#and can’t stop thinking about it until i grab it for them

[classyrbf]

thinking about movie night with nanami. You’re sitting in his lap comfortably, head resting on his shoulder while you giggle at the movie. But nanami doesn’t care for the movie when two of his thick fingers are plunged deep inside of your pussy. He’s moving them so slowly, teasing you as he pumps them in and out. Every now and then you’ll grip onto his arm that’s holding you in place, getting too distracted before he corrects you. “Focus on the movie, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear all while massaging your g-spot. He’s so cruel to you but he’s enjoying playing with you. Your eyes will slip down to where his fingers are, can’t help but stare at the way his fingers disappear into your sopping hole. You see them glisten with the glow of the tv light and bite down on your bottom lip as grow needier for more. “Eyes up.” He guides your chin up, holding your jaw in place. With every passing minute you feel yourself growing wetter and wetter, and your heart beat faster and faster sneaking glances and letting out stifled whimpers every now and again.

The pads of his fingers run up your slit, rubbing your swollen clit in small circles making you tense up. A shaky breath escapes your throat, and you’re trying your best to focus on the movie but it’s so hard to when he’s whispering such filthy things in your ear. “You want my fingers back inside that pretty pussy? I bet it feels so good to be stuffed full, huh?” He smirks against your skin. All you do is nod, gently grinding your hips against his hand because you’re done playing by the rules. You reach for his wrist, moving his hand downward back to your fluttering hole. “Is that where you want me?” He breathes against your skin. Just before you could answer he plunges his fingers back inside, your pussy making the most lewd squelch ever. “Just lean back and feel good, darling.” He held you against him tightly while he worked you open with his fingers, pressing and dragging his fingers against your g-spot with more pressure.

“Hear that?” He dragged his fingers in out of your soaked cunt, a wave of embarrassment washing over you at how wet you were. “Is this all for me? If so, it’d be a shame if I didn’t get a taste.” His fingers reached up to his mouth, sucking your juices off like you were the best thing he’s ever tasted. Your body shuddered in anticipation, as he brought his fingers back down to your pussy, gathering more of your slick. “Have a taste, baby.” Without hesitation you opened your mouth, feeling his fingers lay flat on your tongue where you tasted yourself on him. “Tastes good, doesn’t it? Such a good girl for me.” He grabs your chin, planting his lips on yours, his tongue sliding past your lips and into your mouth. You moaned into the kiss as he began fingering you again, going faster than he was before.

You pull away, breathing heavily as you feel yourself growing closer to cumming. “Ken,” you whimper, your nails digging into his forearm while your legs begin to shake. “Oh fuck,” you squeak, your jaw slack as you become mesmerized by the view in front of you. Nanami kisses your neck gently, watching as well, feeling the way your walls tighten around him.

“I can feel it, sweetheart. Tell me how badly you wanna cum,” he huskily says, moving his fingers faster on purpose.

“Please, let me cum! I need it so bad, Ken! You always make me feel so good, baby,” you cry out, your chest moving up and down rapidly.

“Good girl. Let it out for me.” As if on command, clear liquid gushes from your cunt, soaking his hand and couch in the process but he doesn’t dare stop. “There you go, sweetheart. There you fucking go.” He kisses you tenderly as he drags every last bit of your orgasm out of you until your entire body is shaking. He removes his fingers, gently slapping your messy pussy, chuckling when you whine at the sensation. His thumb toys with your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “What a mess you’ve made.” He clicks his tongue at you.

“You’re no fair!” You pant, gasping when applies pressure to your clit.

“I think a thank you would be better. What do you think?” He looks at you with fox like eyes, and you can’t help but stare back with such desperation.

“Thank you,” you mutter under your breath.

“Atta girl.” He slaps your pussy a few more times causing you to buck your hips. “Now, keep watching the movie. I’m not finished playing with you.”

[bootycallin]

🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ want me that top!

꩜ .ᐟ basically; caitlyn’s that kind of top…

cw; female reader. stráp usage (r! receiving). stráp referred to as côck bc. cait is MEANNN. brief mentions of edġíng. sweáring. pet names. degrádátion but also praișe lol. dírty talk. däcryphïlia if u squint. not proofread.

a/n; never wrote for caitlyn. please do excuse any shitty writing and ooc. anyways she’s so hot

NSFW UTC.

cait’s that mean kind of top. it’s not that she doesn’t want you feeling good! it’s the opposite. she wants you feeling good for so long you’re crying and writhing, begging for her to just let you cum.

yes, cait’s the type of top that edges you for her own enjoyment. next question.

cait, contrary to vi, is that type of top that loves straps. something about dicking you down, seeing your eyes roll—she knows it’s not her dick but damn, she can cum on fucking your pussy with that dildo if it comes down to it.

cait’s that type of top to say the nastiest shit with the sweetest tone of voice. yeah? you like that, mm? i know you do, baby. such a pretty little slut for me. her praise gives you mixed signals but she doesn’t stop, because she can feel your pussy twitch every time she calls you her slut.

cait’s that type of top that has surprising self control. she doesn’t get angry with brats and she doesn’t get jealous often, as a kiramman should. that doesn’t mean she won’t show you what happens when you’re a brat.

cait’s that type of top that gets what she wants. she’s always had it all on a silver platter and that isn’t changing now, not even when it comes to you.

cait’s that type of top that will take you anywhere. and i mean, anywhere.

cait’s that type of top that spoils you rotten. be it with clothes or making you cum. when you earn it, that is. yes, she will give you the most luxurious, expensive lingerie sets in piltover, if you agree to model for her. if you act good for her, i guarantee she will give you the best orgasms of your life. there’s nothing she likes more than to see you submit.

cait’s that type of top to be mean, but she has good intentions. she can’t help herself sometimes. you’re easy to poke and pick at when you’re under her, and you’re just so cute when you cry. she loves you, though. she swears. her good girl.

