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romantichomicide95 · 8 months

Text

KINKTOBER-CREAMPIE

pairing- yuji itadori x reader

warnings- creampie, yuji loving ass, yuji being a little soft, pet name usage, fem!reader, fingering, foreplay, doggiestyle, dirty talk, slight praise kink if ya squint

notes- would y’all be surprised if i said i didn’t proofread? nah. lol. really wanted to release two kinktobers today given it’s november 🤪

word count-> 1.3k

kinktober masterlist/taglist

“So…you like?” You ask Yuji as you hold up the delicate lingerie you recently bought from Victoria's Secret. The anticipation bubbles within you as you await Yuji's reaction. His cheeks flush with a rosy hue, his eyes growing wide, and he nods his head in approval.

"Yeah…damn.” he stammers, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and desire. "I... I really like it."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, grateful of your decision to surprise him. You’d been sexually active for quite some time, but you’d never thought to wear anything super sexy for him.

“Good, because I've been looking forward to spending some extra special time with you." You bite your lower lip as you move in closer, brushing your fingertips gently against his cheek.

Yuji's gaze meets yours, he clears his throat, his voice low and husky. "I've been looking forward to it too. More than you can imagine. Can-Can you put it on?”

“Mhmm.” You murmur with a soft kiss to his cheeks, “Be right back.” You say disappearing into the other room leaving Yuji standing there, heart pounding with his hand still touching the heat of where your lips met his cheek.

Yuji’s mouth falls open as you reappear. Tits propped up, ass looking exceptionally delicious. His eyes trail down your body and he’s left speechless.

“Well, how do I look baby?” You ask, with a feeble attempt of doing a cute pose.

Yuji swallows hard, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah baby, you look fucking amazing actually…come here.” He sits on the bed and beckons you over.

You tiptoe towards Yuji. His eyes are glued to every move you make, his breathing becoming heavier as they trail down your body again. He can feel the tightness in his pants as he takes the sight of you in. You slowly lower yourself onto his lap, your weight slightly pressing against him.

“You're killing me," he groans, his voice thick with desire. He pulls you closer, his hands running down your back, cupping your ass cheeks. "You look so fucking beautiful."

He leans in, pressing his lips to yours, his kisses are gentle at first, loving even…but in typical Yuji fashion the more you grind your clothed cunt against the growing hardness in his jeans, the more he seems to lose himself in you.

As the kiss deepens, Yuji trails his lips down your neck, nibbling softly. You shiver in pleasure, goosebumps beginning to litter your skin. You moan softly, and the sound drives him wild. He doesn’t even realize he’s rutting his hips up into you, desperate to feel more of your body dragging along his aching member.

His lips meet yours again, sloppily shoving his tongue into your mouth as he grinds himself against you further. He’s torturing himself at this point and he doesn’t even realize. But your lips taste so good, and the feeling of your body grinding against his causes him to burn with lust.

He breaks the kiss, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Want you so bad baby, let me put it in.”

You can’t help but let out a slight chuckle at his desperation, but your pussy aches to feel him stretch you out. “Mmmm, want you to Yuj, want you to fuck me.”

He gently lifts you off his lap, and guides you backward until you're lying on the bed. His body hovers over yours, his eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your neck, across your collarbone, and down to your breasts.

He reaches behind you to unclasp the lacy fabric and then cups one of your breasts in his hand, his thumb brushing over your sensitive bud. You gasp slightly, arching your back in response. He leans down to capture your nipple in his mouth, his tongue licking around the bud before sucking gently.

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, urging him on. As he continues to the attention on your tits, his other hand moves lower, tracing teasing patterns over your stomach before sliding down to your panties, teasing your clit through the fabric.

Yuji moans around your nipple, pulling away to look at you with hooded desire filled eyes. He smirks and then slowly slides your panties off. He spreads your folds with his fingers, exposing your wet, swollen clit. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your plump bottom lip. “God you’re so wet for me.”

His thumb circles your clit, causing you to gasp and rut your hips into his hand. He watches you intently, his eyes burning with lust as he continues to tease your clit. His fingers find their way inside of you, stretching you as he begins to pump them in and out. You can feel his hard cock pressed against your leg, grinding against you chasing any semblance of friction.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Fuck, need you now babe.” He whispers, his breath hot against your skin. His fingers hasty and desperate at the metal of his zipper, pulling his pants and boxers down.

With one swift movement, he rolls you onto your side, positioning himself behind you. He spits into his hand, lubricating his cock as he lines it up with your entrance. He slowly pushes inside of you, gasping at the sensation as he inches his way inside you.

Your pussy clenches around him.

You feel his cock stretching you, filling you up. He groans deeply, his hands finding your hips to steady himself. He starts to move slowly, withdrawing almost all the way before slamming back in, hitting that sweet spot inside you that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body. “Can you get on your knees for me baby."

You obline, getting on your hands and knees, reaching underneath yourself and spreading your pussy lips for him.

Yuji smiles, loving how eager you are for him. He positions himself behind you, aligning his cock with your wet entrance. He slowly pushes inside you once more, filling you up completely.

“Ahhh.Mm’ Feel so good." You whimper as his hands grips the flesh of your ass tightly and he starts to thrust slowly. His breathing grows quicker, and gets ragged, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. "I love your ass baby." He whispers through heavy breathes.

You start to bounce your ass, backing it up into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He groans deeply, his hands trailing up your sides to cup your breasts. He pinches your nipples roughly, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

Yuji growls low in his throat, loving the feeling of you taking his cock so eagerly. He starts to thrust harder, faster, losing himself in the way your tight pussy takes him in. The sight of your ass jiggling with each thrust drives him wild. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly as he leans forward, burying his face in your neck.

Your moans start to increase in volume as his tip hits your cervix over and over again. “Yuj, f-feel so good baby, love your cock. S’ big, making me cum.”

He groans into your neck, his hips slamming against yours in a punishing rhythm. His fingers dig into your hips as he loses control over your words. His hands squeeze your hips tighter, pulling you back against his cock with every thrust. “Cum with me, gunna cum inside you.”

You feel your legs shake as you cum around his cock. Yuji's cock twitches inside you. His thrusts become erratic as he loses control, his hips slamming into you over and over again. He groans deeply into your neck, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, and with one last deep thrust he lets out a low guttural growl as he cums, filling you up with his seed.

He pulls out slowly, watching with a smile as his cum leaks from your pussy.

He push you over onto your back, collapsing on top of you, littering your face with kisses.

“Gutta buy lingerie more often princess.”

tagging: @belfiguevel @swaggygurlbae @yihona-san06 @nobody289x @cassiefromhell

#yuji itadori #yuji smut #yuji itadori smut #yuji x reader #itadori x reader #itadori x you #yuji itadori x reader #yuji itadori x reader smut #itadori x reader smut #yuji x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader #jjk itadori #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuji #itadori yuuji #yuuji x reader #yuuji smut

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moondirti · 22 days

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jigsaws

— surgeon! simon riley x resident! reader

angst. anxiety. panic attacks. neurosurgical procedures. medical setting. mean simon. d/s undertones. 3.3k wc

There's a reason no one likes working with him.

