.

That was all it took.

Joel was like an animal waiting for his trigger word, waiting for the command to be free, to take what he wanted.

He stood slowly, deliberately, trying to keep himself cool, calm, polite—saving face only because he owed that to you. Not because he cared what people thought. Hell, half of Jackson already had enough to say about him.

But he behaved for you.

For his girl.

Joel stood slowly, setting your legs down gently as he rose, his palm grazing the small of your back—just barely, just enough to feel the warmth of you beneath his fingertips. You stayed close, bodies still humming from the heat of each other, lingering even as you murmured your goodbyes.

But the further you got from the crowd, the needier your touches became.

Your fingers curled around his arm, holding tight, your body leaning into his, pressing into the solid warmth of him with every step. And Joel—Joel wasn’t any better. His hand had already found its way around your waist, fingers spreading over your hip like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner onto your own street—finally alone—that Joel came to a sudden stop.

Your brows furrowed, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could even get the words out, he bent down and hauled you over his shoulder in one smooth, effortless motion.

A sharp gasp left your lips. “Joel!”

“Shoulda done this an hour ago,” he muttered, not even remotely apologetic. His grip tightened around the back of your thighs, adjusting you against him like you weighed nothing. And then—just to make sure you knew exactly what kind of mood he was in—his palm slid up the back of your legs, landing a sharp swat against the bare skin of your ass.

A squeak slipped from your throat, your fingers digging into the back of his shirt as you squirmed in his hold.

“Joel!” you hissed, but he could hear the grin despite the scandalized tone.

“Shh…” He chuckled, his grip tightening around your thighs as he strode up the porch steps. “Don’t want the neighbors pokin’ their heads out, do ya?”

The wood groaned beneath his boots, but he didn’t so much as hesitate, not even as he crossed the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him without breaking stride. He had one thing on his mind.

One destination.

You barely had time to process the familiar path of your home before Joel was hauling you up the stairs like you weren’t even there—still slung over his shoulder, still gripping onto him as your laughter mixed with the sound of his heavy footfalls.

And then suddenly—you were airborne.

A startled gasp left your lips as he bounced you onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you, breathless and winded. You propped yourself up on your elbows, hair tousled and wild, looking up at him as he stood at the edge of the bed, staring you down like he was about to devour you whole.

Your chest rose and fell, your pulse thrumming with a mixture of anticipation and amusement.

“What’s gotten into you, old man?” you teased, breathless but grinning.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he pulled off your boots. Once discarded, he hooked his arms under your knees, dragging you down the mattress, pressing you into him. The motion sent your dress hiking up around your waist, leaving you spread open beneath him, your panties on perfect display.

“Oh, hunny,” he drawled, looking at the damp patch on the fabric, “you keepin’ this from me?”

Before you could answer, he leaned down, hands trailing up your thighs, easing them over his shoulders. The first brush of his lips against the fabric was slow, deliberate—a kiss to your panty-clad mound, soft but enough to make you shudder.

Then he kept going. Mouth trailing lower, teasing.

Your head tipped back at the feeling of his beard grazing your sensitive skin, a breathy moan slipping out as your elbows gave, dropping you onto the bed completely. One hand found his hair, gripping, your fingers tangling in the dark curls streaked with silver. He watched you, eyes drinking you in.

“N-no,” you breathed, “Always yours, Joel,”

“I know, baby, I know.” he cooed, voice softer now, full of reverence. He reached up, gripping the gusset of your panties, wrapping a thick finger around the damp fabric, tugging it to the side to reveal exactly what he wanted. His beard scraped against you when he kissed the skin of your thigh, sending a shockwave through your body, making you twitch beneath him.

A whimper left your lips, your hips lifting without thinking.

Joel chuckled, low and knowing, watching as your pussy clenched around nothing.

“Aw, she’s flirtin’ with me, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss against you. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “Wish you could see just how pretty she looks right now.”

“Joel.” It was a whimper, a plea, a warning.

His lust blown eyes flicked up to yours, his mouth still hovering just over where you needed him most. “What is it, baby?”

You swallowed, hips shifting, heat pooling low in your belly.

“Please.”

Joel hummed, dragging his mouth closer but still not giving you what you wanted. “Please what?”

Because hell, he’d spent all damn day watching you, aching for you, burning with want while you smiled and laughed and let that damn dress drive him to madness. If anything, he deserved to have his fun now. He needed to hear you say it.

Your fingers flexed in his hair, a little tug, a little desperation, “Please touch me, Daddy.”

Joel’s blood turned molten. Heat roared through him so fierce, so instant, it nearly knocked the air from his lungs. And maybe you knew exactly what that word did to him.

He dipped his head back down, tongue sliding through your folds, groaning against you as he finally gave in. You were so warm, so slick, so ready for him that he had to take a second just to breathe, just to let himself have this.

His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh as he held you open for him, his mouth working slow, savoring. You shuddered beneath him, your fingers twisting into his hair, your body already arching toward his mouth like you couldn’t help yourself.

His tongue flicked against your clit, lazy at first, teasing, before dipping lower to drink you in, groaning as he tasted you properly. Slow and deep, his tongue pressed inside you, inching in, sliding out, before licking back up and pursing his lips around your clit, sucking and grazing his teeth, making your hips jerk against his mouth.

His beard scraped against your thighs, rough and warm, the contrast making you tremble harder beneath him. Every movement was deliberate, unhurried, like he was relearning you all over again, savoring every sound, every twitch, every sharp gasp that slipped past your lips.

Joel’s hands flexed against your thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles into your skin, grounding you as his mouth worked you into a pliant mess.

“Need to get her ready for me,” he murmured, voice muffled against you, words spoken more to himself than to you. His mouth never left you as one broad hand slid between your legs, and you gasped as his fingers traced over your entrance, prodding the pool of arousal there.

“So damn soft,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down to kiss the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your slick skin. “And already so wet for me. She likes it when I take my time, don’t she, baby?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, too lost in the slow, perfect way he touched you.

You only nodded, voice failing you as his finger finally pushed inside—just one at first, easing in with aching patience, stretching you open. A ragged moan left your lips, fingers twisting in his hair as he curled it just right, pressing against that spot inside you that made your whole body shudder.

He hummed in approval, lips finding your clit again, his tongue swirling slow, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

“You make the prettiest noises for me," he murmured against you, his voice thick and rough with hunger. He slid another finger in, stretching you wider, pumping them in and out in a slow, steady pace, feeling the way your walls fluttered around him.

Your body was already tightening, your thighs trembling, your breath hitching into soft, broken whimpers. You couldn’t stop yourself from rocking into him, chasing that feeling, your pleasure building with every slow, deliberate stroke of his fingers, every teasing flick of his tongue.

Joel could feel it, the way you clenched down around him, the way your legs shook against his shoulders.

“There she is,” he murmured, pressing a kiss right over your clit before sucking it back into his mouth, his fingers pressing up into your soft, velvety walls. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me feel her.”

That was all it took–your body tensed, the pleasure cresting and crashing all at once as you came around his fingers, a sharp, broken cry slipping from your lips. Your thighs squeezed around his head, but Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow, working you through it, his tongue lapping up everything you gave him.

He groaned low, almost like he was the one falling apart, dragging his fingers slow as he eased you down, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

“So goddamn sweet for me,” he muttered, voice wrecked, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.

Your body was still trembling, the aftershocks rolling through you as Joel pressed one last lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh before pulling back.

He looked wrecked.

His beard glistened, slick with your release, lips swollen and parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, drinking you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

His hands slid up your legs, slow and deliberate, until they gripped your waist, spreading you open beneath him as he crawled over you, pressing his weight into you. The fabric of your dress was still bunched around your hips, the lace soft beneath his calloused hands, but he liked that you kept it on.

Something about how pretty you looked in it, something about knowing he was the only one who got to see you like this.

His hands found your face, cupping it, tilting your chin up, and then his mouth was on yours. Hot, deep and unyielding.

You moaned softly into the kiss, your fingers sliding into his hair as he stole every breath from your lungs. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, his beard damp against your chin as he pressed in harder, hungrier. It was so much—too much and not enough all at once.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, you were looking up at him, your thumb brushing against the slick sheen on his jaw, your heart pounding.

"Can I take care of you, daddy?" you whispered, voice warm and so damn sweet it made his chest ache.

But he was already shaking his head, already unbuckling his belt, already too far gone to let you do anything but take him.

"Not tonight, baby," he murmured, his low drawl barely audible. His belt hit the floor, his jeans sliding low on his hips as he leaned down, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time.

"I need to feel you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, more raw. His hand ran down your thigh, fingers pressing into soft skin, feeling you, grounding himself in you. "If you put that pretty mouth on me, there won’t be a chance in hell I get to feel you cum on my cock, ‘cause I’d be done in minutes with the state you got me in."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes warm as your hands smoothed down his sides, fingers dipping into the waistband of his jeans, helping him push them lower.

"That bad, huh?" you teased.

Joel exhaled a shaky chuckle, dropping his forehead to yours, barely holding himself together as he pulled himself free.

"Worse," he admitted.

His cock was thick, flushed, leaking, the head dragging through your slick, teasing you. Joel groaned low at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tip of himself, his lips brushing against yours as he lined himself up, his voice just a whisper.

“Gonna let Daddy take care of you?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

You arched your back into him, the flimsy straps of your dress slipping down your shoulders as you reached for him, arms winding around his neck, legs hooking around his waist like you couldn’t stand the thought of space between you.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath as you pulled him in, his body pressing flush against yours. His one handed planted by your head, the other guiding the wide tip of his cock at your weeping entrance, then slowly sank into you like he’d been starving for it all damn day.

He had, in fact.

“Jesus,” he rasped, voice strained as he bottomed out completely, a moan tearing through his throat as his forehead dropped to your shoulder. He held still for a second, letting you adjust, letting himself breathe before his lips brushed against your ear. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Always take my cock so good,”

You were breathless, feeling split in two around him, your lips parted, jaw slack, head falling back against the bedspread. Joel took his time kissing along your jaw, lips trailing soft and slow as he felt the way your body tightened around him. His cock twitched despite how patient he was trying to be.

“Daddy,” you breathed, voice barely there, and as he pulled out inch by inch, he watched your eyes flutter shut, your body clenching down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Joel groaned, pushing back in, slow but deep, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush to yours.

And when he pulled out again, the obscene, wet sound of your slick walls taking him made you both moan in tandem, his agonizingly slow pace making every sensation sharper, every sound deeper, more electric.

Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, voice thick. “Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart. S’like she was made to take me, huh?”

You whined softly, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, legs tightening around him, desperate for more.

“Need—need you to—” you tried, but your mind was foggy, wrecked, gone. You needed more. Needed him to let go, to take it. Needed to feel the weight of all that pent-up frustration from the day, from the way you’d teased him with every flash of your thigh, every fleeting touch, every slow, knowing smile.

Joel kissed your temple, his hands roaming, soothing, adoring, wanting. “Tell me, baby,” he murmured, “tell me what you need.” His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and full of something tender. “I’ll give you anything—give you the whole damn world if you asked.”

Your heart swelled, warmth pooling in your chest before another wave of want took over. You smiled up at him, fingers smoothing up his back, knowing exactly what you wanted to hear from him.

"Want it harder, Joel." Your voice was thick as you swallowed, mind finally clearing enough to put your need into words. "You were so good all day, even when you knew I was teasing."

You heaved a breath as his eyes opened fully, locking onto you, dark and unreadable as he listened.

"So polite," you murmured, pressing a slow kiss to his lips before your fingers slid into his hair, tightening just enough to make him exhale, "Such a gentleman. Show me, Joel—show me what you wanted to take all day."

His eyes twinkled with amusement for a brief second—right before you clenched down around him, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper. His cock twitched, stiffened, his breath stalling as his fingers dug into your skin.

"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby? That what you need?" His voice was low, wrecked, something dark laced in it now. "Cause all I wanted to do all damn day was bend you over and shove my cock in you so goddamn bad. Show you exactly how crazy you make me."

"Show me," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chin, his beard tickling your lips as it trailed along his jaw. "Please, Daddy. Let me feel it."

Joel didn’t hesitate.

His hands tightened at your waist, steady and commanding, before sitting up and rolling you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. His cock stayed inside you, the shift in position knocking the air from your lungs, the new angle making you feel every inch of him in a way that had your fingers digging into the sheets.

Before you could even process it, his palms pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down until your chest met the mattress, ass lifted, legs spread, completely open for him.

That’s when you felt the delicate lace of your dress catching beneath his knee, the soft fabric now bunched awkwardly between you.

Your breath wavered. Fingers twitching against the sheets, you hesitated before murmuring, "Should I take this off?"

He smoothed a hand over your ass, his other gripping the bunched-up fabric of your dress so it was pulled into his fist.

"You're keepin' it on," he murmured, his voice edged with something rough, something final. The way his fingers tightened in the fabric told you just how much he'd already thought about this moment—how long he'd wanted it, pictured it, waited for it, "want you just like this."

You barely had time to whimper before he pulled you back into him, sinking deep, stretching you open all over again.

Joel groaned, a long, deep, guttural noise from his throat, his one hand at your waist, the other pulling you back via his fist in your dress as he set the pace. He was slow at first, making sure you felt every thick inch, every ridge and vein of his throbbing cock before pulling out and snapping his hips forward again.

"Christ," he rasped, his free hand sliding up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you steady as he leaned over you a bit, "You feel that, baby? Feel how fuckin' deep I am?"

All you could do was nod, moaning brokenly as he buried himself to the hilt, again and again, dragging you back onto him each time.

Joel groaned, dropping his head forward for a second before his grip tightened on your dress again, using it to pull you back into him.

"Greedy little thing," he murmured, his fingers gripping tighter at your waist as he rolled his hips deeper. "That what you wanted, baby? Want me to fuck you just like this?"

"Yes," you gasped, voice breaking on the word. "Just like that, Joel."

Your breath came rough and uneven, and then his grip on your dress tightened, fingers bunching up the fabric at your waist. He used it to pull you back onto him, meeting each thrust with an unrelenting force, his other hand splaying across your back to keep you steady.

"Look at you," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with something wrecked and reverent all at once. "Takin’ it so good. My perfect girl."

The praise sent heat licking up your spine, your body tightening around him in response. He felt it, too—felt the way you clenched down on him, the way your legs trembled as he drove into you harder.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, leaning over you as his hand slipped under you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow, teasing circles that made your breath hitch. "You gonna come for me again? Hmm?"

You nodded frantically, pushing back into him, desperate for more. "Please, Joel," you whimpered. "Need it."

"Yeah, I know," he murmured, his voice softer now, lips brushing the back of your shoulder, his thrusts still deep but growing rougher, more urgent. "Gonna give it to you, sweetheart. Gonna feel you come all over me."

His fingers pressed firmer against your clit, circling in a perfect rhythm as his cock dragged against that sweet spot inside you, his name slipping from your lips in a broken moan as the tension in your belly tightened, ready to snap.

"That's it, baby," Joel groaned, voice ragged. "Come for me, let me feel her on my cock."

And with the way he was moving, the way he was touching you, the way he was whispering those wrecked, adoring words against your skin—you had no choice but to let go.

Pleasure sparked white over you in waves, your walls fluttering around him as your body shook, your voice lost in a strangled cry. Joel cursed under his breath, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he felt you unravel around him, his hands gripping you tight, holding you through it.

"That's my girl," he muttered, voice thick, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck as he kept moving, chasing his own release, determined to follow you over the edge, "Good fucking girl,"

Joel’s thrusts turned sloppy, desperate, deep, his hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His grip on your waist tightened, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice thick and wrecked, his body locking up as he buried himself to the hilt, pressing deep, holding you there.

And then he was gone.

A deep, guttural moan tore from his throat as he spilled inside you, heat flooding you as his cock pulsed, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he rode it out. He pressed his forehead against your back, breath warm against your skin, hands smoothing over your hips as if grounding himself, holding you tight, keeping you close.

He stayed there for a moment, still inside you, his chest rising and falling against your back, lips trailing soft, absentminded kisses along your shoulder as he caught his breath. His hands never stopped moving, stroking your skin with quiet adoration.

"You okay, baby?" he murmured into your hair as he placed a kiss on your head, voice low and tender, so different from the way he’d just wrecked you.

You nodded, still catching your breath, body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Joel pressed a final kiss to your cheek before slowly, carefully pulling out, groaning low at the sight of where he’d filled you up, his release already starting to slip out of you.

"Made a mess of you, darlin’," he muttered, his voice warm, affectionate. "Stay right there."

You barely had the strength to move, muscles still loose and spent, but you felt the bed shift as Joel slipped away. You blinked sleepily as he disappeared into the bathroom, only to return a moment later with a damp cloth.

His hands were gentle, reverent as he cleaned you up, taking his time, murmuring soft words of praise under his breath.

"There we go, baby," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back as he worked. "Always take care of my girl."

Once he was satisfied, he reached for the bunched-up fabric of your dress, his fingers sliding beneath the hem.

"Let’s get this off you, sweetheart," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion but still warm, still full of something tender.

His touch was unhurried, guiding the fabric up your body, letting the fabric peel away from your skin, soft and slow. as you held your arms up for him. He didn’t rush, didn’t let the moment pass without appreciating you all over again.

Once it was gone, he tossed it aside and crawled up beside you in the bed to pull you into his arms, rolling you onto your side, tucking you against his chest.

His arms were strong, solid and warm, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other tangling in your hair as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

"You still with me?" he murmured, lips ghosting over your temple.

You hummed softly, pressing closer, letting yourself melt into his embrace.

"Good," he sighed, voice low, spent, but content. His fingers traced slow, aimless circles along your spine, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath your cheek, anchoring you to him, "Love you, sweetheart,"

"I love you, Joel." you murmured, your voice barely there, the warmth of him pulling you under into a deep sleep.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #tlou joel

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hoshigray · 10 months ago

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𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐅@#𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲!? | suguru getō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time you wanna do something nice for your boyfriend, how about making sure he doesn’t see the package – let alone OPEN it! – before you? Especially if it’s something with bunny ears…!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! you and Geto are college sweethearts - implied that you and Geto are early 20s - lingerie + bunny outfit - oral (m! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - use of an anal toy; butt plug - backshots/doggy style + deep impact positions - impact play (spanking) - clitoral play - praise - finger sucking - cervix fucking - unprotected sex (psa: don't be silly; wrap the willy) - pet names (angel, baby, bunny girl, little bunny, good girl, my love, princess, sweet baby, sweetie) - cameos: Utahime, Mei Mei, and Gojo - reader is very shy but is trying their best! - kind of freaky! Geto awakening, lmao - humor - mention of drool/spit and tears - will be proofread l8r.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.2k (sigh..)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on this ask!! haven't done a suguru fic in a long while so ehh, why not? && tysm for 8.8k, my loves xoxo

“…”

Oh no.

“…Well,”

I have to be dreaming…

“Needless to say, I brought your package inside, Y/n.”

THERE’S NO WAY!!!

Being an introvert can have its trivial times; you should know that. Looking back on your life, you can’t seem to say you had the drive to stand out, an expertise you regret not putting effort into. You couldn’t do it; you’ve tried but to no avail! Going out of your comfort zone is too scary, shivering or freezing on the spot whenever you’re being spoken to or fumbling with words when trying to make a point. Man, it’s so embarrassing! It sucks — you’re a grown adult, and yet you can barely get through any gathering without anxiety rattling your bones.

Some are good at talking with others or are lucky enough to be naturally blessed with a social spirit. Some people like your boyfriend, for example.

Yes, you have a boyfriend.

Suguru Geto, your partner, wasn’t a complete extrovert. Honestly, he’s comfortable keeping to himself if he could choose. After meeting you, he preferred dates when you visit each other’s dormitories and enjoy each other’s company. However, compared to you, his people-pleasing skills outclassed yours unquestionably. Geto knew how to talk, drawing people in with his mellow tone and inviting aura. He was good at mingling and making everyone feel comfortable around him. You were a victim to it, lured in by his charm and soft ambiance.

He was terrific, a role model to you. How he would efficiently put himself out there while you stayed close in his shadow never failed to inspire you. The way he spoke, how he listened intently to others’ concerns, and his maturity seen as a dependable figure to lean on. It’s absurd to think that such a marvelous man fell in love with you and asked to court you.

You and Geto have dated since your junior year of college; what you once thought would be a tiny crush on one of the school’s notorious heartthrobs became your first and longest-running relationship! How did that happen!? You couldn’t tell; one moment, you two were paired up for an end-of-semester project, and he managed to have you relax and talk with him daily. The next thing you know, he’s asking you to live with him in his apartment the second you finish graduation. Now, you two have been a couple for nearly half a decade. It’s unbelievable to think about.

But even with how long you two have been together, there are moments where you feel as though you weren’t doing your part. Being in a relationship is such a hurdle for an awkward person, aka you, such as going stiff whenever old friends of Suguru pop up and greet him or him inviting you along to parties only for you to stay glued to a corner in silence. You felt as though you were…boring? Dull? Deadweight!? The list goes on, and the guilt never tires you out.

And Geto – God bless him – has repeatedly expressed and assured you that you didn’t have to feel as such. His alluring purple eyes and soothing voice vouch that he doesn’t mind standing in as your sponsor and speaking for you, and you are eternally grateful to the stars above for gracing a loving and understanding boyfriend your way. Nonetheless, the stress that churns your stomach doesn’t go away. He’s always been the one to voice for you, attend to you, and look out for you. Hell, even in the bedroom, he’s doing most of the work. Again, he’s never complained nor seems to ever will, but still!

He’s done so much for you, and you want to meet him at least halfway and make him feel appreciated. So, you took matters into your own hands and decided to do something special for your man!

Here was the plan: going out and buying stuff meant talking to people, and talking meant letting strangers know about your business; merely thinking about it had you trembling a storm. So yeah, nope. You went on the Internet and found sites catering to your search. You can’t say you were the type to wear anything risqué, especially in the bedroom. So, you dialed up your two best friends, Mei Mei and Shoko, to help you find stuff that they thought would look nice for you to wear.

Luckily, they came in clutch and found something for a beginner like you! It’s not something you’d wear in public—you’d rather die—but it’s a good start when implementing new things into your lifestyle. You added the item to your cart, purchased it, and waited silently for your package to arrive. To say you were anxious about this new step of adulthood was on the nail, but you beamed with glee once you got the notification that your bundle would be delivered today!

Before then, you decided to nap and wait for the item to be delivered to your apartment door. You woke up to that once you saw the notice on your phone, yawning your way out of the shared bedroom to retrieve it.

However, what you saw as you entered the living room stopped you dead in your tracks, and your eyes widened with absolute horror.

What you should have accounted for was that today was a Thursday, meaning Geto would usually come home from work on weekdays. So, while you were snoring in the comfort of your blanket, your boyfriend was the first to see a mysterious box with your name on it at his doorstep. And to add more salt to the wound, you caught him in the act unboxing the package and inspecting its contents, and you’re too shocked to fall on your knees at what he has in his hands.

Geto sat on the living room couch, the box perched on the coffee table opened with the wrappings decorating the brown table surface. His eyes find your figure to latch onto, but yours honed on what he was inspecting. In his right hand was a black lacy top meant to be worn around a chest—the other holding onto a headband with bunny ears of velvet material.

This is where we lay our current scene; astounded, you could only stand in place — like Geto — at the sight before you. And with every passing second, you wanted nothing but to explode into bits. Your boyfriend had found your package and opened it!

Of course, you’d be stammering your words! “W-Where did you get that!?” What a silly question; where else would he have gotten it, dumbass?

Nonetheless, the dark-haired man answers after a forced cough. “Well, umm, I saw it at the door coming from work. I brought it in and was going to let you know, but you were asleep, and I…didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Why did you open it if you knew it was mine??”

Geto raised his hands defensively, still holding onto the items. “I–I’m sorry! I thought it was something different, like the cute glass cups you liked and ordered last week. I figured I would set those up on your behalf. I had no idea it would be something…” Your feet suddenly felt heavy, watching your boyfriend scan the lace top. “Like this.”

Any attempt to fight the mini shakes of your knees was impractical, and your throat was going so dry that you were scared to swallow.

“This doesn’t seem like something you would buy; could someone have accidentally sent this with the wrong information?” He inquires with furrowed brows. “Better not be some fucked up prank or whatever.”

“N-No, it’s, I…” Fuck, this had to be the worst scenario to admit this. “….I did mean to buy it.”

Have you ever had those moments where people would look at you after saying something that you wish you hadn’t? You indeed hated those moments; they made you feel so scrutinized by the public judging you. And seeing your man’s eyes widen and his expression morphed his lips to a small “o” shape? Oh, you couldn’t breathe adequately.

“You bought,” your quivering lips worsen when his left wrist flicks with the bunny-eared headband. “This?”

Your hands come to your face, shielding yours from his as you silently squat down with the weight of your humiliation. The shakes rock your entire frame, and you can sense your tears forming. This officially was the worst day ever; out of all the dilemmas that could happen, why did it have to be the worst one of all?!? Your partner had found out about the out-of-the-norm purchase you made without you present to explain yourself first. Now he probably thinks he’s dating some freak into weird shit. Can this day get any worse!?!

You wanted to cry, hoping the floor beneath you would give way and ingest you out of this cold, cruel world. But alas, you’re still here and can hear the footsteps approaching your crouching state, and you jolt when Geto embraces you.

“Y/n,” God, why did he say your name like that? His tone was smooth like honey, and he rubbed your back as he brought you closer. “It’s okay, baby. I didn’t mean to judge you or anything; I was just curious, is all. Sorry, I opened your package without letting you know, okay?… Ahh, did I make my sweet angel cry?” Raven brows scrunched together at the view of you burrowing into his chest more. “Aww, Y/n, I’m sorry…”

Yes, you were indeed sniffling into his sweatshirt. Although, it’s not that he opened your stuff without your consent that upset you the most. You whine while moving your face, “I just…wanted to do something different.”

“Hmm?” Geto’s hand doesn’t stop rubbing your back, speaking to you in a low mode. “What’s the reason, sweetie?”

“Because, well,” you chewed the inside of your cheek as they warmed. “I just felt like I wasn’t…Like—sigh, you’ve done so much for me in this relationship, and I’m so lucky to have you as my boyfriend. But I feel like I don’t do my part as I should, you know?” Nothing is said from the other, so you continue. “I just–sniff–want you to know that I appreciate you and all you’ve done, although I didn’t know if my words would do me justice. So, I, uhh,” your thumbs find their way to fiddle with themselves. “I asked Shoko and Mei Mei for help and bought…..this to wear for you.”

Three seconds pass without saying anything, then six. At ten seconds, the silence suffocates you and probes your unease more and more.

However, his chest’s sudden rise and fall startles you, along with his pleasant laughter. “So that’s what this is all about, huh?” Your body’s rigid compared to his lively motion. “My angel was gonna doll up for me?”

“Yeah, and you ruined it!” You fuss, your cute teary face all hot and puffy as you complain. “I just wanted to do something special for you after I finally muster up the courage to go out of my comfort zone and do something nice and…well, sexy,” you cringed internally at the final word. Yet, it was true.

Geto hums through your explanation. “You’re always sexy to me.”

“That’s not the point!” He laughs at your remark, the sound filling you with warmth. “I–…I’m different compared to you. Whenever we’re out, you’re so much more social than me; I feel like I’m a burden or make it seem I need you to watch over me or something…And I know you’ve said you’re okay with it and don’t mind, but it’s….sniff–I don’t know, like I’m putting more on your plate when it’s more of a ‘me’ problem…”

Your eardrums pick up low chuckles. Then, like the Prince Charming he is, Geto uses his hand to bring your chin up. Your face warms up at his handsome face in your vicinity. “Baby, although I appreciate you going out your way to do something for me—believe me, I could jump over the moon right now—you don’t have to go outside what’s comfortable to you to impress me or anything.”

“But I—“

“I mean it; I really don’t mind that I have to be some voucher for you. It’s not a burden; that’s just who you are. And if that’s the case, you’re too cute as hell the way you are.” You didn’t see his small smile grow because your eyes bashfully averted away from his gaze. “Now, if you want to build your confidence, don’t be afraid to ask me for help, okay? No need to force yourself to change up for the sake of ‘appeasing’ me or feel as though you’re not fitting whatever bullshit mold of an appropriate partner you’re expected to be.”

“Suguru…”

“Y/n,” your name pierces your heart like an arrow as his hand prompts your face back to him; God, he’s so dreamy. “I like you no matter what. You’re my princess; your troubles are my troubles. I’d tell you long ago that you’re bothersome if it wasn’t. But you’re not, so don’t put too much weight on yourself. Promise not to stress yourself over this, okay?” He boops your nose, “Remember: communication is key, right?”

Once again, you’re reminded how lucky you are to have such a man like Suguru Geto to court you. So understanding and attentive to your feelings and wrapping you in his blanket of love constantly makes it hard not to fall in love all over again. Chewing your bottom lip doesn’t even help the heat of your cheeks creeping onto your ears.

“You’re right,” you almost melt under his lips as he kisses your forehead. “I promise.”

“Good girl,” your heart skips a beat. “But what are we gonna do with all this?” He points to the open package with his chin. “Now I feel kinda bad for having you buy this for me and ruining the special occasion.”

Wincing at the box, you remove yourself from Geto’s embrace to inspect the contents. “Honestly, looking at them in real time, I regret buying them. I’ll return them tomorrow or Monday, seeing I don’t necessarily need—”

“Woah, woah,” you stop in your tracks at your boyfriend’s exclamation. “Why are you returning them?”

Huh? “Well, I mean, there’s no need for them, no? It was meant to be a surprise.”

“Yeah, but you already spent so much money for my sake. Plus,” Geto picks up the bunny ear headband from the package. “If this is what you were gonna wear for me, then it would be kind of upsetting if I didn’t see you wear it at least once.”

Oh, God, no. “S–Suguru, it’s totally fine; I can just—“ Oh no, he’s looking at you with that face, his eyebrows slightly trenched with a minuscule sad glint in his expression. Your stomach was doing flips out of guilt and concern, and the formidable gets worse when he asks the following:

“Y/n,” you swallow spit thickly as the man dangles the headband around. “Would you please wear this tonight?”

The question nails you to the ground, frozen in place as it rings within your mind. You? Wearing this for tonight?! “N–No, I can’t!!”

“Why not? You bought it to be worn!”

“Yes, but t-that was before you looked through my package and didn’t give me the chance to try it on myself!” When you thought your face couldn’t get any hotter than before, the embarrassment of this predicament humbles you. “And thanks to you—“

“T-Thanks to me??”

“—I don’t wanna wear it anymore!!”

Geto raises his other hand in defense. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m sorry; it’s my bad. But, to be honest, I’m thrilled that you went out of your way to think of doing something for me out of nowhere, and as I’m looking at this outfit,” He glances at the rest of the materials in the box. “I think you’d look beautiful and hot in it.” You can’t tell if your heart is thumping from his words or because you’re about ten seconds away from combusting. “So…One night to test it out, yeah? And if you surely don’t like it, then you can ship it back tomorrow.”

He’s so good at that, using his charm and words to shade you into rational thought. You take a huge breath and exhale through stressed nostrils, and your wish to dig a hole and rot away increases.

Of course, you bought the items to treat your boyfriend for something out of the norm; that was the entire point of the plan! But what is the use of following a plan when you’ve let your guard down, and the element of surprise backfires in a way that you had foolishly unforeseen?! There’s no way you could put that stuff on you now that you’ve been exposed. Absolutely not!

“I think you’d look beautiful and hot in it…”

And yet, Geto’s words repeat like a broken record, each time making you as timid as the last. He wants to see you wear what you had bought, so eager to marvel at his partner adorning such risqué clothing that you don’t comprehend how you put said purchase in your cart! The thought of wearing such a thing in front of your man bubbles an excitement that is borderline frightening yet new; picturing his expressions and imagining his compliments is dangerous for your brain to form a headache.

But not as dangerous as the slight friction of your inner thighs pressing close to each other.

With a stare downcast and fidgeting thumbs, you ask, “…Just for tonight?”

And Geto assures you with a nod.

“Only for tonight.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Geto sat on the bed in silence, listening to the ticks of the bedroom clock on the wall as he waited patiently.

