#Useless filling of tags for some reason

[hana-bobo-finch]

i am one day late to my own character’s birthday but whatever better late than never. this image popped up in my head last night and I felt obligated to make it

for context Tornado is the name of the only social networking site on fincg island and C.C. is. very into the occult and would definitely think this is a halfway decent thing to do (it is not)

og

[sigilslvt]

JEALOUSY • DRABBLE

☣︎ Summary: The men all have their reasons for getting jealous around you. But how exactly do they react when they feel the threat is much more real? SURELY, they’re rational, right?

Includes: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Sukuna, and Nanami

Tags: fem! reader, friends to lovers, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, teasing, bulging, pussy eating, choking, breeding, praise, overstim, possessiveness, threatened gun violence, toxic possessiveness, car sex, dry humping, rough sex, squirting, pining, premature ejaculation, love bombing, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, true form sukuna, slight angst

WC: 13.1k

A/N: I cackled writing Choso’s, my poor baby is too precious 😩💜

༒︎ Gojo Satoru ༒︎

You pull into the gas station because, once again, your car is on its last leg. Satoru’s been absolutely useless this entire car ride, lounging like some kind of overgrown housecat, sunglasses crooked on his nose, humming the most obnoxious song he can think of just to get under your skin. His long legs are kicked up on your dashboard like he’s king of the world.

“Finally, a pit stop,” he says, stretching dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d just run us out of gas for fun. You know, to create a bonding moment.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, putting the car in park. “Stay in the car. Not that I have to tell you that.”

He snickers, not even looking up from whatever weird little game he’s playing on his phone. “Sure thing, sugar. Let me know if you need me to heroically pump the gas for you. I’ll try not to make it look too easy.”

You ignore him because giving him attention only makes it worse. You grab your wallet and step out, the cold air biting at your face as you swipe your card and get ready to fill the tank as quickly as possible so you can return to the cocoon of warmth that is your car. You’re in your own little zone, minding your business, when a voice breaks through the quiet.

“Hey there! Need some help?”

You glance up, startled, and see a guy walking over. He’s got that effortless, small-town-boy charm, the kind of guy who probably calls everyone “ma’am” and knows how to fix a tractor. He’s smiling, too— a little too widely, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s taking the pump right out of your hands.

“Oh, I had it,” you say, trying to be polite, but this guy is already on a roll.

“Nah, no worries,” he says, grinning. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have to pump their own gas. It’s just not right.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between confusion and being impressed, because— wow. Is this really happening?

You glance back at your car, hoping Gojo hasn’t noticed, but as soon as your eyes land on his, you know you’re doomed. He’s sitting up now, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, staring at you both like he’s just been served the juiciest gossip of the year. His grin is growing and you’re sure he’s ready to put on a show.

Before you can stop him, he throws open the car door and steps out like he’s been summoned to the stage. He stretches unnecessarily— arms up, head tilted back, like he’s on the cover of a sports magazine— and then saunters over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

The gas station guy looks up, noticing Gojo for the first time. His smile falters just a little. “Oh, uh… hey. Didn’t realize you had someone with you.”

Satoru’s already grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m just her boyfriend. You know, the adoring, perfect, doting one who pumps her gas all the time.”

You groan. “Toru—”

“What? I’m just saying, it’s cute that you’re trying to help, bud,” he says, turning back to the guy with a grin so wide it’s almost terrifying. “But this is kind of my thing. I know she’s just the sweetest, but she’s taken.You get it, right? Yeah, you get it.”

The poor guy blinks, clearly unsure if Satoru’s joking or about to start something. “Uh, yeah, no problem,” he mutters, handing the pump back to you like it’s radioactive. “You two have a good day.”

“Oh, we will!” Gojo chirps, giving him a little salute. “And hey, nice try, man. Better luck next time.”

The guy doesn’t even look back. He practically sprints back to the safety of the gas station, and as soon as he’s gone, you turn to Toru, crossing your arms and pursing your lips in annoyance.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, feigning innocence as he leans casually against the car. “I was just making sure no one stole my job. You know how much I love pumping your gas.”

You gape at him. “You’ve never pumped gas in your life!”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. “That’s what makes this moment so special. It’s a sacred duty.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “You’re so insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, draping an arm around your shoulders, “you love me. Isn’t that wild?”

“Whatever. I’m gonna get a snack. Want something?” you roll your eyes and start walking toward the station.

“I’ll come with, I’m craving something sweet.” he smirks with a look in his eyes that you can’t quite discern.

You raise a brow and walk with him, entering the gas station with the goal to grab a bag of chips and water, but the second you head for them, your hand is being trapped by Satoru’s and he’s tugging you toward the bathroom. You shoot him a look of confusion and annoyance, but he pays it no mind as he yanks you inside, closing the door behind you and pressing you against it.

“Toru, wha—”

“Told you I wanted something sweet, sugar. Bend over a little f’me.” he instructs, turning you so you’re facing the door. Your palms lay flat against it, trying to use it as leverage to turn yourself, but he presses your head to the door, too, his strong palm mushing your cheeks to it, sucking his teeth in disapproval.

“You’re insane, w-we’re in a gas station,” you try to reason with him, but his hand’s already shoved up your skirt and peeling down your panties. “Satoru, seriously…”

“Y’telling me to stop? She’s cryin’ f’me, though, I think she’ll be so sad if I don’t give her what she wants,” he purrs, getting to his knees and littering kisses on the fat of your ass. “C’mere, baby.”

You’re lost to him the moment he stuffs his face into your already dripping cunt, bucking yourself back against him and into the feel of his greedy tongue slipping between your folds and down, down, down to your clit. You can feel him smirking against you when he draws out a long shaky whine from your lips between your panting and while normally his cockiness would annoy you beyond belief, it instead turns you on more. And yet—

“Wh-hah— why couldn’t this wait until we got to the hotel?” you ask, nails scraping down the door when he plunges his tongue into your twitching hole.

He pulls away for a moment, spreading your ass to spit a glob of saliva between your folds and slurp it back up while sucking your clit. No answer. You huff and tremble, unsure of how long you’ll be able to keep yourself standing if he’s just gonna keep eating you like a man starved.

You try, you really do, to keep your voice down, but when his tongue hits that spot inside of your gummy walls, his hand between your thighs and thumb working on your clit, you can’t help but let your moans slip out. And oh, does that make him even more unrelenting. His thumb draws circles on your clit quicker and with more pressure, his tongue fucking into you as rough as can be. 

Your eyelids flutter closed, breathing labored as you feel that sweet sweet build up that you love so much. He knows what comes next and while normally, he’d see you to the end, this time he stops, earning a frown from your pretty face.

“Wh-why’d y—” you start.

“Y’mine, say it.”

“What? Toru, what’s—”

“Say. It. Say y’mine… say y’love me and I’ll make you cum so good, sugar, I promise.” he all but whines.

You don’t know why it needs to be said or what’s going on with him, but you’ll be damned if you let your orgasm escape you. With every second that passes, it runs from you, so you give him what he needs. “I’m yours, baby. I love you.” you coo.

“Again.” he huffs against your cunt, making your knees weak. He’s so close. You’re so close.

“I love y— hah,” your breath escapes you when he delves his tongue back into your pulsing hole. “Fuuuuck… I love you, I love you, I l— fuck!” your cunt tries it’s best to grip his tongue, but he fucks it into you with more force as you cum on it, losing strength in your legs and slumping down while your brain goes dumb with pleasure.

He holds you up, tongue slipping out of you and back to your clit, his head shaking side to side while he licks at your clit, overstimulating you beyond belief. All you can do is cry out for mercy, palms battering at the bathroom door as you raise your white flag.

With that, he frees you from the sweet torture, massaging your thighs and resting back on his ankles. “I’m pumping your gas from now on.” he huffs.

Coming back to your senses, you realize why he pulled this stunt off. “Satoru. Were you… jealous!?” you chuckle in disbelief.

“I’ve got nothing to be jealous about, it seems. What with the ‘I love you, I love you, I—’” he mocks you while standing up and you smack his arm.

“Sh-shut up.” You huff, pouting as he puts your panties back in place, dolling you back up and kissing your shoulder.

“Nope. But you’re gonna wish you had when the poor guy out there’s blushing redder than red.” he teases. Your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hand when you realize he had to have heard everything.

“You’re insane.” your voice is muffled by your hand.

“Insane’s one word for it,” he smirks. “I like to say I’m just crazy for you.”

Not long later, you’re climbing back into the car. Satoru follows, flopping into the passenger seat with a contented sigh like he’s just won a marathon.

As you pull out of the station, he stretches again, kicking his feet up on the dash like he owns the place. “You know,” he says casually, “you should really thank me. That guy was totally about to ask for your number. I saved you from a very awkward situation.”

And you could quite literally kill him.

༒︎ Geto Suguru ༒︎

The room is buzzing with conversation, a polite undercurrent of tension that doesn’t escape you. Cult leaders and their followers mill about in finely tailored clothes, exchanging calculated smiles and empty pleasantries. You’re trying your best to look engaged, but your thoughts keep drifting to Suguru.

He stands a few feet away, surrounded by a small circle of curse users, his tall frame commanding attention with ease. His black robes flow elegantly around him, his long hair tied back neatly. The faint smirk on his face, the calm way he speaks— it all oozes confidence. Control. Every now and then, he glances in your direction, his sharp eyes softening for just a moment before flicking back to the conversation.

You’re nursing a drink near the refreshment table when someone sidles up beside you.

“Ah, I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you,” a smooth voice says.

You turn to see a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his polished appearance almost too pristine. His expression is warm but calculated, and his sharp eyes are already fixed on you. Takeda. You recognize him instantly— leader of a large, influential cult. Non-sorcerer, but powerful in his own way.

“Good evening,” you reply, forcing a polite smile. They have their role to play, Geto tells you, so you make sure to keep appearances with non-sorcerers despite their usual poor attitude toward you.

He smiles wider. “Good evening, indeed. I couldn’t help but notice you standing here all by yourself. It seems almost criminal for someone as lovely as you to be left alone at an event like this.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment, a small flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not alone. I’m here with my boyfriend,” you say, gesturing subtly in Suguru’s direction.

Takeda follows your gaze and chuckles softly. “Suguru Geto. Of course. I’ve heard much about him.” His attention snaps back to you, and his smile turns almost wolfish. “I must admit, though, I’m surprised. I didn’t think someone so… captivating would end up with a man who seems so creepy… Besides, I’m sure he’s always so busy. Too busy to truly appreciate a beauty like you.”

Your face heats further, and you stammer, “He’s not too busy. He’s just—”

Before you can finish, he takes your hand in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. It’s old-fashioned, deliberate, and enough to leave you momentarily stunned. Not in awe, but in pure shock. He’s bold, you’ll give him that.

Your breath catches, and you feel a wave of heat rush to your face. You try to pull your hand back, but his grip is firm— not unkind, but enough to make you falter. You can’t ruin appearances by hurting him, so you allow it, praying he’ll give up soon.

“A pleasure meeting you,” he murmurs, his lips still ghosting over your skin.

And then you feel it— the air shifting suddenly. A heavy, familiar presence fills the space around you, and Takeda finally releases your hand. You glance over your shoulder to see Suguru a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you as he approaches.

“Takeda,” Suguru says smoothly, his tone light but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip because you know better.

Takeda straightens and flashes a smile that’s far too confident. “Geto. What a pleasure to see you,” He gestures toward you. “I was just introducing myself to your lovely partner. She’s quite… enchanting.”

Suguru’s lips twitch, curving into a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m aware.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels too loud in the quiet. Suguru’s gaze flickers briefly to your hand before returning to Takeda.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he continues softly.

Takeda chuckles nervously, clearly unsure of how to respond. Geto’s not usually the type to be confrontational in public. It’s normally all smiles and politics for him, so this has Takeda stunned. “I meant no disrespect, of course.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully. “No disrespect… Of course not.” He tilts his head slightly, his smile sharpening. “But you’d do well to remember your place, Takeda. Admiration is one thing. Touching, however…” He trails off, his tone turning razor-sharp, dark eyes honing in on the poor man’s. “That’s dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

Takeda falters, his polished demeanor cracking for just a moment. “I— I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters before excusing himself and retreating into the crowd.

As soon as he’s gone, Suguru turns to you, his sharp expression softening slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“You seemed… flustered,” he says finally, his voice quiet but probing.

Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “I wasn’t, he just caught me off guard,” you mumble.

Suguru steps closer, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Are you sure? Because from where I was standing…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “It looked like you didn’t mind it.”

“Suguru—”

“Did you like it?” he interrupts, his tone impossibly soft, almost vulnerable. “A weakling holding your hand, kissing it like that… Did you enjoy it?” 

Your heart twists at the faint frown tugging at his lips, the rare glimpse of uncertainty in his usually composed expression. That’s when you recognize the look in his eye. It isn’t anger, it’s fear. Insecurity. Things you never expected to see from him.

“No,” you say quickly, reaching for him. “Of course not. I could never, baby.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign of dishonesty. Finally, he exhales softly and takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over the spot where Takeda’s lips had been.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.

He leads you down a hallway, wanting to be away from the noise and chatter of the convention. When he pushes open the door to an empty room and pulls you inside, the silence feels almost deafening in comparison to everything on the outside.

Suguru closes the door and turns to face you, his dark eyes heavy with emotion. Without a word, he cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Say it,” he whispers, his voice raw.

“Say what?” you ask softly, your hands resting on his chest.

“That you’re mine,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “That you wouldn’t leave me for some monkey.”

Your heart aches at the quiet desperation in his tone. “I’m yours, of course I’m yours.” You whisper, your hands curling into his robes. “Always.”

The next thing you know, his lips are melting yours, soft at first, but quickly growing more insistent. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven, and his eyes are darker than ever.

“Again,” he all but whines, his lips trailing down to your jaw. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice racing as your heart squeezes. “Only yours.”

He exhales sharply, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. “Good,” he whispers, moreso to himself. “Good… because I need you.”

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses you again, this time with a desperation that feels like he’s trying to erase every trace of Takeda’s touch from your skin.

His nails dig into your sides, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting all that you have— all that you are. He’s needy, moving to hoist you up and hook your legs around his waist.

Your dress rides up your thighs and he wastes no time gripping at the fat of them, subtly rolling his hips into you in a way that tells you he may just be doing it subconsciously. Gasps are shared between your lips as he kisses you a few more times before moving to swipe his tongue up your neck, stopping just under your jaw and sucking a big fat hickey into the crevice.

It feels so good that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working their way down, down, down to your ass, pulling you into him with every roll of his hips. You feel how hard he is even through his robes, unable and unwilling to stop yourself from sliding the top of his gojogesa off his broad shoulders. You’re dipping your head down to pepper kisses all over his shoulder while he marks you up, your nails leaving marks of their own on his skin from how hard you’re gripping him.

You know what this is. Know what he needs. You’d be a fool to stop him from taking it. “Sugu… here.” You tell him, emphasizing your words by rolling your hips in tandem with his.

You swear you hear him growl as he tears his lips from your throat and grips your underwear on one side to tear them off, your eyes widening at the action. Suguru’s normally a calm, calculated man, even when he makes love to you, everything is suave and he’s always in control, but now? Now, he’s become someone entirely different. Someone needy. Someone eager to prove a point. To stake a claim.

“Here, angel.” Is all you hear before your mouth is stuffed with your own underwear and– when did he whip his dick out? You’ve got no idea, but it’s plugged into you before you can react, a long and grateful groan just spilling from Suguru’s lips like he’s finally laying in bed after a long day of hard labor. He’s home. Your head falls back against the door and he uses the opportunity to attack your neck again, littering the skin with kisses, licks, and the occasional bite.

He’s got no rhyme or rhythm in his thrusts, he simply ruts into you with a force that has the door shaking, the metal bar rattling and making your stomach lurch with fear at the fact that it could so easily be pushed for you two to end up on display for everyone. The fear falls away soon, however, replaced with nothing but pleasure when he’s targeting that wonderful gummy little bullseye that makes you go dumb on his cock.

Your eyes start searching for something in the back of your head, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and soaking your underwear as your shaky moans are muffled by the fabric. And you don’t know when it started, but your ears tune into Suguru whining the same thing repeatedly. “Mine, all mine, mine, mine, mine—” again and again and again with every punctuated thrust targeting your poor cervix.

Your nails rake down his back, hoping to find some sort of balance to compensate for the fact that your legs are beginning to ragdoll, no strength left in them as they flop by his sides with every thrust. Except, you don’t have to worry. No, his grip on you is bruising, he never wants to let you go.

And you wish you could see his face in this moment. See how he looks when he’s so adamant about proving it to himself that you’re his. Before you know it, you’re snaking a hand into his hair and tugging his head back, earning a needy little whine from his puffy lips before he’s looking at you. Oh, is he looking at you. Like you’re the world. Like you’re salvation. His brows are drawn tightly together, a pout on his lips that tells you he’d be nothing without you. God, you wanna kiss him. Wanna tell him a million times over that you’d never even think of another.

The look on your face tells him exactly what you want, you think, because in the next instant, he’s tearing the underwear from your mouth and crushing his lips into yours. His thrusts have rhythm now, his hips fucking into you with urgency. Every time his thick cock slips past your puffy folds, you’re inched closer, oh so closer to cumming and your stomach draws tight at the feeling. He’s chasing both of your orgasms, not once missing that spongey little spot that makes you see stars as he pounds you into the door, your voice sounding out to God knows how many people are in the hallway while you kiss him, your drool now slipping down his chin.

You hear him groan into the kiss as his hips start to falter– he’s close. And yet, while his rhythm is lost, his force is worse. Every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there. “I love you,” he whines against your lips before breaking away and letting his head fall back. “I love you, I love you, I. Fucking. Love. You.” He punctuates the last repetition with a thrust for each word, cumming on the very last one along with you, who couldn’t help but cum at the words he’s never said before.

You two had been together for a year. A whole year and not once had Suguru ever uttered the words. You always knew he wasn’t an emotional man, so you never expected to hear the words. You felt it, though. His care for you. It was in his actions. How he never forgot an important date, how he would always bring home food or a treat or flowers for you, how he loathed being away from you for any given reason. And yet, the words still shock you.

He ruts into you a few more times before he stills, nothing to be heard except for your breaths shared between each other until his eyes go wide– perhaps in realization of what he’s just said, and he kisses you. Softer this time. More sure of himself. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he’s confessed.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Don’t let anyone else touch you like that again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. Not angry, not upset, just… needy.  “I don’t care who it is. I won’t stand for it. Even if you don’t love me like I love you, I just can’t bear to see that again.”

You smile and offer a tired chuckle, brushing his hair back from his face. “Y’know, for someone usually so calculated and knowing, you sure are stupid,” you shake your head softly. “I love you, too. More, actually.”

His lips press against your temple, and he exhales slowly, the tension in his body finally easing. “Not possible,” he murmurs again, his voice soft. You can hear his smile in it. “Nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you.”

༒︎ Toji Fushiguro ༒︎

You aren’t sure if dragging Toji to your high school reunion is a brilliant idea or the worst decision you’ve made all year. On one hand, you know he can charm the socks off anyone when he wants to, all cocky smirks and lazy grins that send shivers down your spine. On the other hand, he doesn’t exactly thrive in situations that involve niceties and polite small talk—especially with people he doesn’t give a shit about. Still, you’ve convinced him, mostly because you want to show him off. He’s hot, and he’s yours. What’s the point if you can’t gloat a little?

Toji is surprisingly well-behaved for most of the evening. He nurses a glass of bourbon with his usual swagger, leaning against the bar and throwing you looks that tell you that he’ll be waiting for you to make this worth his while later. He even manages to avoid scaring off too many of your old classmates, though you catch the occasional side-eye when he’s not so subtle about telling them to fuck off. Everything’s going smoothly.

That is, of course, until he notices you talking to him.

You don’t mean to bump into your ex-boyfriend. Really, you don’t. But there he is, standing near the drink table with the same easy grin you remember from your teenage years. He calls your name, and before you can stop yourself, you’re smiling back and walking over. Toji’s gaze burns into your back the entire way.

“Wow, you look amazing,” your ex says, his tone warm but casual. It’s just an observation— a compliment between old friends, but you can just feel the way Toji’s teeth grind from across the room.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, keeping your tone light. The conversation flows easily, filled with harmless reminiscing about old high school antics. Nothing romantic. Nothing serious. Just memories of embarrassing pranks, favorite teachers, and the god-awful cafeteria food.

But you know Toji. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching, his sharp green eyes narrowing every time your ex laughs or steps just a little too close. You can practically hear the internal dialogue: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Then your ex does it. The thing you know is going to push Toji over the edge.

He hugs you.

It’s quick and friendly, a casual embrace to say goodbye. But as soon as your ex’s arms wrap around you, you feel your body being eaten up by your boyfriend’s shadow. You pull back quickly, about to turn to Toji to defuse whatever storm is brewing, but it’s too late.

He moves quickly— silent and deadly. One second, he’s leaning against the bar. The next, he’s standing behind you, his presence towering and suffocating. His hand rests on the back of your neck, deceptively casual as he leans in close.

“I dunno why yer touchin’ her, pal,” Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous, “but don’t let it happen again.”

Your ex blinks, clearly startled by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I… sorry? I was just saying goodb—”

Toji’s hand moves and you worry he may actually hit the poor guy. “Oh, shit.”

“You gonna say goodbye, then get the fuck outta here,” Toji says, his grin sharp and feral as he subtly lifts his sweater just enough to reveal the gun tucked into his waistband. “Before I decide you don’t need yer legs.”

Your ex’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself to retreat, mumbling something about it being nice to see you before practically sprinting away. You don’t even have time to scold Toji before security is suddenly very interested in the two of you.

Five minutes later, you’ve been escorted out of the venue, Toji’s hand resting possessively on the small of your back. You wait until you’re alone in the parking lot to whirl on him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, smacking his arm. “You pulled a gun on him?!”

“Relax, doll,” Toji says, his grin infuriatingly smug. “I didn’t even take it out.”

You groan, stomping toward the car. You reach for the passenger door, but before you can open it, his arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Nah,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Yer sittin’ in the back with me.”

“What, am I in trouble now? Gonna spank me?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Toji doesn’t answer. He just opens the back door and shoves you inside, sliding in next to you and shutting the door behind him. You cross your arms, giving him a pointed glare. It doesn’t take long before he’s sulking.

He leans back against the seat, legs spread wide, and huffs like an overgrown child. “Wasn’t jealous,” he mutters.

You snort. “Sure you weren’t.”

“Ain’t funny,” he grumbles, glaring at you.

You can’t resist pushing him just a little further. “If you’re not jealous, then you won’t mind if I go back inside to grab his number. Y’know, for old times’ sake.”

His head snaps toward you, his jaw tightening. In one quick motion, he turns, caging you against the seat with his arms. “The fuck you just say?”

“You heard me,” you say, smirking. “If you’re not jealous, it shouldn’t bother you.”

Toji’s eyes narrow, and the tension in the car shifts again, but this time it isn’t anger. It’s something else entirely. He leans in until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“Ain’t about bein’ jealous,” he says, his breath warm against your lips. “Ain’t nobody else touchin’ my girl. Don’t care what reason they have.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as his lips ghost along your jawline. His touch is possessive, his grip firm enough to leave no room for argument. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Toji…” you start, but he cuts you off with a low chuckle.

“Nah, you’ve been mouthin’ off thinkin’ yer cute,” he says, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Time to shut that pretty mouth o’ yours.”

He's enjoying himself, towering over you in the confined space of the car, the sunlight streaming in from the windows only highlighting the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.

“You’re so—”

"Hm?" He hums, his hand already snaking down your side, easily slipping under the hem of your dress as he plants a kiss onto the side of your neck. "Y' got somethin' t' say, doll?" 

His fingers dance on your skin, inching closer and closer to the spot he knows will make you weak in the knees. He's toying with you, getting a kick out of your restraint as you try to formulate words again. But before you can finish even a syllable, he cuts you off.

"Save it, sweetheart. Was gonna be nice 'nd all when we got home t’night, but you had to go and run that pretty mouth with yer ex." He growls lowly in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “So while yer getting yer brains fucked stupid, I want you t’remember… this is on you.”