“what was that, baby?”

she was making fun of you. you were babbling incoherently, royal blue strap reminiscent of her own hair color plunging in and out of you, tip repeatedly kissing your cervix until you couldn’t think anymore.

“caiiittt…!” you whine out. she’s the only thing you can think of. pretty much any other words escape you as she fucks you, moaning and whining her name over and over and over again.

“hmm? yeah? you like that, huh?” she’s smirking. it’s so cute. you’re so cute, chest heaving with every moan and whine, tears pricking at your eyes at the sheer pressure on your womb. her pelvis repeatedly rubs and smacks against your clit, sharp little stings of pleasure to the puffy nub. not enough to cum, just enough to drive you to that edge and then away again. a constant swing of being at your limit and being pulled back by caitlyn.

“look at me.” she snaps suddenly, driving her cock deep into you, tip now practically smushed against your insides as she leans up against you, legs pushed up near your sides. she slings them over her shoulders, one hand holding your knee and the other grabbing your chin to make you look straight at her. her nails bite into the skin ever so slightly, a subtle reminder.

“c’mon. tell me how you like it, baby,” she grins, her movements suddenly continuing, but slower. methodical. she just rubs into you, just barely leaving an inch of space before going back in. her tip is massaging your uterus, you can feel it, and it almost feels like you’re about to explode.

“caitlyn!” you cried, legs trembling over her shoulders, “p-pleaseee…”

“please what?” she’s not letting you get the easy way out. no way. she’s panting, the heat coiling in her stomach growing the more she sees you beg and whine and cry her name. the rubber of the strap rubs against her own cunt, a delicious, excruciating continuous stimulus that she can’t help chasing.

“please… please fuck me, please… wanna cum, please let me—“

you’re cut off by a sharp smack of skin against skin as she suddenly thrusts full force into you. “good girl.” she nearly growls, adjusting her hold on your thighs, nearly folding you just to get the deepest angle she could. her thrusts grow more erratic, harder, and she grins at the little bulge that forms in your tummy every time she thrusts back into you.

you’re moaning so loud you might as well be screaming. god spare any maid in the kiramman estate from hearing you two. caitlyn has the decency to lean forward, kissing you open-mouthed and all, swallowing allll your moans into her own. you’re blubbering incoherently, tears making your eyes glassy—which just riles her up further.

“gonna!-“

“gonna cum, yeah? come on. cum for me, baby, you’ve earned it.”

she barely gets through her sentence, as you cum over her cock, earning her a chuckle as you paint her shaft a pretty milky white. your back arched and your head flopped back, moaning out a long whine of her name.

“yeah… that’s it. make a mess. you’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? just let it all out.” she fucks you through all of your orgasm, picking up her pace a little just to see your juices gush onto her lower belly. she goes until she reaches her own orgasm. the friction driving her into a wave of pleasure that makes her nearly collapse over you.

she lets your thighs fall from her shoulders. her chest presses against yours, her movements halt inside you as she groans a curse into your neck, riding out her own high.

you both lay there for a minute or so, just catching your breath. she picks her head up, kissing your neck, up to your jaw, up to your lips.

“my flower,” she muttered, “so perfect. so good for me. i love you.”

cait’s that type of mean top… but not cruel. she’s gonna let you cum—eventually. she wants to see you cum. there’s nothing better than seeing you burst with pleasure because of her. but she’s not letting you do that, not until all you can think about is her, her, her<3

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 © bootycallin on tumblr. do not copy, translate or cross post without permission. ᛝ

[jjkbambi]

the morning after luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! part two of is it new years yet because you do not get back together just cuz he has good dick OMG 🖕🖕🖕🖕😒 he also has a great personality and loves eating pussy

warnings: smut, kinda angsty, he’s manipulative but honestly he’s such a nice guy, you should really give him a second chance

^ not edited let’s alll just practice gratitude 🙏

seven days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes and thirty six seconds.

that’s how long it had been since luigi had seen you. not that he’d been counting, he was truly trying to be normal about the distance this time around.

he replays the morning after on a loop, searching for the slightest hint he’d done something wrong to no avail. as a matter of fact, your quiet body was beside him until deep into the afternoon, nothing but soft snores exchanged between the two of you. he wakes before you, kissing your forehead before taking his leave. his frat brothers whistle at him as he enters the wretchedly messy house, throwing him a water.

“happy new year, big guy,” one of them, hasan, greets. “did’ya spend your night thinking about new goals or scoring the same one?”

luigi rolls his eyes. “fuck off.”

another brother chimes in, bright-eyed. “when are we meeting her?”

“in your dreams.”

he had no intention of sharing you in any way; the thought of anyone else even looking at you irritated him. but starting the new year off by your side was far too great a fate to be stoic about. he grabs a plate of what’s left of their shitty communal breakfast (jar salsa from the night before, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of mostly burnt toast) and brings it into your room.