As you two entered the bedroom, the man found his place on the bed, a still figure in the dimly lit room. You, on the other hand, made a beeline straight towards the bathroom. “Wait here…D-Don’t peek inside!” You commanded him, your voice betraying a hint of shyness. He obeyed, settling on top of the comforter.

Minutes soon went to double digits; nervousness wasn’t something that usually struck Geto. But the more he sat on the bed and listened to your mutters behind the door–distancing the two–the more he couldn’t help but feel an itch to worry for you. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Y–Yes!” That didn’t sound convincing… “I’ll be out in just a second!”

“Okay…”

And so he waited for a minute. Which turned to two minutes…Three…..

Anticipation transitioned to unease, calling out to you once more. “Y/n?” No answer; not a good sign. The tall man gets up and strides to knock on the bathroom door. “Baby? Everything alright?” Nothing, even if he knocks on the white surface again.

CREAAAAK…!

But his frets are handled once he hears the sound of the door opening slowly. He steps back to make way for the person on the other side of the door, and lo and behold, you stand.

There are things in Geto’s life that never cease to amaze him—you being one of them. From the moment he saw you, he swore that in his life, there had never been something that looked so mesmerizing and captured his eye in an instant, and Gojo and Shoko are always sure to tease the guy for such a confession. And the time you reciprocated his feelings and accepted being his domestic other half, words could not describe the elation his poor heart couldn’t handle.

Right now, he is experiencing those same feelings when he’s with you. His expectations were blown out of the water once you entered the plane again.

Your face was the first thing he looked to, a sheepish yet cute expression that went with the adorable white bunny ear headband you adorned at the top of your head. Your casual attire had been withdrawn to the bathroom tiles, substituted with the outfit you had been fussing about until now. Your chest harbored a black lacy negligee with intricate designs that had Geto’s purple eyes dance and trace around; the faint drapes of the gown cascaded down to your upper thighs, yet your underwear could still be seen. It matched the lacy black thong that made your boyfriend gulp thickly at how gorgeous your hips looked–not to mention the tiny bow at the top center. And to complete the look, black stockings come up your knees.

“…”

There is silence between you and him. The only sound you can use to distract yourself is the beat of your heart.

“…”

But the longer you wait for a response, the louder the rhythm.

“…”

The lack of his voice was killing you – eating you alive – and you’re sure that you’re bound to faint if this kept going. Did I wear it wrong? Do I look weird?! Oh God, please say some—

“Y/n”

You squeaked. “Y-Yes?”

“Can you please,” Geto takes a few steps closer, enough for his hands to come around your waist and pull you in. You almost choke on the air. “Remind me to thank Mei Mei and Shoko first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Wh–What the—What does that mean—?”

“You look amazing.” Three simple words have you still. “Like, seriously. Hold on, let me get a good look at you.” He leans around to look at the details of your sides, and your brain short circuits when he moves behind you and lifts the negligee to see the rear of your panties. What is happening… “Holy shit, this suits you so well.”

“Re…Really?”

“Really.” You can see the sincerity in his gaze as he surveys every physical thing about you. “I’m so tempted to grab my phone to take a picture.”

“Oh my God, please don’t!!” Your frightened hands grab his sweatshirt with a vigorous grip, contrasting the trembling owner. “Don’t take a picture, please!!”

“I won’t, I won’t!” the dark-haired partner assures you through a fit of laughter, his warm, slender hands finding your fists and pounding him. Again, you are frozen stiff when he kisses your temple. “Besides, I prefer not sharing something as beautiful with anyone else.”

You don’t know how many compliments you can take before spiraling into a puddle. “You really do like it.”

“I love it,” another kiss to your cheek while his hands now find purchase on your waist. Oxygen suddenly feels foreign when you’re so close to him to pick up the cologne on his clothes. “It looks so much better now that you’re wearing it. You really know how to spoil me, huh, angel.”

Was it him being spoiled right now or you? How he spoke to you had your heart racing uncontrollably since you left the bathroom. You’ve been a complete nervous wreck from the moment your friends probed you to buy this outfit up until now, and now you can honestly feel that you’re feeling a sense of glee wearing it because your boyfriend likes it so much. Regrets no longer linger in your bones, goosebumps calm down on your skin, and you hum as you return the embrace.

That is…until you feel something pressed against you. Something….hard.

Curiosity sprinkles your pretty little head until it snaps and your hips sway to experiment. A subtle jolt rocks Geto—confirming your hypothesis.

“Su..Suguru…” You don’t know why, but the following words felt prohibited to leave your lips. “Is that—“

“Hnnm…Sorry,” he purrs abjectly. “Guess I got a little too excited.” He lifts his head from your shoulder to look at you, and your stomach churns at the sight of his stare, holding a misty, lustful glint. You don’t even mention his hands silently moving to cup your ass. “Is that too much, baby?”

Violet eyes latched with yours make you shiver, suppressing a gasp when he throws a slick rut to grind the tent of his dark sweatpants on you. “N–No!” You squeaked, feeling small when his smile got broader.

“So sweet like always,” a chaste, gentle kiss to your lips feels like clouds. He then steps back out of your arms, pulling down his sweats to reveal the erection contained by the boxer briefs. Geto sits on the edge of the bed and tilts his head. “So, will my sweet bunny girl care for me tonight?” Seeing you gawk at him, he stifles a chuckle, and it takes a good mental slap to bring you back to reality. A few seconds pass, and you finally build up the courage to walk forward and crouch between his spread legs.

Mini prayers replay in your brain as your hand hesitantly touches the clothed shaft, the firmness of it getting stiffer and stiffer as your fingers touch thoroughly. When you’re ready, you bring the hem of his underwear down, welcoming his cock to the open air for it to intimidate you with its girth. Precum trails from the urethra, traveling down from the corona, foreskin, and underside. God, it’s been a while since you were up close and personal with this thing; its sheer size is enough to reconsider the regret you threw out minutes ago. Too late now, though.

Come on, Y/n, you use your inner thoughts to motivate you. You’re doing this for Suguru; don’t chicken out now! So, you bring your lips to meet the head of his cock, earning a hum from the man above. Blowjobs have never been your forte; again, it’s been a while since you’ve had his cock near anything outside of your lower regions. But today was different as you used your tongue to lick the lip of the cockhead, the salty flavor of his fluid teasing your tastebuds. And with the sounds of him whimpering, you begin to remember the routine as the seconds go. Your mouth takes in his tip with hollowed cheeks, and your hands grasp around the shaft before you glide up and down.

“Hahhhh, yes, sweetie,” Geto soothed, biting his lip at the display of you pleasing him with your plump lips. “Just like that…Nnngh…!” His words fuel more confidence in your motion, using this to move to the next step and take in as much of his shaft as you can. You don’t go all the way to the hilt–a task that you’re afraid will have you choking– but once you reach halfway, your head starts to bob up and down at a gradual pace. Black brows furrow at the movement; fuck, you felt so good for him. So nice and warm on his dick; he wouldn’t mind having his whole evening dedicated to this. “Fuck, my love, loosen your jaw for me…Mmmm, good girl, that’s it. Keep sucking like that.”

It’s not before long that you find the groove; albeit sucking on Geto amateurishly, he places a hand on your head, which you can only assume is that you’re doing a decent job. Saliva coats the limb busying your oral cavity, mixing with the excess come that escapes and spreads with your lips going to and fro. Your tongue goes on to flick and lap on his tip some more, evoking the hottest moans you’ve ever heard from him. And while you stroke his member, your free hand finds his scrotum and massages the pair in unison, a buck of his hips as your thumb presses down on the testicles with a curl. Your bobbing becomes frequent, a mediocre cadence that has your partner throw his head back. The veins scraping along the upper walls of your mouth are too erotic for your mind to comprehend

“Shiiiit, I can’t—Nnnmm!” He hisses before he cups your wet cheeks. “You’re doing so good, princess.”

Your eyes open and peer to the person talking above you. With a soft ‘pop,’ you release his length before placing sloppy kisses and licks. “Yew fink shoow?” You speak with a mouthful of his dick to his frenulum, humoring the dark-haired man.

“Yes, little bunny,” he teases, and you can sense the throbs between your legs getting worse after referring to you with that title. “Wait, I just remembered something…Hold on, lie on the bed for me.”

You’re gently pushed off him as Geto stands up from the bed, confused. You take your place atop the bed, and he grabs something from his sweatpants and heads into the bathroom. The sound of running water from the sink fills the silence before it’s shut off. He then returns to the bedroom holding a bottle of lube you’re familiar with in one hand, and the other with a wet, metal…fluffy…looks like a kind of—

Eyes shoot wide open when you finally register what he’s holding, and the anxiety hits you like a punch to haunt you. “Wh–W-Where did y-you get that?!”

“I saw that you left this in the box before dressing up,” no, you didn’t forget a damn thing. You deliberately avoided the very item that Geto was holding because looking at it was embarrassing enough; it would be horrifying to have this in the same room as you now! Between his thumb and forefinger was a metal butt plug–a small one, nothing too major–with what appeared to be a white fluff ball at the end. It’s meant to be worn with what you wore, but these bunny ears already trampled your dignity. Adding an anal toy to the frey might as well have you sign up for assisted suicide! “I figured we needed it to complete the look.”

“N-No! No, no, no, absolutely not!” Rejections fly out of your system. “That’s too much!”

Geto blinks. “You think so? It’s pretty small from what I’ve seen.”

You’ve seen these before!?!? “Even then, I don’t wanna—“

“Didn’t you see this with the set before you bought it?”

You almost choked on your tongue. “W-Well…Y-Yes, but,” your thumbs find themselves fidgeting, anything to distract the humiliation that overshadows your nervous state. “That doesn’t mean I wanted to…wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s—” embarrassing as hell! A bunny tail as a butt plug!? Just kill me!! “—It’s…..It’ll look weird on me.”

Oh, how you didn’t know how much of a switch that flipped for Geto, the other quietly thought to himself before speaking again. “Y/n,” you perked at the mention of your name. “Turn around for me.” Chewing on your lips, you shook your head—you knew what he was doing. “C’mon, now, I thought you were my sweet girl.” You flatten your lips when he comes close to squeeze your cheeks. “Please? Wear this for me, my little bunny?”

Oh, for God’s sake, this night was getting more challenging to get through with the hour. Inner dialogue can’t even bring you to a consensus, as your conscience is getting in the way of coming to a decision. On the one hand, you feel as though you’re venturing out of your comfort zone enough, wearing this flustering nightgown and these damn bunny ears. Yet, at the same time, this isn’t about you; this is all meant to be for your partner, something entirely out of the norm to make him feel special. And you being reluctant to accept his wishes is just pushing you back to square one and defeating the purpose of this entire dilemma, right?

Your hands find your face to shield, releasing a long sigh that should have stretched to your final days. Nonetheless, you slump your arms down in defeat, and a short nod is given: “.......okay.”

Without being told again, you feebly follow Geto’s request and turn around. Your lower half is the only thing in his line of sight. Your lips can’t stop quivering in such a position, and breathing becomes arduous once you feel your boyfriend’s weight dent the mattress. You jolt when his hand comes to the top of your laced thong, bringing the material down to expose the bare skin of your ass to him. Damn it! A pillow within your proximity is brought to your face, using it to hide yourself from the world.

However, “Aww, don’t be so shy on me, baby,” Slender fingers faintly brush from your spine down to the very crevice of your bottom, making your body shudder. “Shouldn’t be hiding that pretty face from me.” The sound of your gasp, when his lubed fingers teeter around your rear entrance, ignites a flame, and now he has a thirst he’s itching to indulge with. “Shhhh, breathe, my love. Gonna go real nice and slow for you, okay?”

The pillow muffles your moans as Geto begins to push one finger inside your puckered hole slightly. The stretch of the digit is a pain you have never experienced, making you whimper like a poor babe. Your boyfriend coaxes you through it, adding more lube to ease your ass as his finger goes back and forth to prepare you. Adding another finger causes you to shake your head, and your entrance accommodates the insertions, whether you like it or not.

A full minute or more passes where your ass is played with, and Geto smoothes you with a rub of your buttcheeks as he removes his digits out of your lubed hole. “Now, time to test this out…” A sudden chill has your arch, and the cold metal of the butt plug has you clamping involuntarily, yet the raven-haired partner reminds you to relax your body while he pushes the toy inside you. It doesn’t invade with the snap of the finger; thirty seconds in, and your butthole is slowly but surely adapting to the alien plaything. And before you know it, you feel the whole thing finally be swallowed into your rear walls; you grip the pillow as your mouth releases silent cries.

“Haaah…I-Is it in?” You lifted your head to inquire.

“Yes, angel,” he playfully smacks your ass, and you jerk at the unexpected contact. “Damn, now you look all cute and sexy with this on.” Geto then shifts to stand on his knees before maneuvering above you, removing the pillow from beneath you so you can’t hide yourself from him any longer. And more trembles crawl all over your body when you feel his solid cock create friction on the rift of your ass. “Lift your butt a bit for me,” your hips follow his hands, guiding you upward until you meet his pelvis. “Good girl…Gonna start putting it inside, okay?”

You nod leisurely, grabbing the comforter beneath you as Geto pulls the thong to the side. It’s no surprise to see that your cunt is covered in your slick, the tip of his member queued to kiss your labia. The lascivious man hisses at the sensation, anticipation climbing up as he pushes himself unhurriedly. The same goes for you, your mouth agape with quieted shrieks when the cockhead makes it inside your vagina, gripping the sheets as he slowly pushes more of himself, every inch of his penis becoming greater and greater, inaudible babbles once the base meets your folds.

Geto allows you a couple of seconds to stabilize your breathing, starting with excruciatingly slow thrusts–so painfully slow that you can feel every dent and vein that ventures inward and outward your chasm; it’s hard for your hips not to move on their own. With every pull, your inner walls clench on the shaft as if wanting more as he leaves your warmth. And every push makes you full to the brink of tears, and your brows trenched together as your fists ball the sheets.

“Mmaahh…Nnahaah…!” The brush of your velvety channel feels good within the minute, and the insertion pain is now being replaced with pleasure. Your roll to the ceiling at the graze of your G-spot, the butt plug made your nerves more sensitive with how busy your lower half was. And once he’s warmed up enough, your companion turns up the speed of his ruts. “Taahhh, I, ohhhGod…! Sugu—Oooo!!” Did he just poke your cervix!? You sobbed out loud.

“Nnmm, holy shiiit, you feel so good, sweetie,” Geto moans, taking in the view before him. The lingerie you were wearing gave a beautiful image of your backside, his indigo orbs survey from the muscles of your back to your prompted ass. Holy hell, it was driving him crazy, watching how the flesh of your butt reverberates with the smack of his pelvis. It makes him want to go ever faster, harder. And don’t get him started on the white bunny tail butt plug; shit was too cute to resist and toy with, pulling on the item lightly and turning it around.

The action had your holes clenching simultaneously. “Shh–Shhtop, Suguuu!!” You wailed out, toes curling as he taunted your anus with light pulls and pushes. “D-Don’t do that…!”

“Heh, sorry, my bunny girl,” God, the way he was teasing you was literal hell on Earth with how he’s using your body right now. “You know I can’t help myself when it comes to you…Aiisshh! Fuhuck, you’re squeezing me so hard…Hmm? You like it when I tease you, huh, baby?”

You shook your head no in a rushed manner, the heat of your face already coursing to your ears. But then your frame jerked along with the sound of something, and it was a hand smacking on the skin of your butt.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Geto chuckles above you as you cry. The same hand he used to slap you soothes the blow. “You know you can be honest with me. At least your body is…Don’t you like being close to me like this?” You don’t reply, too busy squealing at another graze of your sensitive spots. So, he slaps your buttocks once more. “Don’t ignore me, love.”

“—Mmmph! Ahh-hahh, I-I,” You swallow spit before choking on it. “I can’t…Hic, it’s shoh embarrassing…!”

“Aww, is the little bunny still scared?” He then bends down to your ear, a big move on his part as you swear you’re bound to shut down from the closeness. “Hmm? What’s so embarrassing?”

A sluggish pull back before Geto snaps his hips into you harshly, another jab to your cervix practically has you seeing stars. “Hoooh!! Be–Becausee!!” God, it’s so hard to think right now, the pound of your head getting harsher with the increased heat. “Y–You—Ahhaa! Youu make me…s-sound sho dirt—Eeeyahh!”

“Oh?” He licks your ear before nibbling on the helix. “You don’t like it when I fuck you like this? Don’t like it when I whisper to your ear while you scream for me?” You shake your head no, which is extinguished once Geto stuffs your mouth with his fingers. Your tongue, played with by his fore and middle finger, has you mewling like no tomorrow. “Hmmm, that’s a funny thing to say when your pussy can’t stop twitching on me. Make it seem like you’re not embarrassed to milk my cock dry, huh, princess.”

“Nnoohh, it’s not—hic—not like that!” A tear trickles down a hot cheek as you suck on his fingers, his thumb there unaware to wipe it. “Don’t say stuff like that…!”

“Why? Too crude for my angel’s ears?” He keeps teasing you, “Even though we’ve fucked lots of times, you still act like such a cutie.”

“Stooop,” Lord have mercy. Any more than this, and you’re bound to melt away sooner rather than later. “D-Don’t tease me…”

He can’t help it, not when you sound so cute and flustered because of him. It makes him think of an idea and straightens himself off of you. But not away from you — he then grabs your leg and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other, changing the position so you can look at each other. Something a lot more intimate as he goes back to drilling his length into your heat. With a smug grin, he asks, “Is this less embarrassing for you, sweet baby?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your throat; no, this is much worse! Your shrieks returned to erupt out of your figure as Geto’s pace increased. The new angle achieves having his dick venture deeper inside your throbbing channel, pounding to you until the hilt meets your southern lips, and the bump and grind of your clitoris with the motion is enough to have you winded. “—Ohoohh!! Dooahh! N-Nooo, d-don’t look…!” You try to shield your face with your forearm.

Yet Geto instantly refutes that, using his free hand to move it while he bends back down; his added weight has you whining aloud. “Don’t do that,” he groans at the contract of your walls, retaliating with more rough plunges. “No more hiding from me; I wanna see that pretty face always.”

“Suguu, pleasee—Nnnn!” Scrapes to the walls of your vaginal walls are even more dangerous in this position. “T’oo faaast!!”

“Hnngh! FFfuckin’ shit…But you feel so good,” Geto presses his forehead onto yours. “You feel so good, you look so good, like holy fuck! You drive me too crazy; it’s–Ghhh!- just not right how you can make me go wild. I wanna see it all, wanna see how cute you look, how dirty you look, and how fucking hot you sound because of me—and only me.” A kiss to your nose before placing one on the corner of your lips. “Starting now, I wanna see all these sides of you, so don’t hide them from me…”

You are given no room to reply to his statements as a kiss to your mouth finally seals the deal for tonight. Light pecks gradually dwell into steamy, longing smooches, tongue and teeth classing for intimacy. It’s all it takes for you to sink into his touch finally and the comforter beneath you, submitting to him as he finishes you off.

Geto then rolls his hips at an erratic cadence, and relentless hits to your cervix have you blubbering helplessly into his lips. Ungovernable throbs around his girth are ineluctable, the climb of your orgasm climbing up tenfold with the brush of your clit up against his pelvis. OhhhGod! It’s coming, I’m gonna—“Mmmmph!”

The peak of your crescendo has you moaning deep into the kiss, your writhing figure submitted to the end of your session as your cunt flutters around Get’s girth as the shocks of the climax rock your entire body. And your contraction is all your partner needs to let go of the reins and cease to his own release, his pulsating shaft expelling his load deep into your palpitating vagina. The two of you continue to kiss as your bodies heave and jolt, with the last of the aftershocks coursing through your nerves.

He breaks the kiss, the two of you gasping for air in sync. Drool slips from your lips and comes down to your chin, and Geto smiles before kissing your cheek. “Thank you for the gift,” he commends you. “Ya sure I can’t get at least one picture of you?”

You’re undoubtedly out of breath, yet your facial expression doesn’t fail to display unease. “Please…stop teasing me,” you sniffle with hooded eyes.

“Okay, my sweet bunny girl,” he chortles. “Well, at the very least, let’s go another round, ‘kay?”

“Wha—H-huh!?!?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…I will never listen to your advice ever again.”

“Wow, rude?”

“Right, like whatever happened to ’thank you’?”

As far as mornings go, this one was ultimately out of the norm. When was the last time you woke up with your body sore to the bone? Because the moment the sun’s rays peaked through the curtains and landed on your eyes, you couldn’t move a single finger or toe without feeling a sense of heaviness. Or maybe it was because you found that your tall boyfriend was still sound asleep; his slim frame was spooning you close to him. You could hear his light snore as he rested in the crook of your neck and arm to your shoulder with a strong leg between yours.

Your face warmed up at the realization that he was so close to your proximity, and it only worsens when you realize that you both are in the nude, which rarely [if not NEVER] happens! Where’s your pajamas? At the very least, an oversized shirt and panties!

But you couldn’t find them anywhere. All you could see was a black negligee and a white bunny-eared headband, and memories of last night finally started to swim into your brain. But the true horror was when you saw the butt plug from before down on the comforter, and it slipped past your mind not to scream and kick the item in humiliating terror while abruptly waking up your partner. WHAT THE FUUUUCK!??!?

And to add the nail to the coffin, your body didn’t look like how you left it yesterday. As you got up to head for the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and felt like you witnessed a scene from a horror movie. Your skin was covered in light bruises and bitemarks, discoloration where it’s implied there were hickeys received all around your neck, stomach, and inner thighs. You were still wearing the black knee-high stockings. However, those looked utterly different from how they looked initially; tears and holes were found all over, but most prominently, the inside of your upper thigh area.

Speechless was the word to describe your puzzlement—appalled, dumbstruck, void of thinking as your reflection showcased an entirely different person. Th-…There’s no way… That’s all you could say to yourself, but it was the way.

Once Geto left for work, it wasn’t any easier for you to work around the house. Working remotely suddenly became an obstacle, as every time your mind recalled the events that transpired the night before, you’d become too flustered to continue your work. You couldn’t even walk into your shared bedroom, too rattled to the point that you just used the guest bathroom! The notion of embarrassment was getting challenging to function today; had you known this would’ve been the effect of buying that damn outfit, you would’ve stopped yourself!

Hence, you’re now complaining to the people who probed you to purchase it in the first place. “A ‘thank you’? I could barely enter past the threshold of my own room, and you want me to thank you!?”

It was late afternoon. You were washing dishes and drying them in the kitchen while putting them aside. But you weren’t alone; your laptop sat at the kitchen island with an application running. On the screen, a window harbored two screens with different faces: one woman with brown hair appearing to smoke out her balcony, and the other with pale blue hair styling her hair to a bun.

The brunette, Shoko, responds to your words. “Y/n, calm down; all you did was have sex in a bunny costume; nothing radioactive happened there.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like I did something radioactive!” You retorted, wiping the sponge across the wet plate concerningly fast. You pick up the headband from last night and grimace. “Damn this headband…God, I’m so sore.”

“Having sex for an hour straight will do that to a person,” a nerve is stricken when the other speaks; Mei Mei is now done styling the back of her hair with a sly smile. “Pfft, I still find it funny that you passed out.”

“It’s not funny!!” To your dismay, you only make your two best friends laugh even harder. “This is not how this is supposed to be; I don’t even recognize my own body…You saw the pictures!”

Shoko titters, “Yeah, I saw, and it looks like Geto couldn’t keep his hands off you.” She takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales the smoke. “Isn’t that a good thing, though? It means that he liked the gift and appreciated it tenfold.”

“Exactly,” Mei Mei agrees. Your complaints seem to suggest that we completed the mission of making him feel special—which was, you know, the main reason you wanted to do it in the first place.”

“Oh, he felt special, alright,” you said, placing a dry plate on the rest. Although you’d been in a constant state of indignity, what they were saying was true. The whole point of making a fool of yourself and wearing a costume was meant to be outside the norm. It’s exciting for you and Geto, and you can assume that the outcome brought a satisfying end for both parties.

…However, it would be nice if it didn’t cost you a lot of hickeys and soreness. You sighed heavily, “You’re right…I’m just happy that he enjoyed it. He even said I looked cute dressed as his little bunny.”

“I bet!! Why didn’t you take pictures!?” Shoko complains, her device coming closer to her face to emphasize her disheartened tone of voice.

“I would rather die than have photos of that of me around,” the thought alone causes an unsettling quiver.

But Mei Mei also voices her grievances. “Ehhh, but I bet you looked so adorable~. You better take pictures the next time you do something like that!”

You could’ve sworn your neck was nearly to break when you snapped your head to look at your laptop screen. “Are you insane; what do you mean next time?”

A silver brow rises. “Oh, be real, Y/n; you really think this is some one-and-done type thing? I bet you ten dollars that Geto would love to pull those bunny ears out again.”

The brunette chuckles after exhaling more smoke from her pretty lips. “Aye, maybe we should find you some more outfits to wear for him. Maybe we should have you in a fox costume next.”

Your mouth drops in displeasure, but Mei Mei beats you into saying something. “Mmm, now that’s a good idea; I saw something online with cute ears and a skirt. And,” her lavender eyes narrow with a scoff. “I’m sure you’d love to wear the butt plug tail of that one too, Y/n—“

“GOODBYE!!”

You slapped your laptop screen down as your farewell to your best friends, whom you’re sure are probably laughing to themselves for witnessing your reaction.

Your cheeks are so hot that they are in discomfort; unbelievable. A next time!? You couldn’t comprehend the possibility that you’d be wearing something like last night again. Could you even look at bunny ears the same again after what just happened?! Bunny tails, too; what you primitively thought was cute and pure has now been tarnished to a suggestive and erogenous image. No, there’s unquestionably no way you would be put into that position ever again. No, no, nope, and no!!

DING-DONG!!

The sudden noise of the doorbell diminishes your reluctant energy within milliseconds. You checked the kitchen clock — Geto should be coming home right about now, but why would he be ringing the bell? Inquisitiveness draws up to your shoulders as you dry your hands, taking light steps to the door and opening it after unlocking.

You leave a small opening to peak through, “Y-Yes?”

“Is that the lovely Y/n I’m seeing~?”

That voice…Not Geto’s, but familiarity sparks up, and recognition prompts you to open the door wider.

Pure snowy white hair is the first thing that captures your attention, along with the dark shades concealing its owners’ eyes—a signature look of your partner’s friend, “Sa–Satoru?”

“Aye, you remembered to call me by my first name that time!” The named man was dressed down in his work attire, his hand holding his black blazer while he brought his sunglasses up for his azure eyes to throw a wink at you. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“It has!” Your perplexity was evident in your tone; you had forgotten just how tall the man was. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was finally able to catch your boy-toy here before ditching me at work,” Gojo brings your boyfriend into view with the tug of his collar, the raven-haired man expressing nothing but total irritation. “Dude owes me dinner, and I heard someone is cooking a nice meal tonight! Have room for another person?”

“Who said you were invited?” Geto questions his best friend after getting out of his hold.

“I did!” The white-haired man answers. “You owe me for saving your ass yesterday with that file scare—you’re welcome, by the way,” he ignores the glare of his friend. “And just be glad I’m asking for a home-cooked meal, or else I’d be draining your pockets at that new steak place that opened up recently.”

“Unbelievable…” Geto sighs exasperately. “Hurry up and get in.”

You move out of the way so the men can enter your abode. “Excuse my intrusion~,” the blue-eyed man says as he takes off his dress shoes in the foyer and happily walks to the living room.

Your boyfriend shakes his head, “Sorry ‘bout this, baby.”

“It’s okay; I was done washing dishes anyway.”

“Mmm,” he brings you in for a hug, part of the routine when he returns home. “How’re you feeling now?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I feel…okay, still sore, but, you know…” He smelt so good, his cologne pleasantly sinking you in.

“Heh, sorry,” he kisses your temple. “I had a good time; you really spoiled me.”

The heat in your cheeks ventures to your ears and nape, and your heart returns to racing at an irregular dance. The memories of last night all come back to haunt you once more; images of you being bent into different positions and crying out for Geto hit you one after the other. The lewd thoughts are too much for your pretty little head, especially when you imagine the tall, dark-headed man all sweaty and panting above you with a grin on his face like last night.

At this point, your face will need an ice pack because it’s getting hot. “I’m..really glad you liked it.”

“Loved it,” he takes your hand and after removing his shoes. “Can’t wait to try it again next time.”

And with those last two words, the world suddenly fell to a standstill. You didn’t hear what you just heard—no, you didn’t. “N-Next time?” You repeat.

“Of course!” he leads you down the hall to the open space. What, you thought you’d spend all that money on me for just one night?” No, I HOPED so! “Besides, I was looking online during my break at work, and I saw this fox variant look that I think would look real good on you—”

You couldn’t believe your ears; not only did Mei Mei prove you wrong, but now you have to deal with your boyfriend’s interest in wanting to indulge more in this idea you’ve brought into the relationship. What you thought and hoped would be for one night is now bound to haunt you for many days to come, and that thought in itself had you shaking in your slippers.

As well as the fact that you now owe your best friend cash for jinxing this situation. Damn her!

“Yo, Suguru.”

You perk up when you hear Gojo’s voice as you two enter the kitchen area. And just when you thought this world couldn’t chew and spit you out enough, the image of the white-haired man standing beside the kitchen island holding something in his hand mortifies you to the core.

“What’s with the bunny ear headband? I thought Easter went and passed already.”

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

Text

"MINE, MINE, MINE."

pairing: alpha!geto x omega!fem!reader summary: your doctor won’t refill your prescription until you’ve reset your cycle. you’re desperate for that refill, but geto’s not having it. content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), a/b/o dynamics, nsfw, dubcon? (reader doesn’t want a heat but it’s medically necessary (LMAO what)), established relationship, unprotected sex, breeding, praise, pet names, knotting, slight manipulation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, spit, blood, oral (fem!receiving), so much licking and smelling?, geto and reader are just downright feral LMAO, lmk if i missed anything. a/n: have y’all figured out that i have a breeding kink yet… anyway, this is the first a/b/o fic that i’ve ever written but i just read one and was feeling *inspired*. if people want i might do a prequel sort of thing for this that goes more in-depth about how they met and stuff. lmk! also, i have a vampire gojo fic planned hehe get ready bbs. if you want more of my omegaverse fics check out my alpha!gojo fic here! and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 5.2k

“No.”

No? You shift in your seat, cold and plastic, sure you must have heard him wrong.

“I’m sorry?” you ask. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, an anxious habit.

“I can’t refill the prescription. I’m sorry, but, frankly, it would be completely irresponsible of me to do so. I’m shocked your previous physician prescribed them for so long.” Fingers find yours and twine them together. Your eyes flash to Geto, but he’s only staring at your new doctor, staring with that furrow in his brow he only gets when he’s worried.

Your new, soon-to-be old, doctor sighs again, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “You need to have a heat as soon as possible, allow your body to recalibrate. Indefinite use of suppressants is dangerous and unhealthy. They are meant to manage your cycles, not stop them altogether.”

Sweat beads on your palms. He can’t be serious. But it’s his first opinion. Surely there’s another option.

“I-I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t think I’m understanding.”

Another glance at Geto reveals that he’s frowning now. When his eyes find yours you see the decision there, one he’s already made without you. Your stomach drops.

The doctor sighs and suddenly the walls of the office feel small, tight, suffocating. The twinge of alcohol and chemicals in the air makes your nose scrunch. “Let me say this clearly. I will not refill your prescription for suppressants, nor will any other reputable physician. You have been taking them continuously for far too long. You risk permanent damage should you delay a proper cycle any longer.” The doctor glances to Geto, then back to you. “Go home with your alpha and allow nature to take its course. It’s what’s best.”

Your eyes widen with realization– you are not leaving this office with what you came for. Your heart pounds and your palms sweat. “Th-that can’t happen, doctor. I need my suppressants. My job- I can’t be out that long a-and Geto can’t either, we–”

“We will go home,” Geto interrupts, and his tone is final. “Thank you, doctor, for the advice.”

Geto pulls you to your feet, gently but firmly. He leaves no question about the fact that you’re leaving. You can feel the intensity radiating off him in waves. You ignore it. You turn to your new doctor, silently smiting him. Why did your old one have to retire?

“Doctor, you don’t underst–”

“Thank you again,” Geto interrupts.