Tough. Censorious, or hard to please – whispered wearily by nurses with permanent distaste etched into their crow's feet. He scathes anyone not accustomed to his abrasive exterior; a talus pile of whetted rocks, poised to flay you open should you take the plunge so confidently. Rubs your skin raw, brutally worms his way into your flesh, infamously bars rescue, allowing only saltwater to cradle your open wounds in the aftermath. Nothing about his criticism is comforting, not in the way an attending's support should be.

It sounds inflated. Excessive. Your intern year, you let the horror stories float you by as though they were nothing more than dust motes in an old room. To be expected, no? Hospital's are brutal for even the briefest of visitors, let alone a man who's worked here twenty years. In hindsight, you see that it's a type of discredit only the very fortunate can claim; inaugural residents and medical directors, those who do not have to deal with the virulent terror himself. You know better, now. Really.

Still, it feels as though you're being punished.

The air in the operating room is heavy. Clotted by a thick sense of unease. It's never like this, usually. Though the smell of burnt bone, blood, and remnant antiseptic is always a force to be reckoned with, you've gotten very good at shunning your nose for favour of your other senses. To tune into the vital monitor's beep, or the distinctions between this lump of amorphous tissue versus that lump of amorphous tissue. Reinterpreting them based on the plans you revised while scrubbing up, focused fingers around delicate tools prodding. Cutting.

Reliable perception is fine work. You've honed your personal ability the best you could.

The first lesson Dr. Riley teaches you, and rather gratuitously at that, is it takes just one person to throw it off kilter.

There's an impossible itch right where your mask hooks over your ears, latched nastily onto your scalp. Nothing you can address physically (sterility before comfort), though you're aware that its source isn't so easy as to scratch away. Figurative, then. An unwavering neg, pointed by a pair of cold eyes in your periphery. You're tempted to look up, throw off his stare with one of your own, but you think he wants you distracted.

So, you shift your weight and centre the electrocautery to another portion of abnormal growth. It comes apart like stale bread.

You haven't felt this micromanaged since medical school, when professors would loom over your shoulder and mark the clumsy way you sutured incisions shut. But where your grade had been on the line then, it's a person's life now. You seem to be the only one privy to that fact, or perhaps the one surgeon who cares.

Because Dr. Riley watches you over his wire-rimmed specs, grunting ambiguously under his breath like you can't hear him standing just a foot away. Maddening in that it's quiet, idle. To question it would be putting the burden of critique on yourself. To let it continue–

Sweat pools beneath your collar. The spotlights don't help, either, heat lamps on your roasting nerves, highlighting the wet sheen of your temple to whoever cares enough to notice (just him). Focus feels a vain pursuit, attention zeroing in and out of control. You're caught in the violent dance, swept away, water beneath your feet, between the operation and everything else. Everything else, like the ground that suddenly pushes too hard beneath you. The walls, stretching further and further away. There'd be nothing to catch you should you fall – a possibility that gains traction by the second, your vision spotting with exhaustion.

You almost lose it before a flash of green reels you back in.

It's instinctual. Entrenched response to a colour that only ever means one thing. Looking up at the neuronavigation, you watch as the silhouette of your apparatus veers dangerously close to the patient's motor cortex, highlighted in nausea-inducing neon for maximum visibility. Dr. Riley's presence darkens the space next to the screen, a point of singularity that consumes anything within its event horizon. Though it's the last thing you want to do, you coast a hesitant look over to him.

A surgical gown is meant to be ill-fitting. You find he fills the fabric in a manner antithetical to that design, shoulders stretching it tight across his neck, tree-trunk arms drawing tense pleats around his joints. Even his cap, wrapped smoothly around his forehead, ripples with every shift of his brow. Doubled-up gloves warped to the contours of his hands, thick fingers and knuckles. You watch the way they twitch, distorting the latex like a swift fish underwater, and swallow the stone lodged in your throat.

"I can't read your mind, Doctor." Your attending snaps when you take too long to elaborate. His voice is rough, a sucking chest wound in the sterile air of the OR – too raw, natural in a way these halls don't see. You squirm uncomfortably in the force majeure. "What's the hold up?"

"Um-" You pull away from the glioblastoma, your patient's head remaining tightly in place by a positioning frame. "I'm concerned about resecting this part. It's all wound up in healthy tissue, right up against the motor cortex. A wrong move could cause permanent damage."

Dr. Riley doesn't move. Instead, his blank stare flicks down to the surgical site, digesting the truth for himself. The anesthesiologist beside you holds her breath. You wish you had it in you to do the same, but your lungs already wheeze for oxygen as it is.

Somewhere, dim and timid in the recesses of your mind, it occurs to you that this isn't normal. No attending should actively foster an environment where help is punished, especially not while being paid a hefty salary to do exactly that. A dour attitude is one thing – everyone has their days – but you know nurses with greater burdens that boast smiles and little stickers on their ID badges, running on three hours sleep while dealing with bedpans and lewd comments all day. Your search for guidance, then, is certainly not the worst thing in the world.

(No matter how stern the look he gives you is.)

"You need to make a decision. Hesitation in the OR can be just as fatal."

Great load of good that does.

But it was to be expected. Pre-op, you sat down with him to discuss the acceptable margins, and got as much out of that conversation as you did this one. Review the imaging. You've been given the functional mapping for a reason. Never mind that it was standard procedure to check-in regardless; he handles you like you're a child playing dress-up, waving around tools too complex for your grubby hands to operate. Asking him anything is validating what he believes, like kindling wood into a roaring fire. Your mouth smacks to the taste of ash.

The discoloured mass growing off your patient's brain seems to glare back at you. Ugly, yellow, and stained in a coating of blood, severed from its sisters that now lay dead on an adjacent table. It kills you to let it stick, to progress to hemostasis with an increased risk of recurrence. Should this individual ever come in again, their pain would be on your hands – a real possibility you cannot reckon with, for all you know how devastating a toll it would have. The last time it happened, you promised yourself you would never allow it again.

(A mistake that even the greenest of medical students know not to make. Promises are null in this field. They'll blow out like bad tattoos, ink smudged under skin. Patients die, families grieve, doctor's bear the guilt – to fool anyone about it would be doing a greater disservice. Conciliation is not your job. It is not a duty you owe.

Not even to yourself.)

"I… I think we should stop here to avoid any potential issues." You resolve, lips pursed painfully tight. Your hands shake, bullet of emotion ricocheting within your ribs. Your nerves are shot, you tell yourself. It'll take time to compose them, time you don't have. Better to shelf this, then. You're doing the right thing by wrapping it neatly for another day, if that day should ever come.

Dr. Riley huffs.

Or, not.

"CUSA," He clips to the scrub nurse, who shakes as they place the tool into his impatient hand. It's all you can do to watch in horror as your attending commandeers your case, addressing the portion of concern with offensive expertise. The activity on the neuronavigation doesn't so much as blink as he emulsifies the target tissue, tumored cells dissociating from the surrounding matter like butter.

And it isn't a learning opportunity – hardly anything at all when he washes the area in saline solution, manoeuvre over as quickly as it started. Instead, your attention sticks to the casual disrespect he felt was necessary. Snubbing your insight like it was dirt beneath his shoes, too competent to even address your error with words. Humiliation rips like a wave up your neck, washing your ears and cheeks in balmy warmth. Underneath it all, settled like wet sand on the shore, you find that it is not your bruised ego that's left, but rather a wilder, darker thing.