With a rough grasp, he flips you onto your stomach in the backseat, your dress riding up your ass as he yanks your panties down with a swift tug, the cool air hitting it and making your hole clench around nothing. His dick is hard and straining against his pants, pre seeping through to form a dark spot. The anticipation of what's to come has your breath hitching, heat pooling between your legs. He leans over you, the weight of his body pressing down onto yours.

He’s rutting against your ass, one hand sliding up to toy with one of your nipples while his other hand massages your hip. God, if you could see the needy little look on your face right now, then he’d finally get you to understand just why he’s so addicted to you. You’re just so gluttonous for him. Always wanting more, more, more. And of course, he’s always willing to give.

But right now isn’t the moment for giving. No, he needs to take. To take and take and take until there’s no more left of you to give to anyone but him. Always him. He backs away just enough for him to unzip his pants, his cock springing free. His hand finds it immediately, stroking himself in slow, teasing motions, hard length throbbing against your bare ass. There's a devilish grin on his face as he utters, "Gonna show ‘er how much she needs me."

Without waiting for a response, he aligns himself with your sobbing cunt, teasing your folds with his thick head just swiping back and forth and mixing his pre into your skick. He groans at the contact, his hand gripping your hip tighter. Suddenly, with a swift thrust, he plunges himself deep, his girth stretching you so mind numbingly good that you fear you may just pass out. The thing is, he’s barely in, but the sensation is already overwhelming, causing you to gasp and buck your hips.

He wishes you knew how fucking good you feel. Wishes you knew that whenever he fucks you, that tight ring of resistance tries so hard to push him out. That is, until he’s fucked his fat tip into you a few times, because then you’re practifally sucking him in. He knows the stretch is a lot. Knows you’re sore hours later without fail and yet, you still beg for more. Just like now.

Words are failing you, but your look is enough. You want more. Need more than just his tip. You wanna be broken in. And so he does. He feeds you inch after inch of him, sitting up and pausing at the halfway point to admire the way your cunt looks swallowing him so eagerly. He grasps at the globes of your ass, jiggling them and biting his lower lip at the God granted sight.

His free hand moves to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair before he grips tightly and brings your head up so he can press your face into the window. And just light that, he fucks the rest of himself into you roughly, grunting.

"Fuckin’— take it," he rasps out, taking a brief moment to adjust to the feeling of your tightness around him, unable to resist a little moan of his own. Then, he starts moving. Slow and punishing at first, then picking up speed with the same punishing force. Each thrust is precise and purposeful, perfectly hitting that spot inside you that makes you feel fuzzy. He's unabashedly vocal too, grunting and groaning with each delicious slide in and out of your wetness. "Fuck... y' take my cock so good..." he compliments, pushing your face harder into the back window. 

Easing up on his grip on your waist, he rolls his hips, grinding against your ass before pulling out for just a moment to slap his tip against your folds, watching as your cunt twitches and then thrusting back in again. His actions are deliberate and controlled, meant to stir you up and drive you to your limit. 

"Please baby, please, please, please..." you moan helplessly, your words swallowed up by the sounds of your bodies slapping together and his grunts of pleasure. But he merely chuckles darkly, gripping your hip and pressing your face against the window harder as if to anchor himself and punish you at the same time, his thrusts never faltering. 

"Y' can gimme more than that," he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans down, teeth nibbling at your exposed neck. 

He slows almost to a stop, but the slight shallow thrusts still feel so overwhelmingly good you think you’re gonna go insane. “Y’really think she could live without me? Mmm mm, no, she needs me. I’m the only one who can stuff this greedy little pussy the way she needs to be stuffed. Isn’t that right, baby? Say it f’me.”

“F-fuck! Toki, gonna—” SMACK!

“Not talkin’ to you, princess. Talkin’ to her.” He delivers a pointed thrust into you to emphasize the fact that he’s genuinely talking to your cunt in his pussydrunk state.

Your sure he’s left a permanent handprint because of how hard he spanked your ass. The sting that lingers where his palm landed makes your cunt twitch and ache around him, which he considers to be answer enough. “S’what I fuckin’ thought. Atta fuckin’ girl, yes baby.” He groans, quickening the pace ever so slightly and beginning to pull you back into him to meet his thrusts.

“Talkin to an ex, y’must have wanted to get yerself fucked stupid, hm? Is that what you wanted? To be fucked like this?” He’s talking, but you can tell it isn’t for actual answers, no, it’s more to himself. He’s fucked out. So close to the edge.

The thrusting quickens, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "Cum f' me, doll," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, "show me how good I make y' feel. Only me. And then I’m gonna breed yer cute cunt so good." With that, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, aiming for that spot inside you that will unravel you completely.

That’s when you finally let loose, the coil inside your tummy snapping and letting you feel so much pleasure that you’re moving your ass back into him with a force that’s unmatched, just swallowing him deep into you over and over again. And that does it for him— his cum spurting inside you and filling you so good.

He kisses you so hungrily you feel you may just lose your breath entirely and pass out. His hands are holding you in place so you don’t fuck back onto him, because he knows if you did, he’d break you.

Toji leans back, smirking at the sight of you, his thumb brushing your swollen lips.

“You done throwing your little tantrum?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

He glares at you, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.” And deciding to drop the bombshell now, you lean back against the seat and say casually, “By the way, he’s married. To a man. They have two kids.”

Toji freezes, his expression shifting from smug to incredulous in seconds. He blinks like a cartoon character in shock, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“Yup,” you say, your grin widening. “Your big, scary display of dominance? Totally unnecessary.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. The look on his face is so priceless you wish you could brand it into your memory. “Tch. Coulda fuckin’ said somethin’ sooner.”

“And miss all the fun?” You laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Before you can say anything else, he’s on you again, his hands roaming as he mutters, “Gonna make you pay for makin’ me start a scene.”

You laugh, the sound cutting off into a gasp as his hands find their mark. “I made you start a scene? Oh, this I gotta hear.” You say, your voice breathless but still teasing.

“Keep talkin’, doll,” he says, his grin turning wicked. “See where it gets ya.” And then his lips are finding yours again. Just like that, the argument is forgotten, lost in the haze of his possessive, consuming affection.

༒︎ Choso Kamo ༒︎

The mall is crowded, loud with the hum of chattering voices and echoing footsteps. It isn’t your favorite place to hang out, but your best friend had begged you to come along. Somehow, Choso ended up tagging along too, though you weren’t sure why. He wasn’t exactly the mall type, after all— too quiet, too detached from the bustling energy of human spaces like this.

You glance over your shoulder at him now, and there he is, just like you’d expect. He’s trailing a few steps behind, hands shoved into the sleeves of his robe, his dark eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. His usual stoic mask is firmly in place, making him seem untouchable to anyone passing by. But you know better than that. Beneath the unapproachable aura, Choso is awkward— painfully shy even. He’s still figuring out how to interact with humans, still trying to understand what it means to live in a world like this.

And for some reason, he’s decided you’re his safe space.

You smile to yourself, turning your attention back to the task at hand. Your friend had told you they’d meet you at the bookstore, but they’re running late, so you decide to wander into one of the nearby shops to kill time.

Choso doesn’t follow. You assume he’s probably going to find a dark corner to tuck himself into. 

What you don’t realize is that he does follow. At a distance. He’s used to watching from the sidelines, content to let you move through your world without interference. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he learns from watching how you interact with people, animals, media, and the likes. He learns about the world, but more importantly, he learns about you.

His eyes are on you now, but just seconds later, they shift. There’s a new focus, a new target. Him.

The guy behind the counter at the little boutique you walked into. He’s tall, clean-cut, and obnoxiously friendly. At first, Choso thinks nothing of it. It’s not like he can stop every stranger from talking to you. But as the guy’s gestures become more animated, and his laughter gets a little too familiar, something shifts in Choso’s chest.

He wishes he could hear whatever it is he’s saying that has you so giddy. Wishes he could just— wait, what?

The guy leans forward across the counter, his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, maybe a receipt, maybe a bag, Choso doesn’t care. Because what he does next is what hammers the nail in the coffin. His hand moves to the top of your head and he ruffles your hair, making you laugh. It’s the casual intimacy of the gesture that makes his stomach churn. He knows he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He knows. But he can’t help the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers curl into fists in his sleeves.

You’re still smiling at the guy. You’re laughing. And he hates it.

His mind spirals before he can stop it. The scene plays over and over in his head, each time twisting into something worse. What if you like this guy? What if you’re into someone who can flirt with ease, someone who doesn’t stumble over their words or overthink every little thing?

What if you don’t want him?

Choso feels a sharp pang in his chest, like something fragile has cracked. He’s been so careful, so guarded with his feelings. He thought he could keep them tucked away, safe from rejection, safe from ruining this. But now? Now he feels them slipping through the cracks, raw and unmanageable.

He looks away, leaning back against the wall outside the store. His heart’s racing, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he has any claim over you. You’re your own person, free to talk to whoever you want. He’s just… He’s just the weird half-curse with no idea what his place is in this world who follows you around and doesn’t know how to say what he feels. But what if he did say it?

The thought hits him like a lightning bolt, sudden and electrifying. He’s scared, sure— terrified, actually, but the idea of staying silent is worse. He doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, not without at least trying.

So he waits.

When you finally walk out of the shop, you’re holding a small bag, a content smile on your face. You spot him instantly, standing off to the side like he’s been there the whole time.

“Hey, sorry that took so long. They had some really cute stuff in there,” you say, holding up the bag as if to explain.

Choso doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flick to the shop behind you, then back to your face. He doesn’t ask about your purchases. Instead, he asks, “Who was that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to,” he says, his tone as flat as ever, but there’s something behind it—a tension you can’t quite place.

“Oh, him? That’s just my friend from school. He works here part-time,” you explain, shrugging. “I didn’t even know before now.”

Your words are casual, but they allow Choso a wave of relief. That relief is short-lived, however, replaced almost immediately by a surge of determination. This is his chance. His moment to say what he’s been holding back.

“Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You tilt your head, curious but not concerned. “Of course. What’s up?”

He gestures for you to follow him, leading you away from the bigger crowd and toward a seating area deeper in the mall that’s less populated. Once you’re there, he turns to face you, his hands still buried in his sleeves.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He’s searching for the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, what comes out is raw and unfiltered.

“I thought you liked him,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. “What? No, Choso, I told you, he’s just a friend.”

He nods, but his gaze drops to the floor. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you ask gently.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes searching yours. “This. Any of this. Being around people. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to act.”

You wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But with you… it’s different,” he continues, his voice steady despite the nerves etched into his expression. “I don’t feel lost when I’m with you. I feel… human.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t interrupt.

“And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I like you. I… I think I’ve liked you since the moment we met. I just didn’t know how to say it— didn’t know what it was. B-But I do, now.”

You stare at him, his confession hanging in the air between you. For a moment, he thinks he’s made a mistake. That he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross.

But then you smile.

Not just any smile— the kind of smile that makes him feel like the world isn’t so complicated after all.

It’s all you can do because his confession doesn’t catch you off guard, not really.

You’ve always known.

“Cho,” you say softly, stepping closer, “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “You… knew?”

You nod, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle, you know. But I didn’t say anything because I wanted to give you time. Time to figure out what you wanted, how you felt.”

He’s silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified.

“For what it’s worth,” you continue, your voice warm, “I like you, too. Just as you are. You don’t have to change or be anyone else for me, Choso. I like you for you.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s now a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something more raw. His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “Can I… kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard, not because you don’t want him to, but because of the way he asks it, so tentative and earnest.

“Of course,” you say, your tone gentle but steady.

But he hesitates, his eyes darting to the small crowd around you. His voice drops lower, almost shy. “Not here. Can we… go somewhere else?”

You bite back a smile at how endearing he looks, his cheeks tinted pink as he avoids your gaze. “Come on,” you say, nodding toward a quieter hallway where the restrooms are tucked away.

He follows you like a shadow, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he keeps his head down. When you reach the single-occupancy restroom, you push the door open and step inside, holding it for him as he follows. The door clicks shut, and the noise of the mall fades into a distant hum.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the tension in the small space thick enough to cut with a knife. Choso shifts nervously, his hands twitching at his sides. “I… don’t know how start,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your smile soft and steady. “Just follow my lead.”

You step closer, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. He freezes for a moment, his dark eyes wide and uncertain, but when you lean in, his lids flutter shut.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as you deepen it, something shifts. It’s like a switch flips inside him, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, gripping you like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

He grows bolder with each passing second, his fingers wandering over your arms, your back, your hips, your ass. There’s a desperation in the way he touches you, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. Finally, he pulls you flush against him, his entire arms wrapped around you, one hand gripping your hip and the other on your shoulder.

You can’t help but chuckle against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “Easy, Cho,” you murmur, your tone teasing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face flushed as he loosens his grip, but only slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to stop.”

Your smile softens, and you press a light kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to feel nervous.”

You kiss him again, this time letting him lead you. As things heat up, he starts to get carried away again, his hands roaming with a mix of urgency and inexperience. His kisses grow hungrier, his breath ragged as he presses closer, his body practically trembling against yours.

Suddenly his whole body stiffens and a low, unsteady sound akin to a whine escapes him before he pulls back, his face burning with embarrassment. He avoids your gaze, his hands falling away as he stammers, “I— I’m sorry. I dunno what— I didn’t want to stop, I—”

You pull back further to see a dark patch beginning to form even on the purple cloth that rests in front of his robes, realizing what happened. Your perfect Choso just came in his pants from kissing you. You can’t stay silent much longer for fear of making him more embarrassed, so you hush him gently, cupping his face and tilting it so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “Cho, it’s okay,” you say firmly, your voice steady and soothing. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is all new for you, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He swallows hard, his dark eyes searching yours for any hint of judgment or disappointment. When he finds none, his shoulders relax just a little.

“You mean that?” he asks softly.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course, I do. We’ll take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

He nods slowly, the tension in his posture easing as he lets out a shaky breath. After a moment, he looks at you again, his expression soft but serious. “Is this… what love is?” He closes his eyes, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he leans into your touch. And in that quiet, stolen moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in its place.

༒︎ Ryomen Sukuna ༒︎

The room is dimly lit, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. You’re lying back on the exam table, your dress pulled up over your growing belly. The monitor hums softly as the sonographer, a man with overly polite eyes and a soothingly gentle touch, adjusts the machine. He explains the process as he goes, his voice calm and warm, clearly trying to put you at ease.

Today is your first 3D ultrasound where you’ll finally get a better view of the life growing inside you. It feels surreal. You’ve had to wait until you’re 32 weeks along to get the best view, so the wait has made you antsy. Will it look like Sukuna? You? Will it smile or suck its thumb? Surely it’s too early for that, right? All of these questions are running through your mind and making your body vibrate with both nervousness and anticipation. It actually does help that the sonographer noticed and is trying to soothe you. 

You glance to the corner where Sukuna stands, his towering figure leaned protectively against the wall. His crimson eyes are locked on the sonographer, sharp and unyielding, like a predator stalking prey. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, claws tapping rhythmically on his forearm, a faint sound that portrays his growing irritation. The air feels heavy with tension; thick enough to cut with a knife. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t contribute to your current nervousness.

The sonographer prepares to squirt gel onto your belly, offering you a soft smile. “This might feel a little cold,” he says, his tone careful. “But it’ll help us get a clear image of the baby.”

You flinch slightly at the cold, and the response is immediate.

“Watch your hands.” Sukuna’s voice slices through the room, low and menacing.

The sonographer freezes, visibly startled. His gaze darts nervously to Sukuna. “I- I’m just preparing her to perform the scan, sir. There’s no need to worry.”

Sukuna scoffs, the sound dark and mocking. “Worry? I’m not worried, human. I’m warning you.” His crimson eyes narrow, radiating danger. “You’re touching my wife who’s carrying the heir to my throne. Be mindful.”

You press your palm to your forehead, exhaling sharply. “Ryo,” you say, your tone firm. “He’s doing his job. Stop scaring him.”

Sukuna’s eyes flick to you, softening slightly, but the fire in them doesn’t fully die. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The sonographer hesitates, visibly uneasy, before resuming his work. The wand glides gently over your belly, and the monitor flickers to life. He points out the baby’s heartbeat, their tiny limbs, and the way they seem to kick at nothing in particular. His voice is soothing as he explains, almost too soothing for Sukuna’s liking.

You can see that the baby has four limbs, thankfully, and it’s got a frown on it’s face, much like its father’s. Until you speak, that is. When you speak, you can see the soft smile that graces your sweet baby’s face, again much like its father’s. You feel tears prick at your eyes finally seeing your baby so clearly.

The sonographer glances at you again, his smile almost reverent. “You’re doing wonderfully. Your baby looks perfect— beautiful, actually.”

That does it.

“Beautiful, huh?” Sukuna mutters, his voice laced with venom. “Bet you say that to every woman you see. Must be part of your script. You’re just so reassuring. Well, my wife doesn’t need that. She has me. Do you think yourself better than I?”

“Ryomen.” Your voice sharpens, and you shoot him a glare that tells him you’re angry. “Enough.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips curling in mild defiance, but he backs off for now. The sonographer continues, though his hands move a little faster this time, clearly eager to finish. Sukuna’s eyes remain locked on him, every small movement scrutinized like a hawk circling its prey.

Finally, the scan concludes. The sonographer hands you a towel to clean off the gel, offering another polite smile. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sukuna doesn’t give him the chance.

“You’re done, right? Get out.”

The man’s eyes widen; he looks to you as if hoping for an intervention. You manage a tight smile. “Thank you for your help. Forgive my unpleasant husband,” you say pointedly, dismissing him with a polite nod.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone. Sukuna stands there, still bristling, his claws twitching at his sides.

You sigh, wiping the last of the gel from your belly. “You’re ridiculous, Kuna. He wasn’t touching me in any sort of suspicious way.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you in the first place,” Sukuna snaps, taking a step closer.

“He’s a medical professional, Ryomen. It’s his job.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “He was too close; too soft. Like he thought he could make you feel safer than I do.”

You sit up, tugging your dress down over your belly. “No one is trying to take your place.”

He scoffs, pacing in front of you like a restless beast. “You’re mine. No one else gets to put their hands on you like that.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders as you step into his path. “Would you rather our child go unchecked and we miss something bad? You can’t scare every single person who helps me, Ryomen.”

His eyes narrow, the frustration in them simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re too soft,” he mutters. “Always making excuses for people who don’t deserve it.”

“Soft doesn’t mean weak,” you counter, standing firm. “And I don’t need you turning every little thing into a fight. Trust me, Ryomen. I’m not going anywhere. But… you’re wrong, you know. I do need comfort. You provide safety, yes, but never reassurance. Gentleness. Maybe just… passive acceptance. I’m carrying your child. Of course I’d like to be doted on and treated with care.”

Before he can get upset again, you add, “By you. Only you. So just— please stop it with the anger and hostility. I want my child to know their father is capable of love the way I know he is.”

The tension in his shoulders loosens slightly, though the possessiveness in his gaze remains. He steps closer, towering over you, his hand coming to rest on your belly. His touch is firm but deliberate, a reminder of who you belong to.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “You. The baby. You’re my dearest prizes. No one else gets to act like they know how to care for you better than I do. I study everything, every minute detail about you and what’s to expect with the child. I suppose I’ve been so wound up with preparing myself and protecting you that I’ve gotten more hostile than usual. I… can work on it.”

You place your hand over his, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Get back on the exam bed.”

“What? Why? He’s finish—” he interrupts you by walking you backwards until your ass hits the edge, caging you in.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you look carrying my heir and standing up to even me. And I’d like to show you just how much I love it.” He says, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck, just below your jawline. As expected, you tilt your head up for a kiss and he indulges you, kissing you so hungrily and lifting you onto the bed.

His hands wander all over your body, his touch carrying a gentleness you’re not used to. Goosebumps raise on the whole of your body in response and you’re leaning forward into the kiss, losing yourself in it. You don’t even realize he’s hiked your dress up and removed your panties until the cold hits your slick-sheened pussy.

“Ryō—”

“I know, brat, I know.” He says, a teasing lilt in his voice as he parts from your lips to kiss along your jaw. “Come to the edge f’me.”

You do exactly that as he undoes his robes to reveal his second set of arms… and his second mouth. God, you love how freaky this man is. His second set of arms grip the globes of your ass to hold you steady as he pulls you flush against his lower mouth, his fat tongue just smearing your cunt with your slick and his saliva. 

You’ve never cared to admit that this mouth of his has always been your favorite. It’s so big that it offers more coverage, more pressure, and gets so much dee—

“Biiiiig stretch.” Sukuna warns you before he plunges his second tongue into your hole, lingering at that first ring of resistance to deliver a few shallow, but mind numbingly pleasurable thrusts before he pushes the rest of the way in; as much as he can, that is.

He uses the moment your pretty little mouth releases an ah! to kiss you again, his first set of hands slipping up your dress to find your tits. If there’s anything he’d put on top of the list of things he loves about your changing body, it’s this. How fucking thick your ass has become and undeniably huge your tits have grown. Just swelling and preparing to fill with milk to sustain his heir.

He pinches your sensitive nipples between his large fingers, making you moan into the kiss, relaxing your cunt around his tongue between you. Suddenly, you’re lifted just slightly above the table, his other hands beginning to fuck you on his tongue, his saliva and your slick just drip, drip, dripping onto the bed and floor beneath you.

“So greedy. Pussy’s always so fucking greedy…” he groans, resting his forehead against yours so you both can watch as your pussy bulges from swallowing his tongue so eagerly. It’s such a lewd sight, one you’ve undeniably grown addicted to in your time together.

Your moans mingle together and it’s then you realize that he’s now using just one of his hands to fuck you on his tongue. His other is wrapped around both of his cocks and pumping them together, ribbons of pre falling down his lengths and being smeared by his movements. You’re not even slightly ashamed of the way you salivate seeing him getting off while eating your pussy and watching himself do it. It’s so fucking filthy that you can’t help but—

“Gonna cum f’me, aren’t you? Mmmmmhm, can tell by how she’s flutterin’ around my tongue. My needy fucking wife.” He smirks, pulling you flush to him so that the widest part of his tongue rubs against your clit while he switches it up and fucks his tongue into you, faster this time.

“O-Ohmyfuckinggod!” The words come out strung together, the added attention on your clit making you see stars, your breath quickening, heart beginning to race. You lean back onto the bed using your hands to prop you up so you can get a better view.

“So nasty, beautiful.” A chuckle falls from his lips and you can’t even respond before his upper hands are just engulfing your tits and kneading, easing the pain of the swelling and pleasing you at the same time.

Then, something happens. Milk begins to drip from your right nipple and it has you both stopping in your tracks. You’d heard of the low possibility that milk can come before you give birth, but you never considered it’d happen to you. A blush of embarrassment creeps on your face and you’re about to apologize when you hear Sukuna groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mouth immediately latches onto your tit and he just sucks.

“S-Sukuna, fuck!” You whine, his lower tongue beginning to work your quivering pussy again, bringing you right to the edge of pleasure.

He releases your tit with a pop! and nips it gently. “Mine. Mine, mine, all fuckin’ mine, such a good Queen providing for my heir early. Gonna be such a good momma.” He praises you before beginning to suck the lactating nipple again, making you come undone on his tongue, your gooey insides clenching around his tongue, trying to stop him with how tight you are, but he’s too strong, fucking his tongue into you through your orgasm to swallow up every last bit of cum you have to offer him.

It’s not until you’re whining and your legs are limp, weak pushes against his shoulders making him release your tit and slip his tongue from your slobbering hole. He runs the tip of his tongue against your oversensitive clit just a few times before you feel him kiss your puffy folds, making your body lurch.

You watch breathlessly as he tries to suck up the milk from your poor abused nipple again, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging his face up to yours. “Y’know, you’re mine too. Forever. Don’t you forget that.” You smirk.

Something flickers in his eyes— pride, possessiveness, and a touch of vulnerability he’d never admit to. “Damn right I’m yours,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “But don’t think that means I’m gonna get soft on people.”

You lean into his hand as he caresses your cheek, a small smile playing at your lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. His voice drops to a rumble. “Carrying my child. Still standing by me. So brave.”

“Someone has to keep you in check,” you tease, though your voice softens with affection.

He lets out a low chuckle, pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re brave enough to take my cocks after cumming like such a good brat f’me.” 