Before you can make another sound, another protest, Geto pulls you through the door, out of the office, and back to the car. He opens the door for you, as he always does, except this time you’re not so eager to accept his chivalry.

“Suguru,” you bite out. His eyes meet yours, but they are surprisingly gentle. So calm. How is he always calm?

“Just get in, baby. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

You debate saying no, but you can’t bring yourself to start a fight when he’s being so good. You grumble when you climb in, buckling your seatbelt before Geto can do it for you.

The engine revs to life, but you hardly notice. You’re already scrolling your phone, the search bar reading a simple and straightforward “doctors offices near me”. You scroll right past the first ten, for once in your life wanting a doctor that’s a little sketchy. You scroll further– still not sketchy enough. Someone who’ll give you the prescription you need, even if it’s not necessarily… ethical. Or maybe you could get some on the street? Surely there was some kind of dealing ring for that. There was a dealing ring for everything, right?

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, but his fingers are tight around the steering wheel, skin stretched tight across his knuckles.

You lift your phone to your ear, dialing the first office that looked relatively shitty enough. “Getting a second opinion,” you answer.

Suguru plucks the phone so swiftly from your fingers that you hardly even notice it’s gone. You see him end the call and slip it into his back pocket, out of your reach.

“Hey!” You scramble across the center console, hopelessly grabbing at your lost phone, your last hope.

Suguru grabs your wrist, restraining you far too easily for your liking. “You’re not getting it back,” he says. His eyes never leave the road.

Your brows pinch and anger boils in your stomach. “This is not for you to decide. It’s my body.”

He glances at you, unconcerned. Still calm. “And you’re not in a headspace to be making a responsible decision about it, so I’m making it for you.”

Your jaw drops and you pry your wrist free of his grasp. You escape, but you know it’s only because he allows it. “I am of perfectly sound mind, thank you.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re blinded by desperation.”

“It’s still not for you to decide!” When you don’t notice any change in his expression, you switch tactics– from anger to honesty. You let your face fall, let your true feelings creep through. “You know how much I hate it, Su.”

Finally, he cracks. It’s instantaneous, the way he melts for you- the way the soft smile finds his lips and his hand finds yours, twining your fingers together. “I know, but you have to, baby. You heard the doctor.”

You clench your jaw and avoid the sting of tears behind your eyes. You had heard the doctor, but you weren’t ready. Maybe next month, when you’d had more time to mentally prepare.

Your skin crawled. You hated it, hated this. You hadn’t had a heat in years, avoiding them like the plague. You hated how vulnerable they made you, how they put you at the mercy of another. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Suguru– you did. You trusted him more than anyone, anything, but you still hated the feeling of being so completely helpless, so completely out of control, even if it was Suguru you were submitting to.

For most of your life, you’d successfully hidden your omega status. With the help of suppressants, you’d passed as a beta until your early twenties. Then you met Geto.

You’d met at work. He was cute, beautiful even, you’d thought, but he screamed alpha– and alphas could be dangerous, especially for hiding, unclaimed omegas like you. You’d stayed away as long as you could and, for a while, you were quite successful. You avoided him in the halls, sat at the opposite end of the table in meetings, replied to emails succinctly but politely. All was well until you’d been trapped in an elevator with him one morning, biting your lip anxiously as you waited to reach the twelfth floor. He’d smelled so good that day, perhaps due to an oncoming rut. You hadn’t been able to resist inching closer, taking deeper breaths. Suguru would later tell you that he’d suspected your hidden status, but he had no reason to question you. At least, not until he had you up against the elevator wall with his face buried in your neck. One deep whiff was all he’d needed to know exactly what you were, even with suppressants in your system.

You’d dated for a little over a year, until you’d decided he was the one. Your fingers dust over the mate mark on your throat, the one that had not only made you undoubtedly Suguru’s, but also the one that had revealed to the world exactly what you were. There was no hiding your true identity with an alpha’s scarred mark on your neck.

Suguru had never seen you through a heat– no one had. You’d taken your suppressants daily, ever since you met him and even long before that. He’d claimed you on a day like any other, no heat necessary. He hadn’t had a rut in all these years, either. When he felt one coming on all he had to do was pop a single pill and all was well– apparently with none of the nasty side effects that came along with your suppressants. Another unfair privilege of being an alpha you supposed.

“Sugu, I can’t do this.” Your lip is raw from how much you’ve been chewing on it by the time you reach home.

Suguru softly shuts the door behind you, lifting your twined hands to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Yes you can. I know you can.”

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand– doesn’t know what this will do to you, how it will break you. While you hadn’t had a heat in years, you had experienced them before. You loathed them more than anything, loathed the way your mind was a slave to your body and not the other way around, loathed the way your whole body pulsed and throbbed, loathed the way it made you feel so… weak. “I can’t. It’s-it’s-” Your hands come up to cover your face. You sigh and feel the blush crawling beneath your cheeks. “It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then a soft sight. Suguru pries your hands from your face gently. When you meet his eyes, he’s all business.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.”

You shake your head and pull away, pacing. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that, Sugu. Not even you.”

Strong hands catch your waist, holding you still. “It’s not a question. It’s happening– for the sake of your health.”

You scoff and shake your head. “It’s not–”

His thumb presses to your lips with just enough pressure to demand silence. The omega in you coos to listen, to submit– the other part of you reels with annoyance.

“End of discussion.”

He’s closer now and you can feel waves of his breath skating across your skin. It’s like a drug, one that the primal side of you can never get enough of. Give in, give in, give in, your omega begs. Listen to your alpha… You try not to focus on the fact that he smells good enough to eat. You know what he’s doing– using his dynamic to persuade you, to make you see his way, playing to the omega you can usually hide so carefully.

“Sugu…” you say. You intend to be angry but you trail off when his eyes catch yours.

“I got you, baby.”

Your heart melts at the words. He waits. Maybe he knows that the smell of his skin on yours is playing tricks on your mind. You wage a battle within. Every instinct urges you to agree and with every passing second it becomes harder to disagree. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps it's time you give in for once. Let him take care of you, your omega purrs. You’re nodding before you realize what you’ve done.

Suguru kisses you quickly, allowing no time for takebacks. When he pulls away he gets to work. He whips his phone from his pocket and you listen to him talking to his boss, your boss, saying that you’ll both be out of work for a week on “family” leave. Your face heats when you realize that your boss now knows exactly what you two are going to be doing for the foreseeable future. Suguru kisses you one last time before he’s out the door, off to get enough food and supplies to last a week. You won’t be leaving your apartment for some time. You don't fail to notice that he doesn’t return your phone before he’s gone.

You don’t notice a difference, even after the sun is gone. It’s not surprising, considering you usually take your suppressants at night– it’ll take a little while longer for them to fully exit your system… you hope. When you’re brushing your teeth you stare at the empty prescription bottle longingly.

You join Suguru in bed. The moment you crawl onto the mattress he pulls you closer into his bare chest. You savor the way your bodies fit so perfectly- like he was meant for you and you alone. His front curls around your back, a leg slotted between your thighs.

“Feel anything?” he asks.

You shake your head to hide your swallow. You almost shiver when Suguru buries himself in your neck, inhaling your scent. You feel him harden against your backside. He must be able to smell your approaching heat even before you can. Part of you expects instinct to take hold of him, for him to make a move, but he only presses a kiss to your jaw and holds you tighter.

“Sleep, baby.”

For once, you follow orders without a fight.

–

Hot. Too hot.

When your eyes flutter open, you feel the pounding of your heart, the labor of your breath, and the growing ache between your legs.

You sit up so fast you see stars, panic flooding your veins. No, no, no, no, no. This was wrong, you’d made the wrong choice. You couldn’t do this. Already, you could feel control slipping from your grasp, your consciousness giving way to something more primal, more feral. You scramble, preparing to stand, to find your phone, to lock yourself away and suffer through this on your own.

“Deep breaths, baby.”

Only then do you realize Suguru is already awake. He’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, both a comfort and a restraint.

“Can’t-” Your breaths are ragged and so are your words. “Can’t do this, Sugu-”

“Yes, you can.” He whispers. He pulls you closer, tighter against him. “You will.”

You shake your head frantically, tears pooling on your lashes. When you turn, Suguru is staring at your neck, at the mate mark on your throbbing pulse. His jaw is clenched when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s restraining himself, you realize. A glance down reveals he’s already painfully hard in his pants. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there, taking in your scent, waiting for you to wake. No doubt his rut has already been triggered.

His eyes raise to yours and he pauses at the tears that leak down your cheeks. He leans closer, and the scent emanating from his neck makes you groan against your will. His kisses away the tears. Slowly, one at a time.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

Your body pulls him closer, even as your mind pushes back. “My phone, Sugu,” you panic. “Gotta gimme my phone. C-call a new doctor.”

He shakes his head and when you start to squirm he only holds you tighter, holds you in place.

“No, baby.”

You whimper, seeking the scent gland on his neck against your will. The smell makes your clit throb almost painfully.

“Sugu, please,” you cry. Tears stream from your eyes, staining your lover’s skin.

“‘S gonna be okay. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it, love.”

With each passing moment, you feel your fight slipping further and further away. Suguru rubs at the muscles in your back until you’re slumped against him, pitifully moaning like a wounded animal. It’s not long before your body takes the reins, until you start desperately humping at his thigh, your clit throbbing almost painfully.

“That’s it. Good girl.”

Your eyes roll back at the praise and when Suguru grips your waist you cry out at the touch. Everywhere his skin meets yours feels electric. You’re burning, burning, burning. It’s not until Suguru lays you down on your back that you see the sopping patch of slick you’ve left on his thigh. You whimper at the sight.

“‘S okay, baby. ‘Ve got you.”

Suguru is looking nearly as lost to the lust as you are. Only his willpower and intent keep him from shredding away your panties and breeding your cunt full that very second. He’s never been in the presence of a scent so intoxicating. He’s never been with you, or any omega, through a heat. He thought you smelled amazing before, but now… He is lost to you, lost to the heat he feels emanating from every inch of your skin, to the honeyed scent pouring from your neck, to the slick he sees staining through your panties. His dick twitches in his pants.

“Love you so much, baby. Gonna take such good care of ya,” he whispers. Instinct drives him forward until he’s plastered his lips to your jaw, licking and biting at the skin. You nearly scream at the sensation. You feel his touch everywhere, all at once. With your last coherent thoughts you know that this heat will be unlike any other you’ve ever experienced. It’s already so intense you can hardly think, and you’ve only just begun.

“Sugu,” you plead.

The sound of his name on your lips breaks him. His hand dips across your stomach, thumbing past the edge of your panties until he’s running his finger through your slit, gathering your slick and rubbing it against your clit.

You scream and thrash, so sensitive it nearly hurts, but he only moves to pin you beneath him, forcing you to take everything he gives.

“Gonna make you feel ‘s good, baby.” he hums. He’s lost to you, to your desires, to your needs. Every piece of him screams to please you, to take care of you, in every way possible.

He continues his messy circles on your clit and until you’re gasping, hole clenching around nothing, begging to be filled.

“S-Sugu…” you whine.

The growl that rips from his throat has you arching your back and bearing your throat in an act of submission. You hear a tear and watch your panties hit the floor. Your shirt follows and then you’re completely bare beneath your alpha. His eyes go black at the sight, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see a smidgen of their usual brown. There’s a deep rumble in his chest that has you keening and reaching for him, needing him. He doesn’t waste time. His tongue finds your neck, laving sloppily at your scent gland and the sensation is so delicious that you writhe beneath him.

His fingers slide down your stomach, dipping between your thighs and rubbing at your clit. The touch is somehow gentle despite the complete and total hunger in his eyes, but it has you whining nonetheless. Every place he touches you, which is nearly everywhere, stings so delightfully that your eyes are already rolling back.

But you can’t wait. You can’t. Your body is starved, rabid, and you know what you need.

“Ssssugu… please…” your words are hardly above a whisper, barely a breath, but your alpha still hears you, still knows what you want, what you need.

“I got you, baby… shhhhh…” He gives a final lick to your scent gland before he’s leaning back on his knees, parting your thighs wide, exposing your leaking cunt. You can feel a puddle of slick beneath your ass, your hole clenching desperately around nothing, aching to be filled.

Warm hands slide up your skin and settle on your hips, tugging you a little further down the bed. You whimper, but don’t have time to say anything before you feel him slipping through your folds. A glance down reveals his weeping tip, achingly flushed, bumping and rubbing against your clit. When did his pants come off? You don’t know, you don’t care, all that matters is that the sight steals your breath away.

“Gonna knot you good, princess.”

You nod, wanting nothing more than for him to make good on his promise. You claw and grip at his arms, chanting his name endlessly. His chest rumbles again and your thighs part further on instinct. Finally, he gives you what you want. You feel him pressing in, fat tip stretching you wide. One of his hands moves to press down on your tummy and the combination has tears pooling in your eyes.

He slides in slowly. With every inch you think he must be done, that you can’t take any more. But you can, and you do. When he’s finally fully in your jaw is hanging open in ecstasy and your eyes are rolled back in your skull. His fingers brush your clit and your hips jerk.

“That’s it. So good, baby. So fucking good.”

Your tears flood over, racing down your cheeks. He’s over you again, loose strands of black hair brushing your skin and forcing a whimper from your throat. He licks away your tears, lapping at your cheeks like you’re a fucking lollipop. His hips start thrusting in time with his licks, and it’s more than you can handle. Your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re begging. Pleading, whining, screaming for more. He gives it to you. One hand finds yours, twining your fingers together as he pounds into you so hard he’s rattling your skull. He’s licking at your scent gland again, driving you further and further toward a cliff you’re afraid to fall from. You think this orgasm might shatter you, might break you so thoroughly you’ll never be put back together again. You can feel it tightening at your core with each thrust, each lick, each kiss.

“Fuck,” you hear him growl and whimper at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “‘M gonna bite you, princess. Gonna mark you up and knot you so good you’ll see fucking stars.” You pant beneath him, unable to word how excited you are by his words, how deliciously they roll across your skin and seep into your spine. “Tell me you didn’t take your pill, baby. Tell me I can breed this pussy full and it won’t go to waste.” He’s not talking about your suppressants you know, but rather the contraceptives you take in tandem with them. Of course you took it, but suddenly something makes you wish you hadn't. “‘M gonna flush ‘em down the fucking toilet. Never letting you take that shit again.”

The primal part of you surges forward at the idea. It chants deep in your mind. Yes, yes, yes…

“Suguuu… please…” It seems like those are the only words your tongue can form.

His lips press to yours, shushing you. “Shhh, baby. Don’ worry. I got you.” He licks across your cheek and down across your jaw until he finds your scent gland again. His thrusts pick up again and you think you might pass out from how good you feel, from how tight your muscles are coiling. You can feel his knot pulsing inside you, preparing to fill you to the brim. You’ve never felt more ready for anything.

“Sugu–”

And it’s at that moment that he makes good on his promise. His teeth sink into your neck and you feel your bond snap taut like a string, pulsing with the closeness of your connection. It’s pure ecstasy. Suguru’s knot swells, notching tightly inside you and when you feel his cum pulsing into your womb it’s all too much. You think you must be screaming from the pleasure but you only hear the ringing in your ears as your orgasm washes over you. Your muscles clench, your toes curl, your back arches, you see those stars Suguru promised. Heat tingles through your limbs and down your spine and you think you’ve probably just melted into the mattress. But you haven’t, and when your vision returns, you’re panting and staring at the ceiling.

Suguru is above you and you can feel him still cumming, still releasing rope after rope of thick, hot cum into you. The sensation makes you groan and he laps at your neck, cleaning up the blood from the new mark he’s just given you. Your consciousness trickles back in, the primal piece of you partially sated for the time being. You remember the context of your situation, why you’re here and not at work, what you’re doing. You’re puzzled by why you’d been so panicked by the idea of a heat before. How could you have been so reluctant, so scared, when nothing has ever felt this right?

Suguru is peppering you with kisses now, pulling you tight to his chest and rolling you both onto your sides where you’ll stay until his knot softens.

“Sleep, princess,” he says and he uses that tone that always compels you to listen, to please. You happily do as he says and when your eyes drift shut it’s not long before you’re lost to a world of comfortable darkness.

You wake to the throbbing again. All of the pent up need Suguru had sated has returned with a vengeance. You need him again, but it appears he already knows that.

You feel him between your legs, his hair fully loose now and tickling the insides of your thighs. He’s eating you out, slurping up the cum that’s leaking down your thighs and spitting it back onto your cunt. It’s filthy, disgusting, and you love it.

“Sugu–” you gasp and your hips buck. His eyes lock with yours and the smile he gives you nearly makes you come on the spot. He holds your gaze as he licks one last long stripe over your folds. You whimper and clench around nothing. Empty, empty, empty…

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers against your skin. He’s kissing his way up your body now, leaving little circles of spit that cool when they touch the air and make you shiver. “‘Y smelled so good…”

You whine and whimper, clawing at his back and leaving scratches you think might draw blood. You’re too worried about getting him inside of you to check.

You’re gasping like you’ve never had a breath of air in your life, like you’ve drowned and every touch he gives you fills your lungs with much-needed oxygen. His hands rub gently at your waist, but it’s not enough. You want him to wreck you, ruin you. You say as much.

“M-more…” you beg and when he hums against your neck you squirm desperately. Warm hands dig into your flesh and suddenly you find yourself flipped onto your stomach. You feel Suguru behind you, pushing your thighs apart with his knees. His hands find your hips again and lift, propping you up with your face still pressed to the pillows. When you whimper he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine.

“‘S okay, baby. Relax. Lemme take care ‘ve you.”

Yes, yes, yes, you think. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more. His fingers dig into your skin, holding you still when he feeds his dick into you, one inch at a time. You cry out, tearing at the sheets and begging for more, even when you already feel like you’re splitting in half. When he’s finally seated inside you he drapes himself over your back, brushing your hair over one shoulder to expose your neck. He leans in to lick you again, thrusting sharply the moment his tongue brushes your skin. You wail, pressing your face to the sheets and attempting to rock yourself back against him. One of his hands smooths over the flesh of your ass as he sets a pace, one that makes you bite down on a pillow to muffle your screams.

“No.” Suguru uses that tone that makes you listen, that one that calls instinctively to the omega inside you, that urges you to please. He reaches for your pillow, tossing it aside and letting his hand curl around your throat as he continues to fuck you, letting his fingers feel the vibrations of every noise you make. “Let me hear you, baby. Always let me hear you.”

You nod, eager to make him happy, eager to do as he says. You don’t dare restrain a single sound, eyes rolling back. The angle he has you at has your thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so close. You feel his heartbeat against your back, feel his tongue on your skin, his hand on your throat, his cock at your cervix.

When he groans, you groan with him, feeling his dick pulse inside you, his knot beginning to swell. You need it, need it so bad you can hardly stand it.

“P-please, please, please–”

He swells inside you, locking your bodies together as his orgasm hits. It’s all you need to find your own. You wail into the mattress, cunt clenching and legs trembling until you collapse, flattening against the beg. Suguru follows you down, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear.

“Take it all, baby. Good girl. Take it all…”

You nod, not even sure what you’re agreeing to. All you can feel is his cum flooding your insides, pulsing and pumping so deep into you that you swear your tummy is swelling with the sheer amount of it. Still, your body wants more, clenching and milking him for every last drop, just like he asked.

When you both come down from your orgasms he pulls you into his chest once again, whispering promises of protection and love that lull you into a trance-like state of happiness. When you fall asleep again, he’s chanting a word that your omega repeats right back to him. “Mine, mine, mine.”

When you wake again it’s to the sound of Geto staying true to his word and flushing every last birth control pill you have straight down the toilet. Your omega surges at the idea, but one mewl from you and he’s back in your arms, like you’re somehow the one in charge, not him. With every passing moment, you being to think that might be true- that perhaps a heat does not makes you as weak as you thought. Your alpha submits as much to you as you submit to him.

The week is spent in a frenzy. You do not measure by the numbers on the clock or where the sun is in the sky, rather you know time only as how long it’s been since Suguru’s been locked inside you. If it were up to you, you’d never stop, but Geto forces you to sleep, to eat, to bathe. Of course, he’s never far away when you’re following his instructions and you usually get a kiss and his knot as a reward for being such a good girl.

It’s ten days later when your heat finally starts to wane. It feels as though every inch of you is covered in him. Bites, hickies, kisses, cum… no part of you has been left untouched. Suguru has had you everywhere. The bed, the shower, the bath, the kitchen. Every surface in the whole apartment reeks of sex and slick. He never keeps you too far from the bedroom, though, where you’ve piled up mountains of his shirts and sheets. Anything that smells like him, anything that can keep you tethered in those brief moments when Suguru goes to fetch you food or water or run you a bath. He takes care of you, just like he promised.

When you wake completely clear-headed for the first time in well over a week, it’s to Suguru’s arms and lips. He’s got you all wrapped up in him, his arms locked around your waist almost like he expects you to bolt. You almost do when everything comes flooding back to you, this time with a completely clear conscience. But then he kisses your neck and whispers a delightful little, “welcome back, baby” against your neck and suddenly you’re realizing how… revitalized you feel, like a part of you has finally been properly satisfied after years of waiting. You’d always hated this, always hated the part of you that begged and cowered, hated heats- but maybe with Suguru… they really weren’t all that bad.

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

link: alpha!gojo fic

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22K notes · View notes

bluelockmaniac · 8 days ago

Text

"𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞... 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭?!"

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, seishiro nagi, isagi yoichi, barou shoei x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ synopsis. surprising your bllk husbands with creative pregnancy reveals!

content warning. fem, wife!reader. suggestive (pull-out game, baby fever, etc). pet names. teeny tiny bit of angst in kaiser's part. twins. nagi feigning ignorance. lots of kisses because yeah. 4.5k wc!

notes. heavily inspired by peachy pregnancy reveal videos on yt!

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

you had never fought so hard to contain laughter in your life.

it was a quiet afternoon, and you were resting on your bed when sae suddenly barged into your shared bedroom, looking slightly confused.

his brows were furrowed, and his lips were slightly parted. he had just finished taking a shower, water droplets dripping down his skin, and a towel hung loosely around his waist.

but what really caught your attention was the pile of clothes draped over the bend of his elbow. clothes that you had instantly recognized.

“tsk,” he clicked his tongue in irritation, tossing the garments onto the mattress one by one. “the dumbass dryer shrunk my clothes.”

now laying on the bed were three tiny white shirts, a pair of tiny running shorts, and most importantly an identical replica of his football uniform, complete with sae’s name printed on the back. each piece looked unmistakably his, just tiny.

but little did he know that you had swapped his freshly dried clothes with their baby-sized counterparts while he was in the shower.

the uniform had taken the most effort as you had to customize and order it online rather than simply purchasing it in store, but the results were definitely worth it.

you pressed a hand to your mouth, a soft laugh escaping despite your best efforts to appear innocent. though it was a completely natural reaction for this situation, you doubt he’d find it suspicious.

“that’s the first time that’s ever happened, right?” you crawled closer to inspect the small jersey. you held it up for sae to see, beaming at him. “but it’s so cute! don’t you think so too?”

sae glanced at your sparkling eyes, and rolled his eyes. he turned toward his dresser, shaking his head slightly. “it’s cute. give it to some fan at my next game.”

like hell you would. you hugged your knees as you eagerly watched him reach for his calvin klein boxers. he could feel your stare burning a hole through his head and turned to you with a raised brow.

“what? you that excited to watch me strip, mi cariño?”

you grinned and gave him a thumbs up. “yeah, i am. keep going, you’re doing great so far.”

sae sighed but you could see the tiny smile that was ghosting his lips. he pulled on his boxers, until he suddenly froze, his fingers stilling on the waistband of the undergarment. your smile widened.

his gaze darted between the tiny clothes on the bed and the neatly folded ones– his clothes– you had placed on his dresser.

“love.” he said quietly. he walked over to the bed, eyes locked onto yours as he climbed over you. he gently pushed you until your back met the mattress, his frame hovering over you.

“are you pregnant?”

you giggled. “maybe.”

his teal eyes narrowed slightly. he reached up and pinched your cheek. “answer properly. i asked, are you pregnant?”

a breathy laugh slipped past your lips as you nodded. “i am.”

for a split second, he just stared at you, dead silent. then, he let out a soft grunt, muttering under his breath.

“knew something was off. you’ve been acting weird.”

you snorted, “excuse me?”

he tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking at the corners. “didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

he leaned down. he kissed your forehead first, then the tip of your nose, and finally, your lips. when he pulled away, there was a subtle smirk on his lips.

“my pull-out game was shit.”

you laughed softly as you ran your fingers through his damp, reddish hair, your voice smug. “i don’t blame you. i just feel way too good.”

his smirk twitched as he flicked your forehead lightly. “don’t get too cocky or i might just have to plant baby number two.”

𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

“sir,” the police officer began professionally as he approached rin’s car parked in the public lot, tapping on the driver’s window.

rin paused his conversation with you, casting a side-glance at the cop. he raised a brow before rolling down the window. “what?” he asked bluntly.

the officer leaned a little against the window frame, nodding his head respectfully. “i’m going to have you stop here. you have a child in the vehicle with no child seat.”

rin stared at the man like he was an idiot, then slowly turned to look at you, scoffing in disbelief. “get a load of this guy.” he muttered. you bit your bottom lip hard to suppress your laughter, fingers tightening around the purse in your lap.

turning his head back to the officer, rin narrowed his eyes. “are you a dunce? does it look like there’s a child in the backseat?” rin asked him with annoyance. “seems like they purposely hire lukewarm idiots who lack proper qualifications. you’re not fit for this job.”

“sir, i need you to calm down. it’s simply protocol. i’ll have to fine you.”

as your husband continued arguing with the poor officer who was actually only carrying out his part of your arrangement, you quietly retrieved the positive pregnancy test out of your purse. a warm smile graced your lips.

the officer, who was busy distracting rin, caught your movement and tried to mask the smirk that was threatening to appear. he played along, “ma’am, are you positive about this?”

that seemed to set rin completely off. “do you need to enter the car to see for yourself, you dumbass cop? i told you, there is no fucking child in this ca–”

“actually,” you interrupted sweetly, “we do have a child in the car with no child seat.”

as soon as he heard your voice, he stopped mid-sentence. rin turned to face you, only to find a pregnancy test held up in your hand, two pink lines etched clearly. his teal eyes flitted back and forth between your smiling face and the test, blinking slowly in realization.

“... you’re not joking, are you?”

you laughed softly as you shook your head. “no, rinnie. i’m pregnant.”

he stared at the pink lines for a while longer, then muttered something under his breath and reached to roll the windows up, shutting out the content cop with a glare. you shot him a quick nod of thanks through the glass before rin turned fully to face you.

he already knew you’d be a perfect mother with the way you naturally loved and cared for him. as for him? it’ll take him some time to figure out this whole parenting thing.

“didn’t think you could surprise me anymore.” he muttered, threading his hand through his dark green hair as he leaned back against the headrest.

“i think you’ll be just fine,” you murmured softly as you leaned in and gently pried his hands away from his face, your eyes locking onto his teal ones. “but you better be nice to me, baby. i’m going to be extra sensitive from now on, you hear me?”

his brows furrowed slightly before he took your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. “after you set this whole thing up with a cop– a male, no less? yeah, i don’t think so.”

“oh?” you teased, giving him a lopsided grin as you leaned closer. “is the great itoshi rin actually jealous? hm. it looks good on you.”

rin scoffed, but his grip on your chin loosened. “you’re my wife. mine. not his.”

you laughed gently as you took his hand and slipped it under your shirt, guiding it to your stomach. “you don’t have to remind me. i never forgot.”

his gaze softened as he felt the slight swell of your stomach, where the child he (unintentionally) created with you was beginning to grow. he looked at you calmly before resting his hand on the small of your back, drawing you in. rin’s lips ghosted over yours teasingly, but never actually meeting.

you huffed. “you’re a cruel man.”

a rare smile tugged at his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, then leaned away. silently, he reached across and buckled your seatbelt for you, probably his attempt at being a gentleman. he didn’t meet your eyes, but you could practically hear the smile in his words.

“let’s go home quickly,” rin said as he started the car. “we need to take advantage of the time we have left before you’re too far along.”

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

it was christmas. coincidentally, kaiser's birthday as well.

the two of you had just finished eating together, and now you were lounging on the couch, sitting comfortably on his thigh with his arm lazily draped around your waist. there were many gift bags of different sizes scattered on the fuzzy carpet– a couple big ones, a few medium-sized, and a particularly small one.

kaiser scanned the pile, his crystal blue eyes glinting as he turned to you with a smirk on his face. “hmm, you like me that much, meine liebe?”

you met his teasing stare with silence, then gently cupped his face and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. you’ve come to learn that this method always catches him off guard, and as you expected, it did just that this time as well. his eyes widened slightly just slightly before his lashes fluttered shut.

“ah.”

“i do,” you murmured against his lips, your voice airy. you pulled away with a content smile. “now hurry up and open them. i'm excited to see your reaction.” you leaned your head against his shoulder, fingers toying with the sleeve of his warm sweater.

kaiser reached for the first bag, tearing through the wrapping carelessly. “a pair of cleats, huh?” he raised a brow, looking at you with an unimpressed, mocking expression. “didn't need them. my cleats are brand new.”

your brows knitted together. “i didn’t get them because you needed them. got them because you suck at choosing anything that isn’t boring.”

“oh, you wound me,” he pinched your waist playfully before rubbing the spot soothingly. “i was just joking, liebe. promise.”

for the next half-hour, he continued opening the gift bags. brand new sunglasses, a watch, new cologne, a mirror since he loves admiring himself, and things of the sort. each gift was met with some sarcastic remark, but there was always a gentle touch here and an appreciative touch there.

then–

“micha.” you tapped his shoulder, pointing at the relatively tiny bag sitting on the carpet near his feet. “you missed that one.”

his brow arched. he picked it up and placed it on your lap since your legs were swung over his. “didn’t see it. it’s so tiny.” he inspected it for a second before slipping his hand inside. he side-eyed you, chuckling. “why does such a tiny bag have so much wrapping anyway?”

you hummed, pressing a kiss to his neck before nestling your head back against his shoulder. “mm. dunno. maybe this one’s important.”

he pulled something out. and froze.

you could almost hear his heart thumping in his chest as he slowly flipped the pregnancy test over in his hand. and there it was. two vertical pink lines.

positive.

an awkward silence stretched between you two. you let out a soft huff, gazing at him lovingly as you watched his reaction.

he didn’t say a single word for what felt like eternity. then, he turned to look at you. “are you serious?” his voice lacked his usual teasing.

“yes.”

“are you actually serious?” he repeated.

you laughed. “i’m positive. literally.”

“holy fuck.”

kaiser inhaled sharply, exhaling through his nose as he put a hand on his forehead and slumped back against the couch. he tugged you with him until you were sprawled against his chest. still, he didn’t speak.

again, there was silence as you pulled a warm blanket over both of you and snuggled closer. you sighed blissfully against him, until something wet landed on your cheek.

you blinked.

tilting your head, you tried to get a better look at him. but your eyes just widened.

“micha? … baby? … michael?” your voice softened, “my love, are you crying?”

you had never seen him like this before. the usual cocky arrogance completely gone, his jaw clenched as if he was trying to compose himself. then, without a word, he cupped the back of your neck and pulled you back into him to cover his face. his arms wrapped around you tightly, his lips pressed firmly against the top of your head in a long kiss.

“tch, stupid. of course not.” he murmured against your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. “our kid’s gonna have your smile. i already know it. and i’m screwed because that’s going to kill me everytime.”

and as he felt your arms tighten around his waist, he’d already decided he was going to be a better father for his child than his dad ever was for him.

𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈

“sei, come onnn!” you whined, tugging insistently at your husband’s arm in an attempt to pry him away from his gaming chair. it proved to be ineffective as his eyes remained glued to the sniper game on his screen.

but the second you tugged just a tiny bit harsher, you threw off his aim, causing him to get shot by the enemy.