Shame at having failed him.

(How obnoxiously redundant.)

"Think you can manage the duraplasty, Doctor?" Derision distorts his expression into something crueller than his usual indifference. You hate to think it suits him.

"Yes."

It's only an hour later that you're granted the chance to break down.

After wound closure, scrubbing out and postoperative discussions with the patient's family, you think you'd have moved on. Things like this happen – it's what necessitates post-graduate training in the first place – and you're certainly not irredeemable for having faltered on the line. At least, that's what the logic delineates. It mutters its assurances like dogma in your head, insisting that because it is rational, it is right. Any other day, you would be inclined to listen to it.

But that's the thing about being strung out beyond measure. The only sentiment with teeth, sharp and stubborn, is anguish. Indignity. Self-turned anger. You replay the scene like something new will come of it, a silver lining or a divot to pin the blame in anything but yourself. The scalp staples back into place, the dressings wrapped tight. The hibiclens soap lathers up to your elbows, your skin itchy as it dries. The family is thankful, little tears dotting their eyes. The storm passes, waters rippling into quiet calm. And still–

In the wake of it all, you're irrevocably changed. Raw.

There's a little closet for occasions like these. You're relieved to find it empty, void of anything but rusted buckets and mildewed mops. It's a welcome crowd, certainly, borderline claustrophobic compared to the wide floors of the OR, and you sink to the floors within the tight, comforting embrace. Immediately, hot tears spring to your eyes, rabbit heart racing along hollowed ribs. Emotion rushes your throat, tumultuous and messy, piling half-formed grievances on top of one another until they form an intricate, prodigious beast.

Impossible to tackle, worse to tame.

Could you have done anything different?

Is there a reason why he hates you?

Are you cut out for this?

Is this worth never getting a good night's rest?

Do you deserve any of the opportunities you've been given?

Would they be better off in the hands of someone more competent?

No answer claims any. Unresolved, they wriggle underneath your flesh, feeding on the muscle keeping you intact. Tunnelling through your marrow, soft matter fattening them up. You feel as though you're shifting to accommodate them, anatomy morphing into an ugly sack of dermis and maggots. True reflection of a degraded conceit.

The dark, at least, remains omnipresent. Clean against your skin, or purifying, in some odd way. If there is no witness to your misery, then perhaps you can pretend it doesn't exist. That it doesn't affect you as much as it does, or how you won't be thinking of it during every case to come–

A knock rattles you out of your reasoning.

"Hey." Kyle's voice is soft on the other side of the door.

You make your best effort to wipe the wetness from your cheeks, warbling a quiet come in to your chief resident. Fluorescent light intercedes on your little sanctum, spotlighting your crumpled frame. The pitying grimace that twists his face is enough indication that you did not do a good job at hiding your affliction. You must look pathetic.

"We missed you at lunch."

"Wasn't hungry." You sniff, taking his hand to pull yourself up.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse than you could've prepared me for."

He snickers. It alleviates some of the weight off your chest, this. Conversation to remind yourself that there is more to the world than your angst.

(Only some.)

"It'll get easier, I promise. He's harsher on the juniors."

"I think that's not for you to say. Tell me, has there ever been a superior who didn't absolutely adore you?" Your voice sobers to a close resemblance of Laswell's. "Good work on the diagnosis, Dr. Garrick. I'll admit, I wouldn't have caught that myself."

The man in question lightly shoves your arm, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Okay, hush. I get it. Still–"

"You don't have to do this, you know." You smile until it gets too much to sustain, then turn to gather your white coat from behind the front desk. The note of positivity his companionship brings is fickle. Appreciated, but not enough to balm the sore blisters of Dr. Riley's rebuff. That'll take the weekend, likely, holed up in your room with nothing but a cuppa and old How I Met Your Mother reruns. "I'm fine, really. I'd rather just continue about my rounds and forget he exists."

But Kyle sighs. Sighs, and bites his cheek in that same way he does when he has to deliver bad news to intakes.

You blanch. "Don't–"

"He came looking for you in the mess hall. Something about the report." The unsteady composure you've built within yourself immediately dissipates, as though it were nothing more than an absorbable stitch. "You know better than to skip out on post-op briefs."

Your voice is weak when you speak again. Breathless. "I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, darl. But he wants to see you in his office, now." Kyle's face is sympathetic. It doesn't do you much good. "I'll cover your rounds in the meantime."

"Thanks."

And despite your true gratitude, the words ring as empty.

"Sit."

Like a marionette suspended on string, you do as you're told.

Dr. Riley's office is barren of any personal adornment, cast in the same austere template initially given to him. There's a leather couch tucked prim under the window, throw pillow flat on one end. A wire file organiser sits atop his desk, papers fighting for space between the flimsy bookmarks. Pens in a cup, a stapler by his keyboard. All ordinary, inconclusive belongings, that which you sift through like a ravenous creature, slobbering for clues at the life your attending leads.

Ironically, the one thing that offers any inference is an empty photo frame, faced towards the rest of the room, away from him.

You don't like the uncomfortable feeling it inflicts.

"The family." He levels a bored look to you, that which hardens the longer you take to address his ambiguous question. In the harsh lights of the operating room, his eyes looked nearly black. Now, sunlight paints a clearer picture. Taupe and sepia, flecks of various browns brightened by the pale blue underline of his mask. "Doctor."

Floundering, you search for the clouded memory of your discussion with the patient's relatives. It ripples, faintly, between your revels in self-pity. If you needed any censure of your disordered priorities, that is surely enough.

(Funny how he continues to criticise you, even unintentionally.)

"Good. Hopeful. I told them you managed to resect the entire thing, and detailed the plan going forward." It's as though your hands are compelled to move by electric shock, charged full of destructive energy. You rub your face, twiddle your thumbs, scratch the armrests of your chair; trying any measure to defuse the bomb you feel ticking beneath your chest. "They give their thanks."

All the while, he remains steady before you.

A moment of tense silence clears. "I just submitted the operation report." He says, derailing the conversation to what you suspect has always been its purpose. "I mentioned your inability to close the surgery."

You damn near choke on your spit. He notices, of course, and raises a challenging brow.

"I- I'm sorry, but that isn't what... I was perfectly able to complete it." Your protest carries none of the strength you will it to. As is always the case around him, you're made to sound like a defiant student, instead. Pouting and stomping your foot, inflating your strict sense of justice to an occasion that does not call for it.

"Oh?" You know you're not crazy for thinking that way, either. He speaks in faux conciliatory tones, brows knitting together as his argument waters down to one he thinks you can digest. "Would you rather I have said you refused, then?"

You shake your head, staring down at your lap. You really, really don't want to be here. Is it worth it, then? To stand your ground when the worst that will come of his misstatement is an inquiry from above? The strength has long since left you. Now, it is a matter of bloodletting. Leeching the struggle before it festers into something greater, a malady you cannot control.

"No."

"Make up your mind, Doctor." He hums, grabbing a protein bar from his drawer before standing. He doesn't have to round his desk to tower over you, but he does. Heat radiates off him in waves, blushing your neck so that when you look up at him, owlish, your face flares with stockpiled fervor.

You wonder if it could be read as desire.