“y/n,” he calls out while entering. the door to the bathroom is now closed, and he sees your shadow shuffling around the room.

hesitant, the door creaks open. youre back in your black minidress, holding onto your heels. “hey, pretty.”

“hi,” you say tightly, the mistakes and soreness from the night before lingering in your mind. you’ve just wiped away the tears still streaked on your face, yet your ex-boyfriend hardly looks hungover.

“dressed up just for me?” he jokes, kissing your cheek. he offers you the plate of food but you shake your head.

“lacy’s waiting for me. i’ve got to go.”

“stay,” he says, his voice honey-sweet, like the boyfriend you knew months ago. it makes you feel sick, the familiarity of it all suffocating you. the room feels too small.

you push away from him. “i have to go.”

“baby,” he drops everything he’s holding to grab you again. “what’s wrong? is everything alright?”

he always blows your mind with his audacity. “no, everything’s not alright, luigi,” you spit back. “we shouldn’t have—none of that should’ve happened.”

“what do you mean?”

“luigi,” you sigh. “we’re over, alright? it’s done.”

“y/n—”

“i mean it,” you raise your voice so slightly, but still it breaks. “you cheated on me, then pulled all this shit, i can’t do it anymore.”

“you can’t do it anymore? are you serious?”

“yes!”

“you ignored me for weeks then showed up at my fucking party, dressed like that,” his voice was low, but angry. brows furrowed, he doesn’t lose his grip on you. it scares you. “you can’t tell me you weren’t bartering for my attention.”

“i wasn’t.”

his jaw sets. “then who’s?”

“oh my god. nobody’s!”

“don’t fucking lie to me—”

“lu, stop, seriously.” your voice trembles this time, and you both notice it. he drops your hand.

“i didnt mean to hurt you,” he says, soft at your upset. “i swear—i dont remember cheating on you. i’m not gonna mess up like that again, i promise.”

he leans in to kiss you, to seal the pledge with his gentle touch, but you pull back. “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt me—you did. you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.“

his big brown eyes bear into yours and he swears, “i can make it up to you.”

“luigi,” you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away. “i just don’t think this is a good idea, i’m sorry.”

“come on,” he says, frowning. “i love you. only you.” his lean-in to kiss you is successful this time. the kiss feels much better—softer—than last night’s. he’s gentle with his desperation, intent on making you stay. “‘m sorry, okay?” he says between kisses. “let me make it better.”

“no, luigi, we shouldn’t—”

“you’ve got to hear me out, y/n,” he takes your lips again. his hot kisses move down your neck—and it all feels so different this time around. even the air in the room feels lighter. his voice is against your ear when he swears, “i’ll be good to you, sweetheart, i promise.”

saying no to him is near impossible—it’s why you shut yourself off of him for weeks, avoiding places he frequented, deactivating your social media, ignoring his constant stream of messages and calls. now, he has you, and within minutes, you’re pressed against the wall again.

“feels good?” he teases, grinding his hard-on into your core. you melt underneath him, you can’t help it, he’s so warm.

“lu,” you whimper. you’re still sensitive from how selfishly he took you the night before, you can’t help but react to his touch so quickly. it felt so raw.

“wait—” he never does. his hands are on your hips again, moving your body against his.

“just let me take care of you,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck again. this time, he was sure to leave marks.

he keeps the dress on this time. he places you back onto the bed, and as you gather the courage to take him in again, he moves beneath you.

“knew i recognized these,” his voice hot against the fabric of your panties.

you told yourself the lacy black panties were just meant to match the dress, but it all seemed so intentional—the party crash, the kitchen drive-by, the fact that you were wearing his valentines day gift. whether this was a manifestation of your greatest fear or desire, you couldn’t tell.

he kisses your thighs, then runs his tongue against your core through the fabric of your panties before ceremoniously ripping them off. he kisses and sucks at your wetness. you tremble at the suddenness of his movement. his big nose is so prominent in your pussy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his perfect face and whine as he drinks you in.

“you’re such a fucking mess,” luigi says, smiling into your warmth. his unshaven stubble tickles your sensitive cunt, sending a tremor through you. “so wet, i’ve barely even touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” you whimper.

he grabs your ass, pulling you closer to his relentless mouth. it’s ridiculous how good he feels. he’s completely shameless in his endeavor to ruin you.

“look at me,” luigi orders, so you do. you look down to see him, finding that he’s already gotten to touching himself. his hard length at the edge of the bed, furiously red, as he strokes himself. “i think about you everyday,” he admits in between licking at your core. “i missed how this pretty pussy tasted. i missed having you like this. holding you down so you can’t squirm away. missed hearing you beg.”

you’re almost there, fidgeting underneath his hands. “luigi, please. it’s too much.”

“you’ve taken worse,” he growls into you.

he feels like he’s on fire. one hand moves up and down along his cock fervently, while the other lends itself to fingering your frothing pussy. you mewl at the sudden entry, back arching.

“luigi,” you whine. “please.”

“i’m trying to do a nice thing for you, y/n,” he hums, “but you want me to be selfish, hm? want me to take you?”

“yes,” you say, breathless.

“fuckin’ slut,” he grumbles, pulling himself away from your wet cunt. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “what d’you want from me, huh?”

“want you.”