“ah, shit,” he muttered as the ‘game over’ screen flashed before him, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. you felt bad, but only for a split second, so you quickly shook those feelings away— you had something important to reveal after all.

seishiro took off his headset with a dramatic huff, then swiveled his gaming chair to face you. his massive arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close until his face was buried against your stomach. “what is it, pretty?” he sighed into your shirt.

you grinned. “i need to show you something real quick.”

you didn’t give him a chance to protest, practically dragging his lazy frame out of the chair and toward the kitchen, with him following sluggishly behind you.

when you finally stopped, he glanced around, confused. “there’s nothing new…?”

you laughed and pointed at the oven. “open it.”

his brow arched with slight suspicion, but he did as you asked, crouching down and pulling the oven door open. he reached and grabbed the singular item sitting alone on the rack—

“a bun?” he questioned, his white brows knitting together as he stood back up. he seemed almost disappointed and you could only guess he assumed you had prepared him some lavish meal. but hey, you had already figured he’d be a bit slow and would need some extra help.

you bit back a giggle and leaned against the kitchen counter, a smile gracing your lips. “think about it, baby.” you encouraged, “could you tell me what you just found?”

it was almost cute how he was eyeing the bread roll that seemed almost miniscule between his fingers. “i found a bun… in the oven.” he repeated slowly. you watched as his droopy, half-lidded eyes went wide in what you thought was realization, until his lips parted again.

“did we run out of food?”

you smacked your forehead. “are you dense?” you placed your hands on your hips and let out a semi-annoyed sigh. “it’s an expression people say when—”

you were suddenly cut off when he bent down, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and lifted it just enough to place a tender kiss on your bare stomach. “i know,” he murmured against the soft skin, and you could feel his lips curling into a slight smile.

your breath hitched, warmth rushing to your cheeks as he straightened himself up and tangled his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

“sei…” you whispered, raking your fingers through his snowy-white hair, still a bit caught off guard. perhaps he wasn’t as dense as he seemed. then, you shivered when his cold palm slid under your shirt and rested against your stomach. he quietly chuckled at your reaction, leaning down until his lips grazed your ear.

“i was actually suffering terribly from baby fever, so i’m glad i didn’t pull out.”

your mind short-circuited as you gawked up at him with widened eyes, but he only gently patted your head with a lazy smile.

geez. what had gotten into him?!

𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎

reo had just pulled into the driveway of his mansion after treating you to an extravagant dinner at a five-star restaurant, your first date with him in quite a while. he patted your thigh affectionately as he turned off his rolls royce, but to his surprise, you simply unbuckled your seatbelt and stayed seated, your hands moving to dig through your purse.

his eyes flicked to you and his lips curved into his signature smile. he figured you were just waiting for him to open the car door for you, the usual princess treatment he was all too familiar with. “right. being away in england for so long made me forget how much my wife loves getting spoiled.”

but before he could make a move to exit the car, your fingers gripped onto his suit, pulling him gently back to his seat. he looked slightly startled, and glanced back at your giddy face with a raised brow. his gaze dropped to the small, silver card in your hand.

“what’s this, baby?” he asked, turning his body towards you.

“a custom-made scratch-off card,” you replied, handing it over to him. “just scratch it.”

your heart was pounding against your ribcage as you watched him flipping the card over, examining it, before fishing out a coin from the cup holder.

“if that’s what you want, princess,” he teased, “though if it’s a lottery ticket, you should know i’m not exactly lacking in that department.”

reo hummed as he started scraping at the surface. you bit your lip excitedly as the first bit of silvery dust flaked off, the image underneath beginning to reveal itself. his movements slowed, and his amethyst eyes widened as the layer was completely removed.

the sonogram appeared.

reo’s fingers tightened around the card, a breathless laugh escaping him as he shook his head in disbelief. a grin stretched across his lips, looking at you in awe.

you were unable to hold in your breath any longer. you let out a laugh, tilting your head to look at him from a better angle. “well, reo?”

“i’m going to be a father?”

“what does the sonogram say?”

he chuckled lightly, running a hand through his purple hair as he let the card fall into his lap. “how long have you known?”

“since you left for england,” you said as you shifted happily in your seat.

he reached over, cupping your nape as he pulled you into a slow kiss. relief washed over you so quickly it made your head spin.

he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as his hand trailed down to your stomach. “i wonder if it’ll be a girl or boy,” he murmured.

“could be both, actually.” you cut in, and he looked at you strangely.

“what do you mean?”

you grinned, gently brushing his jaw as you leaned back against your seat. “check the sonogram again.”

reo raised a brow, his curiosity piqued as he took the card back into his hand to inspect it. before long, his eyes widened comically as he saw a second fetus in the ultrasound.

“are you serious? we’re having twins?”

you laughed softly as you laced your arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “that’s riiight. prepare to spoil me tenfold, reo. you’re going to be feeding three people in one body now.”

his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist as he pressed his lips against yours once again in a sweet kiss, still dazed by the realization that he’s going to be a father to not one, but two children. “... there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“good,” you whispered, smiling as you kissed the tip of his nose before leaning back into your seat. “start by opening the car door for your pregnant wife.”

“yeah, yeah. anything for my spoiled princess.” he replied with an excited grin, finally exiting the royce. needless to say, you were not going to lift a single finger during this pregnancy.

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈

“b-baby, slow down!” isagi gasped as you shoved him towards the bedroom, kicking the door open and dragging him inside.

“on the bed, yoichi!” you ordered him with a grin on your face, watching with satisfaction as he reluctantly sat down on the edge of the mattress. he sighed with fondness, watching as you clumsily rummaged through the closet, before finally pulling out a blue shirt.

you walked over, placing the shirt face down on the bed to keep the words hidden. then, with no warning, you pushed his thighs apart, placing yourself between his legs as you reached for the hem of his shirt.

isagi raised an eyebrow, already amused. there’s nothing that should surprise him anymore with you, but somehow you prove him wrong every single time.

“are you trying to seduce me?” he smiled, lifting his arms with no resistance, allowing you to pull his shirt over his head.

you playfully smacked his chest. “trying? i already did, yo. you made it too easy.”

he rolled his eyes as his cheeks tinted a light pink. “whatever… you’re too cute.”

“close your eyes. no peeking while i’m putting this on you,” you said, grabbing the shirt off the bed. isagi’s eyes closed obediently, and he felt the fabric tighten around his torso as you slipped the shirt over his head.

“woww, you didn’t even get my size right,” he joked, opening his eyes but not looking down.

you whistled softly, letting your hand wander over your husband’s chest. “i know your size, but you just look hotter with a tight shirt.”

your fingers encircled isagi’s wrist as you dragged him across the room, excitedly positioning him in front of the tall mirror in the corner. “okay! read the shirt!”

he blinked, confused at first, then turned his gaze to the mirror, squinting his eyes as if that would help him decipher the reversed letters.

“be… nice to me… I’m going… to be a… fa…ther…?”

he froze, the last word catching in his throat. his blue eyes snapped to you, wide and stunned. “i’m gonna be a father?? you’re pregnant? actually?”

you smiled and buried yourself in his arms, your fingers mindlessly tracing the letters on his shirt. “i’ve taken three tests. all positive.”

before you could say anything else, he hooked his hands under your arms and lifted you into the air, his forearm supporting your ass and his other hand on your waist.

“god, i love you so much,” he laughed breathlessly, “give me a kiss.”

still laughing, you cupped his face and gave him a sweet peck on his lips.

“another one,”

you leaned in, pecking his lips a second time.

“that’s not enough,”

“you lovesick idiot,” you sighed, smiling helplessly. you leaned in again, but this time, he met you halfway. his hand on the back of your head, holding you in place as he kissed you deeply. the gasp you let out was quickly swallowed by his lips.

he set you down as if he had not just stolen your breath away, patting your head affectionately.

“thank you, my love.”

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐈

it should have been a normal day. barou should have followed his usual routine– wake up before sunrise, gel his hair, take a shower, and leave for his daily hardcore strength training.

but today was different. at exactly 5:12 a.m, barou opened his eyes with a low grunt and propped himself up with one elbow. instinctively, he leaned over to place a kiss on your forehead like he always did, only to stop once he was met with your wide eyes staring directly at him.

he scowled. “the hell are you lookin’ at me like that for?”

he tried to blink his morning irritation away, then dragged a hand down his face before reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “why are you awake?” his low voice was even more hoarse from sleep.

you groaned softly before scooting closer and snuggling against his bare, muscular chest. he let out a soft grunt, though his arm automatically wrapped around your waist.

“shoei… i’m hungry,” you mumbled into his skin.

“tch,” he clicked his tongue, pulling back slightly to look at you. “what, you want pudding? eggs? i’ll make something. i was getting up anyway.”

he rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp with a sigh, squinting to see you better.

but you shook your head and leaned forward, resting your chin on his shoulder with that sweet look he hated to admit always worked on him. “no… i really want pickle-flavoured ice cream. or a lotus biscuit with mayo on top…”

barou made a face. blinking at you judgmentally once, twice, and a third time before he placed a big palm on your abdomen and gently pushed you back onto the mattress.

“you’ve lost your mind,” he shrugged, tugging the blanket over you. he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. “go to sleep. you’re talkin’ nonsense.”

but you whined, tugging at his sturdy arm. sparkly eyes looking up at him. “i’m serious, shoei… i really, really want them…”

barou narrowed his eyes. “why would you want to eat that garbage?”

“please?” you batted your lashes, “for your beautiful wife?”

he sighed, standing up begrudgingly as he scratched the back of his neck. “god, you’re annoying…”

your eyes lit up, and before he could turn away, you got up and wrapped your arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. “thank you!”

barou rolled his eyes and grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squeezing them gently. “you’re a weird woman. suddenly craving crap combinations.”

you buried your face in his chest, nodding with a sheepish laugh.

he snorted, “what are you, pregnant or somethin’?”

as soon as he said what was intended to be a joke, you both froze. right… questionable cravings were a symptom of pregnancy.

“aha… y-you think?” you asked, laughing awkwardly. your eyes widen suddenly. “shit, my period is a few days late…”

his large hand silently found yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. “stay here. i’ll deal with the food,” he muttered. “and you’re takin’ a damn test after.”

you blinked. “what about practice?”

he didn’t look at you as he walked to the door.

“skipping. you always come first.”

—

“oi,” you heard barou’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door. followed by a light knock. “you okay? you’ve been in there for thirteen minutes.”

you opened the door slowly. he was standing there with his arms crossed, shirtless, with a towel around his neck. he looked at you with his usual stoic face. “well?”

you held out the positive pregnancy test with a meek smile playing on your lips. barou glanced at the stick, staring at the pink lines.

“...huh. guess this thing’s my fault.”

you let out a soft laugh, sniffling slightly. he pulled you in until your forehead bumped against his bare chest. his grip was gentle despite how rough his hands were. “we’re having a kid,” he muttered into your hair.

you smiled up at him, twinkly eyes, and his hand shot up to wipe away at the tears you didn’t know were falling. “don’t cry. i’ve dealt with two younger sisters.”

“i can take care of you.”

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apatheticsunday · 1 month ago

Text

Batfam Eldritch Horror

AKA "inspired by that one post about Danny being a flerken and living with the Batfam" idea! Except he looks pants-shitting, "oh dear god, what is that" terrifying.

I just love slightly feral animal-like Danny in a... shape. It's not immediately identifiable as a cat or dog, maybe he has a few too many legs that kind of look like a tail at one point? And when he skitters up walls like a particularly small dog-sized tarantula, it's terrifying enough to make seasoned criminals squeal.

Let's imagine Danny had some sort of accident with a portal and was Wizard-of-Oz'd into Gotham, a literal hellmouth of a city with so many curses that it'd make John Constantine start to sweat. And this city also has... weird Ecto. (In my brain, there's a connection between the Lazarus Pit and ectoplasm, like pit waters are the sewers of ectoplasm or something.) It's enough for Danny to still exist but he can't seem to stay human-shaped. It's better than being a Blob Ghost, but not by much. His fur-scales-feathers-skin-something look dark as the midnight sky.

And who should stumble on this weird-looking Thing aside from Damian, secret animal-whisperer and passionate Pokemon collector? Damian, who known what a scared feral animal looks like and who can coax it into his arms? It doesn't matter that Danny has maybe five or six limbs. He can make himself slightly smaller at will (not in a Magical-Girl-Transformation way, mind you. When he changes shape, there's the distinct snap of bones breaking and wet, fleshy sounds of his organs, muscles, ligaments, tendons, everything shifting).

Damian has literally been trained by the League of Assassins under the Demon Head. He's likely seen more people's insides than an ER surgeon; he's killed more than enough people in incredibly grotesque and violent ways to be totally unphased by Danny changing shapes. Maybe he'll actually be sort of touched, a bit pleased, that his new Thing pet would change itself so violently so Damian could hold it.

What would Damian name it? He's outwardly violent and aggressive towards others, but pretty passionate and heartfelt once he cares for someone. Alfred the Cat comes to mind. So maybe Damian takes one look at this supposedly scary Thing and thinks, "It looks like Father."

As in, Dark as Night? A shadow inspiring fear amongst criminals? Spoken about in whispers, sometimes laughed off as a joke but still cautiously reverent, just in case?

Danny's new name is Batman.

Of course, this causes some confusion when Damian comes home to Wayne Manor and says, "Batman and I will retire to my room." In front of Bruce, who naturally and kind-of-correctly assumes his son picked up another animal while on patrol. Bruce had a hard time explaining this to a very concerned Dick, who was holding up a wooden stake and a bible (Dick totally wasn't going to kill Bruce if he turned out to be a vampire but it's always good to be prepared!), after Damian apparently made a wayward comment that "Batman refuses to eat anything besides raw meat."

And Danny is having a great time!! Sure, Damian treats him like a pet, but he gets affectionate pats on the head, incredibly expensive steak, and a soft place to sleep. He awkwardly dragged several blankets from the living room to Damian's room to make a bed in the kid's closet. (Alfred watched from behind the couch as this six-legged hairy-ish catlike Thing determinedly waddled with three blankets in its mouth, occasionally tripping on its own legs. He went back to dusting the crown moulding silently. So, that's why Master Damian requested uncooked sirloin steak twelve times in last few days. Hm.)

So, the Batfam accept there is another Batman in the family. Except they haven't actually seen Danny (aside from Alfred and Damian).

Until Dick needs to talk to Damian and goes into the boy's room. But it's empty?? He could've sworn he heard somebody talking or something in here, but maybe not? He turns to leave and then hears it again: a soft kind of thump coming from Damian's armoire. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face as his Older Brother Instincts kick in. Jason used to hide in closets and try to scare Dick when he was little; Damian, despite being a child soldier and trained assassin, was still a little kid at heart, right? The kid's clearly hiding from Dick to scare him or something.

(Damian was in the Batcave, studiously typing "Google, what non-Earth animals reside in Gotham, please?" into the Batcomputer. I like to think that Damian uses the internet like a 85-year old man who thinks a Google employee personally replies to each question.)

So, Dick creeps forward and abruptly slams open the armoire doors!! Only to let out an unholy shriek of terror as Danny, who was taking a nap, frantically skitters out of the closet looking like a Frankenstein cat-dog with bat wings. He crawls under Damian's bed as Dick scrambles into the hallway.

The cat-dog-Thing is out of the bag now. Damian looks utterly deadpan as he explains that Batman is his pet and not to concern themselves with it; Bruce, Tim, Jason, and a white-faced Dick disagreed. They need to see it to make sure the Thing won't harm anybody, especially considering it's fucking living with them!! How do they know it won't try to eat them in their sleep??

"Batman does not eat raw human meat, Todd. Why are you concerned now? It has resided with us for two months now."

"Two months?" Dick nearly faints (again).

"Yes, Batman is very well-behaved, Master Dick." Alfred, who's been feeding Danny for the last two months and has seen all the little quirks the Thing has, offers a consoling half-smile.

Ultimately, the Batfam decide to keep Batman in exchange for scary dog privileges. They'll have to think of another name for Danny considering having two Batmans in Gotham would be pretty confusing (especially if one of them decided they did, in fact, like raw human flesh).

#dpxdc #damian wayne #danny fenton #danny phantom #batfam

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minisugakoobies · 11 months ago

Text

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted.

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem.

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you.

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around.

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around.

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous?

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye.

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago.

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him.

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late.

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs.

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back.

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that.

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You: It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me?

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort.

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little.

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is.

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one.

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance.

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response.

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing.

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man.

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible.

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not?

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now.

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide.

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge.

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back.

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands.

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu.

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon.

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it?

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses.

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.”

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close.

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?”

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment.

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now.

“I want what you promised me.”

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.”

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.”

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him.

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can.

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.”

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips.

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face.

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel.

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.”

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want.

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation.

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now.

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?”

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat.

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes.

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.”

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you.

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck.

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly.

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo.

“‘Gyu, please.”

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around.

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?”

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.”

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you.

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up.

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements.

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!”

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.”

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids.

“It’ll be something like this.”

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.”

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over.

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!”

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you.

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again.

“Kiss me.”

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.”

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip.

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.”

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands.

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.”

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture?

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.”

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?”

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.”

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?”

“I might have some ideas.”

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!”

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

#seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #mingyu #mingyu smut #svt smut #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt fanfic #seventeen fanfic #kim mingyu #fic: cross my heart

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sturnschris · 3 months ago

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SIT ON IT.

pairings: smart!goodgirl!reader x bf!chris (everything to them here)

content: riding your boyfriends face beacuse your turned on my his nose

warnings: oral, face riding, pet names, nose fetish, kinda dumification kink if you squint. etc

lowk inspired by this edit haha

a/n: been gone for a bit but i hope this makes up for it!!

952 words.

love ya!💋

chris’s hand rests on your thigh as you sit next to him, your head on his chest. you’ve been wanting to watch this movie for school—it’s supposed to help with a report you’re working on. but you can’t focus. all you can think about is chris’s stupidly perfect features, especially his nose. it’s so perfect you just wanna… sit on it. “baby, this movie’s so dumb,” he says casually, his voice pulling you halfway out of your thoughts. “mhm,” you mumble, not even registering his words, too busy staring at him like he’s the only thing in the world. he glances down at you, his lips pulling into a soft, innocent smile. “you okay, princess?” you blink, snapping out of your trance, your face heating. “huh? yeah, i’m fine.” he nods, still smiling so sweetly it makes your chest ache. “okay, baby.” he pats your thigh gently, his hand staying there as he turns back to the screen, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through your head. chris’s hand stays on your thigh as he keeps watching the movie, but he can’t help the way he feels your gaze burning into him. “you need something, ma?” he asks, glancing down at you. “wh- n-no, m’fine, chris,” you stammer, your voice betraying you. he doesn’t buy it for a second. his hand moves to your hip. “no, you’re not. c’mere,” he says softly, pulling you onto his lap like it’s second nature. “what’s wrong, hmm?” his lips brush against your neck, leaving soft, lazy kisses. you squirm slightly, heat rushing to your face. you can’t escape it—you have to be honest. but how are you supposed to tell your boyfriend that you’ve been staring at him because you want to sit on his face? “okay… but don’t be mean,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. he nods, his smile so sweet it makes your heart skip. “promise,” he says, his voice warm and soothing, like he has no idea what’s about to hit him.

“i wanna sit on your face.” chris almost chokes on his spit, his eyes widening as he looks at you. “you wanna what?” mortified, you bury your face in his chest, mumbling, “please don’t make me say it again.” he laughs softly, his chest shaking beneath you. “okay, baby. hop on.” you lift your head just enough to study his face, trying to gauge if he’s serious. “wait… really?” he presses a kiss to your temple, his voice low and sweet. “yeah, sure. why not?” before you can second-guess yourself, he gently lifts you from his lap, shifting to lay down on the couch, his head slightly propped up on the pillow. “c’mon, ma,” he says softly, his hands reaching for you. you straddle his chest nervously, your hands trembling slightly as they find his shoulders. his arms hook underneath your thighs, steadying you as he lifts you up toward his face, his movements gentle but deliberate. your heart races as you realize he’s absolutely serious—and you’re about to find out just how serious.

he kitten licks your clit, and you let out a sharp gasp, instinctively moving down onto his face. his tongue moves in slow, deliberate strides up and down your core, brushing his nose against your clit every time. it’s exactly what you wanted. you let out an extra loud moan, hoping he’ll get the hint without you having to say a word. to your surprise, he does. his tongue focuses there, his nose pressing against you just right, giving you everything you didn’t have the courage to ask for.

he thrusts his tongue into you, his nose hitting your clit every time. it feels so good, you can’t keep the words from tumbling out. “chris, fuck—” you whimper, squirming on his face. his hands move to your thighs, massaging them firmly as his tongue moves faster and faster, his nose bumping your sensitive nub harder with each movement. “feels—haa—mm—” you stammer, the pleasure making it impossible to form a coherent thought. “c’mon, baby,” he mumbles against you, his voice muffled but teasing. “you’re a smart girl, what are you tryna say?”“feels so—ah—s’good,” you manage to moan, your voice shaky as chris moans beneath you, clearly enjoying himself as much as you are. you grip the pillow behind his head, desperate for something to hold onto. “tastes so good, baby. shit—” he groans against you, his words sending a rush of heat to your cheeks. “m’gonna cum,” you whimper, your body trembling. he nods, patting your leg, his way of telling you to let go. “give it to me, ma,” he murmurs, his voice full of need. you let go on his tongue, grinding your clit against his nose as your release washes over you, leaving you breathless and completely undone. after you cum, you can’t even register what’s happening when chris picks you up effortlessly and flips you over so he’s on top of you. he kisses your temple, his lips soft and comforting. “y’did so good, my love,” he murmurs, his voice full of affection. your cheeks flush as you lean into his kisses, feeling safe and warm in his hold. “can i ask you something?” he whispers, his tone gentle. you hum in response, still catching your breath. “where did you get this idea?” he asks, curiosity laced in his words. your face heats up even more—how could you possibly explain that you were staring at him and got horny because of his nose? “i just… i like your nose,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. he raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. “my nose? mkay…” he chuckles softly, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you, like he’s never letting go.

a/n: lowk based on a sexy guy in my class w a big nose😝😝

all divider from. @issysh3ll

@delooshunalhoe @chrisdollete @christophersturnn @sturniologirlzz @sturnxies @lov3bug @mattsside @emely9274 @sturnlovematt22 @sophand4n4 @sfoiasturn

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo imagine #{bf!chris x smart!goodgirl!reader sturnschris}#{lilysggau}#sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic

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witchywithwhiskey · 7 months ago

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an afternoon of pumpkin picking

pairing: sugar daddy!ransom drysdale x sugar baby!female reader

summary: you've convinced your sugar daddy to take you pumpkin picking—despite his reservations about spending any amount of time on a farm—and the perfectly autumnal date takes a turn when deeper feelings come to light.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, smut, unprotected sex, masturbation (f), guided masturbation, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, filming/recording/taking sexual photos, oral sex (m receiving), light bdsm, free use, pussy spanking, panty sniffing, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (nixie, baby), love confessions (a bit of idiots in love), aftercare, happy ending, so much fluff

word count: 11.6k

a/n: this fic is inspired by this exchange about various babes as sugar daddies taking their sugar babies on fall dates. i loved the idea of ransom being a little grumpy about going pumpkin picking, and then it morphed into this because i decided i wanted to explore their deeper emotional connection so uh it ended up being a lot longer than i expected. but it's also very cozy and smutty and fluffy and perfect for this time of year!!! anyway, i had fun writing this, so i hope y'all enjoy reading it!!

Can’t believe you talked me into this.

The text from your sugar daddy, Ransom Drysdale, arrived on a brisk September morning as you were getting ready for the perfectly autumnal date you’d convinced him to plan. As you read the message, you could practically hear the affectionate exasperation in his tone, which made you smile to yourself.

It had taken quite a bit of your powers of persuasion to get Ransom Drysdale—the heir to the Blood Like Wine Publishing dynasty and the most blue-blooded Boston man you’d ever met—to agree to take you pumpkin picking out in the “boonies,” as he called anywhere beyond the city limits that wasn’t his “ancestral estate” (also his words).

But since you’d been seeing him for over a year, you knew all of Ransom’s weaknesses. And you’d used them to make a deal with your sugar daddy.

You’re going to have fun, I promise :) Don’t forget our deal.

You certainly hoped Ransom hadn’t forgotten about the arrangement you’d struck that ended up with him taking you pumpkin picking, especially since it was all you could think about that morning as you got ready and did your hair and makeup. Your thoughts kept straying to the deal you’d made, what you’d given him in exchange for the autumnal date of your dreams.

Ransom Drysdale was a dealmaker by trade, overseeing all publication acquisitions for Blood Like Wine. So after all your normal methods of persuasion had failed to convince him to take you pumpkin picking, you’d offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse. It was one that you knew you both would enjoy, but Ransom especially since it appealed to his nature.

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine as you stood inside the walk-in closet of your Beacon Hill townhouse apartment—the one Ransom paid for, of course.

It had been a gift when you’d accepted his request to be exclusively his sugar baby. He was the only man in your life anymore, and he’d said he wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so he got you the apartment and set up an allowance to make up for the other relationships you’d had to end.

Truthfully, it had been an incredibly easy decision to accept Ransom’s request. He was easily the youngest and handsomest of any man you’d been a sugar baby to—and if you had the tiniest little crush on him, you’d been certain you’d be able to keep it locked down so you didn’t jeopardize your relationship.

After all, Ransom had been clear when you first met: He wasn’t looking to fall in love.

Unfortunately for you, over the year that you’d been seeing him exclusively, your crush had blossomed into full-blown feelings. It was hard not to care for the grumpy, sarcastic publishing executive. He made you laugh, he made you feel safe, and the sex with him was better than any you’d ever had.

More than a year into seeing him and it got harder and harder to hide the fact that you cared deeply for him. You wanted to bundle yourself in one of his sweaters and stay with him forever—but you knew you couldn’t let on about your feelings. You didn’t want to risk him finding out and ending your relationship because he feared you were falling in love with him…

Of course, there were other ways your relationship could end.

Your fingers toyed with the sleeve of a sweater hanging in your closet as you thought about your sugar daddy. A pit in your stomach opened wide as you considered, yet again, it was probably inevitable that one day he would grow tired of you and move on to someone else. Even if you didn’t tell him how you felt, he could still leave you.

It was what happened with these kinds of relationships—the men left when they got bored or tired. Or when they wanted to settle down. Or when they fell in love with someone else.

Add to that, you were keenly aware that you were getting old enough that a man as young as Ransom—who was in his 40s—might want to soon trade you in for a newer, younger model.

The thought broke your heart a little, and you had to push it away. You cut off the entire train of thought, knowing that it would lead nowhere good, especially when your sugar daddy was due to pick you up in just a short time. As you went back to getting ready, in your mind, you repeated your mantra to yourself: You would not love Ransom Drysdale.

It was a lie, of course, but you were hoping that if you said it to yourself enough times it would become true. It hadn’t worked yet, though.

Thankfully, your phone vibrated, distracting you.

Wear that skirt I like. And one of the sweaters you stole from me.

A huff of an affronted laugh escaped you at the brisk tone of Ransom’s message. You hated it when he barked orders at you like you were one of the interns at his office. Sure, technically you were his employee, but he didn’t have to use that tone—especially before a date.

You assumed he was cranky because he still didn’t want to go pumpkin picking, but that didn’t mean you had to put up with it. Or respond at all. Even if you did follow his orders, since that was part of your deal for the day.

Tossing your phone on your bed without replying, you pulled out the skirt he was referring to from your closet. It was a short, flouncy thing that swished dangerously around your thighs, offering tantalizing teases of your ass to anyone who might be looking at your backside.

Ransom loved it because it afforded him a sneak peek of what lingerie you were wearing. One of his favorite things to gift you as his sugar baby was lingerie. He loved seeing you in it, touching you in it, fucking you in it. And what he liked most was sneaking a peek of your lingerie from those glimpses beneath your flouncy skirt.

On that September morning, you selected a black satin matching set to wear beneath the skirt, then pulled a maroon sweater from the pile in your closet.

He may have been a spoiled, rich man, but Ransom was a gentleman, and if you were cold, he’d give you his sweater—which was how you’d amassed a small hoard of your sugar daddy’s sweaters. You never could bring yourself to give them back once they made their way into your closet. Nor could you bear to wash them.

In your loneliest moments, you’d pull on one of Ransom’s sweaters and let the expensive scent of his cologne comfort you. He smelled like whiskey and something spicy—something that matched perfectly with the fall and winter.

You’d never told anyone about wearing Ransom’s sweaters when you were alone in your Beacon Hill apartment, but your sugar daddy knew you’d collected many of them.

Ransom didn’t seem to mind, though. Or, at least, he never asked for them back. But sometimes, like that day, he’d ask that you wear one for him. It always sent a special thrill through you to wear your sugar daddy’s sweaters, like it meant he was staking a claim on you that was deeper and more like a typical romantic relationship.

A giddy, happy smile curled your lips as you got dressed and added jewelry before checking to make sure your hair and makeup were still done to your satisfaction.

You were just pulling on some black mary jane shoes when your phone chimed with another text.

Let me see, nixie.

Your traitorous heart fluttered at the nickname. Most of the sugar daddies you’d had relationships with called you by much more common pet names—sweetheart, honey—if they used them at all. But leave it to Ransom to pull a pet name from obscure European folklore.

You’d had to look it up after the first time he used it, and when you found out it was a kind of river mermaid who lured men to their deaths, you’d laughed to yourself. Ransom had essentially likened you to a siren, and at the time, you’d wondered if he believed you could lure him to his death. It seemed ridiculous, especially when you were the one in danger of getting their heart broken.

Sometimes, when he used that pet name, you wondered if Ransom liked you as much as you liked him. If that was why he’d chosen it, because he worried you’d hurt him somehow. But that was a dangerous thought and you reminded yourself it would only lead to heartbreak.

You tried not to have a reaction to the nickname. You tried to stop your heart from fluttering and your lips from curving into a smile. But it was impossible.

So to distract yourself, you did as Ransom had asked in his message. You snapped a quick photo of your outfit—the short, flouncy skirt paired with his maroon sweater and your black mary janes. You’d chosen to forgo tights because September in Massachusetts could get warm, especially with the sun shining as brightly as it was outside your window.

You sent the photo and began gathering your things to wait for Ransom to arrive for your date, but his response came back quicker than you expected.

Pretty, but I want to see it in person. I’m outside.

Your heart gave another flutter at the compliment, then flipped entirely when he said he was outside. Bounding to your bedroom window that overlooked the cobblestone streets of Beacon Hill, you grinned when you saw Ransom’s silver 1972 BMW coupe parked outside your door.

Ransom might not be as excited for your pumpkin picking date as you were, but he was early. That had to mean something, right?

You didn’t let that thought flourish any further, pushing it aside as you grabbed your keys and phone and shoved them in the bag you’d picked to match your outfit. Then you were flouncing down the stairs of your townhouse to the front door and pushing through it, pausing only to lock it behind you.

When you turned to the street, you were struck with the sight of Ransom Drysdale leaning against his BMW, a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. Your heart raced and your belly swooped—it felt like your entire body was having a visceral reaction to seeing Ransom dressed in an autumnal outfit that suited him so well.

A golden brown wool coat hung off Ransom’s broad shoulders, slightly obscuring the worn cream-colored cable knit sweater that covered his expansive chest. A purple and gold scarf with some kind of intricate design hung casually around his neck, adding to the look that was completed by dark slacks, brown loafers and a pair of sunglasses with gold rims that matched the rings he wore on his hands.

Despite his sunglasses, you could feel Ransom’s eyes on you and you bit your lip against a giddy grin, worried that your schoolgirl crush on your sugar daddy would show plain as day on your face if you let it slip free. Instead, you gave him an exaggerated onceover before letting out a low whistle of appreciation as you stepped into the narrow sidewalk lining the cobblestone street.

“Quit gawking and c’mere, nixie,” Ransom growled, using his free hand to grab your waist and pull you into him.

You landed against his broad, muscular chest with a light, “oomph,” and instantly wound your arms around his shoulders, enjoying the way he felt so steady and solid against you.

“You love it when I check you out, don’t you, daddy?” you teased in a soft voice meant only for him.

The street wasn’t busy, but it was so narrow that if any of your neighbors had their windows open to let in the crisp September air, they’d easily be able to overhear you. And you didn’t want anyone else hearing you call Ransom ‘daddy’—that was just for him.