"You know best." Shutting down has never been so disencumbering. Acquiescence, upending an ivory flag with the knowledge that you don't have to bleed any longer.

His lashes flutter. When you blink, they seem closer than they were before.

"That's right." Dr. Riley practically fucking purrs, chest rumbling thoughtfully at your chosen response. A pressure settles between your legs, bloating desperately into that bundle of nerves that inhibits all reason. "So next time, if you have a problem with the way I do things, you'll address it to me directly instead of snivelling like a bloody prat. That way, maybe I'll explain it to you, too."

A nod is not enough.

"Yes, Dr. Riley."

He cocks his head, fiddling with the wrapping in his hands. His fingers are scarred, brutish, though they tear the foil with all the precision in the world. Your acceptance does not feel nearly as final, expectation thickening the space between you. The title startles to your tongue, then. Novel. Unsure. You haven't called anyone it since secondary. You do not know whether he'll take to it kindly at all.

"Yes, sir."

But his eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased, and it more than fills the hole he harrowed out from you earlier. Your reaction to the approval should be documented, given a name and listed somewhere on the DSM-5.

(Nothing about it feels healthy.)

"Good." He pushes off the edge of his desk, tapping a knuckle to your chin. Instinctively, you open your mouth. The protein bar fits between your teeth, pasty and dry, but his pulse vibrates near your lips and–

You bite down anyway.

(But oh, does it feel good.)

[masterlist]

#this is heading into crazy kink fic territory sorry #also bare minimum research. its fanfic so if something is off. close your eyes and think with what's between your legs #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost #simon riley #fanfiction #x reader #x you #call of duty #cod #modern warfare #mw #fic ༄ jigsaws

1K notes · View notes

nanaslutt · 2 months

Text

Throat goat (satosugu)

ʚ cont: established relationship, throat fucking, oral (gojo!r), fingering (gojo!r), dirty talk, cum eating, implied bottom gojo satoru

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Geto rested his weight on his knees, his sharp, dark eyes looking up at Gojo��s flushed face as he jerked the length of his cock up and down, rubbing his precum all over his dick. Gojo panted at the feeling of Geto’s large, burning hands on his sensitive cock. His pants slipped further down his porcelain leg with Geto's help, his free hand wrapping around the back of Gojo’s bare thigh for support.

“Put it in your mouth… please” Gojo begged, his words needy and breathless. “so impatient, Satoru. you were too spoiled when you were young.” Geto teased before leaning forward and taking the head of Gojo’s cock between his lips, his tongue laying flat inside his mouth against the head, tasting the bitter-sweet flavor of Gojo’s cum on the head of his dick.

“Oh god-“ Gojo whined, patting his legs further from the small stimulation, his head tipping back against the cold wall of his apartment. Geto internally smiled to himself at how sensitive Gojo was, moaning and crying from such a simple touch.

Geto wasted no time in pushing his head forward and taking Gojo's cock into his throat with ease, resulting in a strangled whine from the man above him, who reached down with a shaky hand and gripped his hair tightly. Suguru wanted to curse him out for pulling his hair so hard, knowing Satoru was going to lose himself and tangle his hair up in a mess, but the way Satoru looked while getting sucked off was too pretty to interrupt.

Gojo’s head tipped back, his jaw opened as whines and moans left his pretty lips, the dark blush across his cheeks that spread down to his neck and under the collar of his shirt. Geto bet everything his nipples were the same color, hard and begging to be touched.

Geto bobbed his head back and forth, rolling his tongue around Gojo’s cock as he took him in and out of his mouth hands-free, the hand previously jerking him off resting on the back of his thigh like his other hand. "A-ahh nggghh!" Gojo was a whining mess above him, his hips wiggling from side to side, fighting the urge to fuck Geto's face as he knew how much Suguru hated that without warning.

Gojo brought one of his hands up to his mouth and stuck two of his long, slender fingers inside, his tongue licking around them and getting them wet. Geto watched with lidded eyes as he pressed his fingers too deep inside his cavity and gagged, a gasp being released from Gojo's lips when he pulled them back from the feeling, a string of saliva connecting his fingers to his lips.

Geto took the entirety of Gojo's cock into his throat and stayed there, face pressed against the soft hair on Gojo's pelvis. Suguru could feel his cock jump inside his mouth as he swallowed around him, tasting the pre-cum that leaked from his needy boyfriend's cock. "Your throat is so tight-" Gojo cried, his eyes rolling back in his head as he reached his wet fingers behind his body to find his tight, unprepped hole.

Geto moaned around his cock, acknowledging his words. The vibrations went straight to Gojo's balls, getting fuller by the second. Gojo rubbed his wet fingers against his hole in circles before he pressed them inside together, stretching himself out. Geto couldn't tell what he was doing from there, but he could see how Gojo's eyes fluttered back in his head, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he pushed his fingers inside.

Geto pulled back and began his pace again, bobbing his head back and forth on Gojo's cock. The lewd noises from Geto's throat only tightened the coil inside Gojo's stomach. Gojo began thrusting his fingers in and out of his ass at the same pace Geto was taking him into his throat. "H-ahh hah- s-shit-" He moaned, his whole body tingling when he just barely grazed his prostate.

Geto rubbed his hand up the back of his thigh, stopping in his tracks momentarily when his hand bumped into Gojo's which was in the way of where he was trying to go--his asshole. Suguru caught on quick, caught on to why Gojo had gotten so much louder. Geto popped his mouth fully off his cock with an "ahh," sound, before he pressed the tips of two of his fingers against Gojo's which were stuffed in his ass, wet with his spit.

"You're gonna need something a lot bigger to stretch you out." Suguru teased, pressing his fingers in with Gojo's. "You- fuck-" Gojo whined at the stretch, Geto's fingers were so much thicker and bigger than his, but god did it feel good. Geto smiled, making eye contact with his boyfriend before he took his cock back into his mouth, taking him into his throat with ease as he matched the pace of his fingers with Gojo's.

"Right there Suguru, don't stop-" He moaned, his legs shaking when Geto's fingers hit his prostate right on, massaging it in a way only he could. Geto moaned around him, letting him know he heard him, though he knew that wasn't going to stop Gojo from running his mouth. "H-harder, do it harder-" He begged, his own fingers moving weakly with Geto's as he let his boyfriend do all the work.

Geto licked the underside of Gojo's cock, rubbing his tongue all over the sensitive vein he knew drove Gojo crazy as he slammed his fingers harder into his ass how he wanted, how he knew would make him cum. "Suguru l-let me cum in your mouth, please," Gojo begged, his fingers curling into the back of his head, not allowing Suguru to pull away even if he wanted to.

"I'm gonna c-cum, I- Im cumming!" Gojo groaned, his hips jerking against Geto's face as he came deep inside his throat. Suguru's face scrunched in discomfort as Gojo forced his hips flush against Geto's face, making sure his dick was as deep as possible as he shot his load down his throat. Geto choked a bit, trying to swallow each time he felt Gojo cum.