“course you do,” luigi says, surprising you with hard slaps against your sensitive clit. you cry out at the sensation, the unfamiliar storm of bliss and torment, and he chuckles darkly. “you fuckin’ belong to me.”

he grabs your chin and forces you into another kiss, your wetness now staining you both. he lifts your leg up and slides himself back into your wet warmth. “you’re dripping,” he praises as he pounds into you. the exhilarating pain sets your senses alight, you grip onto him tighter without even realizing. “all for me, yeah?”

“all for you.” you nod. this is not how you expected this conversation to go. you writhe at how big he is, how hard.

“you can take it,” he grunts. he’s not fast, this time—his thrusts are agonizingly slow and tortuously deep—just as you think it’s all entirely too much, one hand grips your clothed tit, the other lifts to cradle your chin, forcing your lips to part open. he spits into your mouth. “swallow,” he orders.

you do.

“good girl,” he places sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, your neck, then goes to bite at your tits. “so fuckin’ pretty.”

“i thought about you too,” you admit sheepishly, out of your mind. he looks up at you, raises his eyebrows, urging you to go on. “i missed you.”

to your surprise, he scoffs. “fuckin’ bitch.” he suddenly loses the interest in being gentle with you, returning to your body rough and angry. his fingers massage against your clit, unraveling you. “you’re just as crazy as i am, you know that? running around town like you don’t belong to me. like you don’t touch yourself late at night thinking about this cock. wishing those fingers were half as good as mine, huh? fuckin’ idiot.”

“luigi,” you cry out. was this him being nice?

“be a good girl f’me,” he grunts. he feels you pulse around his cock and drives into you with even more force. “cum all over me, baby. have my fuckin’ kids.”

“luigi,” you mewl again, desperate for release.

“come on, pretty, show me how good it feels.”

his lips return to yours, hot wet and desperate, as he cums inside of you. you’re a complete mess—squirming and whimpering as you unravel onto his cock, he catches your moans with kisses and leaves you shaking underneath him.

“good girl,” he hums, kissing your forehead.

for a fleeting moment, the two of you are perfect. everything feels just right. he slips into the spot beside you, the disarray of tangled sheets forgotten as he pulls you into his warmth. you sink into the nape of his neck, and though there are no more words spoken, the air is thick with an undeniable love, quiet but all encompassing.

but when he stirs awake, reaching for you, all that lingers is the soft, fading smell of your spring perfume.

send requests ! <3

[anonyme-glace]

Christmas Gift

Spending Christmas break with my dad, which I’ve done tonnés of times before.

Except ever since I’ve gotten older, I can understand more and more why my friends call him a DILF. He’s built, trades man, thick legs and strong body, tall and, I can’t believe I notice this, hung.

Three weeks ago I was with him for the weekend and got to his house earlier than normal, he was showering. I couldn’t help myself, I peeked in, curiosity driving me, and maybe a bit of lust. Foggy shower door, his groans, and his hand down low. I knew what he was doing. I felt my stomach flutter.

His groans were so loud; his deep voice ringing out in the shower, talking to himself.

Fuck that feels so good baby….

Oh my god.

Keep going….

Oh my god he’s dirty talking.

You’re making daddy feel so good…

Oh my god.

…Carly.

Holy shit. What.

…

Hey Carly, sweetie, how’s it going?

I snap my head towards him, coming out of the memory.

It’s going good, dad, thanks for asking. I’m super excited to exchange gifts later, I’ve got the perfect thing for you.

Aw sweetie you didn’t have to get me anything.

I felt his eyes on me.

You’re gift enough.

I know Daddy.

…

I’ve been planning this for weeks. Now that I know he feels the same way about me. I’m gonna be the best little girl for him. I went out lingerie shopping with the girls a few weeks ago, they think I’m trying to impress Jack from fifth period. What the fuck am I doing.

Standing in my doorway, red lace plunge bra, matching panties, handcuffs in hand. He’s sitting on the couch, watching some stupid movie. I call out.

Turn that off, I’m coming out with my gift, close your eyes.

They’re closed sweetie.

I walk out, keeping my steps light, shivering with excitement. I stop in front of him.

Hands out daddy.

He laughs, a husky, sharp, inhale. Okay.

Quickly I place the cuffs on him. His eyes shoot open and I step back. He’s speechless, eyes trialing up and down my body, and I see his pants get a little tighter.

Do you like your gift daddy?

Fuck baby what are you doing? He breathes out and moves to get up. I push him back down and straddle him.

Mhm I heard you in the shower, daddy, you want me.

I don’t know what you heard sweetie, this is wrong, and illegal, and you need to get off of me. I trail my hands down his chest. You need to get off me, honey, you can’t be doing this. I’m your dad.

Daddy I can feel you. I lean into him and whisper, against my cunnie. Let me take care of you, this is your gift.

Not that he put much fight up in the first place, but his resolve loosens, and he leans back. I slide off his lap, knees hitting the floor.

I rub my hands all over him, my face rubbing his crotch. You gonna let me have it daddy? Yes baby, take daddy’s cock out. I reach for his pants but change paths and quickly unlock his hands from the cuffs before resuming.

Fuck daddy, it’s so big. I take it in my hands and begin to lick up and down, taking his balls in my mouth, and using my thumb to play with the tip. Yes baby just like that. Why don’t you take it in your mouth? I suck on the throbbing head, maintaining eye contact with him. I go deep as I can, choking myself on him, until he grabs my hair and takes control.