Your eyes widen, feeble hands trying to push him away by his chest, “Kuna! We have to leave, they’re probably traumatized!” You tell him in a hushed tone, suddenly all too aware that you’re in a doctor’s office for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, well. They can afford the therapy.” He gives you a shit eating grin while thumbing open your cunt. “Open up real wide f’me, baby.”

And as you brace yourself, you remind yourself to make apology rounds to the staff whenever your husband is through with you.

༒︎ Nanami Kento ༒︎

Nanami Kento is tired. Not just the kind of tired you feel after a long day, though God knows his body aches from another grueling shift of paperwork and exorcisms. No, it’s deeper than that. A bone-deep fatigue that comes from too many hours spent away from the one person he’d rather be with. You.

He steps through the door, loosening his tie with one hand and holding his briefcase in the other. The house is warm and smells faintly like the lavender candle you always light in the evenings. It feels like home, but he quickly notices something’s off.

Your voice carries down the hall, light and warm, tinged with laughter. It’s a sound that usually has his shoulders relaxing, but tonight, there’s an edge of tension beneath it that prickles at him. He sets his things down quietly, toeing off his shoes, and listens.

“Yeah, it’s been kind of lonely lately,” you say, and he freezes in place, his hand hovering above the coat rack. “I mean, I get it. Nanamin works so hard and I love him for it, but… I don’t know. I just miss him. I feel like I barely see him anymore.”

His chest tightens. You’re talking about him. He takes a slow, measured breath and steps closer, rounding the corner silently.

“Thank you for keeping me sane, though. Honestly, if I didn’t have someone to talk to, I’d probably be climbing the walls by now.” There’s a soft laugh on the other end of the line. Gojo’s laugh. The realization is instant and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Gojo. Of course, it’s Gojo. His coworker, the occasional thorn in the side, the most insufferable man he knows. And apparently the one you’ve been leaning on while he’s been too busy drowning in work.

Kento feels his jaw tighten, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He knows— logically, rationally— that there’s nothing going on between you and Gojo. You’d never betray him like that and Gojo, for all his teasing, would never cross that line. But the knot of jealousy twisting in his chest doesn’t care about logic.

You must have heard him shift uncomfortably because you glance over your shoulder, startled. Your expression softens when you see him and you give him a small, almost sheepish smile. “Hey, Kento just got home,” you say into the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Nanami doesn’t miss the way Gojo’s laugh sounds out one last time before you hang up. He doesn’t say anything as you set your phone on the counter, but his silence is heavy. You know him well enough to recognize it immediately.

“Ken,” you say softly, stepping toward him. “Long day?”

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze steady on you. It’s not cold, but there’s something simmering behind it; something that makes you hesitate. “Gojo?” he asks finally, his voice calm but with an edge you can’t ignore.

You blink, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Yeah. He was just checking in. He knows I’ve been home alone a lot lately.”

“Does he?” His tone is even, but the sharpness is undeniable.

You frown, crossing your arms. “Nanami, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. Our friend. You know that.”

“I do.” And he does. He knows it’s innocent. But that doesn’t make it easier to hear you laughing and confiding in someone else while he’s been too busy to do the same.

“Ken.” Your voice softens and you reach for him, your hand brushing his arm. “Please don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up or think anything crazy. I’m not mad at you for working so much. I know why you do it. I know it’s for us. But… it’s hard sometimes. That’s all I meant.”

“I hate that you feel like this,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That you have to go to someone else when I should be here.”

You step closer, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You’re here now,” you murmur, trying to pull him out of his head. “That’s what matters. That you always come back to me as soon as you can.”

He looks at you, something dark and conflicted in his eyes. “Is it enough?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Am I enough? Or would you rather have a husband who has more time for you?”

Your heart breaks at the vulnerability in his voice. “Kenny,” you say firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly and his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s hungry. Desperate. As if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s spent away from you in one moment.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down to the globes of your ass and gripping tightly. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll change for you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “No more late nights. No more overtime. I’ll cut my hours. Whatever it takes to be here with you.”

“Ken, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” His hands slide under your shirt, his touch firm but gentle as he lifts it over your head and lets it fall to the floor. “I won’t let you feel like you’re second to anything. Ever again. You’re too precious to me. My world. My heart. My wife.”

His lips find your neck, trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone. He moves with a purpose, his hands exploring your skin as if to reacquaint himself with every inch of you. It’s more than physical— it’s a promise.

You tug at his tie, fumbling with the knot until he helps you pull it free and rips off his button-down. Then his hands are on you again, guiding you toward the bedroom.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding but with an undercurrent of tenderness that makes your pulse race.

You obey, sinking onto the bed as he leans over you, his lips finding yours again. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his movements careful but insistent. Every kiss, every caress feels like an apology and a vow wrapped into one.

He wraps a hang around your throat, squeezing for one fleeting moment before trailing it down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, over your pubic bone, and finally under your nightgown to meet your slick riddled cunt.

“Shit,” he hisses, forehead resting against yours while he catches his breath, his fingers slipping back and forth between your folds, teasing at your clit in passes. “My love… I don’t want to waste any time, I just need t’feel you. Normally I’d ea—”

“I know, handsome, s’okay, I’m ready, I can take it.” You reassure him, knowing he was going to apologize for not properly warming you up.

You see, Nanami has always been one for foreplay. He could slurp up your saccharine slick for hours upon hours if you let him, but tonight? Tonight, he just wants to be one with you.

His hand finds one of yours and he intertwines your fingers, his other hand working to free his cock from the suffocating confines of his pants. When it springs free, it’s just throbbing an angry pink, beads of pre forming at the tip now that his dress pants aren't there to absorb them.

He aligns himself with your painfully empty hole, pushing past that first little ring of resistance with a long groan. The grip he has on your hand tightens, his knuckles turning white as he feeds you inch after mind numbing inch of his cock until his tip’s kissing your cervix. But you know his body well enough to know that isn’t it. And so you brace yourself for him to push in to the hilt, his mushroom tip ever so slightly bullying open your cervix as he does so, making you yelp out in both pleasure and pain.

His lips swallow your whines and whimpers, he’s determined to take everything you have to offer and give you more than what he has. The world, if you asked. His free hand finds purchase on your hip and he holds you steady as he starts to roll his hips into yours, passionately. Roughly. Like he’s trying to stuff you full of all of the love he has for you.

You moan out, reaching your own free hand up to cup his cheek, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his back, effectively telling him you need more. With every thrust after, you can’t help but gasp. You feel him in your lungs stealing every bit of breath you have, reddened leaking tip repeatedly hitting that bullseye that makes your mind go stupid.

“K-Ken, feels s’good! Hah!” You whine out, back arching up and pressing you flush to him. He moves his hand from your hip to wrap his arm around you, effectively holding your bottom half in the air to get deeper inside of you.

“Mine. My wife. My wife, my love, my beautiful, m-my heart.” He’s babbling, burying his head into your neck and pressing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to it. You feel him slip his hand from yours and instead, he has the top of your head in the palm of his hand, using it to keep you still, but also to anchor himself so he doesn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful mom. Wh—hah, what kind of husband have I been by not trying to give you my babies? We can start now. After I cum riiiiight here.” He babbles, his other hand moving for only a second to press down where your stomach bulges with his thrusts.

And the look in his eyes tells you this is a promise, not just something he’s saying while fucking you. Just like the perfect little thing you are, you cum for him right then, dragging a long and frustrated groan from him.

“Pussy’s always so good for me. Milking me so good, my love…” he shudders as you cum on his throbbing length.

“Ken, f—fuh— fuck! Cum in me! Please, baby, cum in me!” You beg, making him chuckle.

“Oh? You think I’m done? No, I have to make up for lost time. Evert second I missed, I’ll make up for with an equal amount of time spent buried in this beautiful cunt of yours. Understood?”

And oh are you so incredibly fucked.

[the-kr8tor]

Hiiii 🤭

Hopping here to request a Reader x Ekko where they're just two love birds and R sneaks into his "office" because she just missed him :( and then one thing leads to another and they're kinda carried away by each other.. that until duty calls up and R watches Ekko switching from loving future husband to the Leader of the Firelights

Love you!!!

Hihihi thank you sm bleaky for the idea!!! Another fic straight from our dms 🤭 I hope you like it, pookie ❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, reader is a childhood friend turned lover, Firelight! Reader, lovestruck! Ekko, no s2 spoiler, cw suggestive, FLUFF!

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ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The hoverboard whirrs softly from under you, with the moonlight peeking through the leaves of the beloved tree, bathing you in its dappled silver glow. The breeze carries ashen smoke amidst the scent of sweet dew filled flowers.

You lean forward slightly, guiding the board gently towards the open window of the tree house where a certain someone is burning the midnight oil on his workbench. You perch yourself over the window, careful not to make any noise as you slither your way inside. Hopefully staying as a surprise for Ekko.

He felt you before he heard your grunt and the unmistakable sound of your head bumping on the windowsill. Smiling tiredly, he twists in his chair to look at you fondly while you cradle your poor head from the recent bump.

“You know I gave you a key for a reason.” You can practically hear his amusement from his tone.

“Where's the fun in that?” You chuckle, palm patting at the blooming headache. “I thought I'd surprise you.”

Ekko roams his eyes over you as your smirk grows wider with every second he ogles you. “I think you forgot the surprise.” He points at your empty hands, tilting his head to the side in case you've got something hidden behind you.

“Ekko, I'm the surprise.” You wink at him, arms raised to your sides in a ‘here I am’ gesture. He shakes his head with a smile, watching you as you saunter towards him. “You should be asleep.” Your hand finds its place on his cheek, he looks up at you, eyes soft under the warm light of the desk lamp. He leans against your touch, lamenting at the way you gently scratch at his nape. “You can do this once you get some rest. Your board will still be here tomorrow.”

He swears he can fall asleep with your tender touch and voice lulling him to slumber. “I can't,” he sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you to return his attention towards his board that glows softly with green light. “we have something planned early tomorrow.”

Your heart softens for him and his determination. “Am I part of that something something?” Sitting down on his desk, far enough to give him space to work but close enough for you to poke his leg with your foot.

“Not this time,” he glances at you, finding you huffing in place as he screws in the blades tightly. “You still got that shoulder thing.”

“This shoulder thing is alright now.” He raises a brow at you, head shaking lightly. You sigh, surrendering. “Fine, it's acting up again, but it's technically better.” Ekko hums in reply, elbow deep inside the hoverboard. “Kind of. Can I at least help? I don't like feeling useless.”

His hand cups your knee, thumbs tracing swirls on your skin. You can feel how warm his hand is from under his glove. “Just sit there and look pretty for me, okay?” Smirking, he pats you once before returning his hand back to his work as you pout and huff at him. “And you're never useless. You're still healing, trouble. I don't want you getting hurt out there because of a busted shoulder.” A flash of you falling off your board with a sickening crunch fills his vision with dread. He turns towards you fully, tapping his wrench on the wooden table, and gentle eyes softening up at your features. “You'll have your time, I promise.”

You nod, watching as the green hue flickers over his concerned face. “Okay, but you owe me.” You cross your leg over the other while he smiles and turns towards his machine again.

“How many IOUs is that now?” He asks, glancing between you and the board.

You nudge him with your foot, “too many, Ekko.” You say his name with a sing-song lilt, effectively taking his attention. “What?” With a teasing smile, he stares at you wordlessly.

“You're distracting me.” His eyes follows the curve of your jaw up to your lips. Heart stuck in his throat, and eyes glued onto the soft skin. He lays his tools down. Abandoning it immediately.

“Oh,” your shoulders slump slightly. “I'll leave, just get some sleep, okay?” Hopping down, Ekko stops you with his hand on your thigh. “You need something?” You place your hand above his own as he squeezes you.

“Yeah, sit back down for me?” He says it seriously, as if he needs to talk to you about something important.

You straighten up, following his instructions. The desk creaks under your form, and as you wait for his very important words, he stands up from his seat, kicking it away before cradling your face gently in his gloved hands. The rough fabric sits on your cheek, but his touch is softer as he gazes at you with those eyes you've always loved ever since you two were still running around playing pretend.

“Now you're the one distracting me.” You whisper, index looping around his overalls to pull him towards you. Placing him in between your legs, as he leans forward with his head tilted slightly to find the perfect angle of your lips. “What were you saying, Ekko?” Teasing, he inhales deeply, lips merely an inch from your own.

“Let me…?” He says before you crash your lips against his own, answering his cut off question. Your eyes close as he smiles, mirroring your expression. You both kiss in sync, hearts beating in the same pace.

You hear him chuckle softly as your lips fall into a medley of rhythm with his desperate kisses. The kiss runs deep and long, teeth clashing, noses meeting, and hands caressing every angle of you as your own hands roam up his bare and lean arms, until you find penchant on the back of his head. Fingers weaved around his hair, not pulling away, no, pushing him further against you as the air grows hotter around you with every breath you take.

You're home in his arms. And all you can think about is him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your slightly agaped lips, leaning away for a moment to take in air and to remove his gloves to feel you fully.

You stare at him through half lidded eyes, cheeks searing hot and stomach throbbing with ache. “Yeah...” Your voice is shaky at best, legs wrapping around him whilst your chest heaves.

Just as you say it, he meets with your lips once again, taking your breath away as you give it willingly. This time it's softer and gentler as he kisses you tenderly. Your head hits the wall with how much he's kissing you, so with his palm sliding behind your head, he cushions you from the blow as he continues to kiss you fervently as if he hasn't gotten a taste of you in years.

“Ekko.” You sigh out as he kisses the curve of your lips, tracing its shape with his own. “Ekko.” Your tone grows breathlessly as he slowly makes his way towards your throat. “Ekko—” His lips were just about meeting with your warm skin when a knock interrupts you both. “Shit.”

“Damn it.” He murmurs, chest heaving, pupils blown out as he gives you one quick kiss against the side of your neck. Definitely not the final one.

You pat his cheek with a lopsided smile, thumb brushing along his kiss bitten lips, wiping away the sheen you've left. Ekko pecks your thumb before moving away from you. He fixes your rumpled shirt, just as you notice that you've smudged the white hourglass paint on his face. Whoops.

“Ekko, you've got…” you gesture towards his nose, trying to tamp down your laughter.

His blown out eyes widens, lungs still trying to intake oxygen from the strenuous activity. His nose scrunches up when he sees you having the same smudged paint on your face. Smile tamped down by biting his lip.

He looks behind you, where a small mirror is hanging just beside your head. He sees himself looking disheveled, hair sticking all over the place, face paint smudged into an odd shape.

Chuckling, the knocking grows louder. “I've got you, don't worry. I won't let your reputation get tarnished.” You take a handkerchief from your pocket, effectively wiping away the smudged mess on his face as much as you can.

“Did you get it?” He's still breathless when he asked.

“And…there. I've got them all.” You get a thankful peck on your cheek for a job well done.

But before he could move away from you, he takes the handkerchief in his hand to wipe at your (his) own smudged face paint. He tucks the fabric away in his pocket, maybe you'll come looking for it one day, effectively giving you an excuse to come visit him sooner rather than later.

Ekko now moves away, clearing his throat but the evidence of your shared previous activity is still evident on how much he inhales and how his hands are so clammy that he can water the tree with the sweat on his palms.

“C–come in.” He curses under his breath at how his voice cracked at the start. The door squeaks open, revealing his right hand man, Scar, waiting at the doorway.

His golden eyes glance at you, Ekko hides your equally disheveled form with his body, blocking your obviously kissed lips and your rumpled clothes. Scar raises a knowing brow, eyes speaking a thousand words.

“Hi, Y/N.” He says gruffly, lips subtly curled into a smirk. You wave shyly above Ekko, afraid that you'd let out incoherent words while you're still reeling from his warmth. “I can come back later.”

Ekko’s seriously considering it. “Is it important?”

“Everything's important with you Ekko.” Scar's eyes turn towards you with the word ‘important.’

Ekko sighs, slightly disappointed. “Right, what happened?”

His whole demeanor changes into what most people would think when they hear about the notorious leader of the firelights. His posture straightens up, and the air around him oozes authority. The man in front of you isn't just Ekko, your love and confidant, he's Ekko, the feared leader of the firelights, and the boy saviour. But you can still see his previous sweetness from how his eyes still smile when he remembers your soft lips upon his own. He's still your Ekko through and through.

“It's the chem barons, they blew out an entire building.” Scar briefs him, and you read the room as their conversation grows more serious.

If you listen to any more, you'd want to join in so you decide to leave before you could give your two cents like always. Ekko was right, your shoulder wouldn't help much with a full blown fight. So you're just gonna stay away, for now at least, until you're fully healed to be of help. For his sanity and your wellbeing.

You take a deep breath, still heaving from his kisses, hopping down from the table even with your wobbly legs. Ekko looks at you in the middle of the conversation, hand reaching out in case you fall down. Scar watches with amusement at the scene in front of him.

“I'm good,” you say quietly only for Ekko to hear. “We'll continue this later, okay?” You say louder this time for both of them to hear. With a wink, and a hand grazing his back, you leave him standing there, aghast at what you've blatantly said.

His own mind betrays him at how *later could go. Ekko has to hold onto the chair next to him to stabilize himself lest he melts in front of Scar, who's absolutely trying to reel his laughter in that he's about to pop a vein on his forehead from how hard he's trying.

As you close the door behind you, you hear his booming laughter and Ekko's unmistakable groaning behind the door.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[laracide]

♯ ‘ GIRLFRIEND 101 ! ’

ɞ . abstract. being lara raj's girlfriend includes... ɞ . warnings / tags. smut at the end, but mainly fluff.

⋆ her posting you everywhere. there was no soft-launch. it was a very, very hard-launch. the second she knew she wanted you in here life, you were all up in her instagram.

⋆ her singing you to sleep. lara's voice is angelic, best when you're curled up in the sheets with her, head in her lap, as she gently cards her fingers through your hair.

⋆ you defending lara whenever you see hate comments on the internet. she thinks it's really cute, when you're hunching over your phone, brows furrowed in concentration, as you tell off some random person. she smiles, and insists you don't really need to bother, but it's hard not to.

⋆ it's even more adorable, when you're pouting about it afterwords, huffing that people have the audacity to talk about your sweet, loving girlfriend like that.

⋆ pet-names all the time, especially from her side. "angel," "baby," "cutie," "pretty girl." with no doubt, are you both one of those couples that call each other babe with every sentence, ironically... or not.

⋆ always sharing clothes. she'd absolutely melt seeing you in something of her's, or conversely, feel so comfy in just your old hoodie.

⋆ her sometimes getting nervous around you. lara doesn't get flustered often, but when she does, chances are; it's your doing. it doesn't take much, either. even just a simple compliment from you would do it.

⋆ matching! you two love matching jewelry. earring, bracelets, necklaces, literally anything. lara would probably adore a tattoo, too, because that's how much she loves you.

⋆ her never having a problem with p.d.a. if anything, she welcomes it. lara loves showing the world, that you're all hers. kissing, holding hands, cuddling; she just enjoys touching you in every way.

⋆ on the contrary, if you're not the biggest fan of it, that's okay. she'll take whatever you give her, because at the end of the day, lara just wants you to be comfortable.

⋆ her camera roll is filled with you, some to gush to her friends about, some only for her eyes. lara swipes through the various album, when she's away for katseye's reasons. if pictures aren't enough, then she'll call you, in hopes that you're free. (if you're not, you'll make time for her, anyways.)

⋆ or, sometimes, you'll call her, needy and glossy-eyed, desperate for her touch. since she's not there to help you out, she'll talk you through it, her own hands slipping under the hem of her panties.

⋆ sex that ranges anywhere from rough, to incredibly soft. if you need her to top you, tell you what to you, or fuck you until your limbs are rendered useless, just say the word. no need to ask.

⋆ occasionally, you'll want to take on the challenge of being the dominant one, and she'll flash that bright smile, encouraging you to try your best.

⋆ try, because lara knows, by the end of the night, you'll be under her, and you won't even remember your own name.

⋆ loving each other so hard, because you're soulmates. and the best kind of soulmates? two best friends that fell in love.

[risestarkiss]

Orange, Baby!

Rise Ramblings #316

When I think about Mikey, this scene always comes to mind.

As soon as they step foot in the library to save Mayhem, Angelo instantly disqualifies himself…hilariously.

On first watch, I found it interesting that he made this decision with no hesitation, especially given the stakes.

At the time I just resigned to him being a silly silly boy, but now I know better.

Yet, before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s explore who Mikey is.

Michelangelo Hamato is the youngest turtle in the family, and it shows.

Consequently, he seems to possess a certain “youngest brother privilege" that his other brothers just can’t help but reinforce. This is the role that Mikey was born into. Therefore, he doesn’t have to push himself to be the smartest, or cleverest, or strongest turtle.

Instead, he decides to be the artist of the family. He’s a creative! He expresses himself everywhere, from stickers on his own shell, to tagging the lair, as well as on paper. The world is his canvas!

Michelangelo also expresses himself in virtually everything he does, so it’s easy to understand why he’s the most open, honest, caring, and emotionally expressive turtle of the bunch. To some it could be seen as a weakness, yet Mikey uses his emotional intelligence as a pillar of strength, of which he utilizes to uphold his brothers when they need support the most.

In the show, Michelangelo often takes on certain personas; Doctor Feelings and Doctor Delicate Touch. (For some reason, they are all doctors, but that’s beside the point.)

At first glance, the personas could be seen as silly bouts of make-believe. But I think that placing these roles upon himself for his brothers' sake is Michelangelo’s way of helping them cope with the world by offering them what they each individually lack.

For instance, Raph, Leo, and Donnie have trouble voicing their discomforts when someone does something they don’t like.

In other words, they have trouble putting their foot down.

But here is Mikey to the rescue!

Dr. Delicate Touch has no such hang-ups.

Similarly, when Donatello runs into trouble, as he is unable to recognize his own emotions, it’s up to Doctor Feelings to help his desperate client in need.

Through taking on these roles, Mikey is able to support his brothers and fill the emotional gaps in his teammates, which, inevitably makes them all stronger.

How is Mikey able to do this and how does he have the strength to take on these roles?

You could think that it’s just in his character, meaning, it’s just how he is. I don’t think so, though. He’s a free thinker, and a creative, but there’s something about these roles that is specifically catered to the needs of his family.

Then I realized, the only reason that Mikey is able to help his brothers in this way is because they first helped him.

Let me explain.

All four of the boys grew up in the same household. Although Splinter tried his very best (there is no Splinter hate here), a single depressed parent doth not a stable child make. Raphael struggled with the burden of his responsibilities as an ad hoc leader (see Being Big Red), Leo struggled with expressing his natural talents as a middle child (see Being Baby Blue), all while Donnie struggled with carving out his place on the team and his feelings of uselessness (see Being Purple Part One and Part Two).

Well, what does Mikey struggle with?

In my humble opinion, nothing.

The struggles of his brothers all related to each turtle coming to terms with themselves and coming to terms with their place on the team.

Yet, due to the love and support of his brothers and father, Michelangelo never had to ask himself if he belonged, struggle with his role on the team, or make huge life-changing decisions that could affect everyone.

Michelangelo is free to just be Michelangelo.

And as a free spirit who is completely in tune with his own emotions, he is able to do things like this:

and this,

and this.

Let’s get back to the scene in the library.

Angelo sees the high stakes of his friend’s pet disappearing forever if they fail but makes the decision to disqualify himself anyway. Why? Because he knows that no matter what he does, it will all be ok.

He has complete faith in his brothers and their ability to solve the problem at hand, so he might as well have some fun.

This not the first time he’s come to this conclusion.

Through out this entire scene, Michelangelo plays in the background.

It’s scenes like this that makes me believe that Mikey’s faith in his family knows no bounds.

Altogether, his brothers and his father were everything he needed to become who he is. Reciprocally, he is free to be everything that they need him to be and more. Over…

and over,

and over again

he trusts them completely.

And through this unwavering trust in his family, he is able to trust himself and his instincts. He knows that with everything they’ve poured into him, he can save them from, well, everything. Over…

and over…

and over again.

Hence, due to all of this evidence, I believe that through the collective love of his family, Michelangelo became the best version of the Hamato spirit, and thus, the best Mystic Warrior of all time.

All because, he’s Orange, baby!