Their fingers were getting squeezed by Gojo's tight hole with each wave of his orgasm, Geto's fingers only making his high last longer as he continued to jab his fingers against the sensitive bundle of nerves in his ass. Gojo collapsed to his knees in front of Geto with a whine, his head falling on his shoulder, his soft hair splaying out on his shoulder as his cock hung between them, twitching in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Geto placed a hand on his sore throat, coughing and swallowing the residual cum in his mouth. "Eat more fruit please, your cum tastes horrible." Geto jabbed,patting Satoru's naked thigh with his other hand. Gojo lifted his head and smiled at his boyfriend with that signature cocky smirk of it, "Says the man who swallowed it allll up." he replied.

"Not like you gave me much of a choice, whining about wanting to cum in my throat while you keep my head glued to your dick," Geto said, his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure as he looked at Geto. Gojo smiled and leaned forward again, placing his head back on Suguru's shoulder. "I eat plenty of sugar, I bet it tastes sweet and you're just being a big baby." He replied, sounding sure of himself.

The corner of Geto's mouth twitched in annoyance. He was going to retort but he decided to keep it in and opt to just heave out a loud sigh in response. "See? You know I'm right." Gojo added, pushing his luck. Geto reached his hand behind Gojo and smacked him on the back of the head, resulting in a whine from Gojo. "Next time I'm gonna spit your cum into your mouth, see how you like it." Geto threatened, though his threat didn't exactly elicit the effect he was looking for when his boyfriend turned his head to the side and wiggled his eyebrows at him, "Kinky."

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satosugu smut #satosugu #gego smut #gego #gogesmut #goge #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #geto smut #suguru geto smut #geto x gojo #gojo x geto #gojo satoru x geto suguru #geto suguru x gojo satoru

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thus-spoke-lo · 11 months

Text

"What's Got You All Worked Up?": Little things that turn One Piece men on feat. Zoro - Sanji - Law - Usopp - Franky - Crocodile - Doflamingo

NSFW/18+ [minors DNI]

CW: gn!reader [Zoro, Sanji, Usopp]; afab!reader [Law, Franky, Crocodile, Doflamingo] - no gendered pronouns used; vaginal fingering [Law]; vaginal intercourse [Law]; somnophilia [Doflamingo]

Zoro: the way you look after a workout

Zoro never cares if you keep up with him when he works out—he loves that you want to spend time with him, adores how serious you take your bicep curls or how you look in the afternoon light when you lay down on a mat for a while to slowly stretch your limbs. But it’s when you’re all done for the day, when the heat of the midday sun has the room like a sauna and your muscles are sore and shaking, that he starts to lose all semblance of control. Your temples are dappled with perspiration, your chest heaving as you finish your last rep, sweat is trickling down your neck; he swallows hard and lets out a low groan at the sight of you. It reminds him of the way you look right after he fucks you, all heated and glistening with sweat and limbs weak and trembling. And since you’re already all warmed up, this seems like the perfect time to bend you over and take you right there on the weight bench.

Sanji: the way you smell

He doesn’t mean to be such a pest (well, actually he does) when he comes up behind you in the mornings, when you’ve just woken and you’re still sleep-drunk and groaning that the sun is out again already, but he needs to bury his face in the crook of your neck as soon as you wake and inhale your scent. Sanji thinks you smell sweet in the mornings, like pancakes and pastries, and pulls you back into bed so he can devour you like the delicious treat that you are. In the afternoons, he catches a whiff of you on the breeze, your skin covered in the salty spray of the sea, hands scented with tangerines after helping Nami in the garden, and he’s all over you, plying you with kisses and lust-tinged whimpers, begging you to come to his bunk, just for a little while, just so he can taste the way the citrus settled into your skin. And at night, he’s insatiable, burying his nose in your hair unabashedly when you stay to help him clean after dinner, taking in the way the faint traces of aromatic ingredients have settled on you and mixed with your own scent that he adores. It’s not long before he’s shutting off the sink and taking you by the hand, leading you over to the table and making a meal of you right then and there.

Law: the way you look in comfy clothes

Sure, he thinks you look lovely on the rare occasion you get to leave the submarine together and you doll yourself up for him, wearing that new shirt he likes, the one that flows over your body like water, and take the effort to line your eyes and swipe a little lipstick on. But when he feels the most hungry for you is when you get back and head straight to your quarters, stripping off your shoes and your pretty shirt and those tight jeans that make your ass look perfect but that you joke threaten to cut off your breathing one of these days. He sits in his desk chair and watches as everything comes off, and you crawl into his bed, face freshly-scrubbed, tucking your hands into the sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt. It’s then, when you’re finally comfortable and warm, when you look at ease and relaxed, and you gaze at him with half-lidded eyes, that he’s all over you, fingers dipping below the waistband of your soft cotton shorts, teasing your pussy until you whimper and beg for more. He doesn’t even bother to strip the rest of your clothes off before he pulls his cock out of his jeans and buries himself inside you to the hilt, pulling your shorts to the side instead so you can stay nice and cozy, just how he likes you.

Usopp: when you help in his workshop

Sharing his workspace with you is already intimate enough for Usopp – it’s like he’s sharing a piece of himself the way he invites you in. But once you’re in there, it’s hard for him not to be heated at how serious you take it. You look so sweet the way your tongue pokes out of your mouth when you’re focused on something, and he feels a tingle at the base of his spine whenever you pout and ask him for help—you’re so close to getting it right, you just need him to guide you, to stand behind you and place his hands on yours and make sure the welding equipment stays steady. Watching the way you grip that piece of metal piping your working with in a way that makes him wish your hands were wrapped around his length instead…it takes everything he has not to grab you and sit you on top his worktable, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him, let you feel just how much you drive him crazy. But he resists, at least for the moment, anyway--hearing you describe just how hard that steel is and how hot and sweaty you've become doing all this work pushes him to the brink soon enough, and he has no qualms in showing you exactly how skilled his hands are.

Franky: when you show just a little bit of skin

Coming from a man who walks around in an open shirt and swim briefs, this sounds pretty rich. But there’s just something so tantalizing about seeing a hint of skin and having to imagine what’s underneath, like that time your leggings were more sheer than you thought, and you bent over to grab the laundry basket and he got a quick glimpse of your panties (that happened to be the same pattern as one of his shirts). It was enough to drive him to distraction for the rest of the day and make him glad he was alone in the engine room, barely able to contain the way his cock pulsed every time he remembered how you looked. He loves that one sweater you wear, too—the one that just won’t stay on your shoulder and keeps slipping down, exposing just the slightest bit of soft skin in the afternoon sun, and the way it leads his eyes down to the way the fabric settles over your breasts. And don’t even get him started on that hint of your tummy he gets to see when you reach up to grab something off a high shelf, reminding him how easy it would be to wrap his big hand around your waist and just slide it right on up until he can feel the silky material of that nice bra he bought you…have mercy.

Crocodile: the way you look getting ready for dinner

It’s so routine now that you don’t seem to mind—at first it alarmed you, made you feel like prey when Crocodile would sit on the velvet couch in your quarters, his arms draped across the back, a cigar clenched in his teeth, and he’d watch you ready yourself for that evening’s festivities. But now, you almost welcomed the way his predatory gaze would settle on you as you sit at your vanity and paint your lips; you throw a wink and a pout his way now and again in the mirror, almost tempting him to ruin that pretty makeup after you’ve spent so long putting it on. He loves how your body moves, almost sleek and catlike, around the room, slinking into your closet and asking him which dress he likes better. He shifts in his seat as you wriggle into that pretty blue number he adores, and throbs as you glance over your shoulder and bat your eyes, asking him sweetly to come zip you up. And how can he refuse? Of course, by the time he crosses the room and reaches you, you both know that he has no plans to move that zipper an inch, and instead you feel the tip of his hook lifting your hem as he growls in your ear to bend over—he’s going to take care of that needy pussy of yours before you ever step foot out of your room. Guess you’ll be late for dinner, again.