I can’t believe I raised such a slut. Where did you learn this slut?

I’m so sorry daddy, I’ve been with other boys.

Oh wow, you’re such a whore, you couldn’t even save yourself for me. Well I’ll just have to fill you up until you forget them, won’t I?

Yes please daddy, please give me your cock, I need it.

Good begging, come lay down and spread yourself for me. I do as he says, taking off my panties, laying back, and spreading my legs open for him. He slaps his heavy cock against my cunt before laying it on my stomach.

Look how deep I’m gonna go. Just about hits your belly button baby. I gasp and look down, just as he lines himself up with my pussy.

You’re gonna take it so well baby, all of it, all for me, forever and ever.

[1425fivefive]

Just saw your kink prompt list and my brain went briefly offline because your writing + any of the kinks on the list? I think i'll literally spontaneously combust.

I'm literally on my knees and begging for Landoscar + 17 (breeding). Alternatively Landoscar + 12 (forced feminization), 21 (wet + messy) or 24 (inexperienced partner).

I read these 4 kink prompts and my brain went 'YES' particularly loudly.

Literally any of the above and I will be the happiest Elf on the Shelf!!

breeding for landoscar (with a lil bit of feminization as a treat)! (for the kink prompt asks)

Oscar needs to find whatever McLaren employee thought it was a good idea to hand Lando a baby and tell them to never do it again. Babies should be banned from the MTC. Banned from anywhere within five kilometers of Lando’s vicinity. Because now that Oscar’s seen Lando with a baby—the way Lando’s eyes lit up, his delighted grin, how he couldn’t stop trying to make the baby laugh—Oscar can’t stop thinking about anything other than knocking Lando up.

Oscar’s not an idiot. He knows they’re both men, knows Lando can’t get pregnant. But it doesn’t stop Oscar from imagining it. Lando’s taut stomach swelling with a baby. Their baby. His tits getting heavy and full, perfect little handfuls. Milk dribbling from his nipples, Oscar licking it up, dragging his tongue over the sensitive buds.

Oscar decides not to mention it, figures Lando will probably be more than a little put off by Oscar telling Lando, a man, that Oscar wants to get him pregnant. Instead, Oscar contents himself with digging his fingers into Lando’s belly while he fucks him, kissing Lando’s neck, telling Lando how pretty he is, how perfect, how well he takes Oscar’s cock. Whenever Oscar comes, he stays in Lando a little longer than usual, fantasizing about making it take.

After a few weeks, Oscar figures Lando hasn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. That Lando thinks Oscar’s just being his usual, adoring self.

But Oscar fucks Lando in front of the bathroom mirror in Lando’s hotel room one night, one hand resting on Lando’s belly, the other squeezing Lando’s pec.

“Gonna fuck you so full of me,” Oscar moans, meeting Lando’s eyes in the mirror. “Get you so fucking full of my come.”

Lando whimpers, tipping his head back against Oscar’s shoulder. “Please, Osc. Want you to.”

“Yeah?” Oscar pants, grinding deeper into Lando. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Please,” Lando whines, hand coming up to grab at Oscar’s hair, tug him closer, deeper. “Make me full. Wanna feel you.”

Oscar feels delirious. He rolls Lando’s nipple between his fingers, drags Lando back on his cock, groaning at the sight of Lando’s dick flopping with each thrust of Oscar’s hips, dark and flushed.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Oscar breathes. “Make yourself feel good.”

Lando whines and brings a hand down to his cock, rim tightening around Oscar.

“Yeah, Lando,” Oscar moans. “Just like that, good girl.”

Oscar doesn’t even realize what he’s said until he sees Lando’s mouth drop open, whole face going red, rim going ridiculously tight around Oscar.

“Oh, fuck,” Oscar stutters, thrusts slowing. “I didn’t, uh—”

Lando shakes his head so fast he looks like he might give himself whiplash, whining, “No, no, I liked it, please, Osc, you can—”

“Jesus,” Oscar groans, sinking his teeth into Lando’s shoulder, fucking in hard.

Lando cries out, cock blurting pre-come over his fingers, his tight little body shaking in Oscar’s hold.

“Yeah, Lando,” Oscar breathes, voice strained. “Make yourself feel good, baby, that’s it.”

“Oh,” Lando gasps, turning his head into Oscar’s neck, hand flying over his cock. “Oh, oh, oh—” He breaks off on a shaky moan, spilling all over his fist and the counter, panting against Oscar’s neck.

“Fuck,” Oscar groans, fingers tightening on Lando’s stomach. “God, Lando, that’s—”

“Osc,” Lando whimpers, starting to tremble from oversensitivity as his orgasm peters out.

Oscar starts to pull out, planning to come across Lando’s arse and thighs, but Lando throws a hand down to Oscar’s hip, keeping him in.

“No, please,” Lando begs, fucking himself back on Oscar’s cock. “Want you to—” He breaks off on a moan, eyes fluttering. But he opens them again, meets Oscar’s in the mirror. “Want you to fill me up,” he whimpers. “Want you to make me yours.”

Oscar’s panting against Lando’s shoulder, fucking him hard, deep, fast, lost in Lando’s eyes.

“Come in me,” Lando whispers. “Want you to give me a baby.”

Oscar comes with a shocked moan, whining and whimpering, spilling inside Lando, palm flat against Lando’s stomach, imagining Lando getting swollen and big with their baby.