“I do,” Ransom admitted in a rumbling voice, matching your low tone. “And I love looking at you in your pretty little outfit I picked out…” He trailed off, ducking down closer to you and nudging your nose to tilt your head back, ghosting his mouth over your lips teasingly when you canted your face to meet his. “But daddy needs a kiss, baby.”

The words were barely past his lips before you were surging up onto your tiptoes and kissing Ransom. He tasted like black coffee and cinnamon, and you couldn’t get enough of it. When his tongue slid across your lower lip seeking entrance, you were helpless to do anything but open for him, moaning softly as he plunged into your mouth.

The kiss had started out chaste enough for the sidewalk of Beacon Hill, but Ransom seemed to be as ravenous as you felt, hooking his arms around your waist and bending you backward with the intensity of his need to devour you.

It had your head spinning with pleasure, but you still gave him as good as you got, kissing him back with just as much fervor, your leg rising of its own accord to hook around his thigh beneath his open coat.

Gradually, Ransom slowed the kiss until his mouth was decadently nibbling on your lower lip before licking the sting of his teeth away. Then, finally, he pulled away and you were able to drag in a deep breath, trying to get your head on straight as you lowered your leg back to the sidewalk.

“Get in the car, nixie,” Ransom growled, though there was no anger in his tone, only a desirous heat that you recognized, since it was swirling warmly in the depths of your core. “Before I decide I’d rather take you back inside your apartment and fuck you in nothing but my sweater instead of taking you pumpkin picking.”

His free hand slid down your back and he groped the soft curve of your ass shamelessly over your skirt, right there on the street. Still, you couldn’t help but melt at his rough handling, a gasp escaping as his fingers dug ruthlessly into your flesh.

For just a second, you debated whether you wanted Ransom to deliver on his threat, but decided against it. The prospect of seeing your sugar daddy going pumpkin picking was too good to pass up.

“Ok, ok, I’m getting in the car,” you huffed on a laugh, your voice breathy in a way you couldn’t help as you squirmed away from Ransom’s groping hand. Your sugar daddy chuckled, but let you go, then turned to open the door of his BMW for you.

He waited until you were settled on the soft leather seat, your seatbelt buckled across your lap, then leaned into the car and handed you the coffee he’d been holding. You took it with no small amount of surprise, having assumed it was his own coffee.

“For you, your favorite,” he murmured before brushing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry for being short with you this morning.”

A stunned expression froze on your face, his words spinning around in your mind so loudly, you barely heard the thump of the car door closing. Your eyes flicked up to watch Ransom cross in front of the car, your heart racing like you’d just sprinted an entire marathon.

It was then that you knew, unequivocally, without any doubt, that you loved Ransom Drysdale.

Your sugar daddy slid smoothly into the driver’s seat and pulled his door shut before glancing at you. You gave him a weak smile, trying to hid the fact that you felt like a bomb had just been dropped inside your heart, and his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

“Don’t tell me they fucked up your drink,” he fumed, shoving his keys in the ignition and starting his BMW. He threw an arm around the back of your seat, his chest close enough to your shoulder that you could feel the warmth radiating from him as he carefully backed up, then maneuvered onto the street. All the while, he was muttering, “It’s a fucking pumpkin spice latte, they must make thousands of them a day. How can they fuck it up?”

When he merged into traffic at the end of the street heading in the direction of the local coffee shop, Ransom finally pulled his arm away from the back of your seat. You grabbed his hand before he could put it back on the wheel, squeezing it to get his attention.

“The latte’s fine, Ran—it’s perfect,” you assured him, even though you hadn’t taken a sip yet. Some of the anger drained from his expression and he executed a u-turn to turn in the other direction of the coffee shop, but his jaw was still ticking with annoyance and you searched for an explanation that wasn’t the truth. When you couldn’t think of anything else, you blurted, “I was just surprised you remembered my favorite coffee.”

“Of course I remembered,” he said after a moment of silence. His voice was gruff, like he didn’t know what to do with his sweet gesture being addressed so directly, but his mood seemed to lighten, his annoyance forgotten. Slipping his hand from your fingers, he settled his palm firmly on your thigh, giving you a playful squeeze as he shot you a smirk. “Though I don’t think that sugary nonsense should really be called coffee,” he snarked, giving your leg another squeeze to let you know he was only teasing.

You huffed an exasperated laugh and settled your free hand on top of his, holding onto him while he drove skillfully through the busy streets of Boston, heading toward the city limits.

Ransom’s joke washed away the remnants of whatever tension your revelation, and your need to hide it from him, had caused between the two of you. Of course, you still felt the knowledge that you loved him hovering at the edge of your mind, but it was easy to sink into Ransom’s comforting presence and, if not entirely forget about it, at least more easily pretend you didn’t know you were in love with your sugar daddy.

On the drive, you made conversation with Ransom, asking him about his work and his family. He’d spent time with them the previous weekend and hadn’t seen you as a result. But he skipped quickly over the family party he’d attended and instead focused on telling you about some of the books he’d acquired for Blood Like Wine.

You didn’t like Ransom’s family, based on what little you knew about them. And you didn’t feel even a little bit bad about it because you were certain they’d never like you, especially considering how you’d met Ransom. But it still made you sad to think about him facing them alone. Your heart thumped with sympathy and you curled your fingers more possessively around his hand on your thigh.

Ransom shot you a lopsided smile and turned the conversation around on you, asking about what books you’d been reading, and how the rest of your hobbies were going. He didn’t need to ask about your work because he’d made sure you didn’t need a job other than keeping him company—and especially didn’t need any other sugar daddies.

So you told him about what you were reading and all the other things you did to occupy your time while he listened and asked questions. He especially loved hearing your opinions on the Blood Like Wine books he’d acquired.

A little over an hour outside the city, Ransom’s BMW pulled into a gravel driveway beside a large sign that read Johnson’s Family Farm. There were smaller signs lining the drive advertising the farm’s apple orchards, hayrides, farm stand, and, of course, the pumpkin patch.

Beyond the windows of Ransom’s BMW, you could see the farm sprawling out toward the distant horizon, plenty of picturesque little red buildings and beautiful fields filled with various fruits and vegetables. But there was something off about the farm, and it took you a moment to realize what it was: The whole place was deserted.

It was a little early in the day, just after lunch time, but you were still surprised by how empty the parking lot was. And you didn’t even see any workers, or cars that might belong to them. It was just Ransom’s BMW and the deserted farm.

“Where is everyone?” you asked, turning in your seat to Ransom. “Are you sure they’re open?” It was the weekend, they must’ve been open, but you couldn’t make sense of why no one was there.

Ransom snorted, giving you a devious smirk as he put the car in park and turned it off.

“I bought out the farm for a couple hours, it’s just us and the pumpkins, nixie,” he explained, squeezing your thigh one last time before stepping out of the car and rounding the front to open your door for you.

You stepped out onto the gravel in a bit of a daze, still shocked by his words. You knew Ransom was wealthy—he was a high-level executive at one of the most successful prestige publishers in the country, not to mention the money he inherited from his family—but him buying out an entire farm just for your date was one of the most extravagant things he’d ever done. Your mind reeled as you tried to fathom how much that would even cost.

Ransom curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. He’d taken off his sunglasses, so you were met with the sight of his sparkling blue eyes. Paired with his devastatingly handsome smirk, your knees instantly went weak and your mouth parted in a wordless plea for him to kiss you.

He dropped a quick peck to your lips that was over too soon and swept his thumb across your cheek in a soothing gesture, your surprise melting into happiness as you realized you got to have Ransom all to yourself on your date.

“C’mon, nixie, did you really think I’d agree to go pumpkin picking—to go tromping through the dirt on a farm,” he scoffed, his tone warm even if it was a little derisive. “And deal with hordes of screaming children and their families?”

Ransom raised an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but snort a laugh as you rolled your eyes. You didn’t even need to answer, because of course Ransom wouldn’t want to deal with anyone else while he was enduring the absolute torture of going pumpkin picking. But then his next words distracted you from thinking about how spoiled he was.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten our deal. I have plans for you, and we needed the farm all to ourselves for them,” he teased, his smirk turning impish as he ducked down and captured your lips in another quick kiss.

Your heart was racing with excitement, your mind turning over his words and wondering what he could have planned for you while Ransom grabbed your hand and led you into the farm. You shook your head to clear it of all the naughty thoughts that had popped into your mind, and focused on your sugar daddy, who was following the signs toward the pumpkin patch with a grim acceptance in his expression.

The September sun was warm on your shoulders, but there was a cool breeze, the lingering chill of the morning clinging to the day and you curled around Ransom’s arm while you walked. You tried to distract your sugar daddy from the eventuality of leaving the nice dirt path to wade into the pumpkin patch by chattering about fond memories you had of going apple picking and exploring corn mazes with friends when you were younger.

When you got to the area where you could pick your own pumpkins, Ransom paused at the edge, using your clasped hands to pull you to a stop alongside him. Your chatter cut off mid-sentence and you looked curiously to your sugar daddy, finding his brows lowered over his stormy blue eyes as he considered the haphazard spread of soft soil, scattered hay and orange pumpkins.

“I still don’t really see the point of this,” he muttered, giving the pumpkin patch a dubious look.

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking Ransom looked younger than his years in that moment—like a kid who was being introduced to something new and didn’t trust that they were going to like it.

You curled into Ransom’s chest, your arms twining around his neck while his settled easily around your waist. You looked up at him and waited to speak until he dragged his gaze from the pumpkin patch behind you to meet your eyes.

“Normally, the point would be to take some pumpkins home and carve them,” you explained patiently. Ransom narrowed his eyes on you suspiciously, as if he believed you were going to try to convince him to do such an unfathomably pedestrian thing, and the corners of your mouth flickered as you suppressed an even wider smiler. “But something tells me even my powers of persuasion aren’t strong enough to get you to do that.”

Ransom only snorted, his eyes flicking disdainfully to the pumpkins over your shoulder then back at you. “Definitely not.”

But there was a curiosity buried deep in his gaze, and you wondered if one day—if you were together long enough—he might be willing to try some pumpkin carving.

Surprisingly, you could picture it. Ransom with his worn, threadbare sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, grimacing as he yanked pumpkin guts from inside a big, orange gourd. It almost made you giggle to think about.

Instead, you shook your head to clear the image from your thoughts, not wanting to get your hopes up that Ransom would be a fixture in your life long enough that you could convince him to carve pumpkins with you.

Although, maybe if you offered to blow him while he did… You shook your head again and met Ransom’s curious gaze, giving him a bright smile that was only a little bit fake.

“Then we can just pick out a couple pumpkins for my front steps,” you said sunnily, bouncing up onto your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Ransom’s cheek. “They’re pretty decorations whether we carve them or not.”

You began to pull away, intent on starting your search for the perfect pumpkins, but Ransom’s arms tightened around your waist, like he didn’t want to let go yet.

“You’d be a much prettier decoration than any of these gourds, nixie,” he murmured, and you turned your face to him in surprise at the gruffness in his tone. There was some emotion laced through his voice that you couldn’t place, and before you could puzzle it out, Ransom’s mouth caught yours, sending your thoughts scattering as he kissed you deeply.

When you finally broke away for a breath, your body was buzzing with awareness of Ransom’s and a warmth that had nothing to do with the bright September sun had bloomed between your thighs. You had half a mind to drag Ransom back to the car and have him do something about what he’d started, but you were determined to go pumpkin picking.

Pushing aside the distracting hum of desire filling your body, you pulled away from Ransom’s warmth and began carefully stepping through the pumpkin patch. The smell of earth and the distinct scent of pumpkins surrounded you, calming some of the buzzy heat Ransom had stirred up, and you were able to focus on your search for the perfect pumpkins.

Once Ransom got over the fact that he would have to walk through the dirt in his nice loafers—which took a few moments of complaining—he began picking his way through the pumpkins. He kept calling out to you when he’d found one that was particularly deformed or ugly in some way, trying to claim they had “character.” But you knew he was just being a pest to make you laugh and smile.

To his credit, he was making you laugh, and the smile on your face was so wide it hurt a little.

Every time he held up a terrible pumpkin like it was a prize catch, you shook your head at him, but your laughter echoed across the fields of the farm. And you couldn’t help but notice that Ransom seemed to be having fun, too, his own smile staying fixed on his handsome face as you both made your way through the pumpkin patch.

“What about this one?” Ransom called, from a little ways away, having wandered off in a different direction. “Now this is a pumpkin.”

You stood up from where you’d been bent over, looking at some moderately sized pumpkins to find Ransom standing beside a massive orange thing. It was almost as high as Ransom’s waist, tipped on its side, but as you looked harder, something about it seemed off.

First, it was clearly meant to be part of a display set up by the farm, since it stood in front of an artfully arranged stack of hay bales that were topped with smaller pumpkins. The rest of the field stretched out behind the setup, and you suspected it had been constructed in an attempt to give visitors to the farm a photo op, where families or groups of friends could pose for the perfect autumnal pictures.

But as you walked closer to Ransom, and smoothed your hands over the large pumpkin, you realized something else was off about the gourd.

“Ran,” you started dryly, cutting your eyes to him, finding him admiring the pumpkin. “This isn’t a real pumpkin—it’s fake, for the photo op,” you said, waving your hand at the whole display.

Ransom seemed confused for a moment, then looked at the bales of hay arranged behind it as if he was seeing them for the first time. Since you were closer, you could see a little sign that had the name of the farm tacked into the hay, and had to give it to Johnson’s Family Farm—they seemed to know what they were doing.

“Figures the first pumpkin I actually like is fake,” Ransom muttered, turning to you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he curled his big body around yours.

You bit your lip against a laugh and stroked your fingers through his soft brown hair. “Don’t worry, Ran, I’m sure we’ll find something you like.”

His thick arms squeezed you tight and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto one another. It was a sweet moment—until Ransom’s hands began to wander down your back, stroking down your spine to the swell of your ass. But he didn’t stop there. His hands slid further down and under your skirt, groping your thighs shamelessly and kneading the soft flesh of your ass.

“Remind me again about the deal we made, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, his tone thick with lust as he used his big hands to pull you closer, his bulge pressing into your stomach.

Your mind was swimming with desire, your body arched into the bigger form of your sugar daddy, but you managed to remember the words of the agreement you’d made—the one that had finally convinced Ransom it would be worth it to take you pumpkin picking.

“I have to do everything you say,” you recited the terms of your deal, your voice breathless with excitement. “And you can do anything you want with me.”

Ransom made a rumbling sound deep in his chest, the vibrations teasing your nipples through your sweater and sheer lingerie. Your breasts felt heavy, aching to be touched, but you kept your arms around Ransom’s broad shoulders, waiting to see what he’d do.

“I think it’s time for you to pay up, baby,” Ransom murmured, walking you backward until your ass collided with the big, fake pumpkin. “I wanna take some pictures of my pretty sugar baby on the biggest pumpkin in the patch.”

The plastic was cold against your bare thighs and you sucked in a gasp, your body tensing in Ransom’s grip.

He seemed to understand your plight, though, because he uncurled himself from around your body—after giving your ass a lingering squeeze.

Straightening, Ransom’s eyes caught yours, his blue gaze sparkling with mischief and a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he shrugged out of his wool coat. He swung it around behind you, laying it down on the pumpkin before his hands fell to your hips.

“Need a boost?” he asked, his lips curving into a deviously handsome smirk as his hands settled on your hips.

Truthfully, you didn’t need the help. The pumpkin was only a little higher than your ass, and you could have easily hopped up onto it. But arousal was slinking through your body, making you feel heavy and achy and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have Ransom’s hands on you for a little longer.

“Yes, please, daddy,” you said sweetly, giving Ransom your most charming smile and enjoying the way his eyes darkened at the honorific.

Ransom pressed close to you, his expensive cologne filling your senses as he pinned you against the pumpkin under the guise of helping you. But you could feel the hard, thick length in his slacks digging into your soft belly and you knew he was enjoying the excuse to hold you just as much as you were.

Slowly, he eased you up onto the pumpkin, the wool of his coat scratchy against the back of your bare thighs, but much warmer and softer than the cold plastic of the decoration.

When he settled you right where he wanted you, it took all your self-control not to spread your legs for Ransom. You bit your lip against a sultry smile and kept your legs closed, trying to look nice for the photos he was going to take.

Still, you couldn’t help but murmur a breathy, “Thank you, daddy,” that had your blood running even hotter through your veins.

Ransom seemed just as affected as you, but he managed to hold himself together, dropping a quick kiss to your lips before rumbling, “Good girl, nixie.”

Then he was stepping away, taking his warmth and delicious scent with him as he retreated a few paces and pulled out his phone. You arranged yourself in a pretty pose on the pumpkin, smiling for Ransom’s camera, and adjusting your legs or arms or the tilt of your head as he asked.

You’d been a little worried that giving Ransom free reign to order you around would lead to him barking commands at you like you were a dog. But he’d taken your words about not liking being talked to like that to heart—no doubt helped by the reminder of his text going unanswered that morning—and he kept his voice warm and light as he guided you through the poses he wanted for the photos he was taking.

It was more fun than you expected. You’d never done any kind of photoshoot, and you found yourself enjoying Ransom’s gentle commands helping you pose for him. He took so many photos of you perched on that fake pumpkin, you began to wonder what he planned to do with them.

But then his directions took a new turn, and you couldn’t help the smirk that curved your lips.

“Now spread your legs,” Ransom urged, bending down so he was crouched in the field, being careful not to let his pants touch the dirt. “Put your feet up—yeah, just like that.” Ransom’s eyes sparkled in the bright September sunshine as he watched you shift into the pose he wanted, his mouth pulled wide in a wolfish grin. “Let daddy see what’s under that pretty skirt of yours.”

Leaning back on your hands, you lifted your knees and spread them wide, balancing precariously on top of the big, fake pumpkin. Your skirt fell around your hips, baring your black silk panties for Ransom’s camera. Even a few paces away, you could hear his inhale of breath when he got his first glimpse of the thin slip of fabric barely covering your glistening slit.

Excited thrills zipped through your body, more wetness gathering between your thighs as you watched Ransom’s blue eyes darken. Your pussy was so close to being on full display in broad daylight, and even though you knew the farm was deserted, the possibility of somehow being caught still made the tension in you crackle deliciously.

But that was the fun of following Ransom’s orders—you’d known from the moment you offered it up for the deal that he would have you doing something naughty. You just hoped, as your core ached to be filled, that your sugar daddy would end the teasing soon and fuck you over the pumpkin he had you sitting on.

“Rub your pussy, baby,” Ransom rumbled, his voice pitching lower. “Let me see you make a mess of your pretty panties—all for me.”

His tone was drenched in a desire that made you even wetter, your body responding to his voice alone. You were so gone for him, you didn’t even care that no other man had ever made you wet just from his voice. You just wanted him to keep talking—keep ordering you to do more filthy things.

Putting all your weight on one hand, you slipped the other between your thighs, using two fingers to rub your clit through your black silk panties. You suspected they were expensive, just like all the lingerie Ransom had gifted you, but you didn’t think about how much they cost. You only stared into Ransom’s camera and let your eyes go heavy-lidded, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan as pleasure pulsed through your body.

“Good girl, nixie,” Ransom purred, shifting closer but staying down on his haunches. Soft clicks of a camera shudder came from his phone as he took photo after photo, capturing the way your fingers dipped down to your slit and pushed your panties ever so slightly into your dripping hole. “Fuck—yeah, just like that, rub that pretty pussy like a good little slut for daddy.”

A whimper slipped from your lips and a shudder wracked your whole body at the pleasure that suffused your entire being. Your fingers teased your wet slit while Ransom watched, his phone camera trained on you while he took photos of your lewd actions. It was headier than you would’ve expected, your thoughts scattering as your hips rocked gently, pressing your cunt against your fingers instinctively.

“Daddy, ‘m so empty,” you wailed softly, pushing your fingers into your pussy through your panties, whining desperately when they couldn’t go deep enough. The black satin was soaked in your juices, feeling good as it slipped against your wet lower lips, but you hated it in that moment because it was the only thing stopping you from being filled. “P-please, daddy!”

One of Ransom’s hands dropped from his phone to palm his dick through his pants, and you whimpered louder with a wordless plea. You opened your eyes wider and pouted your lips, imploring him to put you out of your misery—either by giving you another order, or by sinking his fat cock into your aching pussy.

Ransom’s features darkened with desire, his handsome face twisting into an expression that was almost a scowl as he rose from his crouch to tower over where you were perched. Your own expression lightened and turned hopeful, sure he was going to tuck his phone away and fill you up, but instead, he chuckled darkly.

Skimming his free hand down your inner thigh, he groped you briefly, your skin tingling everywhere he touched. But then he ignored your pussy entirely and instead tugged on the hem of your sweater.

“Pull up your shirt, nixie, show me your slutty body,” Ransom rasped, his voice hoarse with his own need while he palmed his dick again, keeping his phone camera trained on you.

You whined and squirmed pathetically at the quick tease of his touch, but followed his order all the same. You tugged the hem of your sweater up, catching it between your teeth to keep it from falling down again before you went back to rubbing your pussy.

You knew how you must’ve looked—your legs spread wide, your shirt pulled up to show off both parts of your black silk matching set and your hand pressed between your thighs, rubbing your pussy shamelessly. You must’ve looked like a perfect little whore for Ransom, and by the way his eyes sparkled and his mouth curved into a satisfied smirk, he loved it.

“Good girl, nixie,” he murmured, soft clicks of the camera shutter coming from his phone as he took even more photos while he stood over you. “You’re such a good little slut for me, baby, such a perfectly obedient girl.” His eyes flicked from his phone screen to your eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good to do everything daddy tells you?”

With the soft cotton of your sweater in your mouth, you couldn’t speak, so you nodded, holding Ransom’s gaze as you did so. You wanted him to see it was the truth—it did feel good to do what he told you. Because you trusted him. You knew he’d never tell you to do anything that might hurt you.

Something shifted in Ransom’s eyes as he read your expression—something that looked a lot like surprise melting into a profound awareness that seemed to frighten him. As you watched, his eyes hardened just a little bit, the hand holding his phone dropping out of the way as he stared at you intensely.

“Are you sure you can handle it, sugar baby, doing everything I tell you?” he asked, a harshness in his tone that spoke to an underlying animosity you knew wasn’t truly directed at you.

You realized all of a sudden that you’d tipped your hand. You’d shown Ransom you trusted him, and, in the process, shown him that your feelings for him were deeper than they should be between a sugar baby their sugar daddy. His question was a challenge, and an offering of an escape at the same time.

But, for all that you’d avoided showing Ransom how you truly felt about him, you simply couldn’t run away from him. If you’d been able to do that, you would’ve parted ways with your sugar daddy already.

So you held Ransom’s glinting blue gaze and nodded resolutely. His expression hardened further.

“Spank your pussy,” Ransom growled, his voice sounding as rough as the gravel in the farm’s parking lot. “Show me what a dirty little slut you are and slap your cunt as hard as you can.”

Your whole body quivered with anticipation as you drew back your hand from your wet, puffy pussy. Your silk panties were soaking wet, and you knew the flimsy fabric wouldn’t protect your sensitive slit from the sting of the spank, but Ransom gave you an order, and you intended to follow it—to show him how much you trusted him, and cared for him.

Using the flat of your fingers, you slapped your cunt as Ransom instructed, as hard as you could manage. Electrifying pain streaked through your body, making you cry out and arch violently on the pumpkin you were perched on, your other hand gripping tightly to Ransom’s wool coat to keep you balanced. A deep, blazing pleasure nipped at the sensation’s heels and your cry devolved quickly into a debauched moan that was muffled by the sweater in your mouth.

It took you a moment to force your gaze back to Ransom, his eyes swirling with so many emotions, you didn’t have a hope of discerning them. But he held his phone up again, no doubt framing you within the screen and said in a gruff voice, “Again.”

That time, since you were expecting it, it was easier to brace for the sting of pain and the burning pleasure that swept the smarting tingle away. But your body still responded, your spine curving and your legs shaking wildly, your lips falling open in another muted moan as your teeth clung to the sweater so it didn’t slip free from your mouth.

Ransom’s camera captured the whole thing—you knew because he watched the screen instead of you, his mouth twisting into a depraved smirk.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Ransom rumbled, some of the warmth you typically heard in your sugar daddy’s voice seeping back into his words. He must’ve heard it, too, because his next words were harsher. “Does it feel good to spank your pussy like the dirty little slut she is?

“Uh huh,” you mumbled around the sweater in your mouth. You tried to tell him it felt good, but the words came out entirely garbled, though Ransom seemed to understand.

“Are you gonna come from slapping your naughty cunt?” he asked, his eyes darkening with hungry intent as he watched your face, waiting for your response.

Your pussy pulsed at his filthy question, and you thought maybe it was possible to come from spanking your puffy slit, especially if your fingers caught your clit with each slap. But truthfully, you didn’t know—you’d never tried. So you answered Ransom honestly, muttering, “Ionno,” around the sweater in your mouth.

Ransom huffed an impatient sound and reached for you to tug the sweater free from your teeth, his actions gentle even despite his obvious annoyance. “Say that again.”

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered. “I can try.”

The expression on Ransom’s face shifted again, but it became even more unreadable. He held your gaze for a moment, as if he was searching for something, though you didn’t know what.

“You want to try?” he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You acted instinctively, pushing yourself up so you were no longer balancing on your hand and reaching past Ransom’s phone to grab his sweater to pull him down for a kiss. Your lips moved sweetly against his for a moment, before you pulled back and stared deeply into his eyes.

“I want to do everything you tell me to do,” you said, reciting the words of the deal you’d struck with Ransom, but changing them just a little, to tell him again that you wanted him, you trusted him. “I want you to do anything you want with me.”

A look of something almost like fury flitted across Ransom’s face, and then he was surging forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, as if he meant to brand you with his mouth. You moaned into him, which only seemed to make him kiss you harder, his tongue pushing past your lips to sweep into you as if he owned you.

In that moment, if he’d asked, you would have told him he did.

Just as suddenly as he’d kissed you, Ransom pulled away and he shoved his phone in the pocket of his expensive slacks. Then, before you’d even recovered from his kiss, he grabbed your hips and spun you to the side, guiding your shoulders down so you were laying draped sideways across the big pumpkin.

“Panties off,” he growled, his voice a low rumbling contrast to the sharp clinking of his belt buckle as he undid his pants. “Give ‘em to me.”

You were quick to follow his orders, hooking your fingers in the black silk panties and shoving them down your legs, pulling them off and then handing them to Ransom. You watched your sugar daddy hold them up to his face and take a deep breath, inhaling your scent as his other hand dove into his boxer briefs.

Because your head was hanging over the side of the fake pumpkin beneath your back, you had a front row seat to Ransom’s big hand stroking his hard length, your mouth watering with the desire to taste him on your tongue. A whine slipped from your lips and you squirmed, getting Ransom’s attention.

He chuckled darkly, tucking your panties into the pocket of his slacks that didn’t hold his phone and then shoved them and his boxer briefs down. His thick, fat cock fell on your face, making you flinch in surprise at the slight slap of it against your skin. But in the next breath, you were tilting your face up and kissing him affectionately, murmuring in contentment when his musky taste hit your tongue.

“Such a perfect little slut, baby,” Ransom rasped, his praise drenched in that warm tone that had your heart beating happily in your chest. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and slapped it gently on your smiling lips. “Open your mouth and spread your legs.”

Immediately, you did as Ransom said, parting your thighs and opening your mouth wide, then waiting for what came next. You weren’t surprised when Ransom didn’t waste any time before pushing the tip of his cock past your lips.

He let out a low, filthy groan as he thrust deep in your mouth, pressing into your throat until you could feel him bulging in the front of your neck. He held there, his balls nestled against your nose while you swallowed around him, trying to get used to the intrusion while he groaned obscenely at how good you felt.

“Fuck yeah, baby, take daddy’s cock in your pretty little throat,” he rumbled, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat and pressing down lightly, grunting when he felt himself twitching inside you. “You’re such a perfect little slut, ’s like you were made for me—all for me.”

You moaned around Ransom’s cock, hoping he took the sound for the agreement it was as you lay beneath him, your hips squirming and your pussy fluttering in the cool September air. Your wiggling seemed to get Ransom’s attention and he leaned over you, his big hand sliding between your thighs to rub your already messy pussy.

“So fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice sounding like sunshine with the affection clear in his tone. “You still wanna see if you can come from getting your pussy spanked?” he asked, a smirk in his words.

You nodded as best you could, your hips squirming and bucking, practically begging for him without using a single word—not that you could utter any with his cock buried so deeply in your throat.

His fingers slid teasingly against your clit and you bucked harder, grinding against him as best you could.

Your antics made Ransom laugh quietly as he muttered, “Alright, baby,” in a placating voice.

That was the only warning you got—that and his hand disappearing from your pussy. Ransom’s big hand came down on your pussy sharply, the flat of his fingers spanking your pussy much harder than you. Still, you could feel he was holding back from using all his strength, only giving it to you as hard as he knew you could take.

And take it you did.

A muffled scream clawed its way up your throat and slipped past your lips to be muffled against Ransom’s balls as white-hot pain flooded your body, followed closely by the all-consuming burn of pleasure. A tremor shook your limbs and you choked on Ransom’s cock, your throat squeezing him tight enough to wring a grunt from him.

“Fuck—did that feel good, baby?” he rumbled, his fingers dipping into your hole and rubbing your juices all over your pussy, paying special attention to your clit. “Do you like it when daddy spanks your slutty pussy? Because you’re squeezing my cock like you want me to do it again.”

His voice was drenched in warmth and humor and you whined in response as you planted your feet on the curve of the fake pumpkin and bucked your hips up against his hand, pleasure coiling tight in your core. You knew it was only a matter of a few more smacks from Ransom’s hand before that coil was snapping and you were going to come from him spanking your pussy.

“That sounds like a yes, but I wanna feel you nod, baby,” Ransom murmured, his other hand petting your cheek softly.

You couldn’t see him from the angle you were at, but you could hear the smile in his tone and you melted a little, your legs falling open wider as you nodded for him.

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers stroking over the bulge in your throat while his others rubbled your clit, making your tight channel squeeze his cock tighter. “And what do you do if it’s too much? Show daddy,” he urged as his fingers trailed lower, until they dipped into your black satin bra and swirled around your nipples until they were stiff peaks.

Meanwhile, you reached back and patted the outside of Ransom’s thigh three times, the sign you’d established with him early on in your relationship for when you needed a break but didn’t have the capacity to use words.

“Good, you’re such a good girl,” he purred. His hand kept sliding lower down your body until he reached your thighs. He grabbed your soft flesh and pushed your legs open even wider. “Now, let’s see if we can make your pretty pussy come just from being spanked while I fuck your slutty mouth.”

You barely had a chance to moan your agreement before Ransom’s hand came down on your cunt again, the sharp, slick sound of his fingers slapping your wet flesh meeting your ears before the stinging pain and scorching pleasure sent your thoughts skittering away.

He rubbed your clit roughly and moved his hips, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, grunting and groaning at the feel of your moans vibrating through him and your throat squeezing him every time he slapped your pussy.

Ransom fell into a rhythm, spanking your pussy as hard as he thought you could handle, his fingers catching your clit every time, and fucking your throat while you lay draped over the big, fake pumpkin in that deserted pumpkin patch.

You were at the mercy of Ransom, and he seemed to know it just as much as you did—and he didn’t take it for granted. His hands were purposeful with every touch, every spank, his hips never pushing too hard against your head as he fucked your mouth. It was filthy and dirty and yet you could feel the depth of his caring in everything he did to you.

It wasn’t long before you were pushed to the precipice of your release, your body trembling uncontrollably, the coil in your core wound so tight, you knew it would snap any second.

Ransom must’ve felt it too, because he started up a constant refrain of, “Good girl, baby, come for me—come for daddy, baby. You’re doing so good, wanna watch your pretty pussy come, baby, c’mon, lemme see.” His words were so sweet and warm and wicked, you were unable to do anything but follow his gentle command.

On the next slap to your cunt, the coil of pleasure in your belly snapped, and your entire body went tight with white-hot tension before it burst free into decimating waves of pleasure. Ransom’s cock muffled your scream as you came, your hips bucking and pussy convulsing beneath his warm palm as you rubbed your soaking wet slit against him.

You were so consumed by your release, you didn’t notice the way Ransom had frozen, and you barely felt him pulling his cock free from your mouth. You only knew that suddenly you were able to pull in deep breaths and smell the crisp scent of the pumpkin patch.