○○○○

Previous | Being Big Red • Being Baby Blue • Being Purple ○ Part One • Being Purple ○ Part Two

Finale | Being Hamato Yoshi

[seresinhangmanjake]

I love all your Feyd works! Thank you.

My request is regrding a sensitive topic. So if it makes you feel uncomfortable, please feel free not to write it.

Reader has arranged marriage with Feyd. After a few years they all discover (including her) that she has fertility issues and has trouble getting pregnant so the Baron wants them to divorce. Wife is becoming hopeless. But Feyd who’s utterly in love and devoted to his wife will not have it and pledges loyalty to her.

Worth To Him

Notes/Warnings: obviously this is about fertility problems. It is a sensitive topic. If this bothers you, please do not read. Mention of period sex.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Sobs wrack your body. One after another after another that keeps your breaths shallow and ragged. Tears coat your lashes, weighing them down. You gave up trying to see clearly through them an hour ago and let yourself get lost in the haze of blindness.

You can’t stop it. You haven’t been able to stop for days. You clutched your pillow like a lifeline, crying into the plush material in a way you haven’t since you were a child. You’ve really proven yourself useless now. You officially have nothing to offer this planet, and the Baron has made that well-known. But what else can you expect when you are incapable of doing the things that are expected of you? How can you expect not to lose the one thing you care about if you cannot give him what he needs?

“If you cannot provide him an heir, you are worth nothing” is what the Baron declared in front of all that exists of his court.

Nothing—the word bounced around the walls of your skull before it finally sank in. You’ve never been nothing until now. You’ve always held some sort of value in some manner or other, even if that manner is in being a political pawn. But no. Here, now, you’re nothing to these people.

At first, you pleaded with him, nearly fell to your hands and knees and told him you’d only been trying for a few months. A few months barely qualifies as adequate time. On your home planet, medical intervention is not discussed until the couple has gone a year with no success. But you’re not on your home planet; there is no medical intervention, and all the Baron said in response was: A few months is too long. You will divorce in a week's time.

Feyd doesn’t know. For the last five days, he’s been on Arrakis, and it was on the third day of his absence that you once again woke to stained sheets. He’ll be disappointed in you, just like the Baron, just like the people of Giedi Prime, just like your parents who agreed to marry you to Feyd for the sake of an alliance that will soon be broken. 

When he returns, they’ll tell him, and he’ll nod with acceptance because that is what he does under order, and you’ll be shipped off. You’ll never see him again. He’ll remarry. He’ll become a father to a child by a woman who is not you. He’ll raise what the people want. He’ll do them proud.

You wonder if he’ll miss you as you will miss him. Will he ever think of you and wish you were in her place? Will he look at the children she’s borne him and wonder what your children would have looked like had you the chance to have them? Will he see their hair and imagine your locks flowing down to their little shoulders? If he peers into their eyes, will he prefer them a shade to match yours instead of hers? You wonder if he’ll be filled with sorrow at what could have been. 

Selfish to think it. There’s no reason to assume he will not enjoy the pleasure his new wife will offer. Neither are you fair in hoping that when he’s inside of her, making the children the Baron demands, he will be thinking of you. 

You cry harder. Your pillow will take ages to dry. Perhaps you’ll move on to his. Soak in the scent of him before you’re ripped away from him and returned to what will be considered by many the end of your life. No other Lord, or future Lord, will take you, not after being owned by a Harkonnen—tainted meat, as they say. You’ll be a burden on your family, an embarrassment to your House’s people, a waste of valuable blood. 

—

Touch stirs you: a soft brush of fingertips over your tear-stained cheek, a thumb grazing over your parted mouth. 

Then a voice. “Wake up.” Your groan of resistance is cut short by a press of lips against yours. A quick peck and then another. “Wake up,” it says, and then one more kiss, much longer this time, that you return before bothering to open your eyes. Your arms wrap around a familiar neck. A tongue gently glides along yours. And then it’s gone. Stolen from you. You want it back. 

Your eyes snap open. At the sight of him sitting beside you, you gasp, quickly scrambling onto his lap. He holds you without question or word. He holds you close to him. You hold him like you never will again. 

Leaning into his body, you push him down onto the mattress and he lands on his back with a chuckle. Your legs straddle his hips, your weight resting comfortably on top of his, and with his hand in your hair, he pulls you back into a kiss. Gentle at first, a caress, then harder, needier, greedier. He could bruise you if he wanted, leave his mark, and you invite him to. Something to take back home with you—a bruising kiss. You hope it hurts. You hope you internally bleed and purple blooms around your mouth. You hope it never fades and you wear the reminder of him for the rest of your life.

His lips part. His tongue is back in your mouth, asking for yours. You savor the slick warmth, knowing you’ll never again be kissed like this. To be honest, you never thought you would be kissed like this at all. You didn’t know kisses like this existed. If someone had told you a year ago that this man would be kissing you this way, with a passion you wouldn’t have dreamed him capable of releasing, you’d have laughed them out of the room. 

He unlocks your mouths for a breath and gifts you a smile. Rare. Almost out of place on his face. The first one you received was five months into your marriage, and you’ve never gotten used to them. 

“I missed you,” he says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

You want to tell him how you’ve missed him, how painful it’s been without him by your side, but you don’t know that you can speak the words, not without every emotion you’ve felt over the last few days bubbling to the surface and overpowering your joy at seeing him—the last time you’ll greet him upon his return before you’re gone. 

He frowns. “You didn’t miss me?” he asks, and since you can’t deny him a damn thing, you gather the will to say: “Of course I did,” but your throat catches midway through. You can’t look at him. He allows it for a few seconds, giving you a chance to meet his stare on your own, but when you don’t, his fingers on your chin turn your face back to his so you can no longer avoid the prying blue shade of his irises. 

“What is it?” he says.

“I know he told you.” There’s a brief pause before your husband hums in acknowledgment. Fingertips trace up and down your spine over the thin material of your nightgown. “The doctor was ordered to examine me after I bled. He’s not sure I’m able to give you a baby. And the Baron–”

“My uncle does not make my decisions for me,” he declares, and you’re so stunned by the defiance that it takes you a moment to collect yourself. 

“Feyd, do you not understand? I don’t know if I can do it,” you tell him. “My body is–”

“Perfect,” he interrupts. “You’re perfect, and you’re mine. You will never belong to another man, nor will I belong to another woman.” 

“Neither of us has a choice.”

“You believe so?”

Your brow pinches, mouth setting in a line. If he’s playing a game, you’re not enjoying it. “As if you aren’t aware of who has the power here.”

“I am aware,” he says. “But Rabban is dead. I’m all that’s left of our line. If he wants his heir, then I’m keeping my wife.”

He speaks with such certainty that the charge of excitement you get whenever you watch him take command of his armies seeps into you, giddily wiggling all of your little nerve endings. But the feeling fades as fast as it came. It changes nothing. Whether or not he defies his uncle does not alter your circumstances. 

You sigh. “But what of your heir?”

“We’ll keep trying,” he says. “You’re not going anywhere. I'm too attached. He doesn’t get to marry me to a woman like you and then take you away.”

“A woman like me, who might not be able to give you what you need,” you say. “Why aren’t you bothered?”

“Having my heir is not where your worth lies to me. If we cannot have a baby, we will take someone else's,” he tells you without snicker or grin. His fingers fist into the material of your nightgown. “Now take this off. I want my wife.”

“I am still bleeding.”

He scoffs. “When have I ever cared?”

[bring-forth-his-sac]

Stained: The Dinner Party

summary: you made Negan a promise and now it's time to deliver... if you can get some time alone with him

word count: 9.5k

tags: ! NSFW ! dad's best friend trope, pre-apocalypse, cheating, blowjob, face fucking, cum eating, facials, swearing & crude language, vaginal fingering, degrading names (slut, whore), semi-public kinda public secret sexual acts in front of others? Idk how to word that one but you get the gist

you can find part 1 here!!

“Hey everybody, welcome back to my channel! Here are my top tips for giving some gluck gluck before you fuck fuck!”.

You can’t believe you’ve reached this point and yet here you are. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, turning down the volume on your phone. The last thing you need is for one of your parents to walk past and hear that introduction.

It’s been a month. One long month since you had your romp with Negan. You were supposed to see him sooner, your parents having arranged another dinner, but the Smith’s had to cancel due to Negan having Summer exams and assessments to get through. 

“Ok, first tip for when you’re slobbering on some man meat. Just because your mouth is the main focus doesn’t mean you can’t use your hands too!”.

You let the video you found online play in the background as you try to tame your hair. You have one thing on your mind tonight. The last time you saw Negan, after he gave you a fucking of a lifetime, you made him a promise. The next one of your parent’s dinner parties that he attends, you’ll suck him off. And damn right you plan on keeping that promise.

Pulling out your clothes, you dump your options on to the bed. You have to be strategic about this. Slutty but not too slutty. Modest but in a sexy secretary way, not like a nun.

“Make eye contact! And no, I don’t mean with his third eye! Guys love it when you got their… y’know… haha! …God, I hope this doesn’t get demonized but y’know, their sausage in your mouth and you look up at them”.

You cringe at the fake laughing the video is filled with. The only reason you’re watching this is to make sure you give Negan the best blowjob of his life. Where, you’re not sure yet. Under the table sounds hot but isn’t practical. Dragging him to your bedroom is way too suspicious. 

The video continues as you think. 

“And don’t forget, be enthusiastic! Take charge! Just because he’s the one getting off doesn’t mean he needs to have complete control… although that can be fun too. Huh, maybe I should do a video on not gagging next”.

Your attention shifts to a long-sleeved top. It doesn’t show much cleavage but it’s snug enough to stir the imagination. Pairing it with a skirt is non-negotiable. You already know a skirt is a must, especially if you want to give Negan easy access.

With a sigh, you reach over and turn off the video. Useless. The advice wasn’t wrong but it wasn’t the almighty best blowjob of his life material you were hoping for.

You glance at the outfit laid out on the bed. You slip them on, smoothing the fabric over your hips as you turn towards the mirror.

Not bad.

You had planned to try a few other looks, maybe something a little more casual in case this one didn’t feel right. But before you can assemble the second outfit, a cacophony of voices creeps under your door.

They’re here.

You freeze for a second. The moment’s no longer theoretical. Negan’s in your house… and so is his wife. Your name rings out, your mother’s voice carrying it. “Come say hi” she calls, her voice already in host mode. You take one last look in the mirror, fix a stray hair and open the door. 

The hallway is buzzing with life. Negan stands near the entryway, his presence commanding but relaxed in that way only he can pull off. He barely glances your way, offering a polite nod before turning his attention back to your dad, who’s already launching into something about cars. 

Lucille, on the other hand, pulls you straight into a hug the second you’re within reach. “Look at you, gorgeous! All dolled up!” she says, bracelets clinking on her wrists. You manage a smile and hug her back, slightly overwhelmed.

Everyone starts moving deeper into the house, your dad talks Negan’s ear off and your mom is caught in a flurry of Lucille’s questions about what’s for dinner. Overlapping voices bounce off the walls. You try to hang back for a second but you’re forced to move along with the chaotic current.

And then you feel it. A hand brushes against your waist and gives a brief, deliberate squeeze. It’s fleeting but you know it’s him. 

The second Negan saw you, he knew the night was going to be trouble. That outfit didn’t have him fooled. The way that top hugs you, the sway of your skirt. He barely let his eyes linger as you’re swept into the kitchen with the other ladies. Tonight, you’re a woman on a mission and damn if he didn’t respect the hell out of that.

“Honey,” your mom blindly shoves a fistful of cutlery in your direction, not bothering to look up from her work on the kitchen counter. Even with the whole day to prepare, she’s somehow behind schedule and only whipping up the batter for dessert now.

“Help set the table,” she politely orders. You know there’s no room for debate, taking the array of forks and blunt knives.

You don’t mind helping out, especially when you see Negan and your dad in the dining room already. Where Lucille has wandered to, you’re unsure. Maybe the bathroom, or maybe she entered the kitchen a few moments after you left, barely missing each other. It’s like there’s a constant rotation in and out of each room. As if to prove your point, when you enter the dining room, you almost bump into your dad as he leaves. 

You don’t waste your opportunity, not knowing any many times you’ll get to be alone with Negan tonight. “Your sweatshirt is inside my bedroom, by the door, in a bag,” you keep your voice low as you set the table “I can get it if you’d like to put it in your truck”.

You figured he’d appreciate the gesture. Straight to helping sort this shit out. Not trying to get in his pants straight away or acting as if nothing happened. Simply being practical. 

Negan gives a soft scoff but you can’t quite tell if it’s amusement or annoyance. “That’s all I get?” you almost melt as the smirk he gives you as he whispers “No hi, how are you? How’s your dick doing?”.

A mischievous smile plays at your lips. You shrug casually “Well, since you asked… how is it?”.

“Missing you” Negan answers, not missing a beat.

You try to ignore the flutter in your stomach. “I haven’t forgotten about my promise,” you mention, watching out of the corner of your eye as Negan rounds the table to you.

“Neither have I” he practically growls, crowding behind you. “The other morning, I woke up with my dick about to explode just thinking about it,” he nuzzles against you, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

Despite needing to stay alert, your eyes slowly shut. You savor his scruff against your neck, making the sensitive skin tingle.

Negan isn't as aggressive as he was that night at the bar but he isn’t very soft either. It’s like he has a natural roughness to him, the way he kisses, the way he fucks. All of which you know a little too well.

Bringing your comfort to an end, you hear your mother laugh, probably at something Lucille is saying. Negan must know it too as his lips leave you. 

“My sweatshirt is in your room?” He repeats.

You nod immediately “In a Target bag, yeah”.

Negan moves away from you, back to his casual position at the other side of the table as you hurriedly finish setting the cutlery. He goes to speak again but before Negan can get a word out, your mother is bustling into the room with a hot bowl of mashed potatoes.

“New recipe!” She announces to Lucille, who trails in after her. You try not to catch her eye. 

“Instead of the usual spices, I tried being more adventurous with my potatoes” Your mother rambles. 

Lucille simply nods along, her eyes studying you instead. You barely said hi to her when she first got here, despite how friendly she was to you. All Lucille got was a smile she can only describe as pitiful and now you won’t even look at her. 

She goes to examine Negan’s body language next but when Lucille turns, she’s met with empty space. Like a ghost, he’s vanished.

“And I actually listened to the recipe this time and put honey in with the carrots!” Your mother prides herself on her skills “Carrots… oh shoot, the carrots!”. Much to your horror, your mother darts out of the room and back to the kitchen, leaving you and Lucille alone.

A beat of silence. 

Another. 

It’s only when the silence stretches a little too long do you finally lift your eyes to meet hers. She’s smiling.

“I like your skirt,” she says, her voice soft and strangely warm. “I used to wear things like that all the time when I was your age”. 

You offer a small shrug “Thanks. Honestly, I kinda forgot I had it”.

She lets out a light laugh, as if you’ve both been part of some unspoken mischief. Well, maybe you both are but if Lucille found that out, you don’t think she’d be laughing. 

“It’s a bold choice for daylight,” she says “I almost wore a dress that short today, but I came to my senses before stepping out the door”.

You're not sure whether to laugh with her or lob the nearest utensil across the table. Something about how she talks feels like both an invitation and insult.

“Negan liked it though,” she adds, her lips curling into a teasing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

The comment lands too precisely. It’s enough to make you wonder if Lucille knows or if everything she says now feels like an interrogation thanks to your own guilty conscience. You force a smile, lips pressed into a thin line and you offer a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe when your mother’s voice floats in from the kitchen, calling your name.

Lucille’s smile lingers, soft and undisturbed, as you retreat. She doesn’t so much as blink. The image must remain untouched: the perfect wife with the perfect life, part of a marriage that still radiates that golden glow of first love. At least, that’s what she tells herself. Now, if only she could track down her damn husband to complete the illusion.

Lucille moves with practiced grace, her heels silent on the floor as she slips out of the dining room. She skirts the kitchen without a glance, already knowing if Negan were in there, she’d have heard his laugh by now, booming and obnoxious as always when he's trying to charm someone. Either you or your mother. The uncertainty around which one makes her queasy. 

The bathroom door hangs open. No voices float down the hall. No telltale murmur of sports stats or banter with your dad. Her brow twitches. Where the hell did he go? As she passes the front window, something outside catches her eye. A flash of movement. Bingo.

Negan shuts the car door with a thud, leaving the bag with his sweatshirt on the back seat. Thankfully, he’s already decided to grab the opportunity to have a cigarette while outside, giving himself the perfect alibi as Lucille steps out the front door.

“Hey” she plainly says, walking down the porch steps.

“Hey yourself,” Negan mutters, flicking his lighter to life. The cigarette catches and he takes a long drag, eyes half-lidded as if this were the most peaceful moment he’d had all day.

Lucille doesn’t return the ease. “You already need a smoke break?”.

Negan lets out a dry laugh that doesn’t quite make it past his throat. “Nope. Just figured I’d come out here and take a shit on their lawn” he answers sarcastically.

Lucille doesn’t suppress any part of her reaction. The breath she exhales is sharp. Her arms fold across her chest, shoulders drawn tight. The eye roll is textbook. And none of it is subtle.

 “Can you not for, like… the two hours we’ll be here? That’s all I ask” she snips back. She pauses for a moment, sniffs and then sighs “Now you’re going to stink”.

He shrugs, glancing toward the house with vague disinterest. “The place already smells like someone cremated a vegetable patch. I doubt my cigarette’s gonna make the top ten list of offences”.

Whatever fantasy Lucille has been holding onto, the white-picket fences and synchronized laughter, begins to waver and fray around the edges. Her lips press into a tight line.

“Just put it out and get back inside,” she says, already turning on her heels.

She doesn’t wait for his reply. If she stays out here any longer, she’ll lose whatever thread of control she has left. The door swings shut behind her.

Negan watches the smoke curl up from his cigarette, then exhales a slow stream of it through his nose. The evening has already been a pain in the ass. Now, it’s worse. If he had been thinking about dragging you somewhere quiet before, that thought’s locked in now.

Guilt doesn't hit as hard when all he gets from his wife are barbed jabs and a cold shoulder. Maybe he’s not innocent either. He knows his jokes have a way of biting back but hell, lately it feels like even breathing wrong is a crime.

They’re fucked, really. Negan knows it and deep down and he assumes Lucille does too. But how can either one of them back out of the marriage now when they’ve sunken so much into it? A mortgage, a house, loans, debts. Damn, Negan really needs your sweet mouth around him now. The perfect distraction from the hole he’s dug himself.

You try not to be obvious as you look for Negan. He’s not with your dad or in the dining room. You haven’t seen Lucille either which gives you an odd feeling of dread, knowing they’ve both disappeared. But before you have to worry for long, your mother calls for everyone to get seated for dinner. 

You settle into your seat, subtly ensuring the chair next to you remains vacant. You're not confident (or stupid) enough to give a Negan a handy while everyone is having dinner but a little touching here and there shouldn’t hurt, right?

Even when your mother sits at one side of you, you still have some hope as Negan and Lucille enter. You don’t let it interfere with your plans, the empty space on your other side holding your hope. His eyes meet yours and you feel like a tween going through puberty as you instantly smile. But that’s when the free chair beside you scrapes against the floor.

Like a bewildered animal, your head snaps in that direction to see another smile. Lucille. Again. 

… Great.

“This seat taken?” she asks, already sitting down.

Like some sick nightmare, Negan has to sit in front of the two women in his life: you and his wife. He tries not to be awkward about it, selfishly not meeting your eyes as Lucille badgers you with questions.

"Got a boyfriend yet? I’m sure there’s a line of them after you,” she compliments “When I was your age, it was boys, parties, always out with friends. Life never slowed down”.

She barely takes a breath before continuing.

“Have you thought about moving out? Getting your own place? I did it around your age, had a place with a few girlfriends. It was wild. Eventually it felt like home, like it was really mine. Maybe it’s time you tried that too. Not just yet, I guess, but hopefully soon, right?".

You spear a forkful of greens and chew with exaggerated focus, nodding along as if Lucille’s barrage of personal questions hasn’t just lit your cheeks on fire. Sure, because still living with your parents is something you want to be quizzed about! 

Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, Lucille moves the conversation on to your mother instead. “How would you feel about it? Think you would get empty nest syndrome?” she asks.

Negan tries not to wince as he eavesdrops, pretending to listen to your dad shittalking his co-workers. People say Negan’s the brash and direct one but goddamn, he knows Lucille can come straight out with it sometimes.

He sees it happen, so slow and subtle, and yet the most obvious thing in the room. Your posture, once open and lively, now folding in on itself like a page being creased. The spark behind your eyes has dulled, replaced by that quiet look people wear when they’re trying not to feel too much. You’re retreating and something about it twists in his chest in a way he didn’t expect.

Negan hates it. Hates that look on you. Hates that Lucille’s running her mouth without a clue, and that he’s just sitting here, watching it happen.

Without thinking, he shifts in his seat and slides his foot across the floor under the table. Just a small nudge. A silent gesture. He hopes it lands gently against your ankle, enough to catch your attention without making a scene. 

His way of saying ‘I see you, baby’.

But the contact he makes isn’t with your foot. 

Across from him, Lucille doesn’t say a word. Her smile doesn't change, and her tone stays light as she continues chatting with your mother. Negan feels the light pressure in return. A slow and smooth, gentle graze up the side of his calf. He exhales, just a little, the knot in his chest loosening.

In his mind, this is your way of answering him. A quiet ‘I’m okay’. 

He doesn’t look at you directly. Just a small, sweeping glance. But what he sees only deepens that warmth: the way you're acting completely natural, your face still quiet but softer now, as if you feel it too.

Negan doesn’t realize that it’s not your foot gently stroking his leg under the table. Nor does he see the barely there smile playing at the corners of Lucille’s mouth as she continues her conversation, pretending nothing is happening. Her leg remains where it is, answering a call Negan isn’t actually posing her.

Remaining completely oblivious, you chew mundanely on your food. You pray you’ll get a chance alone with Negan, trying to come up with different excuses or scenarios that would allow it. Unable to help himself, Negan steals another glance your way. His gaze is gentle but full of something far too close to longing.

He doesn’t even realize the softness in his expression, the unguarded affection carved into his features. It’s the kind of look no one gives their wife after years of a marriage built more on duty than desire. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he thought was long gone. Hope. Lust. Yearning.

And Lucille sees it.

At first, she’s still convinced the foot under the table means what she wants it to mean. Her leg lingers against his, her smile patient and waiting for him to respond. Anything. A smirk or a quick look her way to confirm the game she thinks they’re playing. But when she follows the direction of his gaze and sees who it’s truly meant for, something shifts in her.

The realization comes slow. She watches the way Negan looks at you and her stomach turns. There’s no flirtation in his eyes when they land on you. No coyness. Just a quiet ache of something raw, real and undeniably not meant for her.

Her smile falters. It’s small, almost imperceptible but it’s there. The first crack in the polished exterior. She blinks, refocuses on her plate, and subtly draws her leg back under the table, leaving a space between her and Negan where, for a brief moment, she thought something still lived.

Negan still hasn’t noticed. His eyes going from you to the occasional nod and look in your father’s direction as he pretends to pay attention. 

You only look up because the scrap of your fork against your plate feels too loud. The hum of overlapping conversations blurs into the background as your gaze lifts, landing on him. Negan. Goddamnit maybe dropping your fork and getting under the table wouldn’t be such a bad idea. 

At this point, any apprehension you felt about sucking him off is long gone. Now you just want to unzip his pants and get it out.

The rest of dinner unfolds in a muted haze. Your mother and Lucille carry most of the conversation, chatting about mutual friends and upcoming functions, their voices a constant thread weaving through the meal.

Across the table, Negan and your father exchange low, obligatory small talk. Work, sports, something about the grill. You mostly keep to yourself, quietly eating while nodding politely whenever your mother or Lucille pulls you into the flow of conversation.

After the plates are clean of any food, the table begins to empty. Your father claps Negan on the back and steers him toward the living room, already launching into some half-hearted commentary about the game that’s on. Negan goes with him, disappearing into the living room as your dad shuts the door.

Your mother, ever the hostess, is already stacking plates, humming to herself as she bustles into the kitchen. You follow with a handful of glasses and Lucille trails behind, offering to help put things away. You nod along, moving through the motions of cleanup while the conversation floats around you.