“God,” Oscar moans, pressing in deeper, trying to make sure it takes. “God, Lando, fuck—”

“Yeah,” Lando whines, grinding back. “Yeah, Osc, please.”

Oscar gives Lando exactly what he wants. What they both want

After, Lando pulls them to the bed, drags Oscar’s hand to his arse and guides two of Oscar’s fingers to where he’s fucked open and puffy, wet with Oscar’s come.

“Want to keep you in,” Lando whispers, urging Oscar’s fingers inside.

“Fuck,” Oscar gasps and slips his fingers in, swallowing Lando’s whimper with a kiss.

When Oscar pulls back, he asks, “How’d you know?”

“What? That you wanted to knock me up?” Lando asks, smiling lazily.

Oscar huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”

Lando’s grin widens, and he tips his forehead against Oscar’s. “You’re easier to read than you think.”

Oscar’s chest aches, everything going soft. “Nah,” Oscar whispers. “Think you just know me too well.”

Lando tucks himself tighter against Oscar, letting out a pleased little hum.

[witchywithwhiskey]

first christmas with trucker jake jensen

pairing: trucker!jake jensen x former sex worker!female reader

summary: jake makes your first christmas together special by surprising you with some christmas decorations and asking for your help decorating his tree, which brings the two of you closer in new ways.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, painful childhood memories, some angst/crying, fluff, jake jensen is a christmas menace

word count: 1.7k

a/n: based on this ask from @veltana: Are trucker Ari's and trucker Jake's readers gonna decorate the rigs for the holidays? i wasn't going to write a lot, but, uh, well i did so i hope y'all enjoy some christmas fluff/smut/angst with trucker Jake!! i really enjoyed digging into his and reader's backstories!

dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist

Ok so here’s the thing: trucker Jake Jensen LOVES Christmas. (Honestly, you’d be hard-pressed to convince me this isn’t true to canon Jake Jensen—he just seems like the kind of guy who’d love Christmas!) 

I imagine Jake didn’t have the best childhood. Maybe he had some really magical Christmases when he was very little, but then his parents became absent or they died when he was still pretty young, or a mixture of the two. His parents not being around is why he’s so close to his sister and niece, and why family is important to him.

But I digress. The point is, I think Jake had a lot of lackluster Christmases, and he realized that if he wanted Christmas cheer in his life, he was going to have to be the one to make it. And boy does he.

Now, I should also mention that I think Jake’s reader had a similar childhood experience. You grew up with cold, sparse Christmases—maybe your parent/parents would get a tree but it was fake and pre-lit and they’d only decorate it with generic decorations. 

All the homemade ornaments you brought home from school might’ve been hung up on the tree that year, but your parents would toss them when putting everything away and you’d have to dig them out of the trash. Eventually, you stopped giving them to your parents and kept them in a shoebox under your bed. You’ve kept the box, but never hung them up.

Unlike Jake, you stuck with what was comfortable because it was what you’d always known, so you weren’t very big on decorating for Christmas. Most years, you wouldn’t even get a tree. 

You’d always figure you’d get one when you got a day off from Diesel Dolls, but then you’d spend your days off relaxing and not wanting to go through the process of getting a tree, lugging it back to your apartment alone, and then decorating it. 

All this is to say, you’re not the type to even think about asking Jake if you can decorate the inside of his rig for the holidays. But that’s ok, because he’s way ahead of you.

Early in November—so early, you’re not even thinking about Christmas yet—Jake gets a motel room for the night. This isn’t out of the ordinary, he likes to get a room when the both of you are craving a shower and some sex in a real bed.

That night, Jake fucks you to sleep. Literally. He makes you come so much, you pass out and are snoring softly before he can even grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. 

Jake watches you sleep for a little while (it’s cute, not creepy, I swear), but when he tries to doze off himself, he can’t. He’s heard the stories about your austere childhood Christmases and he’s determined to bring you some Christmas magic.

So while you sleep, he pulls out the boxes and boxes and boxes of Christmas decorations he keeps in the storage of his rig. He spends all night stringing lights and hanging garlands and other decorations until the front seats and the bunk in the back are so stuffed, there’s barely room to sit, let alone move around.

It’s all worth it for the expression on your face when you see what he’s done, though. The way your eyes light up with surprise and delight and even a touch of wonder. It’s more Christmas than you’ve ever seen before crammed into the small space of his rig and you… love it. 

You love it more than you ever thought possible and you’re speechless as you climb up into the rig and flop into the driver’s seat, your eyes greedily looking around at all the decorations while your mouth hangs open in surprise. 

There’s even a little plastic Christmas tree fixed to the dashboard, tiny little lights twinkling. It’s all so perfect, so wonderful, that you don’t know what to say.

“Do you… like it?” Jake asks tentatively, his hands on either side of the open door, one foot on the step up into the rig, while he watches you taking it all in. He thought he’d read you right, that you’d enjoy some Christmas cheer, but he’s beginning to worry he’d been wrong.

Unable to find the words for how you feel, you turn back to Jake with tears in your eyes and you practically tackle him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you kiss him hard. He stumbles back a step into the parking lot of the motel, his arms bracing you against his chest while he kisses you back.

Jake turns to walk you backward into the motel room, but you make a sound of protest. Kissing his stupidly handsome face—including the goatee you love so much—and knocking his glasses a little askew, you drag him back into the rig, impatiently waiting while he closes and locks the door behind you. Then you haul him into the bunk in the back until he covers your body with his own.