Your head spun when Ransom gently pushed you to sit up and hauled you off the pumpkin, your feet hitting the soft soil of the field and your knees nearly buckling as your body still shivered from the waves of pleasure rolling through you.

Ransom sat heavily on his wool coat still draped haphazardly over the top of the pumpkin, his hands greedily grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap. Your knees bracketed his thighs while his hands grabbed your ass and guided you to sit up. Then you felt the tip of his cock slide against your still fluttering hole and you moaned, your head dropping back like you didn’t have the strength to hold it up anymore.

“Can’t fucking believe you came from getting your pussy spanked, baby,” Ransom was mumbling, his big hands changing the angle of your hips until the head of his cock was pressed to your entrance. “Gotta feel it, gotta…” He cut off on a grunt when he pushed into your slick, pulsing pussy, his hands shifting to your hips so he could pull you down onto his hard, throbbing length.

Your hands found Ransom’s biceps and you held onto him, your fingers tangling in the thick weave of his cable knit sweater as you quickly sank down on his cock. He was so thick and long, it stung a little to impale yourself so fast without any kind of preparation, but you didn’t care. You were too greedy for his cock to take your time, a deep, primal instinct driving you to take him as fast as you could while your mind was still reeling from your first release.

“Oh fu-uck,” Ransom groaned brokenly, his head falling against your chest. You could feel his face pressing into your sternum, his heavy exhale ghosting between the swells of your breasts. It was against your bare skin, your heart racing just beneath the surface, that Ransom confessed, “I love you, nixie.”

At his words, you went deathly still. For an unending moment, your mind reeled and you tried to be certain you’d heard Ransom correctly. You were sure you couldn’t have.

It didn’t seem like he realized what he’d said until he felt you stiffen in his lap. Then, Ransom sat up slowly, his gaze sharp as it raked over your face, trying to gauge your reaction.

Licking your lips to bide you time to find your voice, you forced yourself to ask the question your heart needed an answer to.

“Do you mean it?”

Ransom’s expression tightened, his eyes going even more wary, but he nodded—a quick, dip of his chin—and you sucked in a breath.

A tingling warmth started at the top of your head and cascaded through your body, filling you with a bright, fizzling feeling. It took a moment for you to recognize it was happiness. But not just happiness—it was pure, unfiltered joy.

Your sugar daddy loved you. Ransom Drysdale loved you.

His expression was growing more and more distant with every second that passed without you responding and you couldn’t have that.

Squealing in delight, you launched yourself at him—not that it was such a far distance, considering you were in his lap—and he let out a soft, “oof,” when you collided with his chest, your arms winding around his neck and squeezing him tight.

“I love you, too, Ran,” you confessed on an exhale. It felt so good to get the words off your chest, that you repeated them. “I love you.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Ransom said on a sigh of relief as he gathered you tighter against his chest. One of his arms wrapped around your lower back while the other braced against your spine so his hand could cup the back of your neck. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, nixie.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t love you back?” you asked softly before pressing a kiss to Ransom’s soft cheek because you couldn’t help yourself. The scent of his cologne filled your senses and you smiled against his jaw, kissing him again and again, like you’d never get enough of it.

“Wasn’t sure,” he admitted gruffly.

You giggled at the sheepishness in his tone, pulling back until you could see his face. He was blushing a little, a tiny bit of pink tinging his cheeks and making him look adorable. You couldn’t help yourself from cupping his handsome face in your hands and leaning forward to brush a sweet kiss to his mouth.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmured, in between teasing kisses. “I love you when you’re grumbling about going pumpkin picking, and I love you when you’re spanking my pussy, and I love you when you’re bringing me my favorite coffee because you remembered what I liked.”

You kept kissing him until Ransom was chuckling, his hand squeezing the back of your neck in an affectionate gesture. He reeled you in for a deeper kiss, cutting off your list of all the times you’d loved him. But you and Ransom were smiling too much to kiss properly, your teeth knocking against each other and making you both laugh even more.

Your joyful laughter soon devolved into soft moans and grunts when Ransom rocked his hips, shifting his cock even deeper inside you. Your fingers threaded through his soft brown hair and you clung to him while you rolled your hips, grinding down on his stiff length until you were breathless with renewed desire.

“Fuck, nixie—nixie, ‘m not gonna last much longer,” Ransom groaned, his arms tightening around your back and holding you pinned against his chest while he fucked up into you. “Your pussy’s too perfect—too fucking warm and tight and good for me.”

“Come inside me, Ran,” you whispered heatedly, feeling his cock twitch at your suggestion. You moaned softly in his ear. Your clit was grinding against the base of Ransom’s cock, and it wouldn’t be long before you came for a second time. “Please, daddy, fill me up—wanna feel your come leaking from my pussy while we’re picking pumpkins, daddy, please,” you begged in a pathetic whine.

“I love you—fuck, I love you so fucking much, nixie,” Ransom growled, pressing his face to your cheek and nudging you to the side until his mouth found yours. He kissed you so long and so deeply, it made your head spin, and he fucked you all the while, pounding into your cunt hard enough that the pleasure he gave you was edged with just enough delicious pain that you were falling off the edge and coming in no time.

Ransom swallowed your screams of pleasure as you came, your pussy clenching his cock hard enough that he followed right after, grunting into your mouth so that it was your turn to muffle his sounds with your lips.

Coming at the same time was heady and all-consuming and you were so happy you felt like you could float away if it wasn’t for Ransom’s arms holding you so tightly to his chest. And you were glad for it, because you didn’t want to float away unless he came with you.

The two of you gradually eased down from your highs together, still kissing, still murmuring your love for one another as if you could pass the words between your lips as easily as you exchanged breaths.

Finally, your rocking bodies gently stilled and your racing hearts returned to steady, normal drumbeats. The September sun was bright, keeping you warm from the chill in the air as you snuggled into your sugar daddy—the man that you loved, and who loved you in return.

Your head was still spinning and trying to process everything you’d both admitted while laying against Ransom’s chest, your fingers playing idly with a loose thread in his sweater, when he finally broke the comfortable silence that had fallen.

“If we carve up some of these pumpkins, do I really have to clean out all the guts with my bare hands?”

His question, and the almost whining tone in his voice, had you choking on a surprised laugh. You leaned back, looking into Ransom’s face to see if he was joking, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was giving the pumpkin patch another dubious look, making you laugh again as you shook your head at him.

“No, you could wear gloves, and there’s usually a scoop that comes in the pumpkin carving kits at the store,” you explained to him, your tone filled with humor even as you kept it even and patient. “You don’t have to touch the pumpkin guts if you don’t want to.”

Your fingers stroked through the hair at the nape of his neck and he seemed to relax, though whether it was from your assurance or your touch, you couldn’t tell. You suspected it was both.

After a moment, Ransom seemed to reach some sort of decision because he heaved a deep sigh and met your gaze. His blue eyes were shimmering in the bright afternoon sunlight, and the affection in his gaze warmed you despite the chill in the air.

“Alright, let’s find some pumpkins worth carving,” he said, though his grim tone made it sound like he was suggesting you both walk into battle.

A smile spread across your face and you giggled happily. “You mean it?”

“Of course, nixie,” Ransom rumbled, leaning in and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do to make you happy—I thought that was clear when I agreed to an afternoon of pumpkin picking.”

You laughed softly, ghosting your lips over his in a teasing gesture as your heart fluttered in your chest, happiness swooping through your belly. But still, his words didn’t exactly match up to your memory of events, especially given everything you’d done to get him to agree to the date—including the deal you’d made.

“Silly me, and here I thought it was because of the deal we made,” you murmured.

“Mm, nope,” Ransom said, popping the ‘p’ in nope. “Woulda taken you pumpkin picking even without the deal—just liked watching you convince me.” He brushed feather-light kisses along your jaw, making you hum happily at the soft press of his lips after you snorted at his comment. “But now that you mention it, our arrangement extends to the pumpkin carving portion of this date, yeah?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, having a hard time following the conversation when he sucked gently on the spot just beneath your ear that had your head falling to the side to give him better access. You shook your head lightly and found the words to form a proper response. “Sure, it lasts as long as the date does.”

You felt Ransom’s mouth curve as he smirked against the side of your neck. “Good,” he purred, kissing down your throat until he got to the line of your sweater. “Gonna make you suck my cock while I clean out our pumpkins.”

Buzzy excitement and warm desie flooded through you at his words and it was your turn to smile. You remembered that you’d considered offering to blow him to get him to carve pumpkins just that morning, so you obviously had nothing against his suggestion. You were eager for it to become a reality.

“Whatever you say, daddy,” you murmured in your sweetest voice.

Ransom huffed an amused laugh before his mouth found yours again.

The two of you kissed for a little while longer, until your knees and hips started to protest sitting in the same position on that big, fake pumpkin for so long. Ransom helped you down from his lap and towed you back toward the farm stand, so you could clean up in the nice employee bathroom—though he refused to give you your panties back.

You spent the rest of the early afternoon picking out pumpkins with Ransom, then he carried them back to his BMW and put them in the trunk. While he drove you both back to the city, he gave you his phone and told you to pick out your favorite of the photos he’d taken of you.

You asked him if he only wanted you to pick from the lewd photos, and he told you to also pick one of the pictures he’d taken of you with your clothes covering you. When you asked him what it was for, he told you he wanted to frame it and put it on his desk in his office. Your heart fluttered when he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, admitting he missed you while he was at work.

If you hadn’t already known you were in love with him, you would’ve known then, your heart squeezing in happiness while your fingers tightened around his. Since you didn’t have to hold back your emotions anymore, you told him how much you loved him, and he responded by repeating the words and kissing your hand again.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at your townhouse apartment in Beacon Hill, cleaning out and carving the pumpkins you’d picked before putting candles in them and setting them on the steps outside your front door. Before the date was over, you even got Ransom Drysdale—your sugar daddy and the man that you loved—to admit he had fun.

Of course, you had to promise you’d never tell anyone. But you assured him you could keep it secret, so long as he loved you. He grinned, and promised you he always would, then he sealed the deal with a kiss.

And that was how an afternoon of pumpkin picking turned into a beautiful life together.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡♡

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daisynik7 · 2 years ago

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[M4F] Husband Catches You Listening to Audio P*rn, Teaches You a Lesson [Soft Mdom] [Established Relationship] [Mild Degradation] [Praise] [Overstimulation] [Multiple Orgasms] [Creampie]

Pairing: husband!Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

cw: established relationship, p*rn no plot, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), sex toys, mutual masturbation, fingering, cunnilingus, sex without a condom, creampie, overstimulation, soft dom!Nanami, breeding kink, mild degradation (use of slut and whore), praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, pet names (honey, sweetie, sweetheart, princess, baby)

Summary: Nanami comes home early from his business trip and catches you doing something naughty in your bedroom. Author’s Note: Inspired by all the audio porn VAs that I listen to! Special shoutout to @mrsackermannx for raving about AugustInTheWinter with me. If you have not listened to him yet, PLEASE check him out, he’s incredible. Also, I’m clearly very delulu for Nanami currently, considering this is the third piece I’ve written for him within a week, but hey, this is my outlet! So I hope you enjoy! MDNI divider created by @/cafekitsune. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading!

Your skin is sweltering against the sheets, sweat damp on your forehead and neck. Thighs are apart, vibrator buzzing on your clit, sleek with lube and arousal. You’re home alone; Nanami doesn’t return until tomorrow morning. Still, the thought of the audio porn playing on speaker makes you shy, so you have both earbuds in, listening to the sultry tones of your favorite voice actor moaning expletives directly into your ear. Such a good girl, oh fuck. You feel so good, sweetheart. Take that cock for me. You are so fucking tight, holy shit. The added sound effects of thwapping and wet squelches in the background immerse you into a state of erotic bliss, gushing for the second time tonight from the sensation of the toy pulsing on your throbbing bud.

“What do we have here?”

You jolt up when you hear your husband’s voice from the doorway, startled to see him standing there, leaning against the frame with a serious look on his face. His spectacles are on, covering his eyes, which you can tell are boring into you in this lewd position.

Popping your headphones off, you hide the vibrator under the pillow, as if he hasn’t already caught you red-handed. Closing your legs, you bat your eyelashes, feigning an innocent expression. “Honey! What are you doing here?” More heat rushes into your cheeks, scorching hot from your recent orgasm and current embarrassment.

He steps forward, sitting at the far edge of the bed, avoiding your gaze by staring at the floor, acting disappointed. “I managed to catch an earlier flight. Wanted to surprise you.” Dramatic, he turns to face you, eyes narrowed through his tinted lenses. “It appears that I am the one being surprised.”

Biting your lip to hold back your laughter, you crawl towards him, naked from the waist down, your panties discarded on the floor near his feet. He’s not actually upset; having been together long enough and in tune with each other’s emotions, you can tell that he isn’t seriously mad at you. This is a role he indulges in occasionally: stoic, strict husband with a mean streak when things don’t go his way. And you know exactly where this will lead to, so naturally, you play along. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t think you would be coming home tonight. I just thought I’d have a little bit of fun.” You massage his shoulders, nuzzling your face to his nape, giving him a loud smooch.

He shifts around in the bed, confronting you. “What were you listening to?” There’s legitimate curiosity in his voice, and now genuine guilt builds in your chest upon his question.

You swallow hard, anxious to admit the truth, too ashamed to lie to him. “Um, I was listening to porn. Audio porn.”

He raises a brow at you, confused. Then, he says, “Let me hear it.”

Reluctantly, you reach for your phone on the nightstand, resuming from where you paused. Wet slaps blare through the speaker, then a man’s voice, moaning, “Ah fuck, let me hear you. Let me hear you moan on my cock. Let me hear you take this cock. Yeah, like that baby, take it just like that.”

You bury your head in your hands, absolutely mortified as the pornographic dialogue continues. The audio comes to a halt when Nanami stops it, silently tapping at the screen. You’re still hiding in disgrace, squeezing your legs together tightly to conceal the evidence of your supposed sin. The tension is palpable, with neither of you speaking or making any sudden movements. You’re dying to know what he’s thinking, simultaneously terrified of his judgement.

He clears his throat; you peek through your fingers to catch him loosening his tie around his collar, removing the glasses from his face. He’s blushing, brows tight with contemplation. “Did you come to this?” he asks, almost breathless.

You lower your hands, fisting them into the sheets beneath you, nodding. Anticipating.

“Show me,” he demands, eyes at your lap. Too eagerly do you spread your legs, displaying your sopping cunt to him, staring at his lips part slightly, a barely audible growl resounding within his throat. Your uneasiness gradually slips into arousal, aching to be touched, even punished, by your formidable husband. He bows, licking his mouth, inspecting you like prey he’s about to devour. Flicking his eyes to yours, he mutters, “You’re a dirty slut for listening to this filth. Have you no shame?” He kneels before you, unbuttoning his dress shirt, exposing the white tee underneath. Chiseled chest and abs carved into the fabric like fucking marble.

Losing composure, you blurt out, “No shame, absolutely none. I’m fucking filthy.” Your pussy aches, toes clenched, thrilled.

“I can’t stand you listening to another man’s voice while you get off. It makes me sick thinking about it. Makes my blood fucking boil.” His tone is menacing in way that titillates every inch of your skin, has you shuddering from the low growl at the end of each sentence.

“Are you going to punish me?” you goad, saliva collecting on your tongue, heavy with lust.

“I can think of something better.” Reaching for your phone, he navigates through it, finding your voice recorder app. He taps on the big red button, setting it beside you. “From now on, you only come to my voice. Got it?”

You swallow hard, almost chocking on your spit when you respond, “Yes. Yes, baby.”

He grins, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he cups your cheek tenderly. “Good girl.” His thumb traces the outline of your parted lips, your mouth inviting him in. But he doesn’t, leaning back on his wrists, observing you with the obvious bulge protruding from his slacks. “Get that vibrator. Show me how you do it.”

Obeying, you search for it under the pillow, retrieving it to rub the tip up and down your folds, finger on the trigger. “There you go,” he encourages, a cocky smirk on his face, slowly unbuckling the belt around his waist, sliding it from the loops and tossing it aside. “Tease it a little before you turn it on. Make sure it’s exactly where you want it.”

You tap the toy on your swollen bud, already sensitive from your earlier climax. You meet his gaze, waiting for a signal. He slides out of his pants and briefs, revealing his erection sprung against his belly. Before he does anything else, he grabs your phone and sets it on the bed between you. Palming his length, he grins. “Go ahead.”

What a fucking menace he can be.

Pushing the button, the vibrator immediately pulsates on you, causing you to twitch from the intense sensation. He watches, fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking himself, thumb grazing the slit. “Look at you. My gorgeous girl,” he purrs. “My perfect angel with the prettiest pussy. Can’t wait to stretch you open with this cock. Bury myself deep inside you. Fill you up with my cum.”

“Fuck, Kento,” you whimper, pressing the fluttering tip firmer, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. You’ve always loved his hands; how pristine they are with his knuckles tight on his skin. Large, strong, then rough on the pads of his fingers from hard work and constant use. They’re even prettier in a fist surrounding his cock, wrist jerking hastily, precum glistening at the tip. Your entire focus is on him touching himself while he watches you do the same, the toy’s low hum enhanced when it’s snugly nestled to your clit.

“You like it when I talk nasty to you, huh?” he huffs, readjusting himself nearer to you. He’s so close, you can practically feel the tip of his cock at your quivering pussy. “Is it better than listening to your ridiculous pornography?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine, jutting your hips out, attempting to close the gap.

“Unlike them, I can actually touch you,” he muses, his tip teasing your entrance. “I can do whatever I want, whatever you want. They don’t get to fuck this sweet cunt like I get to. They don’t get to taste you the way I do.”

Suddenly, he grabs the vibrator from your grasp, shutting it off and setting it back under the pillow. He shifts down the bed, positioning his head between your thighs, diving in tongue first onto your puffy clit. Pleasure resonates from your core throughout your limbs, legs shaky and mind hazy as he slobbers all over you, covering your bud in his frothy spit. It’s sloppy, salacious, straight up nasty. After only a few strokes of his tongue, it’s already enough to send you into your third orgasm of the night, more powerful than the first two combined when you were alone.

You’d be a fool to expect him to let up after coming once with him; still, it shocks you when he doesn’t stop. He latches to you harder, suckling on your sensitive clit until it’s plump between his glossy lips and you’re crying out, “Too much!” overstimulated and spasming above him. Sometimes, when he’s in one of these moods, he forgets his own virility, always so keen on making you orgasm multiple times in one go. Tonight, he forgets that you had already been prepping yourself since earlier. With a gentle kiss, he relents, indulging in his work by running his tongue along your gushing pussy, drinking up your cum. He reaches for his cock, stiff between his stomach and the bedsheets under him. On his knees, he returns to his spot from earlier, stroking his cock with the tip just barely in your entrance.

You’re absolutely spent, but you yearn for him inside you, desperate to be filled with his load. “Come in me, baby,” you beg, gripping his wrist to pull him closer. “Fuck me.”

He lets out a disapproving tsk, shaking his head. “Not yet, princess. You have to be patient. We’re just getting started,” he smirks, stroking himself faster. “Are you just so fucking needy for my cum?” You nod erratically, tempted to thrust yourself onto him.

“Then beg for it,” he orders, sliding his cock the slightest bit further inside you. “Convince me that you deserve it.”

Understanding what he wants, you retrieve your little toy again, rubbing small circles with it on your bud, smearing whatever is left of your orgasm around it. “Please, Kento. Please. I need it. I need it.”

The sight of you like this has him dangling on the very edge, so close to climax. “Turn it on,” he demands. You do, the buzz electrifying all the nerves in your body yet again. You chant his name over and over until he shoots insides you, spurts of opaque cum flooding your pussy. “Yes, yes. Good girl. Take that fucking cum. Take all of it. Fuck.” His voice is hushed, breathy and trembling from the high.

You stop the vibrator, tossing it to the floor carelessly. Nanami crawls next to you, cradling you in his arms. With a kiss to your forehead, he whispers, “Are you okay?”

You smile, turning to face him, nuzzling his chest. “Of course.”

He caresses your face, trailing down your body to rest his hand at your waist. He glances at your phone beside you. “We’re still recording, you know.”

You giggle. “And…?”

He kisses you softly, tongue flitting past your lips, guiding you flat on your back, spreading your legs apart. “I’m not done with you yet.” His hand glides to your loins, toying with your swollen clit before teasing your entrance, brimming with his creampie. “Can you still take it, sweetheart?”

You nod, breath hitching, cuddling closer to him. Smiling sweetly at you, he eases a finger in, cum overflowing your pussy and trickling out from your slit. He slides in another easily, stretching you open, a whine escaping you. His mouth is hot on your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Me finger fucking my cum deeper inside you. Taking it like an obedient whore.” He picks up the pace, your cunt clenching his digits. “I’m going to get you pregnant tonight. Breed you, make you mine. You want that, sweetie?” His fingers writhe inside you, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly until you’re tight around him, ready for another orgasm. At this point, you’ve stopped keeping count, lost in a sex-fueled craze instigated by your husband.

“Yes, Kento. Give it to me. I want it. I want it so bad.” You notice he’s hard again, his erection stiffening against your leg. Reaching for him, you rub your hand on his length, feeling it twitch from your touch.

“Fuck,” he groans, pulling out from you. He sits up, back to the headboard, beckoning. “Get on my lap. Hurry,” he urges, hoisting you towards him. You straddle him, guiding his cock to your entrance. “Sink down on it. There we go,” he instructs, eyes wide, desperation etched in his tone. He needs this just as much as you do, and it drives you wild. You follow his command, lowering yourself onto him, his dick sliding in smoothly, bottoming out. “That’s my good girl. Fuck. You’re so good to me. So fucking good to me.”

You start riding him the way he likes, your ass slapping loudly on his thighs. He’s moaning endlessly, throwing in the occasional fuck and pet name as he grips your hips, bouncing you on his cock. You wrap your arms around his neck to keep steady, holding him tightly. “Want your cum,” you manage to utter, enraptured in the scorching pleasure he surrounds you in.

He's fucking up into you, feet planted at the end of the bed. The mattress creaks with every thrust of his cock. In a huffy breath, he says, “Milk it out of me, honey. Milk me fucking dry. You can do it sweetheart; I know you can.” The praise encourages you to ride him faster, rougher, your bodies in tandem, springing on the bed, moaning into each other’s mouth with a passionate kiss.

Soon, he pulsates inside you, stuffing you even fuller with his cum. You climax once more, gripping his cock with your fluttering pussy. He cradles you in a cozy embrace, catching his breath, nuzzling his nose to your chest. You giggle, running you fingers through his hair, smooching the top of his head. “You okay?” you ask, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

He nods, exhaling deeply. “Just let me hold you. Need to calm down.”

You laugh, amused by his current state of post-coital euphoria. Fetching the phone teetering precariously at the edge of the bed now, you tap on the red button to stop the recording. Seeing this, he mentions, “You know I don’t actually mind you listening to that kind of stuff, right?”

You smile, noticing the guilt in his voice, massaging his back. “I know, honey. I know you don’t.”

He squeezes you, taking a deep breath. “Okay, good. Just want to make that clear.”

You cup his cheek, thumb caressing the stress lines along his face, gradually relaxing to your touch. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d much rather listen to this than some stranger on the Internet.”

Chuckling, he replies. “Maybe it makes me feel a little bit better.” He snuggles closer to you, hugging you tight, reluctant to let you go. Eventually, the two of you slip beneath the covers, getting comfortable with Nanami spooning you from behind.

You glance at the screen, showing the several minute long recording and the play button adjacent to it, ready to be tapped. “So,” you start, craning your neck to smirk at him. “Should we give it a listen?”

He returns your grin, shifting beside you, cock growing hard between your ass cheeks. “Absolutely.”

#nanami smut #nanami kento #kento nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami x f!reader #nanami x fem!reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #nanami fanfic #jjk nanami #husband!Nanami #nanami soundgasm

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sugarcoated-lame · 8 months ago

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Easy Like Sunday Morning | Joel Miller x Reader

pre-outbreak joel x reader

all of my works are 18+ only, minors dni!

Summary: You wake up before Joel and decide you want to take care of him.

giving 2003 pre-outbreak Joel some head on a sleepy Sunday morning

a/n: i was inspired by this post by the amazing @mrsmando 🤍 and her delicious joel thoughts that never fail to have me spiraling and swooning 🫠 if i had a nickel for every time i’ve written a joel fic about someone being woken up with some head, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice (sorry i had to lmfaoo). also this is probably the quickest thing i’ve ever written, so i’m sorry if it sucks!

wc: 2.8k

content warnings: no outbreak/pre-outbreak 2003 joel, kricket sucks at writing summaries we know this, smut, oral (m receiving), slightly rough oral, hair pulling, no physical description of reader except that her hair is long enough for joel to pull, pet names (darlin’, baby, sweetheart, pretty girl), no use of y/n, joel miller has a big dick because i said so, established relationship, somno (kinda? joel is like not really awake at the beginning of the smut), this is basically just smut :)

joel masterlist

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

⋆ . ˚ ✩ comments, reblogs, and feedback are greatly appreciated! ⋆ . ˚ ✩

Lazy Sunday mornings have become your favorite in the weeks since you moved in with Joel.

Nowhere to be, neither one of you has to get up before the sun and go to work. No rushing around to make sure Sarah gets to school on time — just sleep. It’s the one day a week both you and Joel get a chance to sleep in, to wake naturally without the shrill ringing of alarms, and just relish being wrapped up in the comfort of each other’s presence.

Eyes still shut as you begin to stir, your mind is only just waking up and the first thing you feel is warmth.

Warmth of the bright, golden Texas sun shining through Joel’s — well, now your — bedroom window and behind your closed lids. Warmth from the plush, gray comforter draped just over your calves, where it had been kicked down in the night in an attempt to curb the relentless, sticky summer heat.

You find yourself cocooned by the furnace-like warmth that is Joel as he lies on his back beside you — a warmth that would probably be overwhelming if it wasn’t such a comfort to you.

Your cheek is pressed to his broad chest, the steady beating of his heart a calming rhythm beneath your ear. Your torso flush against his side, you have an arm wrapped snug around his middle, and a leg draped over both of his. You and Joel both lay almost bare, each clothed in nothing but your underwear after the previous night’s activities — hot skin on hot skin.

When you finally let your eyes flutter open to the bright, morning light, you look up to find Joel still fast asleep and take a moment to admire the peaceful expression on his handsome face.

Long lashes fanning over his cheeks, his brows free of the worried crease that often rests between them, plush pink lips parted as he lets out quiet little snores, his strong chest slowly rising and falling, up and down beneath your cheek with each calming breath. Tanned skin warm and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, dark chocolate locks especially curly due to the humid Texas heat, a few sweaty strands clinging to his forehead.

Seeing Joel laid out like this only reminds you of the way he looked last night — all flushed beneath you, cheeks pink, head thrown back and brown eyes clenched shut in bliss as you hovered above him. Pulling quiet, deep grunts from his parted lips as you rode him, his big hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you lifted yourself up and down on his cock.

The reminder of just how full you felt with him inside you — of how goddamn good he makes you feel — has dampness forming beneath the thin fabric of your panties, thighs attempting to clench shut in search of friction to quell the wave of slick that’s building between your legs, though they’re unable to do so with Joel’s thick thigh slotted between them.

And, though you know Joel is still resting so peacefully beside you, and that you should probably let him sleep in for once, you can’t help it when you feel the sudden and urgent need to kiss him. To feel your lips on his skin.

These lazy Sunday mornings with Joel are your favorite because you know he’s always so busy, always working hard, always so stressed. And, that despite it all, he always takes such good care of you.

So, you want to take this opportunity, when he doesn’t have to be up for work, or take Sarah to school — and you know it’s a couple hours before she’ll be waking up — and you want to do something nice for him. Take care of Joel for once. To make him feel good.

Lifting your head from Joel’s chest, you press your lips to where your cheek had just been. Beginning at his pec, and over his heart, tasting the salt of his sweat-damp skin as you work your way up the broad plane of his chest, dotting feather-light kisses up to the juncture of where his shoulder meets his neck.

You gently untangle yourself from his side, and Joel begins to stir just slightly as you softly mouth along the column of his throat and move to hover over him, your thighs straddling his hips and hands on the mattress on either side of him to hold yourself up.

He’s still mostly asleep, but you can already feel through the layers of both of your underwear that he’s beginning to harden beneath you, his body waking up faster than his brain, always so responsive to your touch.

You continue to kiss across Joel’s strong jaw, over the patchy hair that tickles your lips, dotting a trail of sweet kisses up his cheek and to the tip of his sharp nose, then back down to his mustache and over the corner of his lips.

He stirs again when your lush lips press against his own just once, not quite awake enough to kiss back just yet, but this time a soft hum of approval leaves him at the pleasant feeling.

With one more peck to his soft lips, you begin your descent back down Joel’s body, leaving behind another smattering of kisses in your wake.

From his Adam’s apple to the rounded bone of his shoulder, then back down to his chest. You know he’s a bit more awake when you feel him begin to stir again — his strong body shifting ever so slightly beneath yours, dick twitching against your core underneath the layers of cloth as you place a barely-there kiss to each of his nipples. Joel lets out a sleepy groan as your tongue darts out to lick at the sensitive skin before continuing on your way.

Shifting your body lower on the bed, your kisses become a bit more feverish, less soft as you work your way down Joel’s torso. Your hunger for him only growing as you get closer and closer to the bulge in his boxers, spurred on by the breathy little grunts and groans leaving his parted lips as his mind begins to catch up to the pleasure that his body is feeling.

Joel lets out a content sigh, head still resting on his pillow, eyes still shut and still about half asleep. Unsure if he’s dreaming when he feels you press a firm kiss to the skin just above his navel.

He’s quickly pulled out of that dream-like state, though — breath catching in his throat, jolting beneath you as your warm tongue darts out lick a broad stripe over his soft belly.

You can’t help but grin as you look up to see his face, those pretty brown eyes now open but still bleary with sleep, pillowy lips parted in a gasp, sweaty curls falling over his forehead as he shifts his focus towards you.

“Morning, baby.” You whisper into the quiet of your bedroom, your chin resting on Joel’s tummy as you gaze up at him sweetly.

Your smile only grows when he cards a hand over his tired face, groaning out a tired ‘fuck’.

Now that he’s awake — just barely — you press your lips to his belly one last time before heading lower. Fitting yourself between Joel’s thick thighs, you kiss along the fine hairs of his happy trail, then his hip bones, and you know he’s fully hard when your hands glide up his thighs to palm him over his black boxers.

Joel releases a throaty groan as you stroke him through the soft fabric, one of his large hands coming up to the side of your head. Calloused pads of his fingers running gently through your bed-mussed hair. “Please, darlin’.”

The use of the pet name combined with Joel’s sleepy, Texan morning voice actually makes you whimper, clenching your thighs as a new gush of arousal floods between them. Needy for him as your fingers move to his waistband, gingerly but quickly pulling down the black, cotton fabric and freeing his impressive length.

A quiet, raspy moan escapes Joel’s lips as you spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock. He’s long and thick and heavy in your hand, your fingers hardly able to wrap around the girth of him, his tip an angry red and leaking pretty pearls of precum.

He lets out a quiet hiss as you begin to stroke up from the base, leaning down to kiss along his tip before kitten-licking at the slit, a pleased hum leaving you at the salty, heady taste of his arousal. Joel’s mind is still a bit hazy with sleep, but he swears he’s died and gone to heaven when you lick a hot stripe along the underside of his cock, tongue laving over the thick vein that runs along his shaft.

The hand in your hair tightens its grip when you oh-so-delicately take Joel into your mouth, emitting a pleased hum from you as you gently suckle on his tip. The vibration sends a jolt up his spine, cock twitching in your grasp as you continue to stroke up and down his length with increasing ease as your spits begins to coat his skin. Delicate fingers wrapped tight around him moving up and down to meet your lips as your tongue swirls around the bulbous head.

You take your time, enjoying Joel’s quiet, raspy moans, the whispered curses, and shallow breaths all falling from his lips as you slowly take him deeper and deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth.