But you’re not done yet. You still have a dick appointment you’re determined to get to. You catch a moment and begin to meander towards the hall when your mother notices your slow edging towards the door. 

“Honey? Where are you off to?” she questions but thankfully doesn’t give you enough time to answer, already continuing the conversation on her own “Just leave the boys alone, ok? You know what they’re like when it comes to sport”.

She turns to Lucille, having already lost interest in you. “They act like they’re in their own personal conclave! And I don’t mind it, it gives us some peace and quiet but do they always have to hog the tv?”.

You slip out before Lucille replies to her. Unfortunately, you know your mother is right. Going into the men while they’re in sports mode won’t achieve anything. Actually, all that will do is make you more horny since you’ll be in his presence again. So instead, you haunt the hall, hovering so you’ll hear any movement. Maybe then you can coax him into your room.

In the living room, your father leans back into the couch with a low grunt, beer in hand, eyes on the muted game on the television. Negan sits beside him, feigning interest. His gaze drifts towards the door. Negan can feel himself getting antsy but he knows he has a role to play.

“Jesus, you see that throw?” he commentates on the game, chuckling “Kid’s got an arm like a rocket launcher but that defense makes me think he has shit for brains”.

Your dad laughs, and the two keep the steady rhythm of back-and-forth, Negan tossing in his usual sarcastic jabs and colourful commentary. 

But every few minutes, his eyes stray toward the door again. Negan knows he needs to see you, to feel you. Being as casual as possible, he stands with a stretch. 

“Alright,” Negan says “Think I’ll go see what the ladies are up to, ask how long ‘til dessert’s ready”. Your dad waves him off, paying more attention to the game than Negan slipping out.

When Negan goes out to the quiet hallway, he breathes a silent sigh of relief. He needs a moment to slip away, to ease the itch under his skin with a quick smoke and silence. Laughter can be heard behind the closed kitchen door. It’s the kind of sound that should feel warm but only makes him feel out of place.

He slides a hand into his pocket, fingertips brushing the worn edge of his lighter when he hears you.

“Hi,” is all you say, almost shyly.

That’s already enough to make Negan want to scoff. You’re a lot of things but as you displayed the last time he saw you, you ain’t shy. 

“Tonight’s not really going how I expected” you admit.

Negan assesses you carefully. “So you weren’t expecting dinner and a headache?” he says, voice low and a little rough. He doesn’t have to glance toward the kitchen for you to catch his meaning. The nattering, the laughter, neither wife has let up.

You shrug, the slow curl of your shoulder borders on playful. “I mean, I was expecting a headache,” you murmur “just not from them”.

A faint ghost of a smirk graces his face. “Not exactly the easiest place for a… quiet moment,” he mutters. 

You huff a soft laugh through your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “A few minutes of privacy is all we’d need” you reply in a teasing tone.

That brings out his smirk unapologetically. “Just a few minutes? Someone’s confident in their abilities” Negan muses. 

A few minutes. It doesn’t sound like a big ask but apparently it is. With your dad planted on the couch and the kitchen full of wine-soaked commentary and stories that won’t end, every chance keeps slipping through your fingers.

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting someone to call your name. Instead, you notice something at the end of the hallway. 

The bathroom door cracked open. 

You look back at Negan, a spark lighting behind your eyes. “What about in there?” you ask, tilting your head towards it. Your voice is just above a whisper now, conspiratorial. 

His eyes follow your line of sight, then return to yours. For the first time all evening, it feels like maybe the night isn’t a complete loss.

That glint in his eyes sharpens, like he’s been waiting for the green light that he didn’t think would actually come. “You serious?” he questions, already angling his body toward the door like gravity’s working in your favor now.

You don’t answer, the flash of a promiscuous look being enough. Turning on your heels, you hear Negan already moving behind you, both of you making a b-line for the bathroom. 

A hand brushes against your lower back to urge you forward, or maybe to steady himself from the thrill of it. A burst of laughter echoing from the kitchen makes you almost break into a run. Negan must feel the pump of adrenaline too as he nudges you along. 

You slide inside first, turning quickly to pull him in behind you. He catches the handle just before it clicks too loud, easing it shut with the care of someone defusing a bomb. Then the lock turns with a soft yet satisfying snap.

Your heart flutters and you try to convince yourself it’s the adrenaline and not the nerves of giving a bad blowjob. But you don’t let it deter you. This isn’t the time to get hesitant and coy.

Like that video said, be enthusiastic! Time to put your money where your mouth is… well, put his dick where your mouth is actually.

Negan took charge the last time and so you do what you can to set yourself up as the one controlling things this time. Getting down on your knees, your hands latch on to his belt as you look up at him.

“I’ve been waiting for my dessert,” you purr, slowly tracing a hand down to his bulge. 

Negan sucks in through his teeth, back hitting off the wall. He can see you’re eager, that’s for sure. And so he keeps his hands by his side, letting you have your fun first. 

He groans at the pressure of your hand giving his bulge a small squeeze. “Fuck me…” he whispers, trying to compose himself already. With a deep breath, he asks “You sure you wanna do this?”.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” You reply with a smile, slowly unbuckling his belt.

“Fuck yeah you did,” he keeps his voice low, hands twitching to bury into your hair.

Popping open the button of his jeans, you tug down the zip. There’s a nervous excitement in your stomach as you unwrap your present, the tips from the horrendous video linger in the back of your mind. 

Pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough, you free his stiffening cock. Negan can feel his lust dulling his inhibitions. All signs say to stop and yet he can’t help himself growling out a command to you.

“Suck”.

Slowly, you bring your mouth to the tip. You remember to use your hands, holding the base as you lick the smooth head. "Sweet Jesus..." he hisses through clenched teeth, watching as your tongue teases the sensitive tip. 

"Baby," Negan groans, hips shifting forward slightly "Less teasing, more sucking. Time's a-tickin'.”

As much as he loves this, he knows your time together is limited. His hands can’t help themselves anymore, going to your hair as if there’s a magnetic pull. 

You take the tip and just a bit more into your mouth. You suck gently, applying light pressure as you pull back, letting the head slip out of your mouth with an audible pop. You repeat this motion slowly, taking as much as you can into your mouth.

Negan watches as you try to take him deeper, your cheeks hollowing out as you suck. He's too big for you to deepthroat but he loves how your lips stretch around him.

When you tighten your grip, wrapping your hands around what you can’t get into your mouth as you bob your head up and down, Negan thinks you might suck whatever measly soul he has straight out of his dick.

His eyes roll back slightly, enjoying the sight of you working him. "That's it," he encourages, hips instinctively moving in sync with your mouth "just like that". He groans, his hand guiding your head gently. You gag, more of him having gone into you than you anticipated. With a slight splutter, you pull back and breathe. 

“Sorry” you quickly wipe away some spit threatening to dribble out of your mouth. "Shh, it's okay," he whispers "but fuck sweetheart, I'm gonna cum in your mouth if you keep doing that”. 

You give a smirk, regaining your breathing. Holding his cock, you lick up the underside, feeling Negan’s hands tighten in your hair.

“But you promised me a facial” you pretend to pout before focusing on sucking the tip again.

"Fuck I know..." He watches hungrily as you suck the head, his balls tightening. His grip in your hair starts to guide you faster as he yearns to cum and paint that pretty face of yours.

"Suck harder, I know you can… where’s the fuckin’ slut from before gone, eh?" Negan pants, that degrading man you met at the bar starting to come out.

You give a small moan, staring up at him. His cock goes further back your throat again but this time you try not to gag, concentrating on sucking him off. 

You’re a walking contradiction and Negan loves it. Big innocent eyes looking up at him, but with the eager  mouth of a whore that just got a hundred bucks.

"You look like you should be on your knees taking communion, not sucking dick,” his voice drops an octave, watching your lips stretch around him "Choke on it?".

You blink for a moment, tears almost running down your face as you take in his request. Going as far down as you can, his cock fills your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You feel your throat convulse but you hold position. 

A strangled noise leaves you but it only makes his dick throb. “Y’could be a world class slut, you know that?” With lust taking over, Negan’s hands pull your head down further. 

Drool pools in your mouth, overflowing down your chin. Despite your brain hardly functioning, you gently cup his balls with your hands, trying to do as much as possible for him. Holding position for a few seconds, you pull back, spit following you as you catch your breath again. 

"You’re killing me..." Negan groans as you pull back, letting you catch your breath before diving back in. His hands guide your head, setting a pace that's fast but shallow.

"Keep looking up at me like that,” he orders “wanna see you take it”.

As you concentrate not gagging, you can feel the wet warmth between your own legs building. Each shallow thrust of his hips, each taste of pre-cum, makes your core ache with desire. Your panties become damp as your arousal grows and you can't help but press your thighs together.

"Fucking beautiful," he says, his voice thick with lust. It’s like Negan can’t decide what he wants. One moment he’s pushing your head further down his dick but the next he’s pulling your head back so he can see your tear-streaked face better. You don’t mind though, trying to catch a breath whenever you can.

You don’t hear every word he says, the noises coming from your own mouth distracting you. " …pathetic slut..." you hear him say, before he corrects himself “... my pathetic slut“.

The words only encourage you. Your hands work in tandem with your mouth, knowing you can’t possibly have much more time with him alone. Surely someone will come looking for one of you soon. Or someone will need to use the bathroom.

He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head down harder onto his dick “Open your fucking mouth wider”. You try to do so but you gag around him.

"Take it, baby, I know you can" he growls, pushing your head down further despite your gagging. His hips start moving, fucking your mouth roughly. Each thrust resonates through your entire body. Thankfully, your gagging eases but you can still feel your reflex attempt to trigger with each thrust of his dick.

"Shit..." Negan sees the mess he’s making of you. The spit. The tears that naturally come with gagging so much. And he can only fantasize about the mess in your panties.

Pulling your head back sharply, his length slaps against your cheek. You give a small whine as he does, having little time to process what’s happening as you follow his orders.

"Open," He grunts, fisting his length tightly “Wanna see how much I get in”.

Your mouth stays open, tongue out and ready to catch his cum. You don’t have to wait long until you feel the ropes of warm cum landing, but not just on your tongue. Negan paints your face.

Cheeks. Nose. Chin. Lips.

“That’s it” He approves, giving a few final strokes before squeezing out the last drops onto your tongue.

You don’t need a mirror to know you look a mess and the laugh Negan let’s out seems to confirm your thoughts. "You look like a damn porno" he says.

Letting go of your hair, he brings a hand around to your face, spreading the cum by your mouth around your lips. You take the opportunity to suck his thumb, licking the cum off and swallowing all he had given you.

You let it go with a small pop, mimicking the same treatment his dick got. “Was it good?” You ask, your hoarse voice surprising you.

"Was it good?" He repeats, chuckling deeply as he stuffs his softening dick back into his pants. "You're fucking kidding me, right? Look at you. You're a goddamn mess” He gestures to your cum-covered face, a smug grin on his face. 

You're unsure whether or not that answers your question, or if any of it is a good thing. Negan sees the cogs turning in your head. ”You took that like a pro, sweetheart" he assures you, gently helping you up onto your feet.

Not done teasing yet, you gather other spurts of cum from your cheeks and lick that off your fingers next.

“Thanks” you shrug, playing off how relieved you are. 

Negan grins widely, impressed by your dedication. “You’re a fuckin’ keeper, you know that?” He drawls, reaching a hand out to ruffle your already messed up hair. It’s strange to feel such a platonic action after he’s just fucked your face but that’s who Negan is, you suppose. 

One minute you’re being chastised for wearing provocative clothing. The next, Negan is tearing your dress off in a public bathroom. One minute you’re slut or whore, the next you’re ‘sweetheart’ again. 

The only constant so far is bathrooms. That makes you pause for a moment before saying “We have to stop doing this by a toilet. It’s weird”.

He barks out a laugh at that, quickly covering his mouth. Negan waits a moment, waiting for someone to come see what’s going on. But when no one interrupts, he continues “You stay at, uh… what’s that friend of yours name again? The one you lied to your folks about being with the last time?”.

“Lydia,” you answer, turning on the sink tap. Catching a look of yourself, you’re surprised you don’t look half bad. Maybe stained looks good on you. 

“Right, you sleep over at hers often?” He asks, taking his time as he buckles his belt.

You carefully splash some on your face “I guess, yeah… why?”.

“So if you told them you were staying at hers some night, they’d believe it?” Negan asks “No questions asked?”.

You nod, eyes meeting his and you try to manage your hair. The smirk says it all.

“Huh… all I’d need to do is feed Lucille some shit and we could have a night away somewhere, finally get you alone without sneaking around”.

Your body screams at the idea but you try not to show your excitement. “You’d have to pay for the hotel room though,” you say snarkily “I think that’s the least you could do”.

He laughs again, lower this time. “Careful baby,” he gives you ass a firm smack as he passes for the door. The sting makes you jolt, half from the hit but half from the way he’s already slipping away.

You always knew your time with him came in fleeting, stolen slices. But that doesn’t make it any less confusing. Or any easier.

“Wait,” you blurt out, the word catching before it’s fully formed. Negan freezes, one hand resting on the lock. Slowly, he turns his head back to you.

“What about me?” you ask, voice quieter now. He doesn’t answer straight away. Letting it linger for a moment, the anticipation builds.

Negan lets out a low whistle. “Oh, sweetcheeks,” he drawls, voice dripping with that infuriating charm “You know I wanna eat that pussy like it’s my last meal but…”. He clicks his tongue, mock sympathy curling in his tone. “Time just ain’t on our side, honey.”

And just like that, he slips out the door with maddening ease, leaving behind a whole lot of unfinished business. You let out a huff.

He called you a whore but at least they get paid. All you got for your efforts was a smack on the ass and a bare face, most of your make-up having washed away with his cum. 

Negan knows your type, knows you’d probably jump him if he didn’t leave the bathroom. One taste of dick and you’ll be wet all day. The thought alone makes his dick throb again, already missing your mouth.

Going back into the sitting room, your dad is like a statue, in the same position as before. Negan gives a grimacing tight lipped smile, as if he got caught doing something he shouldn’t. 

Sitting back down on his spot on the couch, Negan apologizes “Sorry if I smell like smoke”.

He’d rather your dad think he was having a cigarette outside rather than face fucking the man’s daughter. Your dad waves off Negan’s faux concern, mumbling the moments of the game he missed. Negan sinks into the couch comfortably, knowing that as long as you don’t make it obvious, you’ve both gotten away with another escapade. 

Still in the bathroom, cool water runs over your wrists as you try to bring your heart rate back down. You smooth a hand down your top but thankfully everything looks fine. Small mercies there’s not drops of Negan splattered all over your outfit.

The click of the doorknob spins your stomach before your brain can catch up. The door swings open and your mother steps in, mid-sentence on about wine refills when he sees you.

“Jesus!” she yelps, hand flying to her chest “You scared me half to death!”.

You whip around, just as startled. “Sorry! I—sorry, I mustn’t have locked it” you blabber.

She narrows her gaze, scanning your face like she's the Terminator instead of your mother. Subtle, trained and looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I just needed a minute. I’m feeling a little weird” You gesture vaguely toward the sink as if it can be your alibi. 

She frowns, but not suspiciously. You thank whatever higher power there is when her tone seems more concerned. “You feeling sick?” she presses.

“No, no. I’m fine,” You say too fast before shrugging, deciding that maybe you shouldn’t deny a good excuse “I mean, maybe, I just feel kinda strange y’know?”. 

She studies you for a moment longer. You’re fully dressed, your hair’s in place, and nothing smells like guilt or sex. Just a hint of soap and whatever dignity you managed to salvage.

“Well,” she sighs, brushing past you to grab a hairpin from the vanity. “Don’t lurk in here too long. I was about to serve dessert if you’re up for it”.

You nod again, giving a sheepish smile you hope might look weak in a sickly way. “Yeah, I think I can muster up having some cake”.

She gives you one last glance and then steps out, leaving the door open this time. Giving yourself a quick look, you silently tell yourself to keep it together.

You’re glad to see how refreshed you look. Maybe slightly breathless. And looking sort of flustered. With your panties sticking to your pussy with how wet you are. But you’re still holding it together! 

…Barely.

Squaring your shoulders, you walk out of the bathroom as if you’re going up to the frontlines of a war. Voices and clinking dishes subconsciously call for you from the dining room.

It feels a little weird to walk, your pussy practically dripping and making each step feel like another ride down the slip and slide between your legs. But you carry on nonetheless, ready to act as boring and normal as humanly possible.

The moment you round the corner, you spot an empty chair at the table and (more importantly) who’s beside it. Negan sits back in his seat, fingers curled loosely around a can of soda. 

He’s laughing at something Lucille just said as she stands with a knife in hand. Whether he’s laughing because she’s actually funny or he’s fearing for his life, you can’t tell. 

Even if Negan is a little affected by what happened five minutes ago, it doesn’t show. Not in the way his mouth curves lazily around the rim of his can, or how he only glances your way without missing a beat.

You slide into the seat next to him, carefully letting your leg brush his under the table. Lucille gives you a slight look but you can’t tell if it’s because you sat next to her husband or if you look more flushed than you initially thought. Well, if she wanted the seat, she should’ve moved faster instead of just standing there. You snooze, you lose.

Your mother bustles in from the kitchen, wearing oven mitts and holding a tray that sends waves of warm sugariness through the room.

“Hot out of the oven,” she announces proudly, placing the cake in the center of the table “Chocolate, just like old times”. 

Lucille lights up as she passes the knife, letting your mother do the honors. Once she’s sat down across from you both, she starts to gush “God, remember when you used to make this every weekend? I’ve been dreaming about this!”.

Your mom beams, already cutting thick slices while steam curls up from the soft centre. Your father’s voice calls faintly from the other room, a low rumble over the TV. “Pass on dessert! Game’s getting good!”. Typical.

Your mom rolls her eyes affectionately. “He’s glued to that couch,” she mutters, placing a plate in front of you.

You thank her, then glance sidelong at Negan. He finally meets your eye. Just for a second. You get no smile. No words. Just that look. That quiet, smoldering acknowledgment of what no one else knows. You lower your gaze and pick up your fork. 

The cake is warm and melts on Negan’s tongue. Still, it’s not the sweetest thing he’s wanted to taste tonight.

He chews like it‘s delicious, nods appreciatively at your mother’s proud smile as she tells them about how she found the recipe somewhere. Negan isn’t sure where though, he was too busy thinking about your pussy when your mom said that part of the story. 

He doesn’t look at you much. Negan knows it’s ridiculous but he’s sure Lucille can smell it off of him. The lies. Deception. She’s like a goddamn cadaver dog when she picks up the scent of something being awry.

Every now and then, he risks a glance your way, just to see the way your lips part around the fork in a way he knows all too well. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his drink, hoping the fizz will ground him. It doesn’t.

As delusional as it sounds, Negan was hoping to fuck you again. Now he sees that was just a wet dream. You both had your moment in the sun, where you turned his world upside down and gagged around him like there’s no tomorrow. 

He shifts in his seat, trying to play it off his own dirty thoughts. He adds a lazy comment to the conversation, a dry “Mmhmm,” and “Yeah, taste’s great”. Lucille nods along and Negan hopes he’s doing enough to convince her he’s listening.

But no matter how much he tries, his mind isn’t on the cake. It’s on the bathroom and on what he didn’t get enough of.

Lucille dabs the corner of her mouth and launches into a story from years ago. Negan nods at the right moments, even chuckles once or twice. But under the table, his hand edges across to your soft thigh.

His fingers splay out and spread across your thigh possessively. You shove a piece of cake into your mouth to stop yourself from smirking. You may have it bad for Negan, but it certainly feels like he can’t get enough of you either.  

Trying to act natural, you slowly open your thighs under the table. It’s difficult to look bored above the table, while below you're trying to angle your body in such a position that gives Negan access to everything.

His thumb draws circles on your inner thigh, inching closer to what he really wants. He keeps his focus on your mom, conversing normally as his hand inches dangerously close to your panties.

Nodding your head, you add “Yeah, I remember hearing about that”. Although neither your mother or Lucille directly acknowledge your participation, already jumping to some other old memory.

Negan acknowledges you though, under the table. His middle finger nudges its way around your damp panties and smoothly slides down your folds. You eat your cake casually, lowering your head so neither woman will see the pleasure in your expression. 

Like a man on a mission, the finger glides through your obvious wetness until it reaches your entrance. The finger teases your hole, pressing gently before slowly sliding inside. He enters you effortlessly, your wet pussy eagerly greeting him. His finger curls slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.

Both of you look like the definition of calm, neither one of you letting on what’s happening. Negan keeps his arm low, making sure all the action occurs below the table cloth so that the others can’t tell his arm is angling towards you.

His finger moves with agonizing slowness, barely withdrawing before pushing back in deeper each time. He's not fingering you aggressively or quickly like he might if you were alone; instead, he's drawing out each stroke deliberately slow and shallow to torture you silently.

He snaps you out of your quiet tranquility with a compliment. "I have to say, this cake is fucking amazing,” he looks directly at your mother, a wide grin on his face as if he doesn’t have his finger in her daughter.

She waves away his compliments before Lucille steals her attention “You’ll have to give me the recipe”. It acts as the perfect distraction for Negan to add another finger inside you, stretching you out. 

“Anyways, dinner has been great but we should really get going soon” Lucille glances Negan’s way before showing off her sympathetic smile to your mom.

But your mom doesn’t catch the smile. Instead, her eyes land on you. Breathless with your mouth slightly agape. And worst of all… hardly eating your slice of cake!

"Are you feeling okay?" she asks concernedly.

Negan’s movements stifle but just for a second as you come up with a reply “Yeah— I think I’m just feeling a little flushed”.

His finger suddenly shifts upwards, finding your swollen clit and applying pressure. You have to fight to keep your breathing steady as pleasure shoots through you. Your eyes flutter briefly closed before you regain composure, trying not to squirm visibly in your seat. 

Your core tightens with impending release. With aching thighs, you do the one thing your body is begging you not to. You move your legs away from Negan and abruptly stand up, nearly knocking your chair back. The movement forces Negan’s hand to fall away, loosely dropping to his side. Your skirt whooshes slightly but it looks as though that’s been caused by your abrupt movement and not Negan’s hand. 

“Actually, I think I might lay down for a while,” you announce, eyes darting to each person “I don’t feel so good”.

Your mom simply nods, taking your excuse at face value. “Ok, I can save you some cake for later” she assures. Her eyes follow you out, giving Negan the perfect opportunity to bring his hand up to the table.

His fingers are coated with your wetness but before the others can notice, he uses his hand to pick up his last piece of cake on his plate and pop it into his mouth. He deliberately licks each finger, letting out an exaggerated groan of approval as you leave.

That asshole. Surely he wasn’t trying to make you cum. He knew you’d pull away in the end. That you’d be the one to disrupt your own pleasure. As if you had a choice.

You’re only in your bedroom a few minutes when you hear the goodbyes begin.

“We’ll have to do this again soon!”.

“Next time, I’ll make brownies!”.

“Just make sure the next time it’s not on the same day as the game, ok?”.

You’re not called to say goodbye. After all, you’re too ‘sick’ or ‘faint‘ or whatever excuse is most believable to your mother. With a huff, you flop on to your bed. Your panties are still sticking to you but now all you have is yourself to fix that problem. Rolling over on to your side, you mutter “Fucking asshole…”.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

Lucille doesn’t start talking until they’re nearly home. Negan doesn’t press her. He can feel the weight of whatever she’s building up to and figures it’s only a matter of time before she lets it out.

“She looks at you weird”.

Negan makes a low sound in his throat. It’s not quite agreement, more like he’s trying to figure out where she’s going with this. He silently hopes the next name she mentions is your mom but of course, it’s your name that leaves her lips. 

“It’s like she just… watches. Everything. But especially you” Lucille explains “You haven’t noticed that?”.

Negan raises an eyebrow. “So she’s the one doing all the watching but somehow you’re catching every second of it? Sounds like you’re doing a fair bit of eyeballing yourself”. He gives a short laugh, hoping to deflect her unease with a joke. It doesn’t work. She responds with a scoff, all sharp edges.

“I’m being serious”.

“Yeah and I am too,” he lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug, eyes still on the road “so she’s not a chatterbox. Whatever”.

Lucille quietly stews for a few moments. Negan hopes he’s almost in the clear when he turns down onto their street, but peace is a fickle thing.