Doflamingo: the way you look when you’re sleeping

He chuckles quietly and wonders if you fell asleep this way on purpose—the silken nightgown he dressed you in before he left for the evening has been discarded on the floor, and you lay atop the sheets, your body completely bare and bathed in moonlight. He slowly circles the bed like a predator, admiring the way your limbs are stretched out, arms flung above your head, your legs spread, one knee bent and lolled to the side, exposing your pretty little cunt. It looks just like the way you fling yourself onto the mattress when you’re feeling needy, how you toss your dress at him and lay back against the plush pillows, biting your lip and beckoning him to you with sweet pleas of I need you. He licks his lips at how your slit glistens, and wonders if you’re dreaming of him, wonders if perhaps you touched yourself thinking of him before you fell asleep. He sits carefully on the edge of the bed and watches you sleep a little longer, your lashes fluttering slightly as you moan and shift, your breasts heaving as you inhale deeply and sigh. You tempt him even in slumber, and he palms the throbbing hardness that pushes against his slacks, groaning softly as he decides if he should wake you with his fingers, his tongue, or his cock.

#these are purely my own hc's for fun and to help with my characterization. your mileage may vary ;)#lo writes #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #law x reader #usopp x reader #franky x reader #crocodile x reader #doflamingo x reader #one piece headcanons

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splataii · 1 year

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itto x male reader

cw: dombottom reader, subtop character, CNC (somno), breeding kink, minor feminization (use of word boycunt, boypussy), thigh fucking, minor biting

note: i totally thought itto was like 7 maybe 8ft tall. i googled after i finished this and this man is 6ft. which is still like tall, but i thought this man was like a demon?? idk haven't played in a while lol

itto gets his rut in the middle of the night.

poor boy wakes up all hot n’ bothered, his hard cock throbbing with the need to release.

with heavy eyes, he sits himself up to look down at you sleeping in bed. you look all comfy, cuddled into your pillow and shi.. he knows you wouldn't mind, but he couldn't dare disturb you, so he decides to try and handle it himself.

he pulls the hem of his shirt into his mouth to expose his lower half, trying to stifle his heavy pants as be peels his underwear down to his thighs, his dick springing out in the cool night air.

his brain feels so cloudy as he starts stroking himself, eyes flitting to your sleeping face every couple seconds.

he’s careful to be good, trying to keep his voice low to not wake you from your sleep. but when he hears a small groan from your lips as you shift in the bed, his pace picks up as his mind wanders.

the thought of you catching him.. finding him fucking his fist in need for some relief and helping him out. he wants you to use his cock so badly.

another groan escapes your lips as you shift on the mattress, itto’s whines muffled by the t shirt stuffed in his mouth as he squeezes his cock, jerking into his fist.

he finishes all over his hand with a strangled groan, face melting into a frown as he realizes. it wasn't enough. his dick was still aching, hard against his stomach. he needs you. needs to feel your tight walls around him.

he holds his breathe as he shifts to your side of the bed, the mattress creaking with the shift of his weight.

he towers over you, hands on either side of your head as he admires the way the moonlight curves over your cheek, pulling back the covers to reveal your exposed tummy and thighs.

he feels like a pervert drooling all over you like this.. his pre from his reddened cock leaking all over your stomach.

but it’ll be alright, he’ll just clean you right up when he’s done! he promises he will. as soon as he finishes using your thighs

his heavy hands tremble with anticipation as he grabs at your plush thighs, spreading the cum from his previous orgasm in between them.

it feels so good, spreading his scent all over you. just the idea of marking you up as his has his tongue lulling as he pants above you, finally sliding his thick cock against your warm skin.

his grip on your thighs tighten as he ruts into your thighs, imagining all the other ways he could claim you.

when his tip catches on your puffy rim, he loses it, moaning as his hips stutter. he spreads your hole open with his thumbs to watch the tip of his cock disappear inside your stretched boycunt.

it's just the tip he assures himself, spreading your legs to shallowly fuck your hole, but thoughts of knocking you up and watching the cum drip out of your bred boypussy has his eyes rolling back as his dick fucks you even deeper.

he was so lost in how good your ass felt, bed creaking as he rocked into you, he didn't even realize he had pulled you from your sleep.

his nails dug into your sides as he mindlessly rutted into you, whorish moans echoing over the sound of your small groans as your eyes finally flit open.

his eyes are shut tight as you watch his huge cock disappear inside your stretched boycunt, your stomach already a mess with his drool and precum.

poor baby’s so lost, he don’t even realize you're awake until you rub a gentle hand over his bicep. he flinches from your touch for a moment, thrusts slowing as he looks down at you, his pretty lashes damp with tears.

“sorry, ‘m sorry-” he cries , but you hush him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you for a kiss. he melts, moaning as he feels your tongue trace his mouth before biting at his bottom lip. when you part, hes already panting, eyes lidded as he watches you, patiently waiting for more.

“don’t let me distract you, baby,” you give him a sweet smile, wrapping your legs around his waist, “c’mon and fuck me,”

that gets him going for sure. he presses his face into the crook of your neck and starts pounding your ass into the mattress, the sound of your moans and the feeling of your nails raking up his back only egging him on even more.

there's just something about the way your whimpers and moans vibrate against his ear that his him drooling, practically folding you in half as he tries to fuck his dick as far into you as he can go.

“wanna, mhg- fuck, make you.. a daddy,” he can barely grunt as he nips at your ear lobe.

“yeah?” you hum, sending shivers up his spine as your fingers trace up the back of his neck to grip at his hair, “mmh, you gonna make this boycunt all sloppy for me? you gonna do that f’me, daddy?”

you listen to the way he whines at the name, his teeth sinking into the soft skin of your neck.

“you gonna, fuck, you gonna fill me up?” you moan again, feeling yourself near your climax as he furiously nods his head. “use your words, honey,”

“yes, nggh~ pleaseplease-”

you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him in place as he finally spills his cum balls deep inside of you.

you pull his lips onto yours in an open mouth kiss, drowning out his fucked out moans as you finish as well, back arching off the bed as your thighs tremble in his grips.

your brain is cloudy as his tongue traces yours, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you after you part. as soon as your lips leave his, itto continues to babble as he rides out his high.

“thankyou-” he chants as his eyes roll back, mindlessing fucking his cum back into your stuffed hole.

just the wet sound of his cum being pushed deeper into you has him ready to go again. but right now, he has to make sure you’re properly full of his seed.

he doesn't wanna waste a single drop <3

#splatai writes #bottom male reader #male reader insert #male reader smut #x male reader #dom male reader #sub male character #genshin x bottom male reader #splataii writes

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angel-dust-addict · 2 years

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//Mun is having something of a mental crisis over realizing I've lost more weight and overanalysing all the problems I had recouping the last time this happened. This is not my first rodeo, but the problem is that I started at a lower weight this time around and have dropped more than I did last time. I might come poke my blogs, maybe write some journal entries for the eight of these menaces to society. But today is not a good brain day, so yeah. Don't have any sort of high expectations.