When you’re about halfway down his length, you suck in your cheeks, lips tightening around him as you begin to suck with more fervor and Joel has to bite back a desperate moan as you bob up and down his length. His hips buck up of their own volition — the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him is just too good — the two of you groaning in unison as the movement sends his cock further between your lips, the tip just grazing the back of your throat and causing you to gag around him.

“Fuck, m’sorry, baby.” Joel drawls, gently smoothing a hand over the crown of your head. He lifts you up his length just a little bit, just enough to gather your bearings.

You release him from your mouth with a wet pop. A string of saliva still connects the two of you between his swollen, red tip and your now swollen lips, and Joel thinks he’s a goner when you wrap a hand tight around his shaft, leaning back in to kitten-lick at his slit.

You smear delicate kisses all along his tip, then up and down every inch of his length, all the while gazing up at him with doe eyes before you bring him between your spit-slicked lips once again.

“So good for me. Always so good for me.”

His morning voice is deep — deeper than normal — and it has your eyes rolling back into your head as you whimper around him, tears collecting at your lash line from having just taken him so deep so abruptly. Nodding your head as much as you can with his cock still in your mouth, you let Joel know that you’re okay to keep going.

You want to please him. He deserves this. You want to make him feel good.

You know that Joel is getting close from the way he’s fighting himself to not buck his hips and fuck up into your mouth, the hand that’s not in your hair clinging to the gray sheets like a lifeline. His chest rapidly rising and falling as he tries his hardest to keep at least somewhat quiet — he knows that his daughter is sleeping right down the hall — biting back gravely grunts and groans that you so wish you could hear at full volume, his cock twitching against your tongue with every little move you make.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you decide to take him as deep as you can go. Swallowing around him as his tip reaches into the depths of your throat, those tears are now spilling freely from your eyes as the coarse hairs at his base tickle your nose.

You suction your cheeks taut and lick along the underside of his shaft, the wet sounds of your sucking growing sloppy, Joel’s pubic hairs now shiny with your spit and his fingers are now pulling hard at your hair, the slight sting in your scalp a pleasurable one and only spurring you on.

A particularly harsh suck has Joel throwing his head back onto his pillow, sweaty curls falling like a halo around his pleasure-wrought features. Whiskey colored eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, nose scrunched, and lips parted in a quiet, guttural groan that lingers in the warm, sticky summer atmosphere of your shared bedroom.

“I’m— fuck!” He damn near whimpers when your free hands reaches out to caress his heavy balls, squeezing getnly as you continue to arduously suck and stroke his length, your hand and mouth working in tandem and meeting in the middle. “I’m close, sweetheart.”

You moan hungrily around him, the vibrations nearly sending Joel over the edge, the hand on your head now pushing you down onto his cock without hesitation – he knows you can take it. Hips thrusting up and chasing the velvety, wet warmth of your throat as you gag on him once more, drool spilling out the corners of your mouth all around him, the wet, sucking sounds filling the room obscene.

Joel practically growls when he feels your nails dig into the meat of his thigh, his chin dropping to his chest and he looks down to find you gazing back at him. Your cheeks hollowed, lips stretched around his aching cock, taking all of him like the good girl he knows you are. Your pretty, tear-filled eyes gazing up at him with so much love, and that’s what is his undoing.

You feel it when Joel’s whole body tenses beneath you, fireworks shooting up his spine as he starts to cum with a heavy groan that was lodged deep in his throat. You can’t help but moan around him as he fills your mouth, painting your throat with the hot, salty ropes of his release.

He mutters a string of broken moans, a mixture of curses and grunts of your name as you work him through it. The grip Joel has on your hair starts to lighten up — though, only a bit — but it’s enough for you to pull back on his length a bit to allow your hand to join your mouth in its ministrations. Slowly, but firmly, stroking him and sucking at his cock until you’re sure you’ve swallowed down every drop he has to give you, his stomach practically caving in by the time you’re done with him.

Until he’s reduced to shallow pants and hushed whimpers, Joel’s entire body shuddering as your lips lay one last kiss to his sensitive tip, and he drops an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the now overwhelming light as he takes a few moments to catch his breath.

You let Joel take all the time he needs to recover, carefully tucking his softening length back into his black boxers.

It’s a few minutes before Joel uncovers his eyes, slowly blinking to adjust the the increasing brightness of the hot summer sun shining into the bedroom, and he’d swear you’re an angel, still nestled between his thighs. You’re busy littering the soft, tanned skin of his thighs and his belly in sweet little kisses and love bites when that deep, sleepy morning voices speaks up again.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, pretty girl.”

Before you can respond, two strong arms are pulling you up the bed — and up Joel’s body, a firm hand on the nape of your neck pulling you in so he can smash his lips to your puffy ones in a longing, appreciative kiss.

His deft hands then slide down your hips to grab your ass, squeezing at the soft flesh with a groan against your lips, before Joel is flipping the two of you over so he’s now the one hovering over you. A little yelp escapes you, but is quickly transformed into a stifled moan as his lips begin kissing a path down your body, now fully awake and more than ready to return the favor.

⋆ . ˚ ✩

Thank you for reading!! x

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celuere · 8 days ago

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hopefully we don‘t have no babies.

pt.2 of kiss it, bit it, can i fit it?

pairing: arlecchino x fem!reader

context: she is navigating you with slow and gentle steps (at first) through new found territory (aka sesbian lex)

cw: modern au, experienced dilf!arle, implied age gap (reader is in mid/late twenties), she yaps you an ear off about her spiders, pet names, praising, arle teaches you how to properly finger yourself ngh, mirrors, voyeurism, strap-on, rough sex, dumbification, arle is called peruere

word count: 3.8k

art credits: saditstic beauty: side story a

birthday special for you guys now WHERE are my presents. also thank you to angel and @angelic--kitty who more or less inspired me for this continuation ngh. i have to be honest, i outdid myself with this one. have with over 3k words of sesbian lex.

„are you certain you don‘t want to feed her? she is quite tame for her species.“

you watched the eight-legged creature crawl over her tatted skin in sheer horror.

how did she come up with the name „bambi“ for this monster of a spider?

„i-i‘m pretty certain. i‘d rather just… watch you feed her from a safe distance…!“, taking a step back from the woman and her…. pet. well, one of her various pets.

you almost died of heart failure the moment you stepped foot into the entomologist‘s basement. terrariums lined up against the walls, everywhere. there had to be at least twenty of the damned creatures here. and today happened to be feeding day so you got to watch your date hand-feed them one by one. and of course, she didn’t leave out any introductions nor did she spare you the details of the individual species.

„this beauty is called a cyriopagopus lividus or rather a cobalt blue tarantula. they‘re known for their extraordinary blue coat and got often mixed up with the omothymus violaceopes even though they differentiate quite a lot from each other in my opinion. from size, color up to their natural habitat and attitude, they could not be more different. this one is actually a bit lively for her species-“ as if the damned thing seemed to understand her word for word, it took off from her palm and rushed up her arm where it abruptly stopped right on her shoulder, „my, the name freminet gave you really does suit you, speedy…“

yet your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest, not because of the sudden scare. rather because she just seemed so… different to you… how skilled she was handling the spiders to her barely lacking knowledge about each and every species she collected over the years. she seemed like a totally different person in that moment. and quite frankly- nothing turned you on more than watching those inked hands putting the haired monster back into its enclosure.

„how come you are so fond of them…?“

you almost regretted your question immediately at the way she mustered you all of a sudden. hesitant. as if she was weighing her options for the unknown.

„i… i‘m sorry if that was too personal… you don‘t have to tell me if you don‘t feel comfortable with sharing that information with me…!“, you stammered as you tried lifting up the blanket of unease covering your heart. yet, peruere merely shook her head before guiding you out of her basement, a hand resting on your lower back when you walked up the stairs.

„i am not uncomfortable… not with you. it‘s just… it is not exactly the happiest story. it wouldn‘t be in my best interest to ruin tonight’s mood.“, she flashed you one of her rare smiles, but something sad clung to the way her eyes stared into yours.

you‘ve only been seeing each other for a good two months now, none of you dared to breach the topic of your past yet, her children had still to make your acquaintance, too. however, peruere showed great effort. daily phone calls, occasional dinner dates, randomly picking you up from your workplace whenever her schedule allowed it. she was truly, truly interested in you. and that fact caused your stomach to hit one cartwheel after the other.

who expected the 38-year old woman to still be so full of love? love she wants to share with you.

„fine… another time then.“, you mirrored her soft expression, not wanting to pressure her any further about this topic.

peruere could feel something in her ribcage tighten at the sight of you. goodness, you brought out a side in her that she didn‘t even know still existed in the first place. you made her feel young again. and she loved you for it.

she hadn‘t loved in a long time.

„it is way past midnight already… do you still want to stay the night or do you want me to drive you back home?“, a tattooed hand came up to gently tuck a few lost hair strands back behind your ear.

with her children staying at certain ginger uncle‘s house tonight, the night belonged to you. and only you.

„well… what would you prefer? please, be honest… i wouldn‘t mind either options.“, instinctively you leaned into her warm palm, letting her thumb caress your soft skin as if it were the last time.

she looked like the moon on a lonely night yet her touch equaled the feeling of being kissed by the sun itself. warm. trusted. gentle.

„i‘d love for you to stay the night…“, and so you did.

when you walked into her bedroom for the first time after going through your evening routine in her bathroom beforehand, you didn’t know what to expect. however, you weren‘t surprised, nor disappointed.

the theme of the room was kept in a gentle dim light, a king-sized bed with simple white-black bedding was resting in the middle of the room. other than that the only things you could spot was a closet, a mirror and two nightstands. if compared to her kids rooms you‘d realize her own little abode is significantly smaller, probably because she doesn’t see a good point in taking up a lot of space which she only frequents for precisely one thing: sleeping. and something else.

otherwise it looked spotless. not a single corn of dust in sight. the sheets were laying neatly folded on top of the mattress and you could make out the soft scent of a room freshener clinging to the air.

„i apologize if my bedroom seems to not meet your expectations… i like to keep things simple.“, with her back turned to you, peruere opened her closet to fish some new sleepwear out for herself.

but you were too focused. too focused on the fact that she was standing half-naked before you. her back muscles evidence of a strict diet and years of exercise. and you could spot three names imprinted underneath her right shoulder.

Lyney & Lynette 02.02

Freminet 09.24.

something in your chest tightened at the sight of her kid‘s names tattooed onto her skin. she really loved those rascals with her entire being even if they weren’t hers by blood, they will always be a part of her.

„do you have sleepwear to change into?“

„oh, yes i do, but thank you…“, you watch her put on a plain black shirt and a pair of red-black checked pants and now you are convinced. she looks handsome in literally anything.

the older woman didn’t expect a lot when she turned around but who would’ve thought seeing her sweet date in a tight tanktop and some shorts would blow her fucking mind. you weren’t even wearing anything sexual, yet her thoughts ran rampage inside her head while she tried to make an effort to avoid looking at anything else other than your face.

„so… ready for bed?“

„mhm… gosh, look at that pretty pussy…“

it took the two of you not even five minutes until the first layers of clothes came off.

which happened to be your shorts and panties. you were laying underneath her with spread legs and your own fingers working up and down your cunt, you wanted to give her a show.

but the longer you tried pleasuring yourself, the bigger the frown on peruere‘s face got.

the woman had precisely one question on her mind: did someone ever teach you how to properly finger yourself? you might as well be trying your luck at a lottery ticket the way your fingers… fumbled your folds. you weren‘t even wet enough when you tried to insert your index- and middle-finger.

„stop right there.“

„but-“

„stop. you will only end up hurting yourself.“, crimson eyes watched you remove your hand from your cunt as you tried masking the utter humiliation she just exposed you to.

„don‘t look away.“, with her hand grabbing your chin, she moved your head back to face her directly, „did someone ever teach you how to properly pleasure yourself?“

„h-huh? what do you mean?“

„all the men you have been with before, did they ever bother to finger you correctly or at least show you how to do it yourself?“, your ribcage is suddenly too small for your lungs at the vulgar words she‘s using.

„i… no… n-not that i remember… why are you asking?“

she looked at you for a few seconds before sighing and scooting back, tugging you up by your hand, „how am i supposed to sleep knowing such a pretty girl can‘t even get off all by herself… come here.“, she patted the space between her legs.

just what did she want to do?

when obliged to her request it almost immediately clicked when you were met with the reflection in front of you.

you were sat before a mirror. in her lap. butt-naked.

„y-you want to show me…“

„dear me, so smart… that is exactly what i want to do.“, peruere grabbed you by the plush of your right thigh before pulling your leg over her own and spreading you open in the process.

„so, here‘s how things will operate from here.“, she wasted no time and used her two fingers to spread your cunt open, „i will first give you a little… demonstration… and then it is your turn. how does that sound, hm?“

„th-that sounds humiliating, if i am being honest…“

„it isn‘t. at all. i am not offering this to make fun of you. please don‘t get me wrong, doll. i just want you to know how to take care of yourself the next time we‘re on a phone call.“, she let her lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, your pussy now significantly more slick and your clit aching.

oh, that phone call. just thinking about it caused you to slightly whimper.

„i… o-okay fine… show me…“

„first of all you need to look. not at your face or mine, i need you to observe your pussy when i‘m demonstrating. understood?“, her voice had something stern in it. something that shouldn‘t be allowed to be so incredibly hot.

„understood…“

„good girl. now, first of all, you want to take your middle- and ring finger, that way it is easier for you to get as deep as possible when you are using them on yourself. got it so far?“, she waited for your nod before continuing.

„the main reason why i stopped you earlier was because you were way, way too dry. you need to be slick enough to easily wet your fingers in order for them to slide in with little to no problems. sex or masturbation is never supposed to hurt. if it does you are doing something wrong.“, her expression changed into something softer the more nervous you became by watching her fingertips circle over your sensitive clit, „shhhhh… just follow my fingers, look at how wet you are getting by just a few rubs to your clit…“, using those same fingers to spread you open by your folds. the whimper found its way over your lips all on itself.

„a-ah… th-this is embarrassing, peruere…“, you mumbled before turning your head away once again.

but the entomologist wasn‘t having it.

„if you can send me whole videos of you bouncing your pussy on a vibrator, you can also watch me fingering you in a mirror.“, she whispered almost dangerously low into your ear, her tone laced with something sinister that caused your body to grow hot… and your cunt to painfully clench around nothing.

„let me propose an offer.“, just then, her fingertips slowly sneaked their way into your slit, „if you sit through this lesson without any more complaining and manage to properly get off on your own fingers… there‘s a little reward waiting for you… alright?“, her voice came out silky, reduced to a soft pur as she hummed, pleased to find your eyes fixed back onto the wet mess between your legs.

„a-alright…“, your breathing became heavier the deeper her fingers pushed in until she was knuckles-deep inside your warmth.

„good girl. feel that?“, slowly she began to feel up your walls that were gripping onto her so tightly. peruere only chuckled, „missed me, hm?“

„hah… hngh… o-of course i did…“, you said, as you pressed yourself more into her chest. she felt so warm. so comfortable. the faint note of her usual cologne still clung to her but it lit up a flame of desire inside of you that you only ever experienced with her.

„adorable… we have several options now. you could start to move your hand back and forth…“, she demonstrated by pumping her fingers slowly in and out of you, drawing a moan from you in the process, „or curl up your fingers and search for your g-spot. it usually sits two to three inches behind your vaginal opening, right…“, electricity suddenly shoots down your spine as her two fingertips delicately press and rub into your spot, „…here.“

„o-oh archons-! h-how-?!“, you clenched the fabric of her pants in your hand as she continued to massage the sensitive spot inside of you with ease.

„after knowledge comes experience, darling. you could also combine both methods and just…“, she had you squirming around in her lap by the first pump of her fingers, curling them up each time she slid them back into your hole, „…fingerfuck yourself however you please. you can vary the pace, the motions, just whatever feels better to you.“

something, something with motions… speed… how did she expect you to pay attention with her fingers showing you what heaven truly looked like?

you were so focused on these experienced fingers working their way inside your pussy that you didn‘t even process her next words.

„and now it is your turn, sweetheart.“, the whine you let out when she retreated almost brought the older woman to her knees.

you were just too cute in her lap. cute and unfucked. too unfucked for her liking.

„m-my turn…?“

„how am i supposed to know that my little lesson bore any fruits without a test? come on. make good use of those fingers now and pleasure yourself.“, her voice was dripping with professionalism, as if she were talking to a student.

despite the humiliation being still very much present, you obliged to her demand without as much as a simple nod. moving your fingers down, carefully sliding them through your wetness, „a-and what about my r-reward…?“

crimson eyes were fixated on the way you circled your clit in the reflection of the mirror before she leaned back, supporting herself on the mattress with her arms, „so impatient… i will only properly reward you once you manage to get off. on your own. after all, i don‘t reward slackers.“

archons, she was strict.

but did her tone only add further to the heat resting between your thighs?

fuck, it did.

and you needed that strap-on badly.

so you watched her expression falter for the slightest moment when you shoved your fingers back inside your warmth and they went in so easily. you gasped at how smoothly they went inside you, how welcoming you were compared to a few minutes ago, that you leaned your head back onto her shoulder when you started to search for your spot.

easier said than done.

„i… i-i can‘t i find it, peruere…“

„you can, angel. it should sit right above your fingertips now. come on, we don‘t give up so easily here. think about your reward…“

she didn‘t tell you that she will still pound your cute pussy senseless, even if you fail.

she just won‘t be as gentle with you.

„i-i don‘t have as much experience a-as you do…“, your voice trembled with your growing frustration when you missed it yet again.

„darling, i‘m a whole decade older than you. i assure you we are getting-“, peruere watched your legs jolt as a moan rung through the bedroom, „…there. my, was that so hard now?“, a knowing smirk played around her lips as she watched you fall apart in her lap. all on your own.

this was different. so much different from someone else doing the work, it was even slightly better than that. you knew what motion felt the best already, the pace you wanted to set and quite honestly- you regretted not looking into your own pleasure like this way sooner. but having a 38 year old overworked woman lead you to the right path… oh, what a wonderful world you were living in.

your orgasm felt like warm hug embracing you, washing gently over you but leaving you nonetheless breathless, aching for more.

„my, look at that… aren‘t you just the sweetest little thing…?“, she didn‘t wait for a reply when she moved over to her nightstand and fished out… her very own strap-on.

„h-huh…?“

„what? don‘t tell me you changed your mind about the reward, doll��“, and truth was that she just couldn‘t wait any longer to fuck you into the mattress. with how needy your eyes were still looking at her, the way you rubbed your slightly trembling thighs together, your fingers already pulled out but the hand was still resting between them.

like a little lamb waiting for its sacrifice.

and she needed you. bad. she wanted to make up for the years you wasted with the wrong partners, showing you what you‘ve been missing out on your entire life.

her.

„n-no no! i-i didn‘t change my mind at all-!“, you crawled towards her side of the bed where she was currently standing when she started buckling up her fake dick.

the sight of you kneeling before her on the bed, tits pressed together in that skimpy top of yours forced her to wet her lips.

you will be the end of her.

„lay back. legs spread. mhm, just like that.“, she had to suppress a groan when you exposed your soaked pussy to her eyes once again. the way she could make out your nervous breathing by how fast your chest rose and fell back down. you were excited.

„good girl. now show off that pretty cunt to me.“, her throat visibly moved when you spread your folds open for her once more. one moment she was standing, the next she dropped to her knees, hungry lips roaming over your warmth, a tongue greedily lapping up your juices as muffled groans filled the tense bedroom air.

it was almost a reflex when your hand found home between her hair strands, pushing her further into you when you couldn’t stop the sounds of pure ecstasy any longer.

yet, peruere didn‘t devote her mouth to your pussy much longer, already leaving a hot trail of messy kisses up to your tummy, tattooed hands working the fabric of your top over your tits, giving them both a treatment consisting of biting your nipple and making sure to cover those beautiful girls in lovebites beyond recognition.

„o-oh god- fuuuuck… p-please…!“, you whined, whimpered, whatever. hands tracing the outlines of her trained biceps when she fucking finally towered over you, lips swollen from treating your body like a temple, crimson eyes dark with nothing else other than carnal desire.

„you want me? you want my cock inside that tight pussy of yours, hm?“, she purred as she grabbed your right leg and placing it over her shoulder when you felt her rubbing the shaft through your slickness.

the way you shook your head up and down like a total maniac was all she needed.

„then you shall have me.“

often peruere didn‘t look like she was approaching the 40 years mark.

but those hips made sure to remind you of it yet again. slamming so perfectly into you, her cock settling each and every time against your cervix when she bottoms out, like a puzzle piece falling into place.

she swore she could feel you gripping onto the silicone, how you sucked her in as if you were about to starve and despite not even being penetrated sexually herself- she was groaning from the deepest pits of her throat. not caring about your juices staining the sheets underneath you or her sleeping pants.

„p-peruere…!! p-peru-!!“, you mewled in the sweetest tone as you grabbed into the sheets until your knuckles turned white, tears forming in the corner of your eyes from how deep she was penetrating you from the inside.

„all those before me, did they ever fuck you as good as me? did they ever have you screaming over their cock like this, hm?“, the both of you overheard the sound of the bed creaking underneath her almost animalistic pace if it weren‘t for your skin slapping together. you could almost mistake it for a round of applause.

however, your answer was clear.

„n-no-! th-they didn‘t- Hngh!!“, your spine melted into a beautiful arch when she angled her hips to go after that one certain spot, stars already dangling around your vision from how well she was fucking you.

not even your climax stopped her. it only further motivated her to press your legs up until your knees were almost touching your ears so she could rut as deeply as possibly into you.

she hated how she couldn‘t get pregnant more than anything else right now. nobody ever made her feel this wanted as you in that moment. how you begged for her, pleading for salvation in form of her cock and what not. you wanted her fuck you into this mattress for eternity, to turn you into her own personal doll to play with.

„mine… mine, all mine…“, giving into the urge to kiss you stupid almost made her cum herself. the moans that were swallowed by her own lips, your arms snaking around her neck to keep her pressed against your body as she held your face in her hands as if you were but a precious diamond she needed to be careful with. a strong contradict to how she was plowing into you and how strongly the room smelled of sex.

and if your place was underneath her with seven inches filling you up, then so be it.

your world almost shattered after yet another exhilarating high when she pulled out, not even the slightest hint of her being out of breath yet.

„don‘t look at me like that, sweetheart. i‘m not even remotely done with you yet.“, her biceps strained as she picked you up as if you were nothing but lightweight to her before flipping you over on your stomach, „hips up.“, a hand patted the fat of your hips and you obliged more than happily.

a pillow was placed underneath you and you also dragged another one over to rest your head on. you knew she was about to rock your whole world.

„comfortable?“

„m-mhm…“

„then hold on tight.“

#arlecchino genshin #x reader #arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #arlecchino #fatui x reader #genshin impact #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino smut #arlecchino x you #genshin wlw

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loganspet · 23 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 ♡ ૮ › ‹ ྀིა

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . . @loganspet

When Logan Howlett, your sugar daddy, finally gets his hands on you again, there’s no holding back.

Pairing:

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Daddy Kink, Dom! Logan, Sub! Reader, Rough sex, Teasing, Banter, Age gap, Dirty talk, Fingering , Use of pet names, Bimboification, Reader has piercings, Minor Ass spanking, No control, Explicit language, Explicit sexual content, Dog tags, Unprotected Sex (p in v).

Cotton Candy is Readers Nickname meaning docile and approachable

Inspiration nsfw link :3

Half asleep, I can’t shake the thought of him slipping into my bed, so I wrote this .

. . .

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] I’m booooored.

[Lo:] And?

[You:] And you should entertain me, duh.

[Lo:] Ain’t my problem, princess.

You scowl at your screen.

╰─..★.──────────╯

You roll your eyes, sprawled across the plush sheets of your king-sized bed. Technically, it’s your bed, in your penthouse—but let’s be real. It’s all because of him.

Logan keeps you in luxury, a spoiled little thing in lace and diamonds. He likes you soft, pretty, with a closet full of designer and a credit card you still haven’t hit the limit on. But right now? He’s being a pain in the ass.

Your manicured fingers tap against your phone.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Umm, actually, it is. You signed up for this so fucking mean. Ugh.

[Lo:] That right? Ain’t mean. Just don’t cater to whiny brats.

You picture him now, probably kicked back in his Chevrolet, cigar clenched between his teeth, jaw tight. He’s never been much for texting—too impatient, too old. You giggle at the thought.

[You:] You literally do tho. My closet says otherwise. What’s wrong, old man?

He leaves you on read for a second, which makes you scowl. You hate when he does that—like he’s got something more important than you. So, naturally, you decide to push.

[Lo:] Keep runnin’ that mouth, Cotton Candy see what happens.

You roll onto your back, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

[You:] Ooo, scary. What’re you gonna do, Lo? Ground me?

╰─..★.──────────╯

You smirk at your own sass, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, you pout. Logan’s such a grump. He doesn’t chase—not the way men your age do, falling over themselves for a chance with you. But that’s exactly why you love teasing him, making him snap.

A new idea.

You look in your vanity mirror. Your mirror is a dream—glossy lips, untidy hair, barely-there underwear, and something dangling between your tits. His dog tags. You bit your lip. Tits spill out. The cool metal rubs against your pierced nipples, barbell jewelry visible through the exquisite lace the lace he bought. Sliding your phone up, you angle the camera perfectly—pouty, teasing, tits pushed up, You make sure the tags are in focus, resting against your pierced nipples like they belong there. and attached it to a new message.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Ruin me, daddy. Please?

Delivered. Read.

You smirk.

Three dots appear. Vanish. Appear again. Oh, he’s pissed. The response takes seconds.

[Lo:] You wanna play that game, huh?

Your grin widens. Your stomach flips

[You:] Mmhmm. You get all growly ‘n’ bossy when you’re mad. So hot, Lo.

[Lo:] ‘Lo’? The fuck kinda name is that?

You giggle, twirling a strand of hair again.

[You:] Short for Logan. Duh.

[Lo:] Don’t call me that. I hate it

He loves it

[You:] Aww. Someone’s grumpy. Lemme guess—you’re sittin’ there, puffin’ on one of those nasty cigars, pretendin’ you’re not hard as hell right now.

Three dots appear. Vanish.

You’re kicking your feet.

[You:] C’mon, daddy. Bet you can’t handle me tonight.

Still nothing. Fine. You decide to push harder, slipping your fingers into your lace panties, dragging them low—just enough to tease. Another pic. Another message.

[You:] Bet you won’t do a thing about it.

Delivered. Read.

The response is immediate.

[Lo:] Bet your fuckin’ ass I will. Open the door.

Your breath catches.

Wait—

[You:] …You’re already here?!

[Lo:] Got in the car the second you sent that first pic. Ain’t in the mood for your games, bubs. Open the door, now.

Oh, shit.

You scramble up, heat pooling between your thighs, heart pounding. Your phone vibrates again.

[Lo:] And take those fuckin’ panties off before I get in there. If you’re gonna act like a needy little brat, you’re gonna learn what happens when daddy finally has enough.

Your whole body shivers.

You’re so in trouble.

╰─..★.──────────╯

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You barely have time to process before there’s a heavy knock at your door. Sharp. Impatient.

Your pulse jumps.

Oh, you really did it this time.

Scrambling off the bed, you toss your phone aside and tug your panties down, just like he ordered. A rush of excitement floods through you—nerves and need tangled together. You love this part, the chase. Pushing him, testing the limits of that patience.

And now? You’re about to see what happens when you finally snap it.

You unlock the door with trembling fingers. The second it swings open.

Big hands. A rough grip. Logan grabs you, one hand fisting your hair, the other bracing against your jaw, forcing your head up to meet his glare.

He smells like cigar smoke and leather, like pine and something dangerous.

“Y’think you’re cute, huh?” His voice is low, thick with something darker than irritation.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Logan’s eyes flick down, and fuck, you swear you see his jaw tighten when he sees his tags between your tits, resting against your soft skin like they were made to be there. back when their little arrangement was still just that—an arrangement. He paid for your apartment, your designer bags, diamond bracelets. You let him grab you by the waist, let him pull you into his lap when the two of you were alone, let him drink in the way you looked in all the things he bought. It was a game, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. Spoiled you rotten, the perfect little doll for him.

But one night, You saw them. His dog tags. Hanging off the hook in his bedroom like they didn’t belong to him, like they weren’t something personal, something worn close to his heart.

You wanted them so you took them

“Y’just don’t know when to quit, do ya?” He mutters, stepping inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

You give him a slow, syrupy smile. “Not really.”

His nostrils flare.

Then he’s moving—shoving you back against the wall, pinning you there like you belong beneath him. His grip tightens around your chin, thumb pressing against your glossy bottom lip.

“Daddy asked you a question.” His voice is rough, a quiet rasp of warning.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Which one?”

His expression darkens.

“Brat.”

Oh, you love it when he gets like this—when his rough hands and mean mouth are too much for anyone else, but perfect for you.

“I missed you, Logan” you sigh, tilting your head, giving him a coy smile of yours that drives him wild.

His thumb drags against your lip, just barely dipping between your teeth.

“Yeah? That why you were sendin’ me filthy fuckin’ pictures while I was drivin’?” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. He always loves hearing his name from you—especially when it comes out so sweet, so innocent, even though he knows exactly what’s underneath that pretty, ditzy exterior.

Your grin widens. “Mhm.” you hum, drawing out the sound just enough to drive him wild. “I missed everything about you, Logan”

His thumb presses against your tongue, just enough to make you gasp.

“Everything, huh? Got no patience for your games tonight, sugar. Y’been beggin’ for my attention all fuckin’ week.” He leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “Now you got it.”

“I want you so bad,” you whisper against his lips, your breath coming faster, need building. “Do you want me, Lo?” You whimper, thighs pressing together. Of course he did if he didn’t he wouldn’t be here.

His lips brush against your ear. “What was it you said?” His voice is pure gravel, his grip sliding down your body, over soft curves, possessive and firm. “Bet I won’t do a thing about it?”

A sharp little gasp slips out before you can stop it.

Then his hand grips the inside of your bare thigh. Just enough to sting. Just enough to make you ache.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

His voice is a growl against your ear, rough like gravel, thick like smoke.

“You really got no shame, do ya? Bubs”

You giggle, all soft and sweet, batting your lashes up at him. “Not when it comes to you, Lo”

Logan exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to keep his shit together. You know that sound. It’s the same one he makes when he’s gripping the steering wheel too tight after you’ve spent the whole car ride teasing him with your pretty little mouth.

His hand is still on your thigh, big and hot, pressing in just enough to remind you who’s in charge. His other hand trails up, fingers catching on the chain of his dog tags—right where they sit between your tits.

You see it then, the way his eyes darken, locked on the cold metal resting against your warm skin.

He loves it.

He hates how much he loves it.

“You think just ‘cause you’re wearin’ these, you get to act like a fuckin’ menace?” His thumb brushes the tags, then trails down, grazing your nipple through the thin lace. The metal is cold against your skin.

You gasp, arching into him. “Mmm. Maybe.”

His grip tightens.

Maybe it’s the pout you give him. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not wearing panties, just like he told you to. Maybe it’s the way your skin is warm and soft under his rough hands—so delicate compared to him.

Whatever it is, Logan’s patience snaps like a frayed wire.

He fists the chain and tugs. Not enough to hurt, just enough to pull you closer, to make you feel who you belong to.

“You got no fuckin’ idea what you just started, Cotton Candy.”

You shiver, looking up at him through heavy lashes. “Guess you’ll have to show me.”

His nostrils flare.

Then, without another word, he grabs you—lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you over his shoulder, one big hand landing a sharp slap against your bare ass.

You squeal, wiggling in his hold.

“Fuck Logan!”

Another spank, harder this time.

“What was that?”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together, breath shuddering. “Daddy.”

His smirk is damn near feral as he starts toward your bedroom.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan kicks the door shut behind him, the sharp click of the lock sliding into place making your stomach tighten.

You’re still slung over his broad shoulder, ass on display, his fingers kneading at your soft flesh like he’s debating whether to spank you again.

He takes his time.

Lets you feel every step—every shift of his powerful frame, every roll of his muscles under your body. It’s dizzying, being manhandled like this, thrown around like you weigh nothing. And fuck, you love it.

“Dunno if you deserve my time tonight, sugar.”

“Daddy,” you whine, squirming in his grip. “You’re being so mean.”