“I bet she’s got a thing for you.”

He rolls his eyes instinctively. “Nice to know you think I’ve still got universal appeal, honey,” he replies dryly as if it doesn’t stroke his ego.

He pulls into their driveway. Their little house, slightly run-down but comfortably familiar, greets him with its tilted porch steps and overgrown lawn. Never has crooked suburbia looked so inviting.

He tries to use Lucille’s next stewing period of silence to make his escape out of the car, swiftly turning off the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Do you know the last time I went to theirs, she came back from her friend's place wearing your sweatshirt,” Lucille watches his movements pause at that revelation. “Wouldn’t know how she got that, would you?” she questions.

Negan looks to her, tongue running along the backs of his teeth as he thinks.

“I gave it to her as a souvenir after I fucked her, is that what you want to hear?” he shoots back “Jesus fucking Christ, Lucille, is this going to be it now? Is she the next woman I must be fucking?”.

It’s shitty, he knows. But Negan also knows the best form of defense is attack. Or, at least it’s always worked out for him that way.

Lucille physically shudders at the idea of that, her voice raising as she argues back “Well, you were definitely eye-fucking her tonight at the table. Right in front of me!”.

Negan snorts. “Before or after you tried to embarrass her in front of everyone?” his tone is sharper now “Because what you call eye-fucking, I call trying to make sure she didn’t burst into tears in the mashed potatoes.”

Negan hopes none of the neighbors are passing by. Even with the two of them still in the car, he’s sure anyone passing by would be able to hear their raised voices.

“You really think I didn’t just toss her that sweatshirt the last time they came over here for dinner? Maybe when I was showing her shit in the garage? That ever cross your mind?” His voice tightens as he adds, “Or was I fucking her in the back of the car then too, Lucille? You tell me since you apparently know everything”.

“You're twisting my words!” She argues “All I’m saying is she obviously has the hots for you and you being friendly will give her the wrong idea”.

To Negan, this feels like a win. A messy, backhanded one but still a win nonetheless. Lucille has shifted from accusing him directly to blaming it all on you, like she’s just trying to warn him of your supposed crush.

“Fuck, it’s like I can’t even talk to you anymore,” Lucille mutters, rubbing a hand down her face, not caring whether it smears her makeup.

“Not without accusing me of fucking somebody” Negan jabs back. 

That’s enough for Lucille, undoing her seatbelt carelessly and kicking open the car door.

Ding!

Negan feels his balls tighten when his phone dings with a message. But if his balls are telling him one thing, it’s to lean into the mess.

“Want to check that?” Negan pulls his phone out of his pocket, waggling it as Lucille gets out of the car “Could be her, maybe she’s sending me a nude”.

Lucille doesn’t dignify that with a response. Just slams the car door hard enough to rattle the windows and throws a middle finger over her shoulder as she storms towards the house.

Negan watches her go, expression flat. He knows he’s going to be in the shitter for the night but when he opens up the notification, he thinks it might be worth it. There to greet him is a text he assumes must be you.

“Got number from dad’s phone. Book that hotel room asap”.

[alrightieaphroditie]

wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k  warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones!  an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format!  check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps. 

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life. 

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection. 

Because it was a different story, now. 

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it. 

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face. 

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today. 

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning. 

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

 And so, that’s what you did. 

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling. 

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread. 

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway. 

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up. 

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body. 

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows. 

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response. 

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils. 

And the occasional sniffle. 

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about. 

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body. 

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go. 

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously. 

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see. 

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking. 

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response. 

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream. 

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace. 

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps. 

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it. 

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material. 

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it. 

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever. 

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him. 

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice. 

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared. 

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him. 

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin. 

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours. 

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven. 

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body. 

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh. 

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg. 

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close. 

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed. 

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you. 

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream. 

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core. 

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out. 

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down. 

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you. 

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open. 

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?” 

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock. 

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger. 

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm. 

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers. 

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.” 

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body. 

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested. 

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body. 

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up. 

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even. 

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours. 

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together. 

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure. 

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless. 

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.” 

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you. 

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit. 

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent. 

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.  

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours. 

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse. 

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed. 

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh. 

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house. 

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly. 

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit. 

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm. 

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body. 

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach. 

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself. 

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?” 

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men. 

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open. 

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up. 

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up. 

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom. 

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence. 

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours. 

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.” 

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

[hhh-hemogoblin]

Warmth

Summary: There are several bedrolls but Astarion makes his way to yours. Not for the reasons you'd expect, though. Set at the start of act 2, only a few days after entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands and its lethal climate.

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Rating: T, no warnings

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: fluff, comfort, pre-relationship, developing feelings, more than friends (?), banter, wholesome, sfw

A/n: So uhh, my hand slipped?? For the purpose of this short and sweet brabble, elves sort of sleep. Yes, Astarion is a diva but what's new?? Any constructive feedback is welcome :)

All was quiet at camp tonight. You'd had dinner. So had Karlach, Wyll, Lae'Zel, Shadowheart and Halsin. Gale had had his fill, courtesy of an old amulet that you knew you'd have no use for. Even Astarion had been fed.

The hunger was sated, at least to some extent, and after a long day of walking, climbing and crouching, you had all agreed to call it a night. Not because you didn't have any ideas for entertainment, but rather because the sheer exhaustion had rendered everyone absolutely useless.

The flames of the campfire were slowly dying, leaving only glowing embers that emitted a last bit of warmth in the cool night. While some retreated to their tents, others had spread their bedrolls out around the campfire, to try to warm themselves up enough to sleep for the night. You had also decided to remain by the fire, hoping to be able to fall asleep despite the crisp breeze.

You snuggled into your bedroll and got comfortable. It barely took any time for you to fall asleep, with Shadowheart's soft and regular snoring breathing soothing you like a lullaby. Your rest was cut short by a sudden chill in your bones. You woke up, freezing, shivering. As you opened your eyes, you saw that the embers had finally died down completely and turned to cold ashes. Everyone around you seemed to be sleeping deeply, a regenerative rest they had well deserved.

Your eyes still felt heavy from awaking so suddenly, your head was drowsy... All you wanted to do was to fall asleep again. Just a few more hours, just to have enough energy on the next day...

But the cold was seeping through the fabric: your nose and ears, your feet, your lower back... Everything felt cold.

Ever since entering the Shadow-cursed Lands, the cold was always hanging in the air: an unnatural feeling gnawing at your bones, clinging to your skin.

You tried to curl up into a ball, to keep all the warmth in one place and avoid the freezing feeling from spreading further. You weren't sure it was working. You tied your shawl closer around your head. You turned, multiple times. You tried to keep your eyes shut, to pretend to sleep. But the cold only grew stronger.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your mouth, preventing you from screaming. Even in your shock, you couldn't even gasp. You couldn't see who it was, as they were crouching behind your back. But you knew. Only one person could move so quietly.

His hand, which was usually even cooler than the night air, was almost as warm as your skin. With his other hand, he pulled your shoulder and made you roll on your back. His piercing gaze was anything but calm.

"Shhhh. Don't be scared, it's me. Can I take my hand off? You're not gonna scream now, right? No need to alert the whole camp..."

You simply nodded. Your heart was still racing, but you knew you were safe, it was just Astarion. It might've been racing for other reasons now.

He slowly removed his hand, still scowling.

"Is everything alright?" You asked him. There must've been a reason for this behaviour.

"Can't sleep? Yeah, me neither..."

"Well, I've noticed. I can't sleep either, darling. And you know why? Because you've been tossing and turning and shifting all this time!" he whisper-shouted.

"Do you know how incredibly loud sheets can be, when someone is rolling over in their bed every thirty seconds?!", he added.

Even if you were wide awake now, his obviously rhetorical question didn't earn an answer from you. You just looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Hang on... Are you seriously blaming me for trying to sleep??", you asked him, your tone full of reproach.

"I'm blaming you for making noise and disturbing my slumber!" he retorted.

"Well, Astarion, I'm sorry your ears are so sensitive! As you can see, no one else is awake at this ungodly hour, complaining about how much noise I allegedly make while trying to sleep!!" This time, you were whisper-shouting, eyeing the other companions, who seemed to hear none of what was happening at your bedroll.

Astarion looked around, still brooding. It was true, everyone was sleeping, still. He decided they didn't deserve to be robbed of the rest they so cruelly needed. He sat down next to you.

You sat up, resting on your elbows and looked up to him. He seemed to have regained some composure, he looked... Lost in thoughts, perhaps?

"Look... I'm sorry." You started, once again not knowing what you were apologising for, a recurring theme with him.

A fresh gust of wind made your skin crawl as you tried to cover yourself some more.

"I can't sleep because I'm fucking freezing!"

"Oh, and here I thought you were fighting demons in your head alone again", he answered plainly.

His tone made you feel guilty. You thought that perhaps, he hadn't been able to sleep for other reasons, prior to you waking up.

"Were you?", you asked tentatively.

"No, I wasn't. And if I had been, I wouldn't have talked about it with you! I would've talked with... Uhm... With..." He stopped. Then chuckled to himself.

He was lying again, there was no one. Or so he thought...

"Well, if anything comes up, you can talk to me next time. But maybe not necessarily in the middle of the night. If it can be avoided..." You tried, with a shy smile.

He looked back to you, his eyes less hopeless now, his smile almost earnest.

"So... You're cold right? I know what that's like... Move over, make some space!" He whispered, in a commanding tone.

"What??"

"Well, let me in!" He added, opening the side of your bedroll.

"We won't be suffering from the cold as much if we share our heat", he explained very factually. Gale was starting to rub off on him, you feared.

As you still didn't really react, he added "Don't be coy now, it's not like we haven't been this close before..." The cold from the open blanket, or perhaps his sly grin, made you shiver. And you complied, making space for him under the sheets.

"You'll be able to sleep because you'll be less cold, and I'll finally be able to sleep because your restlessness won't bother me anymore."

"Right. Much better, isn't it?"

He would never have admitted out loud but he was grateful for the warmth. Other than being cold, the nights were lonely and unrelentless lately.

"Good night now, I hope you fall asleep quickly, for both of our sakes!"

You smiled. Astarion was practically insulting you to your face, but you simply smiled. Despite his harsh words, he was still sharing a bedroll with you, after all...

"Good night, Astarion. May some rest help that awful temper of yours", you retorted with a chuckle.

You heard him scoff in the back of your neck but didn't pay it much thought. His body was now sheltering yours and you already felt much more at peace. Perhaps the warmth came from the faint body heat he radiated, perhaps it came from within you: in spite of everything he was and said, you did like having him around...

Quiet as a corpse, Astarion was probably drifting off, or so you hoped. In a last effort to get more comfortable in the tight bedroll, he slinked his arm around you, pulling you slightly closer to him. And so you fell asleep in his arms, rather quickly too.

You woke up as the sun was just starting to rise on the horizon. You opened your eyes and saw that none of your companions had awoken yet.

You looked down towards your hand and saw that Astarion's fingers were laced with yours. You hadn't noticed at all during the night but it instantly made you feel more comfortable. Still, you felt the need to get up.

"Are you awake?" you asked, knowing that he probably was. "I'm going to go eat something now."

"Or you could stay..." He answered in the faintest whisper. He still hadn't let go of your hand. There, as the Morninglord graced the world with his radiance again, you decided that you could, indeed, stay just a little longer, for both of your sakes, and enjoy the comfort of this quiet morning together.

Awesome dividers by @cafekitsune

[captn-duck-gremlin]

Sup, it's almost 7am. Normal time to be awake, except when you haven't slept yet. My sleep schedule is shit. So in the meantime, more useless drabble about demon/ghost!141 AU Phasmo hearts.

It scared the shit out of you when one of them manifested for the first time.

Let's say you came home late for one reason or another, friend emergency, late shift from work, a visit to family, ect. You come home late, past midnight and all thats in your head right now is to go to sleep and get some dream cuddles from whichever imaginary husband decides to take over your dream. You didn't notice how cold it was, you didn't notice how unnaturally quiet your house was. Until you paused in your kitchen and looked down the hall, a tall dark figure stood at the end. Dread fills you to your core, is this it? Was the dreams just to lower your guard? Is this the end?

The lights flicker as the figure moved, the air lowering as it's form faded in and out of existence. Theres a static in the air along with the chill, the kitchen light above popped as it reached the edge of the kitchen shrouding you in darkness.

Silence...

"sorry for the scare, love." The familiar smooth boyish voice of Gaz spoke as arms gently wrapped around your waist pulling you close. He led you (still shaking and probably frozen) into the lounge and gently lets you plop onto the couch, he reached behind you while flashing you his sweet smile grabbing the throw over blanket to wrap you up snugly. You stare at him absolutely bewildered because you thought them being physical wasn't something they could do, you were wrong. But this does explain why dreams with him felt shorter than usual, he was building and saving up energy to manifest. Now just for tonight you dont need to go to sleep to get your cuddles, he's here ready to give you the loving you deserve. (As if they all dont do that enough)

Cuddles on the couch never felt so nice, you have to use candle light as him being around makes the lights go haywire. He tells you that yes, you are haunted by 4 soldiers who take over your dreams at night. Yes, they're around you 24/7, he even points around the room telling you where the other 3 are even if you can't see them. Yes, they all love you.

It takes a little bit to process this, but the obvious care and comfort Gaz gives you while cuddled up on the couch does ease you into accepting it a little more. Before you fell asleep on the couch Gaz wanted to do one thing, give you his dogtags. "You don't have to wear them, just keep it on you. Might need a clean first" he said and placed a tender kiss to your hairline.

After that you fell asleep, a dreamless sleep this time. When you woke up you looked around as if expecting someone to be there but no, just you. You almost thought last night was a dream itself until you saw the dogtags on the bedside table. A fond smile formed on your lips, you snatch the tags and make your way to the bathroom to clean 'em. The ghosts watch too, watching with their own takes of fondness.

[l0v3tast3]

Ok but older perv bf ghost would be such a menace like he would destroy your cunt in his back seat and then shake ur dads hand.( these older bf hcs make me go feral bb)

anon you are so right. he'll be so mean but like it's literally his fault that he's hot asf and u just wanna jump on him 24/7 ??? anyways tysm for the request and the kind words i hope you enjoy this anon !! ◝(⁰▿⁰)◜

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 20's, simon is late 30's), dumbification, conditioning (consensual), orgasm control, spanking, degradation/praise kink, overstimulation/edging, car s3x, size difference/kink, possessive!simon, c0ckwarming

✎ word count: 1.8k words (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants to see you become absolutely brainless because of him. you're such a smart girl usually, among the top of your class at university, and simon just loves to see that whole façade crumble away. he knows a good fucking is just what you need to unwind from your classes, and he is more than happy to give it to you.

✧ ˖ ° seeing you go all dumb on his cock makes simon nearly giddy, the feeling of how you stop pushing at his abs and just take it once he bullies his dick in far enough to fill your brain with him instead of whatever you're studying, the sight of your eyes rolling back and your little hands weakly grabbing at whatever they can reach for some semblance of grounding yourself. you know just as well as simon does that it's useless; he makes damn sure that you have nowhere to run to when he has you in his hold.

✧ ˖ ° another thing he makes sure of is that you steadily become the one to come onto him first. simon wants you to be his own little nymphomaniac, addicted to his cock, to him. it all works towards melting your brain quicker and quicker each time. there's a certain dedication he puts towards it- even by the time he was done with you the first time you slept together, he's planning it out, figuring out which muscles to press into to get you to mewl for him, just the right angle to pound his dick into you, how much you can take before he starts seeing dew drops collecting on your waterline.

✧ ˖ ° even outside of the bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, wherever he has yet to christen next in his house) simon's working on it. he'll give you so many hoodies, jackets, boxers, anything that smells like him that you want, and then he tells you that if you're going to touch yourself without him that you better be at least wearing his clothes while you do it. eventually you'll get to the point where you can't get off without the thought of him, without his scent, then without him. there's no doubt either that whenever you do get worked up without him, simon makes sure that you always tell him. text him, call him, send a damn carrier pigeon with a letter, he doesn't care, but he's going to guide you through every orgasm you have.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who can get to be a mean dom. he loves punishing you for whatever reason he can find, especially when you touch yourself without telling him. simon is an experienced special ops soldier who's used his hands to torture people as much as he's used them to pleasure you, so he has not a single problem with knowing how to get the truth out of you. obviously he doesn't torture you, though (not in a way you don't like).

✧ ˖ ° if it's been a long stretch of time where you haven't been able to see each other, he'll pull you onto his lap and start out all soft. he'll run his hands all over you, move his lips against yours sweet and slow, whisper about how much he missed his pretty little girl. he'll listen with a happy hum while you tell him how much you missed him, how much you need him. he'll guide your hips lightly when you can't help but start grinding against his thigh, hands pushing up your skirt to see which pair of underwear he gets to rip apart this time. and then he'll ask you how much you missed him.

✧ ˖ ° from the start you know the question is a double-edged sword, but you always answer truthfully. it only took you one lesson to learn that simon knows when you lie to him (he didn't let you cum for three days while he kept you at his house the entire time). he always appreciates the truth, praises you for being such a good girl for him when you honestly tell him that you only touched yourself during the short phone calls he was allowed while he was away. there's a little part of him that's always a bit disappointed though, the same part that turns into glee when you sheepishly admit that you couldn't wait for him.

✧ ˖ ° simon's always a bit too quick at flipping you over so your laying face-down over his thighs. one hand wraps around your neck to pull you up and arch your back, the other flipping up your skirt and grabbing roughly at your squishy ass. "couldn't fuckin' wait f'me, huh? y'so desperate for cock that y'can't follow simple orders? thought i already taught ya how to be patient," he spits, letting you fall back against the couch so his hand can move down to plant itself across your back. that's when he starts, not even waiting for you to try to apologize meekly or defend yourself. slaps that leave bruises you'll be feeling for days rain down across your ass and simon makes you count each one. if you lose count or stop, he'll push open your legs to smack your cunt and start all over. simon doesn't let up until you're sniffling and whining and your underwear is soaked through (which of course he makes fun of you for).

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who really is an absolute menace with you. he dangles your pleasure over your head like something he grabbed for you out of the cabinets, keeping it just out of your reach until he decides to give it to you. there won't ever be a moment where simon doesn't have most, if not all of the control. there's something about having that command over you, feeling you hand over your trust, your body and mind to him that's addicting. so no matter how cruel he can get, he'll always make sure to ply you with as many orgasms as you can handle (and then some) to show his appreciation.

✧ ˖ ° his brutishness can come in the form of wanting to see just how messy he can get you to be. he'll bury his face and fingers into your cunt until there's a puddle forming underneath you, and when he's done there, simon stuffs you full with his cock and fucks you until your makeup is running with your tears and smearing across the sheets. he'll rip off the clothes that bar him from seeing your gorgeous body so that you have to wear something of his afterwards. and god help you if he wants to fuck in the backseat of his car before you both go someplace. which, (not) shockingly, is something he wants to do before he meets your parents.

✧ ˖ ° with the car parked not too far from your parents house in some spot where people won't think to give the tinted windows a second look, he'll have you working your way down on his cock. every time you whine about how you're going to be late, they're going to know, they won't be happy, simon gives your ass a sharp slap and snaps his hips up into yours. "would y'rather i fuck you in your room while they're home? don't think you can keep quiet enough for that," he mocks, his tone condescending despite the fact that he's already planning on doing just that at some point.

✧ ˖ ° once you're practically limp against his body, letting him use you like his personal toy, he'll finally cum. you finish with him, your third orgasm in less than an hour, as he buries his cock to the hilt inside you and grinds his hips up. once you're semi-conscious again he helps you put on your underwear and pants and gives you his hoodie. and after you've taken off your ruined makeup and redid at least some of it, you'll drive the remaining minute to your parents house, where simon seems to know just how to get them to love him. meanwhile, you'll be shifting in your seat next to him while his cum creates a stain on your jeans.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!simon who wants you to be with him basically 24/7 while he's not away on missions. you're his girlfriend, of course he wants to spend as much time as he can with you! never mind the fact that this man has probably been boxing away his libido for years. so while he's at his home, so will you be.

✧ ˖ ° you'll find that any clothes you bring over to your stays with simon don't really go missing as much as he blatantly makes them unwearable for you as long as you insist on still bringing them. why would you have any need for those when he has plenty for you? it's not like you'll be wearing clothes much anyway while he has you. it's a lesson you learn quickly to pack light, otherwise you'll be going home with scraps of fabric. simon doesn't not like your clothes (he thinks your style is adorable on you), but the way you smell like him with his hoodies and shirts, the way they're basically dresses on you serving to remind how much bigger he is than you, it drives him even crazier.

✧ ˖ ° because of how touch-starved (and horny) he is, simon prefers to always physically have you close to him. which means lots of cockwarming; he won't lie about how much he loves watching you try your very best not to squirm on his lap, not to lose yourself to how full you always feel with him inside you. whether you're watching a movie or he's working in his office or even just trying to sit down for a meal, simon will preemptively have you sinking down on his cock, chastising you about how eager you always are for him to just fuck you. it's nearly torture for him just the same as you, but the difference is that he has a lot more self-control than you do- just enough to give your thigh a stinging pinch every time you move a muscle.

✧ ˖ ° no matter how long he keeps you there, it'll always turn into simon pushing you against the nearest table or wall and fucking away the last few straggling thoughts in your head. he always waits until your breathing gets ragged and your nails are digging in hard. until you're panting against his neck from the effort it takes to not bounce yourself on his dick. until you're begging. "what? turned y'into that much of a whore that y'can't go five minutes without my cock? fine." he'll say it as if he's doing you a favor, as if he's going out of his way to satisfy the nymphomaniac that he himself has proudly created.

[megwritesriddles]

First Time for Everything ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Josh Futturman x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 8 - Pet Play. Josh is useless when it comes to women, so when his new coworker starts coming onto him very strongly, he's sure she must have an ulterior motive. Which she does, but not what he's expecting.

Tags: Pet play (not extreme), P in V, Protected sex, Oral sex (f receiving), Collar, Leash, Calling Josh puppy, Praise kink, Whimpering, Sub!Josh, Dom!Reader, Loser!Josh (obviously), Fluff, Josh is so excited to get laid it's crazy, Set before events of the show.

Word count: 3.9k

all fandom masterlist | misc. jhutch masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: This is probably the most out there kink I'll ever write, hopefully there is actually an audience for this in the Future Man fandom lol!! Vaguely inspired by the muzzle scene but there's no muzzling in this sorry!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Josh had never been good with girls. He knew it, everyone at the lab knew it, everyone at the game store knew it, hell, even his parents were aware how inept he was. It was humiliating, and it really didn’t help his chances with girls, to have them know he’s a loser before they even get to meet him, not that it wasn’t plainly obvious from his demeanour anyway. That’s why it’s so baffling to everyone in his life when you show up. You start as an intern at Kronish Laboratories, fresh out of college. He immediately finds you pretty, but he’s overheard the others telling you about him. He’s a loser, he’s probably a creep, he still lives with his parents at 23, do you want to grab a coffee sometime? All the other men at the facility are immediately flirting with you, so he just writes you off as someone to admire from afar. Until you make it a mission to insert yourself into his life, for whatever reason. 

“Hey Josh,” you’ll greet him with a flirtatious tone in the staff room as you grab coffees for your superiors. He never gets used to it, waving back awkwardly. You just giggle and rest a hand on his arm. He’s sure this is all a prank being played against him. There is this odd predatory gleam in your eyes now and then as you talk to him. It’s like you want to chew him up and spit him out, and at this point, he might let you. Every suggestive remark you make drives him to the brink of insanity, his imagination becoming filled with all the things you suggest. His masturbatory fantasies become grounded in reality rather than Biotic Wars thanks to you. He even brags to his friends, keeping a lipstick mark from you on his cheek all day just so he could go show it off at the game store after work. You come sit by him in the cafeteria sometimes, talking to him and openly flirting with him. He so wishes he could flirt back, sweep you off your feet but he just can’t get the words out. Yet, despite all his pathetic responses, stumbling words and lack of reciprocation, you keep pressing. Being more and more forward with him every day, leaving him dizzy.