Quickly, the two of you tear your clothes off, and when Jake slides inside you, filling you up perfectly the way that only he can, you feel like your heart grows two sizes. You’re so happy, tears slip from your eyes and slide down your temples into your hair while Jake coos at you and kisses the tears from your skin. 

“Don’t cry, kitten, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmurs in your ear, his hips working you open with his cock until you’re moaning more than you’re crying. You can’t even find the words to tell him they’re happy tears, you just cling to him and hold him tight in your arms.

Jake fucks you slow and sweet in his rig while you’re surrounded by a ridiculous amount of Christmas decorations—so much that when Jake hikes your thigh up around his hip, you accidentally kick some loose. But Jake doesn’t care enough to stop, filling you over and over again in a steady rhythm that drives you wild, pleasure coiling in your core.

He makes you come while a fallen garland tangles around your entwined legs, the snowflakes he’s hung from the ceiling swaying with the force of his thrusting. And then he tumbles over the edge after you, filling you up with his come and holding you close as you catch your breath together.

You laugh at the mess the two of you have made of his decorations and he chuckles right along with you, telling you he’ll fix them before you get back on the road. You snuggle into him and thank him for the early Christmas present.

But you have no idea what else Jake has in store for you because, like I said, he LOVES Christmas.

I imagine Jake has a house somewhere deep in the Rocky Mountains, high enough that there’s guaranteed to be snow at Christmas. It’s so remote, in fact, that there wouldn’t be any service or cable if not for the robust satellite setup he has. 

Your first Christmas together, he takes you to his house and pulls the same trick he did with the truck rig, where he decorates the house to the max while you’re asleep. (It isn’t uncommon for Jake to go a couple days without sleeping. He used to be in the military and it fucked with his ability to maintain a normal routine, which is why he enjoys the freedom that comes with being a trucker.) 

The only thing Jake leaves undecorated is the tree. It’s a fresh pine he had shipped to his house, and set up in the massive living room, the tall tree taking up an entire corner by itself.

Jake makes you some coffee while you look at the decorations he’s put up and then you sit on the couch sipping it while he strings the lights on the tree. He’s focused and methodical while he works, and you can’t help but get a little turned on by the cute, determined expression on his face and the way his biceps bulge and flex.

But when he’s done, the heat that had been simmering in your core is extinguished because Jake pulls out a shoebox that looks far too familiar, and it brings up far too many painful memories. 

Jake sits down beside you, his head hanging a little like a guilty puppy while he tells you he pilfered it from your apartment the last time he was there. He catches your eye and you see the earnestness in his gaze when he asks you to tell him about all the ornaments.

When you hesitate—because you’re not sure whether to be mad at Jake for going through your things or to love him even more for remembering that you’d kep the ornaments—he pulls you into his lap and kisses your forehead.

“I want to know all of you, kitten,” he says gently, tipping your face toward his so he can look into your eyes. “Even the bad parts—especially the bad parts. I want to hear about all your bad Christmas memories so I can replace them with good ones.”

By the time he’s done talking, your eyes are misty with tears and you nod, leaning in for a kiss before you take a deep, steadying breath. It helps that Jake’s arms are big and strong, his chest firm as you lean into him. Then, you open the box.

Jake listens patiently while you pull out each ornament and tell him what you remember about it, the Christmas memories you associate with it. It’s a long, difficult process, but when you’re done, you feel inexplicably lighter. 

When you look to Jake, to see his reaction, you find him with red-rimmed eyes, like he cried while you told him about your childhood Christmases. But before you can ask him about it, he captures your lips in the softest, sweetest kiss you’ve ever felt. Once he pulls away, he helps you up from the couch and, together, you hang the ornaments on the tree.

Then you spend the rest of the morning hanging up all of Jake’s tree ornaments—of which there are many—and he tells you stories about his sister and his niece. By the time you’re done, you feel filled up with Christmas cheer and you drag Jake back down onto the couch.

There, under the lights of the Christmas tree and all the decorations overflowing his mountain home, you kiss your trucker prince charming and show him how happy you are to be spending the holiday with him.

dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist

[baronessblixen]

Asking For Miracles

Merry Christmas, @katebeckets! I'm your PoangPal Secret Santa, and as I am mostly a writer, you're getting a fic 😁 You said you were enraged that we didn't get to see Mulder and Scully reunite at the end of "Redux II" (same, btw). So I wrote a scene where Scully tells him that she's in remission. It's angsty - but of course, it has a happy end. I hope you like it!

(Here's the AO3 Link)

@poangsecretsanta @today-in-fic

“Mulder, I know it’s late, but I- I need to see you.”

The words Scully left on his answering machine still ring in his ears, even half an hour after he first heard them. By the time Mulder arrives at the hospital, his legs are like lead and feel as if he’s just finished a marathon. Every step he takes is pure agony; if only he could turn around and run. That, of course, is not an option. Not when Scully asked for him. 

Mulder enters the hospital lobby, the place as familiar as his own home by now. He nods at Jeff, the doorman, and he nods back at him. Maybe he recognizes Mulder, or he has compassion for every sad soul that passes by.

He stops in front of the elevator, his fingers fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket. An elderly woman standing next to him eyes him wearily when he presses the elevator button twice more. He’s grateful she’s not making conversation as they step inside. His thoughts are loud, screaming at him. They have been ever since Scully’s phone call - another one he missed. The sound of her suppressed tears is too familiar; it already haunts his nightmares.