Logan flicks open his lighter with a practiced ease, the small flame illuminating his face for just a moment before he brings the cigar to his lips. The end glows ember-red as he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing, the scent of burning tobacco filling the air. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just watches you through the curling tendrils of smoke, that sharp-toothed smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A chuckle. Deep, throaty. Cruel.

“Yeah?” he drawls, voice thick and amused, the cigar bobbing between his teeth as he speaks. His palm finds your ass again, fingers kneading into soft flesh, teasing, taunting. “’Cause I ain’t the one sendin’ pictures, beggin’ to be ruined, huh?”

You pout, not that he can see it. “It was just a little tease.”

You swallow hard, heat curling in your stomach, but Logan just snorts, exhaling a sharp puff of smoke through his nose like he doesn’t believe a damn word out of your mouth.

“Yeah? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

And then you’re falling.

Your back bounces against the bed as Logan drops you without an ounce of gentleness, and a little oof leaves your lips. But before you can complain, before you can even think about sitting up, he’s already on you—big, warm, and so much, caging you in with that solid body like you’re tiny beneath him.

His knees press into the mattress, one rough hand spreading your thigh open like it’s his to play with. His other arm braces beside your head, keeping you right where he wants you, making you so, so helpless under him. You’re not, of course—you know how to push his buttons, how to whine and get your way.

Logan knows better.

Knows you’re a spoiled, needy gorgeous thing. Knows you love pushing him to his limit just to see how far he’ll take it.

Tonight, you’re fucked.

“You like bein’ a whore, huh? Like makin’ me work for it? Huh, bub?”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, his fingers dip between your thighs, sliding through your already-messy slick.

“Damn,” he mutters, voice low, guttural. The rasp in it sends a shiver down your spine. “Drenched for me already, huh?“

Your breath hitches when he slides a thick finger inside, slow at first, teasing. He watches your body react, watches the way you arch and whimper, all pretty and desperate under him.

Your hands curl into the sheets as you whine, bottom lip wobbles “M’not easy.”

Logan just chuckles, dark and knowing. His free hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“You sure about that, sweetie?” His fingers press a little deeper, his thumb circling your clit in lazy, unhurried strokes.

“This is mine”

You gasp, back arching, legs spreading instinctively. His touch is firm, practiced—he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to work your body until you’re shaking.

“I-" your voice squealing with delight, the more you cry for him.

“Yeah?” His thumb drags over your pouty bottom lip, like he’s thinking about stuffing it in your mouth.

And then—his fingers speed up.

The shift is sudden, brutal. From slow, teasing drags to deep, fast thrusts, curling just right, fucking you open with rough, unrelenting precision. His palm smacks against your soaked little cunt with every stroke, the sound loud, wet, filthy. The kind of sound that makes your cheeks burn. The kind of rhythm that makes you forget how to think.

Your back arches off the bed, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets, desperate to grab onto something, anything.

“Oh,” you gasp, nodding eagerly, shivering when he fingers your swollen, desperate cunt. eyes going all glossy and unfocused. “Oh—Logan—” ..★ ..★

Your face burns, but you don’t deny it. Can’t. Not when he’s got you like this—pinned beneath him, fingers buried deep, dragging you toward the edge like it’s nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, hands flying to his shoulders, clinging tight, nails digging into muscle like you need to ground yourself.

He hums in approval, lips quirking into a smirk.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, teasing. “Say it nice. Show me you deserve it.”

You’re already panting, thighs trembling as the pressure builds, but you force yourself to meet his gaze, batting your lashes. And then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. Not gentle. Logan kisses like he fights—rough, unrelenting, a clash of heat and dominance that steals the breath from your lungs. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, a sharp nip that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You whimper against his mouth, but that only makes him bite harder, dragging his teeth along the plush curve before soothing the sting with his tongue.

The taste of copper blooms between you.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest as he licks into your mouth, tasting the blood, tasting you. He groans when his tongue meets the cool metal of your piercing, rolling against it, sucking your tongue into his mouth like he’s starved for it. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as the kiss deepens into something messy, desperate.

Your lips are swollen, slick, the faintest trace of blood smeared between them as he finally pulls back, panting, his grip on you still tight, still possessive. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, smearing the crimson before he shoves his thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue.

“Look at you,”

“Please, Daddy,” you breathe, voice dripping with sweet desperation. “Please fuck me. Want you so bad—”

Your words cut off in a gasp when he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty, aching.

Logan brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning low in his chest like he’s savoring you.

“Logan… Screw you” you whine, lifting your hips in an attempt to chase the pleasure you crave.

Wrong move.

His palm cracks against your ass, sharp and punishing.

“No,” he commands. “Stay still.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

The sound of his belt unbuckling makes your breath hitch. That sharp clink of metal, the slow drag of leather through the loops—it’s enough to have you clenching around nothing.

Logan knows it too. Knows exactly what that does to you.

He smirks, cigar between his teeth, letting his belt fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Then his hands go to his jeans, flicking the button open, dragging the zipper down slow—making you watch, making you wait.

You whimper, shifting under him, body already arching in silent desperation.

“Always so impatient,” he mutters, kicking his jeans off, watching you with those dark, heated eyes. “You know how this goes, sugar.”

Yeah. You do.

Because this isn’t the first time you’ve begged him like this, all messy and desperate, no teasing, no buildup—just pure, aching need.

And Logan’s never been the type to deny you.

You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s gripping your thighs, spreading you open, fitting himself between them.

No warning. No preparation. Just the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against your slick, dripping entrance, pushing in deep.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs trembling at the stretch.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You don’t remember exactly how it happened—how a night of harmless flirting turned into something permanent.

But somewhere between the stolen kisses in the dark and the way he fucked you, Logan decided you were his.

And you loved that.

You loved being spoiled.

Liked being taken care of.

Loved the feeling of his rough hands on your soft skin, the contrast of his calloused fingers slipping expensive jewelry onto you like you were some pretty little doll for him to dress up.

He made sure you had everything.

“You wanna act like a spoiled little thing—” he had rasped once, pinning you against the wall, cigar dangling from his lips.

You had just giggled, chewing your bubblegum, watching his eyes darken when your lips pouted around the pink sweetness.

“I am spoiled, daddy.”

Logan had exhaled, thick smoke curling around you both as he dragged his mouth up your neck, biting at your jaw, his voice a low growl—

“Yeah? Then I better make sure y’know who spoils ya.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Now, with your legs wrapped around his waist, his dog tags bouncing between your tits, his teeth sinking into your neck.

You know.

It burns—God, it burns—but you don’t care. You love it. Love how rough he is, how he takes you, he owns you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head dropping to your shoulder, voice thick with need. “So goddamn tight Cotton Candy —”

You whimper, legs wrapping around him, heels digging into his back. “Daddy, please—”

That’s all it takes.

With a low, ragged growl, Logan pulls back—just enough to slam back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your back arches off the bed, lips parting in a soundless gasp.

He sets a brutal pace, fast and deep, no softness, no hesitation—just pure, unrelenting need.

Each thrust punches the air from your lungs, leaves you gasping, whining, begging.

“Fuckin’ ruined for me,” Logan growls, voice thick with possession. “Ain’t no man ever gonna fuck you like this, baby. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a breathless, “Yes, Daddy—only you, only you—”

Logan grunts in approval, pace punishing now, skin slapping against skin. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, but you don’t care.

All you care about is him. His hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan shifts, gripping your hips, pulling you up until your legs wrap tight around his waist. The new angle makes you see stars ..★ ..★ —his cock pressing impossibly deep, stretching you wide, claiming every inch of you.

Your lingerie—what’s left of it—is already slipping off your shoulders, straps hanging loose, fabric bunched up around your ribs. Logan’s fingers roam up your torso, curling around the delicate lace, and with one sharp tug—

Riiip.

You gasp, eyes wide, body jerking from the sudden tear of fabric against your skin.

“Logan!” you gasp, half-scolding, half-turned on.

He just smirks, watching the shredded lace fall from your body, leaving you completely bare. His voice is rough, teasing as his thumbs skim your nipples. Click—the dog tags hanging between your tits clink together.

“I’ll buy you another one, Cotton Candy,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing. Like he’ll buy you a thousand more just to tear them off again.

Your head falls back against the pillows, shivering as his hands roam, feeling every inch of you like he owns it.

And he does.

Logan leans down, chest pressing flush against yours, his cock hitting deeper—making you gasp. His shirt’s still on, fabric rough against your bare skin, but it doesn’t last long.

One-handed, he tugs it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

God, he’s huge.

Thick and broad, every inch of him veined and solid, muscles shifting beneath his scarred skin as he moves. The happy trail leads down to where he’s buried inside you, disappearing between your trembling thighs.

The cigar still hangs lazily from his lips, the ember burning low. A slow curl of smoke wafts up toward the ceiling.

Logan smirks down at you, rolling his hips slow, grinding against you—making you feel every inch of him.

“Needa fill ya to the brim, bub where you're already sweet and ready for me, is where my cock goes—where my dick belongs." he rasps, voice heavy with lust.

“Oh god…” You gasped, eyes wide, looking down at the way his cock was bulged inside of you.

Your lips part, a shuddering whimper slipping past. “Mm… Lo”

His smirk widens, hand sliding down to grip your throat, thumb brushing your jaw.

“Yeah, sugar,” he mutters, leaning in, breath hot against your lips. “Real deep. Make sure ya feel me all fuckin’ night.”

His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss sloppy, rough, all teeth.

His canines graze your lip before he bites, sharp and deep—just enough to sting, to bruise.

You whimper, fingers tangling in his thick hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

He groans at that, hips snapping forward, cock slamming into you so hard your back arches off the bed.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he growls, licking the blood from your swollen lip.

Then he grabs your hips and fucks you stupid.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Your brain turns fuzzy, all soft and sweet, floating somewhere between pleasure and delirium.

Logan’s weight keeps you pinned, his body hot, muscles flexing, his hips slamming into you over and over until all you can do is take it.

His cock stretches you impossibly wide, dragging along that sensitive spot inside you with every brutal thrust. Your nails claw at his back, but you’re weak, barely able to hold onto him as your body trembles beneath him.

“D-Daddy—mm—s’too much…” Your voice is all breathy, slurred, almost drunk on him.

Logan just chuckles, that low, gravelly sound rolling through his chest. His cigar’s long gone now—probably crushed somewhere on the nightstand.

“Aww, what’s wrong, baby ?” he drawls, licking up the side of your throat. “My dumb lil’ candy can’t take it?”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, eyes glassy, lips parted. Every thrust punches another little whimper out of you, soft and broken, your thighs trembling around his waist.

He smirks at the way you’re gibbering now, no real words left—just babbling, whining, fists clenching and unclenching against his shoulders.

“C’mon, bubs,” he grunts, voice thick. “One more. Give me one more, yeah?”

You sob, shaking your head, but your body betrays you—your walls fluttering around him, sucking him deeper.

“Fuck—there ya go,” Logan groans, his rhythm stuttering, movements getting erratic. He’s close—real close.

His grip tightens on your hips, his pace turning sloppy, grinding deep until—

He pulls out at the last second, thick ropes of cum spilling across your chest, dripping down your belly.

You gasp, body twitching, still lost in the aftershocks.

Logan groans low in his throat, watching the mess he made, his fingers tracing through the pearly streaks painting your soft skin.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, half outta breath, voice wrecked.

You blink up at him, all fuzzy, pretty, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in little gasps.

Logan smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“Y’look real good like this, baby,”

802 notes · View notes

goldfades · 2 months ago

Text

crazy cat people───joe burrow⁹

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and joe had always been cat people—dogs were just too high maintenance, too needy. but you were never in a hurry to get cats until one night, joe finds a cat on a roadie and decides to bring her home.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | literally nothing but cat dad joe, and dog slander (JK!! not really, but we all know joe likes cats better). inspired by this clip.

The thing about Joe is that he’s always been a cat person.

You figured it out on your second date when the conversation somehow derailed into a passionate debate about why people automatically assume dogs are superior. It started off as a joke—some exaggerated takes for the sake of banter—but then Joe hit you with a well-structured argument about the independent nature of cats, their low-maintenance lifestyle, and the way they choose their people rather than blindly loving everyone.

“You ever seen a cat follow some random stranger home just ‘cause they waved at it? No. That’s some dog behavior.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “No self-respect.”

That was the moment you knew he was the one.

Well, not actually, but it definitely solidified your interest. Three years later, the two of you were still going strong, bound together by an undeniable connection, a deep understanding of each other’s quirks, and a shared stance that dogs—while undeniably adorable—were just a little too much. Too excitable. Too dependent. Too… needy.

“We’d be cat people,” you had declared one night while curled up on the couch together, his arm draped lazily around you. “Like, if we were to get a pet.”

Joe hummed in agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah, but I feel like we’d be picky about it. Can’t just have any cat. Gotta be one with personality.”

“A little bit of an asshole,” you added.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

Despite countless conversations about what you’d name your hypothetical future cat (the list had ranged from elegant, sophisticated names like Theodora to complete chaos like Little Shit), you never actually got one. Between Joe’s insane schedule and your own busy life, it never felt like the right time. You weren’t the type to impulsively adopt an animal just because it seemed like a cute idea—you took responsibility seriously. Joe was the same way.

But that didn’t stop you from sending him TikToks of cats daily. And it definitely didn’t stop him from pausing the TV anytime a cat appeared in a commercial, just to point and go, “That one’s kinda cool.”

It was just one of those things. A little inside joke, a shared fantasy, a part of your relationship that existed in theory but had yet to materialize.

Until Joe came back from a road trip with something unexpected.

Something small. And furry. And wrapped in the hoodie he had worn on the plane.

A cat.

He met your wide-eyed stare with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, funny story…”

It was one of those quiet, in-between days where everything felt a little dull without Joe around. You were used to it by now—his road trips, the stretches of time where you had to keep yourself entertained—but no matter how well you adjusted, the house always felt bigger when he wasn’t in it.

You filled the day the best way you knew how. Running errands, grabbing coffee from the spot down the street, making small talk with the barista who always remembered your order. You spent an unreasonable amount of time in Target, browsing the aisles aimlessly, tossing things into your cart that you definitely didn’t need but convinced yourself were essentials.

A candle? Necessary. A new throw blanket even though you already had five? An investment. A little ceramic dish shaped like a cat’s face? Joe would think it was funny.

By the time you got home, the sun was beginning to set, casting the living room in soft golden light. You went through your usual routine—changing into something comfier, throwing your hair up, and scrolling through your phone while curled up on the couch.

Joe had texted you earlier to say his flight landed on time, but you weren’t sure when he’d actually walk through the door. Traveling always took it out of him, and sometimes he lingered at the facility longer than necessary, just to settle back into the routine of being home.

So when you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking, you perked up, setting your phone down.

Joe was home.

You stood, stretching a little before padding over to greet him—only to immediately freeze in place.

Because Joe Burrow, your extremely predictable, routine-driven boyfriend, was standing in the doorway holding a cat.

Not a cat carrier. Not a box from the pet store with a new cat inside. No, he was physically holding a cat in his arms, cradling it like some kind of newborn wrapped in the oversized hoodie he had worn on the plane.

“Uh…” You blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. “Joe?”

Joe, looking far too casual for someone who had just walked into your shared home with a whole animal, shot you a sheepish grin.

“So, funny story…” He shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the tiny creature, who—shockingly—seemed completely unbothered.

You didn’t say anything. You just stared. Because what the hell were you supposed to say?

Joe cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels. “I found him at a gas station. In, like… the middle of nowhere.”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Yeah. Just… chilling. No collar, no tags, nothing.” He looked down at the cat, then back at you, as if that explanation was supposed to justify the fact that he had apparently just kidnapped an animal. “He walked right up to me. Super chill. Thought, you know, maybe he needed a home.”

“You—” You ran a hand down your face, processing. “So you just… took him?”

Joe shrugged, completely unbothered. “No one stopped me.”

You stared at him, then at the cat, then back at him.

The cat—a small, scrappy-looking thing with fluffy black fur and bright green eyes—gave the smallest little stretch before curling back up into the fabric of Joe’s hoodie, as if this was the most natural situation in the world.

A sigh left your lips, half-exasperated, half-amused. “You stole a cat.”

Joe scoffed. “I didn’t steal him. I rescued him.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you check to see if he belonged to anyone?”

Joe paused. “I mean… he was alone.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Well, no one else was around,” Joe defended. “It was late. Freezing cold. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “So your solution was to bring him home?”

Joe, completely unrepentant, grinned. “Yeah. He’s cool, right?”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers against your temples before shaking your head.

This man.

This six-foot-four NFL quarterback who spent three years claiming you guys would be extremely selective about what kind of cat you got, had apparently abandoned all standards the second a gas station stray blinked at him.

And worse? You were already kind of attached.

Because the damn cat was still curled up in his hoodie, looking completely at peace, like he had already decided he belonged here.

You sighed, waving them both inside. “I can’t believe you.”

Joe grinned, stepping past you and into the house, clearly taking that as a win.

“Should we name him?” he asked, already making himself comfortable on the couch, cat still in tow.

You groaned.

“Oh my God.”

The first night with Miss Honey felt strangely natural, like she had always belonged here. Apparently, you guys had been misgendering her the whole time.

After the initial shock of Joe casually waltzing into your home with a stray cat, the two of you got to work making sure she was okay. A quick check revealed she was mostly healthy—just a little underweight and carrying a few ticks, which you carefully removed while Joe held her still, murmuring soft reassurances. Despite being a random cat from a gas station, she was surprisingly chill about it, blinking up at you with those big green eyes like she already trusted you.

“This is insane,” you had muttered, brushing your fingers through her soft fur.

Joe, stretched out on the couch beside you, smirked. “Yeah, but you love it.”

You rolled your eyes because, of course, he was right.

That night, the three of you curled up on the couch and put on Matilda, your mutual comfort movie. Joe made popcorn, you pulled out the throw blanket you had impulse-bought earlier that day, and Miss Honey—named after the warm, soft-spoken teacher you both adored—made herself right at home between you, paws tucked neatly beneath her little body.

“She’s purring,” Joe whispered at one point, as if he was afraid saying it too loud would make her stop.

You had just smiled, gently scratching behind her ears. “Yeah. I think she likes us.”

It took less than twenty-four hours for Miss Honey to fully take over the house.

By the next morning, she had already established herself as a permanent fixture, weaving between your legs as you made coffee, hopping onto the couch like she owned the place, and—much to Joe’s delight—curling up on his chest while he lounged around watching film.

“She’s got good taste,” he mused, running a slow hand down her back.

You, sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting through your Target bags from yesterday, shot him a look. “You mean ‘cause she likes you?”

Joe grinned, glancing down at the cat who was currently making biscuits against his hoodie. “I mean, can you blame her?”

You snorted. “Unreal.”

Still, you had to admit—Miss Honey really did love Joe.

At first, you thought it was just convenience. He ran warm, he was still for long periods of time, and his heartbeat was steady enough to lull anyone to sleep. But over the next few days, it became clear that her attachment went deeper than that.

She followed him from room to room, her tiny paws padding against the hardwood whenever he moved. If Joe was at the kitchen counter making breakfast, Miss Honey was right there beside him, tail flicking lazily. If he was tying his shoes by the door, she sat next to him, watching intently like she had somewhere to be, too.

It was ridiculous.

“She’s obsessed with you,” you pointed out one night, arms crossed as you watched her bat playfully at the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Joe grinned, scratching under her chin. “Yeah, but don’t be jealous.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest.

Because, truthfully, you loved it.

You loved that she trusted him. Loved that this cat—who had spent who-knows-how-long fending for herself—had chosen you both, nestled herself into the space between you like she had been there forever.

It didn’t take long for Miss Honey to establish a routine.

Every morning, without fail, she woke Joe up first. Not you—Joe.

You learned this the hard way when you woke up one morning to a quiet, disgruntled “Jesus,” followed by the sound of Joe shifting beside you. Blinking blearily, you turned over, only to find Miss Honey perched delicately on his chest, staring down at him like she was assessing whether or not it was time for him to get up.

“Babe,” Joe whispered, voice still thick with sleep. “Your cat is harassing me.”

You stifled a laugh, rubbing your eyes. “She’s your cat too.”

“Yeah, well, tell her to chill.”

Miss Honey, completely ignoring his complaints, took that exact moment to lean down and press her tiny nose against his, like a little wake-up kiss.

You melted on the spot.

Joe groaned, but even half-asleep, he couldn’t hide his smile.

From then on, it became a thing. Every morning, she woke Joe up first, then trotted to the kitchen like a little queen expecting breakfast. She had a schedule, and she stuck to it.

By the end of the second week, she had also taken over bedtime.

One night, you were finishing up in the bathroom when Joe called out from the bedroom, amusement lacing his voice.

“You’re getting replaced.”

You stepped into the room, brows furrowed. “What?”

Joe tilted his head toward the bed, where Miss Honey was curled up on his pillow, perfectly nestled into the space where your head usually went.

You crossed your arms. “Unreal.”

Joe smirked, patting the mattress beside him. “Sorry, babe. She called dibs.”

You shook your head, sliding into bed anyway, and—because Miss Honey was the most spoiled creature on the planet—you let her stay.

She purred contently between you, tucked snugly between your bodies, and Joe reached out, running a slow hand down her back before catching your gaze.

“I think she was meant to be ours,” he murmured, voice soft in the dark.

Your heart swelled.

Because he was right.

At first, Miss Honey had been a little more drawn to Joe. It wasn’t anything personal—she liked you just fine—but there was something about him that had her stuck to him like glue. Maybe it was his warmth, or the steady way he carried himself, or the fact that he had been the one to scoop her up from the cold and bring her home.

But after a couple of weeks, things started shifting.

It wasn’t sudden. There was no grand moment of realization where she decided, Actually, I love you too. It was slower than that—small moments that gradually built into something solid, something certain.

It was the way she started lingering in the kitchen while you made breakfast, winding around your ankles, soft fur brushing against your bare legs as she meowed up at you like she was part of the conversation.

It was how she started climbing onto your lap while you were reading, kneading her tiny paws into your stomach before curling up and purring herself to sleep, like you were something safe.

It was how she started following you into the bathroom whenever you did your skincare at night, sitting neatly by the sink and watching you with lazy, half-lidded eyes, as if she was deeply invested in your routine.

She was still Joe’s shadow, but you had become hers.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“She likes you now,” Joe teased one night, watching as Miss Honey happily stretched out on your chest, perfectly content.

You smirked, scratching under her chin. “She always liked me.”

“Nah,” he mused, tossing an arm around your shoulders. “She tolerated you. Big difference.”

You gasped dramatically. “How dare you?”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Hey, it’s a compliment. You won her over.”

And you had.

Miss Honey wasn’t just a cat anymore. She was your cat. An irreplaceable little presence in the house.

Joe, naturally, leaned into it full force.

It started with the essentials.

A bed. A few toys. Some high-quality cat food that Joe meticulously researched before purchasing. He wasn’t about to give her just anything—he wanted the best, reading reviews like he was about to draft a new teammate.

You had laughed the first time you caught him looking up “best cat food brands for digestion” on his phone.

“Joe, she was literally eating bugs two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, and now she’s got standards,” he shot back, tapping on a link. “This one’s got good ingredients.”

And that was just the beginning.

Before long, Joe was going all out—buying her the best litter (something natural and odor-free, because only the best for our girl), a selection of premium treats (“That Temptations crap is all filler,” he had said, with so much conviction you almost cried laughing), and multiple collars in different colors and patterns.

One morning, you caught him kneeling by the front door, carefully adjusting the tiny blue velvet collar around Miss Honey’s neck.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, leaning against the doorway, watching as he straightened the little golden name tag.

Joe glanced up, grinning. “She looks good though, right?”

You had to admit—she did.

But the real turning point? The sweaters.

That was unexpected.

It had started as a joke—one lazy evening, the two of you scrolling through Etsy, looking at cat accessories for fun.

“Wouldn’t she look cute in this?” you had said, showing Joe a tiny, knitted sweater in a soft cream color.

Joe snorted. “No way she’d wear that.”

Turns out, she would. And she’d like it.

The first time you slipped a tiny sweater over her head, Miss Honey barely reacted—just gave a big stretch, turned in a circle, and promptly plopped down on Joe’s lap like nothing was different.

Joe, stunned, just blinked.

“You’re telling me she’s okay with this?”

“She’s thriving,” you corrected, grinning.

And from that moment on, Joe took it as a personal mission to build her wardrobe.

Over the next week, more sweaters arrived in the mail—different colors, different materials, even a tiny hoodie with ears.

“This is getting out of hand,” you commented as Joe unboxed yet another package.

He held up a tiny lavender sweater, inspecting the material. “It’s for layering.”

You stared at him. “Joe, she’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked. “A stylish one.”

Miss Honey, stretched out on the couch, gave a slow blink, completely unbothered by the chaos she had brought into your lives.

And, honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Three months in, and neither of you could remember what life was like before Miss Honey.

It wasn’t just that she had settled into your home—she had settled into you, woven herself into the rhythm of your days so seamlessly that the idea of waking up without her little body curled between you or coming home to a silent house felt… wrong.

Mornings were different now.

Gone were the days of lazy, drawn-out wake-ups—Miss Honey made sure of that. If Joe’s alarm didn’t get him up, her tiny little paws kneading into his chest certainly did. And if he dared try to roll over and ignore her? She’d take matters into her own hands.

Or, more accurately, her own whiskers.

One morning, you caught her using her best tactic yet—pressing her nose right against Joe’s, whiskers tickling his face until he groaned and finally peeled one eye open.

“You are the most spoiled creature on the planet,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Miss Honey responded by immediately rubbing her face against his chin, purring like a little engine.

Joe exhaled a laugh, eyes still heavy as he let his fingers trail through her fur. “Unreal.”

Meanwhile, your mornings had changed in a different way.

You used to make coffee alone, sipping it in peaceful solitude before starting your day. Now? You had company.

Miss Honey had claimed her spot on the counter—perched delicately by the coffee machine, watching your every move like an executive overseeing production.

“Supervising?” you’d ask her, sprinkling cinnamon into your cup.

She’d blink, tail flicking lazily.

Joe, walking into the kitchen at just the right moment, would snort. “She’s your little manager.”

And it was true—Miss Honey was involved in everything.

She had a routine. A life. A set of unspoken rules that ran the house.

If one of you was on the couch? She was there too, curled up in the crook of your leg or sprawled across Joe’s chest. If you were cooking? She was on the floor, watching you with silent judgment, like a tiny food critic.

If Joe was watching game film, she’d climb onto his lap and stare at the screen, like she had some real thoughts about the Bengals' offense.

She had her little preferences, too. She didn’t care for loud noises but loved when Joe played music on his speakers. She always sat with you while you read, always meowed when she wanted attention, and—for some reason—seemed particularly obsessed with Joe’s socks.

“She’s weird,” Joe said one night, watching as she enthusiastically dragged one of his socks across the living room like it was her prized possession.

“You brought home a gas station cat,” you reminded him. “What did you expect?”

Joe exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he reached down to scratch behind her ears. “She’s perfect.”

And she was.

She had changed things in the smallest, most meaningful ways.

The house didn’t feel empty when Joe was away anymore—not when you had her little paws padding around, her soft purrs filling the silence. Even on the loneliest days, she made it better, curling into you like she just knew.

And Joe—he had changed, too.

If he had been a cat person before, he was fully in his Cat Dad era now.

It had started subtly. The good food, the high-quality litter, the little sweaters he kept ordering. But at some point, it escalated.

Joe started carrying her around the house, tucking her into his hoodie when he was watching film, talking to her like she was an actual human being.

“Alright, Miss Honey,” he said one afternoon, kneeling in front of her as she lounged lazily on her little cat bed. “We got options. You wanna wear the blue sweater or the gray one today?”

You, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed, stared at him. “Joe.”

He looked up, completely unashamed. “She likes choices.”

“She’s a cat.”

Joe just smirked, holding up the tiny sweaters. “A stylish one.”

And then there was the Ja’Marr conversation.

One night, after practice, Ja’Marr had made a casual joke—something about how “one cat turns into five real quick,” laughing at the idea of Joe slowly becoming that guy.

You had laughed too, shaking your head. “No way. We’re a one-cat household.”

Joe had nodded in agreement, completely confident. “Yeah, no shot.”

But then… a week later, he changed his tune.

You were curled up together on the couch, Miss Honey stretched between you, when Joe sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers down her back.

“She’s kinda lonely,” he mused.

You blinked. “What?”

Joe glanced over, tilting his head toward Miss Honey, who was currently kneading her little paws into his thigh. “I mean, she’s got us, but, like… I bet she’d like a friend.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes. “Joe.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, tone easy, like he wasn’t suggesting something huge. “She’s got so much energy. I think she’d like a buddy.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Joe grinned. “Just think about it.”

And just like that, the conversation had started. And you had been so firm about it. Absolutely not. No second cat.

Miss Honey was thriving—happy, healthy, and fully attached to both of you. The idea of bringing another cat into the house felt risky. What if she didn’t like it? What if she got territorial? What if she felt betrayed?

Joe, of course, had started planting the idea like a damn politician.

“I just think she gets bored sometimes,” he would say casually while Miss Honey chased her own tail in the living room.

“She’s got a lot of love to give,” he mused one night, watching her rub up against every single one of your ankles like she was making the rounds.

“She needs a little sidekick,” he argued as she sprawled out dramatically on the kitchen floor, meowing at nothing in particular.

You shot him down every time.

Until, of course, fate decided to step in.

It was a random Saturday, and you and Joe were out running errands—nothing special, just a casual grocery run. You had been debating what kind of bread to get (Joe insisted the multigrain one tasted just as good as white bread, which was a blatant lie), when something caught his eye.

“Babe,” Joe said, suddenly abandoning the cart and heading toward the entrance. “Look.”

You turned, frowning as you followed his gaze.

Right outside the store, under a big white tent, was a cat rescue group—volunteers standing beside crates filled with tiny, curious faces.

A pet adoption event.

Joe immediately turned to you, eyes lighting up. “This is a sign.”

“No, it’s not,” you argued, grabbing the cart. “It’s just Saturday.”

“It’s a sign.”

You groaned as he practically dragged you toward the tent, already grinning like he had just won the lottery.

And then you saw them.

The kittens.

Tiny, wiggly little things with big eyes and oversized paws, rolling around in their blankets or climbing the sides of their enclosures with impressive determination.

You told yourself you were just looking.

Joe was crouched down almost immediately, eyes scanning the different crates as the volunteers smiled at him.

“You guys looking to adopt?” one of them asked.

Joe grinned. “Maybe.”

You shot him a glare. “We are not looking to—”

And then you saw her.

A tiny gray tabby, tucked in the corner of her crate, nibbling sleepily at her own paw. Big round eyes, the softest little face, and an expression that screamed, Yeah, I know I’m cute.

You inhaled sharply.

“Oh no,” Joe murmured, catching the look on your face.

You glanced at him, then back at the kitten.

“… I wanna hold her.”

Joe grinned. “Knew it.”

The second the volunteer placed the kitten in your hands, you were done for. She was so small, her little body barely bigger than your palm. She meowed—tiny and sweet—before immediately nuzzling into the crook of your neck, purring like she had just found home.

Joe, watching intently, exhaled a laugh. “Oh yeah. We’re done for.”

That night, you walked into your house as a two-cat household.

Miss Honey was not immediately sold.

The introduction process was slow—gentle, cautious. You followed all the steps, kept them separated at first, let them get used to each other’s scent. But, much to your surprise, Miss Honey didn’t react with any real aggression.

Mostly? She just seemed deeply confused.

The first time she saw the kitten, she just stared, tail flicking, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Joe, crouched beside her, grinned. “You got a little sister, Honey.”

Miss Honey turned her head, fixing him with a look.

You laughed. “I don’t think she asked for one.”

Still, within a few days, things started shifting.

The kitten—who you decided to name Fig—was relentless in her pursuit of Miss Honey’s love.

She followed her everywhere, mimicked her every move, and—on more than one occasion—attempted to curl up against her, only to be met with a single, unimpressed flick of the tail.

But then, one morning, you woke up to find them curled up together on the couch—Miss Honey’s paw resting protectively over Fig’s tiny little body.

Joe, standing beside you, smirked. “Told you she needed a buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt full.

And that’s how you and Joe became crazy cat people.

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