You sit across the table from him, tracing your fingers up and down his arm, sipping your favourite smoothie. He stares down at the table, eating silently, his eyes occasionally flickering to your fingers on his arm. He looks like he’s uncomfortable, and he is, but he loves it too and is glad that you don’t back off. He just needs some time, he’s really not used to this and you’re so beautiful. You tell him idly about one of the lab workers who has been very demanding, lamenting your position as intern. 

“At least you’re not scrubbing toilets,” he laughs nervously. You purse your lips.

“Yeah, I suppose, you’re very resilient for doing what you do Josh,” you smile flirtatiously, tracing your fingers over his palm. The sensation tickles slightly and his fingers twitch. You know you’re laying it on a little thick, but Josh is so starved for this that he just smiles dopily.

“N-no, I mean, anyone could do it,”

“No… It takes a special, strong man, I think,” you grin, leaning a little closer. Flattery gets you everywhere with him, he bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying something embarrassing. “You said something about your parents going away this weekend?” you urge, drawing circles on his wrist. 

“Uh… yeah, they’re off to visit some friends of theirs,” he answers nervously. He still finds it odd that you casually bring up him living with his parents without a shred of judgement. 

“I can come over then?” you suggest. His mouth falls open.

“Uh… what?”

“I can come over?” you bat your lashes enticingly. 

“Yeah… I… why would you want-? But yeah definitely,” he stumbles over his words, blushing and feeling his brain buzzing. God he really needs to clean up, and take all his posters of Tiger down and–.

“Perfect, I have something fun for us to do,” you grin, winking. His entire body reacts, blood feeling hot. “I have a little present for you too,” you smile, reaching over the table to trace a finger down his neck. He doesn’t understand your implication, but his brain is conjuring millions of images. 

“A present?” he swallows. “Why?” You lean over the table, pressing your lips to his ear. His whole body jolts. 

“Because you’ve been a good boy, haven’t you?” you purr, nipping his earlobe. Josh feels crazy in this moment, he has to be dreaming, but that nip on his ear felt real and oh god. “Haven’t you?”

“Y-yeah, I’m a good boy,” he answers without thinking. He waits for you to mock him, for this to have been his trap, the motivation behind your flirting to finally reveal itself. He expects you to reveal a recording device, to play the audio of him saying he’s a good boy for everyone at work to hear, to completely humiliate him. But you don’t, you just kiss below his ear and stand up from the table.

“Saturday at 5?” you suggest, unable to keep the smirk off your face. He nods, eyes wide and dumbstruck. “You’ll pay for dinner, we’ll order something in,” you tell him, finishing off your smoothie with a slurp of the straw. He just nods again like he’s in a trance. You smile. “Perfect, see you later Josh,” you blow a kiss and leave the cafeteria. Josh swallows, pinching his arm to check he’s even alive anymore. You want to come to his house, you want to be alone together. You called him a good boy. He wasn’t good at this stuff, but even he knew that it seemed like he was getting laid this saturday. He didn’t want to assume, in case it made things awkward. That evening after work, he discussed with his buddies at the game shop, even getting a female perspective. He left out that you’d called him a good boy, but even without that, they all agreed he was getting laid. He was so excited, smiling for the rest of the week, a spring in his step that wasn’t usually there. He was getting laid, by you.

He spends the days until Saturday getting ready, praying he’s not getting ahead of himself. He goes into town, picking up some condoms, a bunch of takeout menus for all the best places, some nice plain boxers and a nice smelling candle. At home, he does furious reddit research on sex advice, tidies away all of his Tiger stuff and tries his best to make his bedroom look like a respectable adult man's room, rather than that of a man with the interests of a teenager. He knows you know about his video game addiction, his friend Ray having embarrassed him in front of you for it many times, but he’s still determined to seem a little less pathetic than he is. His parents ask a million questions about what he’s up to before they go, but he avoids the questions, knowing they’d be asking to meet you if they knew what was going on, and he couldn’t face that humiliation and come out alive. At work, you continue to flirt with him, continue to touch his arms and occasionally sneak kisses onto his cheeks. He’s coiled tight like a bowstring, practically vibrating with excitement. In just 24 hours, he thinks as he says goodbye to you on friday evening (or rather you say bye to him and he just squeaks and blushes), the two of you might be having sex. He lays out a nice outfit for himself when he gets home, ready for tomorrow. His parents are already gone, the house is silent and his thoughts echo your name. 

He can barely sleep, tossing and turning and tugging himself off periodically. He is desperate not to cum too early with you tomorrow, although he’s done extensive research on how to please you anyway in case it happens. In the morning, he changes his sheets, using the fancy sheets usually kept for the guest room. What his parents don’t know can’t hurt them, he’ll wash them and return them to the linen closet before they get back. He showers, scrubbing himself furiously, using every nice-smelling thing he can get his hands on. He trims his pubic hair, he wanted to shave, but it was too risky, so he carefully trims, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he focuses intensely. He lets his hair dry without brushing it down, making it curl up a little. He remembers that you told him once that you liked his hair like this. He slathers on deodorant and cologne desperately, already starting to sweat with nerves. He does a final sweep of his room to make sure there is nothing embarrassing visible, lighting the candle to make it smell nice and to build atmosphere. Then, he sits, anxious as anything by the front door. His brain churns with a million different scenarios, anxiety settling in his gut and making him nauseous. What if he’s done all this and he’s misread everything and you’re not going to have sex? It would be fine, he wasn’t going to pressure you or anything, but he has gotten himself all worked up and would feel pretty devastated. He’ll just enjoy your company, and whatever happens will happen, he tells himself. 

You’re at the door. You’re early. He sprints to the door, opening it in seconds. His mouth is dry, you’re wearing a beautiful and very… short dress. He swallows, tearing his eyes away from your thighs. You hold a little bag in your hands, smiling seductively. 

“Hey handsome,” you purr, stepping past him into the house, letting yourself in. His eyes follow you, dumbstruck. 

“Uh… hey,”

“Where’s your room?” you ask, glancing around the family home, spotting a few baby pictures of Josh that you’d want to have a look at later. 

“Oh… uh okay… straight there?” he chuckles, wringing his hands nervously, sweating dripping down his forehead. He leads you up the stairs to his room on shaky legs, standing by the door and taking a deep breath. He prayed to God that he’d made his room look okay. He opens the door and lets you in in front of him, which ends up being a mistake as he gets a view of your ass that makes him half-hard already. He swallows. The room smells more pleasant than usual, the candlelight illuminating the room warmly.

“Sit,” you command him, pointing to his bed. He scrambles to do what you say, kicking the door shut behind him and stumbling to the bed, sitting on the edge and looking up at you, breathing hard. You smile. 

“Good boy,” you coo, making him shiver. You walk over and sit yourself on his lap, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. His eyes are wide and filled with awe, his hands hovering, unsure where to put them. All his research has left his mind and he just feels like a complete loser, but you’re on his lap and looking happy, and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t even occur to him that you can feel him half-hard against your thigh but the knowledge makes you smirk. “I had something to discuss with you,” you begin. 

“Errr… right, o-okay,” he tries his best to smile casually. 

“You see… I have a little problem,” you start, running your hand up and down his chest. He nods along, though he’s more focused on your hand on his chest, feeling his shaky breaths. You pout down at him. “I have this… kink… that no one will indulge me with, that I think you might be able to help with,” he lets out a throaty noise as you say this, completely caught off guard.

“I’ll do it,” he answers quickly, not wanting to miss this opportunity, whatever it was. You giggle.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” you point out, gently poking the tip of his nose. He shrugs.

“Anything, I’ll do,” 

“Hear me out first okay?” you pout, tracing up and down his neck. He nods, although he already knows he’ll agree to whatever this is unless it’s illegal or something. He’s just so desperate to get laid, especially by you. “So… you like it when I call you a good boy, right?”

“Yeah, I’m a good boy,” he exhales, trying to lean up to kiss you. You push him back. You can tell he’s not really listening to you, so you pull out the little box from your bag. He half watches, half stares in awe at your face. You open the box to reveal a leather collar and a matching leash. When he realises what he’s looking at, his brows shoot up. “You uh… want to collar me?”

“Yeah,” you purr, nuzzling his jawline. “I want you to be an obedient little puppy for me,” His mind spins, he hadn’t been expecting this from you. Sure, he knew you were confident and seemed to like to be in charge, but he’s still taken by surprise. You pick up the collar gently, running your fingers over the leather, he watches. “May I?” you ask, holding it up to his neck.

“O-okay,” he whispers, staring up at you. You secure the collar around his neck, making sure it’s not too tight. He finds the feeling odd, but also pleasant. 

“There, now you belong to me,” you smile. Oh, he likes the sound of that, belonging to you.

“You’re my owner,” he breathes.

“Exactly, puppy,” you coo, kissing his cheek. He looks up at you in awe. Why does he like that so much? Being called puppy? He knew he was into the whole ‘good boy’ thing from his late nights on the internet, but this was new. Yet he was finding himself quite into it. You secure the leash onto his collar, tugging gently so his face is closer to yours. You grin.

“You’re not uh… gonna walk me around in public on all fours are you?” he asks nervously. You chuckle and shake your head. 

“No, I’m only really mildly into this puppy play stuff, people get pretty crazy with it, but I’m tamer than you think,” you assure, kissing his lips for the first time, tugging him closer using the leash. He whines into the kiss, kissing you back desperately, his hands finally settling on your waist. He kisses you eagerly, pressing his tongue into your mouth and letting it explore. The slight pressure from the collar on the back of his neck as you pull him close feels surprisingly nice, a grounding reminder that you’re in control here. You kiss for a little while before things start to escalate. He watches in awe as you strip down for him, telling him to stay put and not touch. He takes in every inch of your body with enthusiasm, sitting on his hands to keep from reaching for you. You command him to strip down too and he nervously does. He stands in his boxers for a while, wondering if you might compliment them since they’re new. You tilt your head and urge him on and he inwardly curses, realising you’d have no idea they were new and he must have looked silly just now. He stands in front of you in all his glory, cock at full attention. “You look lovely, pup, now kneel for me,” he blushes and shakily lowers to his knees, looking up at you wide-eyed.

“Is this good?” he asks shyly. 

“Yes, very,” you come to sit down on the edge of his bed, he shuffles to turn to look at you as you tug on his lead. You spread your legs and he whimpers, cock twitching. His only experience was fingering a girl in the dark back in high school, so he’s never seen a cunt up close and in the light like this. You tug him forward by the least until he is right up against you, his shaky breaths washing over you. He’s staring wide-eyed at the space between your legs and you giggle. “Puppies like to lick, don’t they?” you tease. He moans and looks up at you through his lashes. 

“Oh God… Can I?” he pants. You just tug on his leash, pulling his face against your centre. He whines, the smell of your arousal making him lightheaded. He looks up at you and slowly starts to lick.

“Good boy…” you sigh, leaning back on your free hand, the other wrapped tight in the leash, keeping him in place. “Very good puppy,” he whines at your praises, his tongue moving faster against you. He’s sloppy, lapping at you like he’s trying to drink you up, practically drooling all over you, moaning in desperation. “Yeah, you like it don’t you pup?” you sigh, lying back against his bed, throwing your legs over his shoulders. He whimpers, continuing his desperate work, slurping wetly at you. The fact he’s pleasing you is driving him wild. He shakes his head into you, trying to get as close as humanly possible. He groans in pleasure as your thighs tighten around his head. He keeps licking at you relentlessly until you’re finally starting to shiver and cry out. He hums in excitement, speeding up his work, feeling the muscles in your thighs go tense around his head. You tug at his leash. “Faster,” he swallows, speeding up his movements as much as he can. He’s practically making out with your cunt, sloppy and desperate, feeling you buck up against his face. He just whines in response. 

Finally, stars explode behind your eyelids and you cry out, your thighs tightening around his head so tight he can barely hear you as your orgasm, but he can hear enough. He stares up at you in awe as you fall apart, continuing to lick at you, drinking your release like the nectar of the gods. You moan, rubbing yourself against his face until sensation is too much. You loosen your grip on the leash, tugging him away. He whines in disappointment, looking up at you. He slowly and shakily licks his lips, savouring the remnants of your taste. He’s painfully hard and you can see it too, his tip all flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

“You were such a good puppy, such a good boy,” you coo breathlessly. “You made me very happy,” he smiles proudly up at you from the floor. “Does my good puppy want a reward?” you ask. He nods excitedly. You tug him up onto his feet and he stumbles excitedly towards you. “You’re so needy, aren’t you puppy?” you taunt, tracing a finger up his length which twitches furiously in response.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, watching as a drop of his pre-cum drips onto your thigh, sliding down the curve of it. The sight makes him squirm. You turn around, still loosely holding his leash, getting on your knees and elbows on the bed, arching your back to present your cunt to him. You tug him forward by the leash, but he misunderstands your intention, leaning in to desperately lick at you again from this new position, pressing his face against you. You gasp and squirm, your hips stuttering, enjoying it for a second before sharply tugging him away. He whines miserably and you can hear him panting.

“You’re supposed to fuck me, puppy,” you huff breathlessly.

“Oh… heh… okay,” he chuckles sheepishly, cursing inwardly at himself for screwing up. He climbs carefully up onto the bed. You feel his warmth hovering above you and you tug the leash again, forcing his warm chest to hit your back. He exhales shakily, taking a nervous hold of your hips as he positions himself over you. You feel his length, hard and warm against the cleft of your ass. He humps against you for a moment like he can’t help himself, whining in your ear. Another sharp tug to the leash snaps him out of it. He nervously grabs a condom from his nightstand and slides it on with shaky hands. 

“Good idea, puppy, good boy,” you coo and he preens under the praise. He mounts you properly, his tip pressing to your entrance, and you feel his whole body shuddering behind you. You give another tug on the leash and he starts to sink into you. He’s very vocal, whining and groaning in your ear as he settles in. He kneads thoughtlessly at the flesh of your hips and waist, mumbling choked-out sobs of thank you as he twitches within you. You can tell this isn’t going to last long. He starts to hump you tactlessly, blindly chasing his release, whimpering pathetically from the pleasure of your tight heat around him. “Such a needy puppy,” you purr and he whines louder because he is exactly that, he can’t control himself, reduced into a pathetic mess by you. His hips snap against yours at an erratic pace, his face burying into your neck. He’s panting like he’s in heat, desperately placing sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your neck. Everything he read about good sex is out the window as he humps you needily. He gasps shakily, letting out several choked sobs as he approaches climax. He holds you incredibly tight to him, a brief reminder of the physical strength he has over you despite his submission.

“Please, can I? Please,” he sobs. You contemplate trying to make him hold back, but you decide that’s for next time. As soon as you give him the go-ahead he stills, cumming thick ropes into the condom, quivering inside you. He wails in pleasure, body collapsing on top of yours. You tug his leash, making him roll off of you with a soft grunt. You lie side by side for a moment, breathing heavily, the room smelling strongly of sex even over the scented candle. Josh relishes the scent completely, knowing it’s coming from what the two of you did together. You shuffle into his arms, softly unhooking the leash from the collar and setting it aside. You trace the collar on his neck.

“How was that? Being my puppy?” you ask gently. He stares up at you, eyes hazy.

“Y-yeah, amazing… wow…” his arm curves around your back, pulling you gently to him, needing some touch right now. You wrap an arm around him in return and peck his lips.

“Wanna do it again sometime?”

“Please, yeah,” he chuckles, smiling dopily at you. 

“I always got the vibe from you that you’d like this kind of thing,” you smile, revealing why you’ve been inserting yourself so thoroughly into his life. “A perfect puppy all for me,” 

“I didn’t even know it about myself, but I… really did… I’ll be your puppy any day,” he admits with a little flush. You nuzzle your nose against his. He chuckles, enjoying the genuine affection from you, something he’s been completely starved of. 

“So, I seem to remember that food is on you?” you tease. 

“Not literally right? Like some sort of food kink?” he asks, fingers twitching against your back. You laugh.

“No, in a very regular way, I promise,” you soothe, rubbing his chest. He laughs.

“I can never really know with you, it seems,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

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[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt v

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader, the love triangles will start showing up here soon

Word count: 2k

Tags/warnings: death mention, mention of miscarriages, angsty, but fluffy, Tolkien lore is mentioned some, reader do be yapping, sauron is unwell and a little obsessed,

Notes: I take some liberty with the elf occupation of the southlands in this one but it's my fanfic and if I wanted to have halbrand wear a pink frilly tutu I could. Keep the feedback coming please. I love all of you.

Series masterlist

You awoke to the soft rocking of the sea, a blanket thrown over your body, and the smell of soup. The smell alone almost made you moan as the emptiness in your stomach ached. The last thing you had remembered was the storm and now you were on a strange ship.

Where were you?

“She wakes,” a deep voice spoke next to you. It almost startled you, but seeing Halbrand and hearing his voice brought a sense of calm over you. He had shown that he had meant his words, that he would protect, but you were still unsure as to what motivated that in him. Surely it had to be something more than he thought you were a good person.

Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, relaxing into his body. It took a moment, but his strong arms wrapped around you, and he placed a kiss to your hair, “I got you, sweet one,” he whispered softly, resting his chin on your head.

After a moment, you pulled away and looked up at him, “Where are we?”

He looked into your eyes, smiling softly, “A ship captain saw us and rescued us. Looks as if your whole hope thing isn't useless after all.”

You smiled, “Of course it's not. Hope never is.”

This time, it was him that pulled you in for a hug, all but pulling you into his lap. “I swear, sweet one, never scare me like that again. I thought I lost you,” he whispered into your hair.

You didn't make any movements to separate from him, enjoying the feeling. “Is that soup I smell?”

Halbrand laughed softly, pulling away and holding your face in his hands, “You ruined the sentimental moment.”

“Halbrand, I have been stranded at sea for a week, and while I do enjoy you, I am quite hungry.”

He smiles but shakes his head, “I'll go get you a bowl.”

As he leaves to do that, you take in your surroundings. It's a sturdy ship, not like the one you'd left on. It was well kept and clean, and the wood seemed to be of high quality. Your eyes examined the room until they landed on the elf, who was still either unconscious or asleep. Her words to you repeated in your head. She'd revealed your past to Halbrand. It seemed maybe as if he didn't care or notice, but it mattered to you.

You heard his footsteps on the stairs, and you quickly looked away, taking the warm bowl of soup in your hands. “Thank you,” you managed to speak before you started slurping down the liquid. It felt amazing to fill your stomach again. To eat something warm, that wasn't stale bread and dry meat. You had moaned softly the minute it moved down your throat.

Halbrand watched you until you were done, it looked as if he was thinking of something. You put the bowl aside and sat quietly for a moment before he spoke.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

You didn't need him to specify. You knew of what he spoke. You sighed softly and looked at him for a moment. He was leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees and hands clasped together. He looked concerned and curious as he watched you.

“I didn't want you to think differently of me,” you said softly.

“You were not the one who committed the crime. I told you, I've done horrid things. I chose to do those things. You did not choose to have an evil father.”

“That's the other reason why I don't talk about it,” you spoke softly. “He wasn't always that way. He was a good man, and so was my brother and my uncle. They were all good men. They were all hard workers. We had a farm, and they all tended to it from dawn until dusk. And when Papa would come home, no matter how tired he was, he would sweep me into his arms and dance with me around the room. My uncle would put me atop his shoulders and take me with him to town or to pick apples. My brother had the most awful jokes. He'd sneak me seconds of the cake, and he'd teach me how to use a bow. They were not evil, and I hate to talk about them as if they were. As if they were born that way.”

Halbrand wet his lips, “But something must have happened for them to murder an entire village of elves.”

You nodded, looking at your hands as you fought back tears. “My mama was good. She was so good and kind. She had a garden, and she grew herbs that helped people sleep or cleaned minor wounds. She was helpful. Everyone loved her, and my father adored her. She got sick one winter and the medicine she needed was expensive. Everyone worked so hard to save up enough for it, but in the end, we didn't have enough,” You wet your lips with your tongue. “She died. It was…it was awful. She was in pain and didn't go with peace. Father was distraught. Not only had he lost mother, but she had been with child. They had always had trouble with having children. My brother was several years older, and many miscarriages and lost babes were between us. The baby was almost to term.” You shook your head, wiping the few tears that slipped out away.

“I'm so sorry, but what does that have to do with elves? With Sauron?” Halbrand spoke, his hand moving to rest on your knee in a form of comfort.

“Father blamed the elves for mothers' death. I do not know how it is with other villages in the southlands, but for ours we had to give tithes of crops or money to the elves as a form of repentance for our ancestors' allegiance with evil,” you spoke with a hint of annoyance. “A reminder of what we did. Father was forced to give the money that he had saved to the elves. He begged for help for medicine, and it was denied. It changed him. It broke him. My grandfather believed that Sauron would return and bring with him the legacy that was long lost from our people. Father had dismissed that belief, but after mother died, he believed that Sauron would be more benevolent than the elves. That he would be a better leader. All that was needed was a massive blood sacrifice. He radicalized my uncle, my brother. My house went from being filled with love and light to being filled with darkness, with plots for murder. With stories of long ago and Morgoth and Sauron and giant spiders and dragons.”

“That's why you believe that evil is thrust upon people, isn't it?” Halbrand spoke softly.

You nodded. “The grief would destroy me if I believed there was no good in my family.”

Halbrand sat in silence. “And what of a being like Sauron? Do you think he's able to be forgiven? To be good?”

You pressed your tongue into your teeth and furrowed your brow. “I do not know, but I also do not think it is my place to make that decision. It is not my place to forgive my own family for what they did. What they did was horrendous. It was not excusable. I do not want to lessen the severity of their crimes, nor do I think that their punishment was unjust. I do not think it serves anyone well, though, to think that they were evil all along. To think they were without human emotions. Despite the evil they have done, I still love my family.”

You inhaled a deep breath, looking up at him, “I think for him, for Sauron, it could be the same. I do not know much about what created us, but I know that what created me also created him. In that case, he is capable of all the things I am. Love, kindness, empathy. That has to all be there, the good that he hasn't chosen. Perhaps he even has a family who still loves him. But it is not my place to decide if he is forgiven. I am not the one to redeem him.”

~

He sat with his head resting against a beem of wood. Not long after you ate, you'd fallen back asleep. His fingers were lazily running through your hair as he stared at a particular piece of wood.

He was getting more answers to who you were, but the answers he got asked questions themselves. How did you suffer so much and yet still hope? How did you hold such light inside you as well as such grief?

He'd been so full of himself when he learned of your family. To learn, there were those who still waited for him, who would kill for him. It satisfied his ego and fueled his arrogance. It was hard to resist smirking, smugly laughing to himself, or making a comment.

It didn't last long. In his interrogation of you, he asked too many questions and got answers he didn't bargain for. His questions now weren't so much about you, but about him. About his wants, his goals, and his motivations. Instead of asking who you were, your answers made him ask who he was.

He is capable of all the things I am.

…The good he hasn't chosen.

A family who still loves him.

The last one was the worst. Did he have a family who loved him still? Would he ever be able to return to his home? Would he be able to work inside Aulës's workshop? Would his former master have missed him? Would he hear the song of creation once more?

Did he want any of that?

Or did he still want power? Control? To bring peace and order through domination? The temptation was still there. The darkness was ever present inside of him, but perhaps there was some light left.

His eyes drifted to you, picking up a few strands of your hair and then watching them fall back over your face. Part of him still wanted you dead. He wanted you gone. It had been little over a week, and yet it had felt like a lifetime. You were challenging him in ways that he did not want. You were, somehow, single handedly, causing him to second guess everything he knew. That alone was reason enough for him to slit your throat.

Then there was the lust. He'd never lusted after anyone like this. The fact that you were a human felt like an insult. The reactions his body had to you were too human for his liking. He wanted control, but with you, he had none. It was surprising that he hadn't claimed you already. You were his, after all. And that was another reason for him to dispose of you.

There was the stirring deep inside him, the warm feeling that he sometimes could feel spreading. Sometimes, it spilled out of him without even knowing. He dared not name it. He did his best not to feel it. He'd know you little more than a week, and yet it was there, taunting him always at the edge of his mind. That was the biggest reason he wanted you gone. That feeling, he didn't want it, especially not for you. A mere mortal should not make him feel this way.

There were so many times he had raised a blade or had his hands wrapped around your throat, and just before he was about to make the move that would free him from you….

Your eyes, bright and happy, looking up at him.