#backstage || ooc #murder ballads || mun #tw: weight loss #tw: weight #tw: disordered eating #[[I'm actually getting scared about this.#I can - without stretching or twisting - see all of my ribs and all of my vertibrae and my collar bone #and my shoulder blades and my shoulder socket and...#I'm AFAB and can see where every single one of my ribs connects to my sternum.#I should not be able to see that.#I'm still losing weight and I'm at a point where I have like negative weight I can afford to lose.#It really is scary honestly.#Like if I didn't have a doctor's appointment already scheduled for two weeks from now I'd be making a doctor's appointment.#Because this can't continue. I need help.]]

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giuliettagaltieri · 6 months

Text

Giggles and Wiggles

Pairing: Husband!Gojō x Pregnant!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru vs. a pregnant woman's hormones.

Warning: pregnancy, mood swings, flirting, suggested misogyny, jujutsu society stigma, implied cunnilingus

Word Count: 973

7 of 9

It was difficult for Gojō to understand how much strength your body has to be able to carry all that weight.

He was aware of his physical stature, a hundred and ninety centimeters tall. He knows he is not exactly small, and with his genes growing inside your cute belly, he worries your pregnancy will be difficult.

And there you were, rounded and full, and you were only seven months pregnant.

The day started quiet and warm. You in his arms, sighing softly in his chest.

And then your son decided it was a good idea to send a power kick through your belly.

Your eyes pop open, watering immediately at the impact.

Gojō cradles your belly as he hushes you, his lips pressed in your temple.

It took a while to calm you and even after that, you were already grumpy, lips turned upside down as a frown pinched your brows.

Gojō knows better than to bother you further so he started the day on his own. He padded to your shared closet and selected his clothing, eyeing your heavy kimonos with much contempt. He was in the middle of a big yawn when your distressed cry reached his ears.

His clothes were dropped on the tatami mat and he rushed out of the walk-in closet.

And there he stood at the foot of your bed, watching you. Just…watching you.

You had tears streaming down your cheeks, your temples beaded with sweat as you made grabby hands at him.

“I-I can’t get out of bed, Toru.” You whimpered.

It made his cock strain. He clears his throat and quickly supports your back as he lifts you off your bed.

Your warm bare thigh brushes against his manhood and you cry harder. How could your suffering arouse him! How dare he!

“‘S all your fault!” You cry on his chest and Gojō bites his cheek to stifle a snicker. “You did this!”

He simply nods as he strokes your hair, peppering your head with kisses.

“Of course. Mmh, yes. Yes, it’s all my fault.” His arms were wrapped around you as he swayed you from side to side.

After a gentle bath with you, with Gojō doing everything for you, your hormones decided to take a break.

And you were smiling up at him again as he brushed your hair, you were lavishing your skin with the moisturizing creams he bought for you and kept asking for kisses.

Gojō was happy to do so. He liked seeing you happy.

But your sweet spirit slowly dissipates with every layer of clothing you wear. Formality returning as you become what is expected of a Gojō lady.

Your husband did not like that. He liked being playful and endearing to you, and he was almost grateful for the change that your pregnancy did to your emotions.

Although, he was still always careful with the boundaries he crossed.

It is just, there are moments in which he loses himself after catching sight of your bare skin.

A soft moan has Gojō’s eyes traveling to his right, there you sat, your face in a twist as you stretched your back. His eyes followed your hand as you rubbed your waist.

“You alright?” He asks before sipping his tea. His hands glided the fountain pen faster in the paper to finish his work. He enjoyed your company when he was at home, but being stationary in your seat, despite you almost drowning in cushions already, might be causing a strain on your pregnant body.

He caps the pen and places a paperweight on the documents.

“Wanna take a walk?” He asks as he stands up to stretch.

“Oh, yes.” You say softly. He slips his hand under your forearms and helps you up with a soft grunt, your cheeks warming at the sound.

Gojō places a hand on the small of your back as you walk and immediately feels how stiff your posture is. He might need to get serious about those stretches you do, maybe he can join you more often to help.

His eyes glance at you as you sigh and attempt to subtly roll your shoulder.

“You should probably take those clothes off.”

Your hands fly to your chest, one on top of the other as you look at him in pure horror.

“N-not in that way.” Gojō scratches his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches your reaction. “Still acting like a maiden when you’re heavy with my child?” He rubs his knuckle on your cheek and your hands cover your flushed face.

Gojō guides you forward to continue your walk.

“I meant, you should reduce the layers you wear. Your belly is heavy as is, you don’t need to carry unnecessary weight.”

You frown at him. “I don’t mind. The lady of the house is expected to wear such clothing.”

He clicks his tongue. “I don’t care what’s expected of you. I say you should wear comfortable clothing. And whatever I say, goes.”

You choose not to speak further as his tone turns to a more assertive one, and you are reminded that the man you are walking next to is the head of the clan. His word is law in this house.

The elders seem to have a difficult time understanding that.

So Gojō Satoru brought it upon himself to wage war with your closet.

One by one, your pretty kimonos started disappearing. Your tight obis vanish along with them.

After some time, the clan elders simply had to raise their concerns as the wife of the clan head was no longer wearing the appropriate clothing.

Gojō started a bonfire that night. The pretty silk being fed to the blazing fire that was shot from the fingertips of the man who has his head buried deep between your thighs.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

#gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojō satoru #arranged marriage #jujutsu kaisen #dad gojo #gojo fluff #gojo smut #gojo x pregnant reader #where the blue roses grow

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luveline · 10 months

Note

maybe a bombshell!reader where she is OBSESSED with touching and making out with glasses!reid and he is so confused why she is always all over him. i think bc he never went thru that horny teenage phase, or even the "honeymoon" phase of a relationship, he doesnt quite understand why she is acting that way (not that he's complaining)

tysm for requesting ♡ fem, 1k

There's something soft under Spencer's cheek. His lashes brush against it like the wing of a trapped butterfly as he wakes, his fatigue a weight on his tongue. He wonders where he is for a worrying moment, hand stretched out to feel the couch cushions beneath him.

The sounds of you reach him from down the hall. The crinkling of your coat set up on a hook near the door, the squeak of your shoes on hardwood, and the familiar lilt of your voice as you sigh, speaking to yourself in quiet tones, "Unlucky."

He rubs his eyes and sits up. "What's unlucky?" he asks, his throat burning. He must've been sleeping open-mouthed, which is perfect. Attractive, he thinks scathingly. He's less annoyed and more disgusted when he feels the dried drool in the corner of his mouth.

You don't answer him. Spencer forces his tired eyes to work, sitting up on knees on the couch to try and get a look at you. He can't see into the kitchen from here, to his dismay, but he can hear the contents of your fridge door clinking together.

You turn the corner with a bottle of water in your hands. When you see him waiting for you your smile bumps up a notch, pretty to cataclysmic, world-ending and life-ruining, all manner of awful as you hurry down the hall in your socks to kiss him.

Why you'd want to is anyone's guess. He can imagine how he looks, curls matted at the back and frizzy at the sides. Spencer can't help cringing as your fingers weave into the hair at the nape of his neck, your lips a soft pressure against his for a few more blissful seconds.