The crinkles next to your eyes when you smile.

The softness of your skin against his.

The sound of your laugh.

The smell of your hair.

You.

He growled, sending a table flying and sending his fist through the wood of the pillar. He breathed heavily, forehead resting against the splintered wood as he heard you stir in your sleep. His eyes closed. He hated the chaos inside of him.

He hated everything.

He especially hated that he couldn't hate you.

previous

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I'm obsessed with vampires... what if William Tell.

Me too 😭 I hope I did this one justice! <3

A Secret In Your Throat

Vampire!William Tell x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: You meet a man at the bar.

Warnings: swearing, kissing, oral sex, p in v sex, cream pie, blood, biting, gonna say a little dub con because of vampires hypnotizing powers, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1507

He’d seemed nice, non-threatening, when he asked if he could buy you a drink at the casino bar. He’d stayed a respectable distance, not crowding you in the slightest. And for some reason that made you want to get closer, caused you to shift your seat a few inches nearer. 

He’d asked soft questions, there was just something about his voice that made you want to float on the sound. He listened to your answers, hardly talking about himself and steering the conversation back to you again and again and again.

He said his name was William. Like the conqueror. It had made you laugh more than it should.

You didn’t notice the bartender give you both a knowing look when you invited William to your hotel room. You didn’t notice that when he lightly touched your waist you went giddy, light headed and dazed. You didn’t even notice how sharp his teeth were when you kissed him outside of your room’s door, too preoccupied with how he licked into your mouth and wrapped his arms around you. 

You didn’t notice the faint sheen to his eyes, how his skin was just a fraction too cold. Like he had been outside for hours in the dead of winter, not in all be in an air conditioned but well temperature regulated environment. 

He pulls your clothes off without allowing you to even unbutton any of his own, pushing you down onto your bed and burying his head between your thighs. 

You moan, arching up into his touch as he licks and sucks and groans. His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread as wide as possible for him as he devours his banquet. 

You gently pull at his hair with one hand, rocking against his face as he lightly guides your hips to buck. 

His name falls from your lips as pleasure twists deep within your stomach, making you lightheaded, dizzy. Even more so than before. Like you could just slip into a fevered sleep right then and there. You blink heavily, despite the way his tongue moves, pulling you higher and higher, you fight against it. Struggle with that blanket of slumber that is trying to drown you. 

You press him closer, pulling his right hand from your thigh and wrapping one leg over his back. He groans softly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and surprise. 

His eyes catch yours, like a rabbit in a snare. You can’t look away, can’t breathe. Every single part of you is frozen, paralysed as he slowly moves his mouth, moving back the smallest fraction, but just enough for you to see the flash of oh so sharp canines. 

Your stomach drops. Adrenaline screaming in your ears. 

This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. You try to move, your limbs stuck fast and useless, a nightmare turning your blood to stone. 

William bites down, his teeth sinking into the top of your mons while he tongue still flicks against your clit. 

You gasp, finally able to breathe, the pain cutting through the haze and quickly dissolving into a syrupy pleasure. 

“Fuck,” the word escapes your lips like a prayer, you should push him back, get the fuck out of there but instead your grip in his hair tightens as you hold him closer. 

That thick blanket of haze dissipates, a fog lifting as you moan and buck your hips, needing him. 

You miss the look in his eyes as you push your head back against the pillows, the flicker of surprise that is quickly followed by a growl.

He bites harder, letting his canines sink into your skin. Your blood is so sweet as it wells up and fills his mouth, mixing with your slick. The endorphins hit his tongue like treacle, tingling along his spine. He squeezes your leg posessively, swallowing and lapping desperately. 

His cock throbs in his trousers, begging to be freed. The sensation is almost alien, the need to fuck while feeding is one that hasn’t raised it’s head in such a long, long time. And now it is almost undeniable, screaming in his ear and pulling at his limbs.

His usual method was practised, practically an art form. A light seduction and back to the target's room. 

He’d make sure they’d come with his mouth on them, a small bite to just get a taste, and then when they fully fell under his spell they’d sleep and he’d feed from their thigh before sealing the wound. Enough to fill him for a week or so.

The victim would wake in the morning with a dry throat and headache, but nothing worse than a mild hangover. They’d remember him sucking and licking and coming and that was all. It would be a nice memory, a pleasant one. They got an orgasm and he got a meal. A fair exchange. 

But you weren’t sleeping. Weren’t falling further and further into that state of suggestion. 

He pulls his fangs free of your skin and sucks your clit into his mouth until you scream, legs shaking as you come hard. Pleasure washes over you in waves, sapping the energy from your muscles as it shots along your limbs. 

William snarls, sitting up quickly and undoing his belt and trousers just enough to pull his aching cock free. 

He presses one hand on your thigh, pushing himself in with little ceremony as your pussy is still fluttering and pulsing. 

You cry out, grabbing hold of his arms and the back of his neck to draw him closer, pull him deeper. 

He bends his body over yours, bearing his blood stained teeth as he grabs your jaw and thrusts inside. 

You gasp, tensing as he fills you, hitting so deep you can practically feel him in your heart. 

He stares at your eyes, trying to force the drowsiness to overwhelm you, but it just won’t come. 

“What are you?” He growls. 

You rock against him, sobbing as he presses so wonderfully deep. “What?” You bite your lip, your eyes rolling back as you move, needing him to fuck you in earnest. 

He leans forward, unable to stop himself as he kisses you roughly, licking into your mouth and moaning when you reciprocate, your come and blood on his tongue. 

You whimper, urging him to move and gasping when he finally starts to. He groans, letting his body buck automatically, sinking in and out in a long hypnotising roll of his hips. 

Your blood tastes human, your heartbeats under his hands as he squeezes your chest. Your words and cries are only truthful as you beg. 

It makes no sense. 

“Please, please, please,” you wrap your legs around him, matching his deep thrusts. The patch of dark curls between his legs brush against your clit with every rock, pushing you further and further into pleasure. 

“What do you want?” He growls, his forehead pressed against yours as he moans and runs his hands all over you, marvelling in how you writhe and lean closer. 

You sob, not really knowing what you want, not knowing how to put it into words. A deep craving settling low in your chest. 

You pull his hair, push his face into your neck. “I need you to,” you hiccup.

For the smallest second William thinks about refusing. About stopping himself.

You swallow, your heart thudding in your arteries.  “I think, I-”

He bites down harshly, whining as your blood spills into his mouth like honey. 

You scream, your back arching as the sensation flows along your body and pushes you over the edge with one swift hit. 

Pleasure pumps into your veins, spiralling and twisting, making you shake and writhe. You grip him tight, squeezing your legs and arms around his back as he pistons his hips and swallows your blood. 

Your body sings, your orgasm stretching on and on and he keeps feeding. 

William groans, thrusting twice before he spills deep inside, filling you with his cum as he drinks. He pulls his mouth away a fraction and slices his tongue against his teeth before licking his own blood over your wound. He’s drunk more than he normally would, but hardly more than a blood donation. 

Your skin tingles, tightens over the puncture marks before they heal over, leaving nothing more than a very faint scar. 

William stays close, lazily lapping the last drops from your neck as he softens inside you. He’s purring slightly, a small vibration echoing from his chest as the sweat cools on your skin and your breathing returns to normal. 

You lift your head up to look at him, with his dark, dark eyes. His teeth have retracted back, his face flushed and warm. 

He watches you slowly before leaning forward and kissing you softly, the purring in his chest growing when you reciprocate. 

“You’ll let me do that again, won’t you?” His voice is low, thick with want and you’re not sure if he mean fucking you or drinking from you, or both. 

But you nod anyway. 

Thank you for reading!

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[kuntprodukt]

TOMB FOR TWO

Rockstar Leon S. Kennedy x model reader | AO3 18+ MDNI. smut, female reader, drugs and alcohol addiction implied, Leon is scumbag i guess, blowjob, use of coke, deepthroat i guess, dirty talk. tags: @ivmp words: 2,934

notes: so.... dont do drugs/alcohol and idk i feel like i need to clarify, some stuff here i heard in real life directly from insufferable men, so don't interract with such kind of people for ur own good.

Leon loves ladies, he was always the kind of man who loved every woman, if she was attractive enough to his taste of course. Also, he considered himself a nice guy, but a lot of girls didn’t get him. It got a lot worse when he cheated on his ex-girlfriend, after that nasty breakup and a slap he received, it felt like she had put a curse on him. Maybe he is cursed, it would explain why his attempts to form established relationships always failed. At least the passion for music was always with him, no matter how hard it was for him and it has helped indeed him in many areas; gaining more ego and becoming finally a rockstar, which certainly has helped him find lovers to warm his bed.

In his mind, he has already created his own list of preferences, models were always a big ‘no’ cause pretty dolls in the majority were the most annoying ones in his honest and ‘humble’ opinion. A lot of them are anorectic, and Leon doesn’t need a girl whose only hard thing in her mouth would have been his dick. Also, pretty women are usually really intimidating and have high standards, he doesn’t want to risk a possible denial. Cool guys don’t get hurt.

But that list didn’t help him at all, it didn’t prevent him from getting involved with you so quickly. A model and you looked sick for his tastes, dark circles under your eyes and lack of any vivid light in them too. He put two and two together, probably you did often drugs and he didn’t know which ones, he never asked. Your first appearance was at one of the events where his band performed and you were bored to death, gaze leaped around the surroundings, trying to find something more interesting to linger on than whatever this place is. Your pupils were dilated as hell and your jaw was tensed, making those useless movements and biting inside of your cheeks. He didn’t give much thought and he was drunk already while your fingertips were tracing his jaw and a sparkle in your eyes was enough for him. And after all, you agreed to come with him. His expectations weren’t high, another quick one-night stand he would forget about, but after stepping into his apartment you got sick. Vomiting in his toilet until it became quiet and he decided to check, after all, he is a good guy, really. And he doesn’t need a corpse in his flat. Pulling your hair to tilt your face towards him and witness your exhausted expression; your lips parted with saliva glistening on them and circles under your half-lidded eyes got more evident and darker. All this combined led to him having the hardest boner he has ever had.

Your presence in his life only gave him a boner and a headache, also an urge to strangle and shake you like a doll, but he never had enough strength to leave you behind and forget everything related to you. He tried, his mind would fill with thoughts about you, leading to jerk off a lot when he is sober and not recording music. His drunk ass would always crawl back to you, after feeling your eyes on him everywhere even when he was smoking out of a bar. Those billboards with your face, promoting some products and looking ethereal, without sickness all over your face, feeling your gaze as if it was only directed towards him. Those photos were the reasons his legs always lead him to your place, finding you already hammered as much as he is, if not worse, more than happy to let him spill his load in your mouth or pussy. After all, Leon is a simple man, not a romantic one, romanticism has died within him after that ‘undeserved’ slap.

Needles were a big ‘no’ for you, explaining they can leave marks and they are scary, also those are used by drug-addicted people which you believed you aren’t. After all, you like them thanks to your dear and generous friend who shares them with you. While Leon was an old-fashioned man, he has always preferred booze, even after finding himself in weird situations without any memories, only with pain pulsing in his head and hangover. You didn’t understand that at all, it has never brought you any good sensations, also alcohol has a distinct smell you have always hated and there is nothing sexy about it. That’s why Leon was always simple in your eyes, a rockstar with little to no existent layers in his personality; one hand with the bottle and the other one on his dick. In the end, both can destroy many lives.

Of course, whatever you both had going on gave you the possibility to visit his concerts without spending a penny. Leon has never asked if you like his music though, but still, he believes it is good, after all, there wouldn’t be a big female fanbase over anything? So there was never a thought behind his eyes to consider your tastes. Besides, you didn’t attend often, always brushing off your runway shows to which he was never invited. Not like he needed to be there, but still it made him feel a little bit bitter. Other reasons were similar to ‘I don’t want to’ and if to be honest, this isn’t a valid reason for his calls to be ignored.

This time you didn’t have other options, nor Leon would let you skip his performance. Soon understanding it was a mistake, you shouldn’t be here, cause during the entire concert his attention was drifting in between his music and you, trying to find you among many women. Every time he notices you not listening to the sound the instruments create, it fills him with bitterness and annoyance. Time passed slowly, finally finishing performance and emptying his flask quickly. He was tempted to leave you alone, to not give any warning, and get another girl from the crowd, but also this would be risky for a lot of reasons; first, he doesn’t have any condoms, and second, groupies are annoying and he doesn’t want to deal with them for a quick fuck today. The only solution he came across was to leave this place earlier and push you into his car.

The ride is okay, the only noise is some music coming from the car stereo. He twitched a little bit with the switch before, but he didn’t really listen to whatever was on until he recognized his own song. A nice touch. “Your music sucks” you say, breaking the silence which was only filled with his voice coming from the radio. This is new for you, music is his job, and what does a model know about it? His face turns to look at you for a brief moment, he is driving and he doesn’t want to get himself killed cause of you. “It doesn’t.” Leon protests quickly, but your voice interrupts him again, making him groan and want to stop the car. To strangle you. People love him! His groupies would be green with envy if they ever got to know about you. “It does” you say, resting your chin on the palm of your hand and looking through the window before rolling it down and letting fresh air coming in. The wind noise is ear beating, enough to give him a headache, nor does it help with his mood right now. Bashing noise to his ears, but you don’t care. Your voice fills the room, too bad it is loud enough to catch on and it is not mixed with the sound of the wind. The road is dark, and it is already hard to drive after consuming alcohol, but your voice makes this worse. “Your music never changes, mundane, same melody. Boring even, and generic. I don’t like it”

Then you stay silent, Leon’s mind is buzzing with only two thoughts in it: what a bitch you are, how he wants to shut you up with his dick and he needs to calm down, to let off steam. That’s three or four though. Math wasn’t his forte.

He pulled over his car, almost stumbling over from it as the chilly night breeze hit his face, filling his lungs. Refreshing and sobering in some way. It is dark, he didn’t even notice how he moved to your side and opened the door, looking down at your face with a blank stare, while his slow mind keeps processing your words. You shift on the seat of the car to face him with a raised eyebrow, looking so annoyed and confused by his attitude. Leon isn’t sure why he was hurt by your words, but this look was not new for him; every time a sentence would leave his mouth, your face would express an annoyance as if he just said the dumbest thing possible. You are probably just trying to mess with him and this always made him hornier, his cock would start stiffening in his jeans and even this isn’t an exception, like one of Pavlov’s dogs he is. Or this is just alcohol talking.

The inside of the car enlightens your features and it is maybe the only thing so bright in such a dark spot right now of the road. His index finger brushes over your lower lip, tracing the contour of soft flesh beneath his thickened skin after years of playing guitar. He can’t help but stare at your mouth, admiring the lipstick on it, looking clean and emphasizing the shape of your lips. Too bad his digit smeared the color a little bit over the form. You don’t notice that thank God, cause he doesn’t need another comment from you. Silence makes you much prettier. Your hand reaches for his thigh, brushing over the inner part and the annoyance in your gaze quickly changes to interest as it slowly travels down to the bulge which started to form already. Leon doesn’t know what magic you use on him, cause it is much easier to get even half-hard dick with you, while the majority of girls would waste his time and then cry about not being able to turn him on. He blamed this trouble on them, not on his best friend (booze). To not waste much time, you tuck out his cock from his pants.

Your fingers envelop his half-hard length, before stroking, spitting a mouthful of your saliva down on it. Spreading over the hardened skin with a quick and easy motion of your hand, your touch lingers on the spot below its tip which makes him groan lowly. His fingers tangle in your strands, pulling your face closer to his cock as a silent plea to sink your mouth down around him.

“Don’t play, come on,” Leon says, not noticing how his voice got hoarse. “Give it a kiss, doll” In the past, you would be annoyed at his words, but tonight you don’t mind, enjoying how pretty he is when he wants to shove his dick down your throat. Your lips press against his tip and kiss around it, teasing him and licking away precum, finally bobbing your head down. The warm and wet heat of your mouth envelops his cock, your tongue flicks along the shaft. Leon can feel himself getting harder and his hips buck back in response, letting quiet groans. But the bliss didn’t last a lot, you pop out his cock and slap it against your tongue, rubbing against your lips while keeping eye contact with his eyes. The sight is dirty, lipstick leaves its color on his wet and throbbing dick, intensifying the moment.

Until he noticed there was something under your silver sequin top, that caught his gaze only now. But also he doesn’t know what it may be, wondering silently and fixating on your chest. Or he is just seeing things, until your hand slightly lowers the edge of fabric to take the bag with white powder, satisfying his curiosity. The timing made him frown, almost convincing himself you could read his mind. But also, what should he have expected? Boobs would be nice, actually.

He isn’t going to deny a pleasure to see them. That’s why his hands reach for the edge of the fabric, pulling down to expose your breasts, nipples get harder at the contact with the cold air of the night. His fingers knead soft flesh, thumb and index pinch nipples to evoke your moans out, observing your face change even for a brief moment because of him until you slap away his hands. It was nice while it lasted. He watches how you make a thin white line on his cock, almost dripping some on your skirt, and letting a curse fall from your lips. If to be honest, this is his first time seeing you doing drugs in front of him. Also, there are too many ways to consume Coke, he heard about how some women shove it in their vagina, but he isn’t sure if this is true. You lean down and snort it away with an ‘ah’ leaving your lips, while rubbing your nose and blinking messily, trying to shake off some tears forming on your waterline. He was tempted to try, but you don’t share.

“Fuck, that was hot” Leon comments, letting a low whistle. Your hand pumps his cock in a steady rhythm.

The little pause was over, with a giggle and lightened expression on your face, coke does wonders. Your mouth starts giving kisses, before sucking on the tip more eagerly than before, and your tongue swirls in a circular motion around it. For a brief moment, you shift to the underside too by flicking over that sensitive spot, making his hips buck, pushing your head deeper to sink you down along the length. You can feel more saliva pooling in your mouth, slobbering over his cock now, and spit drips down onto his balls. The Coke has its visible influence now, dilated pupils are directed into his blue eyes, keeping eye contact. He knows that state of yours, being happy and confident to do anything, clinging and not letting him go away until powder’s effects don’t start to weaken. Your heart is beating loudly in your ears, not hearing those loud suction noises your mouth does which he adores. Leon’s fingers tighten his grip on your hair, tugging and pushing your head deeper, his tip kissing your throat and he groans, while your nose rubs against his happy trail. Your jaw is more relaxed, taking him deeply and you try to swallow the excess of saliva and his precum, so your throat tightens around his cock, he can feel you choking on his now twitching arousal. It is useless, you can feel saliva dripping not only on his sac now, but also from the corners of your mouth down to your collarbone. Leon pulls your head away before slamming with quick motion his hips against your face again. His cock is slick with your saliva, sloppily moving out and back into your mouth, constant stimulation of your tongue flicking against his head and at the base made his balls tighten signaling that his orgasm is approaching. Initially, his own moans are breathless, slowly starting to increase in volume, as he took more control in his own hands. His movements are erratic, the sight of your teary expensive mascara and lipstick ruined by him and leaving marks on his cock is one of many reasons to be alive, he thinks.

“Do you see yourself right now, huh?” He moans, shaking his head with disbelief, as you keep sucking him off sloppily, making more wet sounds that intensify and fill the air between you both. His voice is at the edge of quiet whine, needy moans reach your ears. “Yeah, that’s it, all you have to do is let my cock just slide in and out of your pretty mouth, doll”

He slams his hips for the last time burying his cock deep into your throat, the head grinds before twitching for a last time spurting out a load of cum. His fingers grip tighter, almost painfully, not letting you pull away and spit it out, swallowing the bitterness that fills your senses, making you gag more. The booze diet isn’t the best one. He lets you pull away, your tongue for the last time brushed his tip and he stands still, his breathing is unsteady and chaotic, while you wipe away the remaining saliva from your skin.

“So….” Leon interrupts the silence between them, he is speaking without giving too much thought, and he quickly pauses for a second, trying to organize a decent sentence. “What about… something formal? Between us I mean” Your eyes don’t even linger on his face after his question, the so-known-annoyance returns to your face and you pull down the sun visor to fix your makeup. “Ew, no” your voice expresses disgust at the thought of being more than just a quick hookup, you roll your eyes as your thumb cleans the smear of your lipstick. Your nose twitches still, even if the effect of the drug starts to lessen. “I don’t like you like that” “It was a joke,” he brushes off quickly, feeling his own body recovering from orgasm and wanting to get away from you, so the bitterness and disappointment would not irk him so much. “For God’s sake, smile at least.”

Story of his life, nothing new.

[dragonsarecool1213]

How To Actually Keep People You Don't Like Away From Your Blog

and why DNI's don't work and are kinda... weird?

I see a lot of folks on tumblr (and sometimes other sites) so desperately try to keep racists or bigots or whatever off of their blog. But it's almost always in the form of a "DNI" (or "Do Not Interact") a small or sometimes huge list of descriptors of the kind of people the user doesn't want interacting with that blog.

But the issue is... 99% of the labels of people listed aren't concepts people self identify with.

People who are racist, xenophobic or commit crimes DON'T SELF IDENTIFY AS RACISTS, BIGOTS OR CRIMINALS!!!

Which then completely and utterly makes the concepts of DNIs pointless.

They will read that DNI go "oh! this doesn't apply to to me" and ignore it. Boom completely useless piece of text taking up precious space on your blog for no reason. And even on the tiiiiniest chance you list a label that someone might identify with... they can just.. ignore it if they like ur content..

so in short.. DNI's do nothing.. except they DO do one thing... They fill your blog, bio or intro post (or god forbid every post) with a bunch of potentially triggering words and tons of negative energy. For literally no reason. Nothing makes me assume a blogger is annoying or unfun to be around like seeing a DNI. And not to mention all the times i've had my day ruined by trying to enjoy scrolling thru a tag only to be constantly blasted with "HEY REMEMBER THAT [insert horrible thing] EXISTS???". It sucks. And it's driving me mad.

But I'm not just here to rant about it, about how awful they are and that noone should use them. I understand that people want to enjoy their time on their internet and curate your space, so i'm going to show you the SUPER easy SUPER effective way to actually do that. And it can go RIGHT where your DNI is!

HOW TO ACTUALLY KEEP PEOPLE YOU DON'T LIKE OFF YOUR BLOG IN ONE EASY STEP:

List the things you DO support.

That's it.

Take your DNI and invert it. List all the groups you support. Wanna keep terfs off your blog? say I LOVE TRANS PEOPLE!!! TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN! want to keep racists off your blog? I SUPPORT BIPOC RIGHTS. etc etc.

How does this work? Well lets go back to that hypothetical racist on the internet: They come strolling upon ur blog dum dee dum and now they see ur intro and bio. They see that you support bipoc rights, landback movements and insert other movements that support marginalized groups. Said hypothetical racists will see that, go 'ew' and then leave. Probably.

is it 100% effective? no. many ppl don't even read bios or intro posts and some folks follow ppl they disagree with. But for the most aggressive of these types? 10-20% of them going ew and leaving is better than 0% doing anything after reading a DNI they don't believe applies to them.

But that's not the only thing this method does. Because here's the thing.. I don't really believe people have DNI's to keep people off their blog. Shocking.. i know. For most ppl it's a list of their morals so they can show off how 'morally good' they are. Which is a whole can of nasty worms I'll go into in another post. But for now I'll take it at face value and go with it. And tell you that if you want to broadcast your morals, why do it with hate?? Because all that does is spread that hate and negativity, all it does is remind all the marginalized folks who you DO want around, of all the people who suck and hate them and making feeling like shit. But a support list? a list of groups you support? well now you just have a paragraph dedicated to love, the folks you actually want interacting with you will be like 'oh damn, they like and support my people. awesome :)'

and to me that is far faaaar more important than just listing down all the people you hate.

That's it for my ramble on this topic- "oh but mr throwawayblog what about [x, y, z] or people who disagree with me on [x stupid internet discourse topic]?" that is once again another nasty can of worms that I will be saving for future posts, either on this blog or another. But it's a lot harder pill to swallow then this. And I want this post to be shareable enough to spread at least somewhat and reduce the amount of DNI's im forced to look at. by idk, at least 10%?? at least?? please?????

thanks and good night.

*This does not apply to minor's DNI requests on 18+ accounts. While also not.. super useful.. it at least makes sense and has a precedent. This post is not talking abt that.