You pull back concisely. "You fell asleep?" Your hand comes up, your thumb rubbing gently at his nose bridge. With your other hand, you press the bottle of water to his shoulder. "With your glasses on?"

He nods in defeat. If he didn't look like a mess, if he hadn't face planted into your fancy couch in his rumpled jeans, even if he were at his best, he's still hopeless, because they messed up his contacts again. You're vocally fond of them even if he hates them.

"I remember the first time I saw you without them," you say, your kind thumb moving to rub a fond quarter circle into his cheek. "You were," —you steal a kiss, your nose pressed to his, pulling back and pushing in between words— "chasing the tail of that movie star." Kiss, kiss. He loses his grip on the water in favour of your arm. "You looked," —your kisses turn melty warm and impossibly softer— "so, so shy."

You pull away to card his hair back. Not particularly gentle but never cruel, you rake his curls out of his face swiftly. "How come you never get shy with me?"

"Don't pretend I never did," he says. It's embarrassing but it happened.

"Fine, you did." You tuck his hair behind his ears. "Not as often as everyone thought you would."

"You were kidding. Or, I confidently thought you were kidding. I could write it off as a joke, pity–"

His timidity with you rose and fell and rose again. These days it simmers, waiting for you to surprise him or tease him or do as you're doing now, rounding the couch to push at him until he sits. You ease into his lap, mostly off of him, a knee to his right and a knee between his legs as your arms circle his back. He's quick to hug you rather than have you slip backward out of his arms.

"I never pitied you," you say, kissing him again, no signs of stopping. "Don't say that. It's not true. I saw you were a catch before anyone else did, that's all."

Spencer can't argue with you. He's honestly not interested, distracted by your weight and the heat of your lips as they part against his. To go back and tell the Spencer from a year ago that his bombshell of a coworker, the one who flirts with a sticky charmed smile, who sits on the lip of his desk making eyes at him, and who never takes the easy blows, wasn't joking? It would stunt his brain. It might send him into a cardiac episode.

To tell him that she's in his lap more often than not?

Spencer's lucky to be alive. He laughs as he thinks it, his stomach stirring while you scratch carefully at his scalp.

"What?" you ask, voice a stretched murmur, close enough to husky to wind him. "Tickles?"

"No," he says, "nothing, it's nice."

He's greedy and a total amateur, pulling your face back down to his in hopes of sparking another heavy kiss. You're enticed for a bit, but Spencer knows his laugh is bothering you, so he steals a last rough kiss before dropping his forehead into your cheek.

You pet his neck softly. "What, Spence?"

"It's just unreal, sometimes. It's weird." He can't hide, his glasses jabbing into his eye.

When he lifts his head, you breathe out a laugh and take the glasses from his nose. You fold them, set them carefully on the couch beside you, and meet his gaze fondly. Your lashes kiss in the corners with your smile, pretty lips a balmed pout. He can feel the waxy transfer your kisses have left on his own lips and the skin around them. You're enthusiastic.

"What's weird?" you ask.

"How much you like me."

"Have you ever heard of the honeymoon phase?"

"The romance feeling very intense at the start of a relationship until we're used to one another," he answers.

"Right. Well, I'm used to you. I intend on honeymooning with you until you die. And you're in your prime, sweetheart, so…" You lean in with your head tilted heavily to the side, pausing with your lips only just touching his. "You'll have to get used to it," you whisper, waiting.

Spencer kisses upward slowly. You sigh into his mouth, double when he paws at the small of your back and squeezes you close to his chest, thankful you took off his glasses.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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beatrixstonehill2 · 2 months

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"I'm ready for my injections," Holly told her boyfriend, Ryan.

"Good, you're becoming so obedient. I told you you'd come around eventually. You almost look eager."

Holly blushed, feeling the weight of her breasts hanging off her chest, already about twenty-five pounds each. Fifty whole pounds of pure breast. It felt absurd to her, so wrong, and yet inescapable. It was her new reality. "I'm excited to see them grow for you....."

"That's a good girl," he said, inserting IV needles into her breasts at various points.

Holly winced as her boyfriend injected her breasts with over a gallon of saline each. She remembered when she first met Ryan barely a year ago. He was so charming, they met at the gym and were both very passionate about being fit and healthy. She worked as a gymnastics instructor. Now she couldn't imagine trying to work her old job. The mothers would be horrified at such a huge-breasted cow of a woman trying to teach their daughters.

Soon into their relationship, Ryan mentioned having a big tit fetish. She thought nothing of it, what guy doesn't? Before long, she noticed her breasts were getting bigger and started lactating. He fessed up that he was drugging her water bottles, and apologized, but said he wanted her EE-Cup breasts much bigger. She was angry but as her girlfriend was still excited to please him and get bigger for him, despite not wanting large breasts.

Her breasts got bigger and bigger, impeding her ability to do gymnastics. Women began recommending she get a reduction or chop them off outright. Holly had to reluctantly admit her boyfriend was making her grow them out like this. His fetish consumed her life, made her lose her job, getting so bad she found herself becoming a living embodiment of his kinks. No longer Holly at all, just an object he acted on and molded into his perfect toy.

She gasped as the gallons of saline flooded her breasts, his new favorite means of torturing her. When they were done, her breasts ballooned to double their size, red and swollen, round and very taut like fake tits. He took out the needles and placed heart-shaped bandages over them to help keep her tits from springing leaks. This new way of increasing her breast size would ensure once the saline is absorbed her breasts would stretch, getting saggier, longer, emptier. Instead of being beautiful and full from the breast growth drugs, like a woman who's pumped out a dozen or so kids, her breasts would switch between extremely saggy, floppy and empty, and enormously round and heavy, filled to the point of popping with saline, heavy as two water coolers strapped to her chest.

Holly winced as Ryan tightened her leather straps and added the rest of her corrective harness, which looked a bit like bdsm gear, to help keep her back upright, pushing out her giant saline-filled boulder tits. Ryan smiled, smacking Holly's breasts, which made her recoil in pain. "It feels incredible when I hit them, doesn't it?"

Holly nodded, barely able to catch her breath. "Y-Yes.... Smack them all you want. They're yours."

"Good girl, but they're about to be all of Lower Manhattan's. I want you bringing in lots of money tonight, OK? Smile a lot, eagerly service any man, even the homeless ones or violent looking ones. I can't have you saying no to any clients. Don't worry, I'm taking my anti-STD pills every day so I won't contract all the bugs you're collecting. Oh, and if you don't mind, I want you whoring on the corner by your old dance studio, hopefully some of the moms and other women you worked with might get to see your new occupation. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Holly was blushing beat red. "B-But....."

"None of that. You don't have 'no' in your vocabulary. Now off you go!" he said, smacking one of her breasts again.

"OK.... I won't disappoint you."

"Good, otherwise I might have to paddle all that saline out of your tits when you get home"

Holly yelped as he spanked her, sending her out wearing only her harness and nothing else, to go enjoy her new occupation as a whore with giant saline-filled breasts. Which she slowly started to feel was exactly who she was always meant to be.

#be #breast expansion #breast inflation #bug chasing kink #whoring kink #body modification kink #humiliation kink

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