It’s late. The hospital is deserted – save for the elderly woman, who’s clinging to her purse, staying with him on the elevator until they reach the oncology ward. They share a silent look, pain evident in their movements as they set out in opposite directions. 

A phone call late at night is never good news. Scully must have called him just after 9 p.m. He grabbed his jacket as soon as he heard it, not even caring if it – or he – smelled bad. Scully is all that matters. 

Yet, now that he’s here, he slows down. The closer he gets to her room, the smaller and heavier his steps become. As long as he’s out here, and as long as he hasn’t looked into her eyes, and heard what she has to say, he can pretend. He can pretend the disease isn’t taking her life, cutting it way too short.

He passes room after room, getting closer to the truth. For once, Mulder doesn’t want it. He wants the miracle, the fantasy. From somewhere he hears music. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. It’s an older song, melancholic. A woman singing about wishing she had a river she could skate away on. Mulder thinks it’s a Christmas song. Who plays Christmas music in the middle of the year? He considers telling Scully about it, hoping it will make her smile. 

It’s no surprise that he hates hospitals. He’s hated them long before Scully got sick, but not always. The first time he remembers being in one was when he was a toddler, just about three years old. On his first visit, he was apprehensive. He knew the concept of hospitals from books; big, white rooms with doctors looking like angels, sometimes healing, sometimes taking people to heaven. That’s how his grandmother Mulder had described it to him when he’d asked. 

The angels, his grandmother had explained, too, had taken good care of his mother and his sister. As a new big brother, he had to know these things. It was his time to be brave. Just like now, he thinks, as his shoes squeak against the linoleum. Back then, his much smaller feet had shuffled along, trying to keep up with his father, who was holding his hand in his large, steady grip. Before that day, Mulder can’t remember his father ever holding his hand.

The room Mulder remembers is filled with a sunny warmth, despite it being November. What are the chances of it having been a sunny day? But that’s how he remembers it. Just like he remembers the soft smile on his mother’s face and the way he had to stand on tiptoe to see Samantha and her squishy face. Seeing her cemented his fate; he was a big brother and he would look after her forever. Only that forever had been taken away from them. Much like last night when he lost her again. No matter what he does, he keeps losing.

The memory ends there. In the following years, hospital walls became tainted. There was blood and screaming. Samantha broke her collarbone and Mulder broke his arm. His grandmother died; the angels she’d believed in taking her away. The memories are strung together like a pearl necklace in his mind; one painful memory after another. An endless circle. Now, there is another memory to add.

He stops in front of Scully’s hospital room. All is quiet. The music has stopped. His heart, however, hasn’t. It’s thumping steadily, loudly. So loud in fact that he wonders if Scully can hear it through the closed door. He closes his eyes and knocks.

“Come in,” Scully’s muffled voice says and so, finally, he does. His eyes find hers the second he steps inside. Her face is puffy - puffier than he’s seen it in weeks. The hollowness for once hidden. How many tears has she cried without him here? She throws him a small, shaky smile. A laugh falls from her lips that sounds more like a hiccup.

“I came as quickly as I could,” Mulder says, flinching when he realizes that’s a lie. He may have driven to the hospital as fast as he could, but he took his time arriving. 

“I thought you should hear it first,” she says, sniffing. She grabs a tissue out of a half-empty box and blows her nose. “This is ridiculous,” she adds, avoiding his eyes. “I just- I called you first when I- and you… you were the first person I wanted to call when I found out.”

Blood rushes in his ears, his temples throb; this is the last moment before he knows. Once she says it - once the words are out there - they can’t be taken back. It will be real.

“They did more tests. I- the last PET scan showed no improvement and I-,” she trails off and Mulder’s knees buckle. No improvement. There’s no cure for this cancer, just like Scully said months ago when she asked him to come to the hospital for the first time. No cure, no improvement. There’s only one way this can end. He wants to cover his ears; it can’t be true if he doesn’t hear it, or see it. 

“I wasn’t ready to accept that,” she goes on, her voice steady. She glances at him as if waiting for him to say something. It’s not like him to remain quiet, but what is there to say? He wants to get on his knees and pray to a God he doesn’t believe in. “So I asked for more tests. When you’re dying, doctors will do whatever you ask of them.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that,” Mulder mumbles and Scully cracks a smile.

“We did another PET scan, among other things, and Mulder- I don’t know why is this so difficult to say.” Another hollow laugh from her and he can no longer keep his hurt in. It expels from his mouth as his lips begin to quiver. Scully’s eyes open wide.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, reaching out her hand and he’s too weak to deny her, to deny himself. Her skin is as soft as ever, her touch as assuring as it’s always been. He’s crying openly now, weeping. The tears are blurring his vision, but he sees what’s important: her in the hospital bed, smiling up at him.

“You shouldn’t have to comfort me,” he says with a sob, trying to compose himself. He thinks of his father, of the way he watched him dismissively the night his grandmother died. When Mulder, at ten years old, had wiped his tears away with the sleeve of this sweater, he had asked his father why he wasn’t crying. Wasn’t he sad? His father hadn’t replied and only stared at him before he’d wandered off.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Mulder,” she says, tugging at his hand. “Sit down.” When he doesn’t, she tugs more strongly. “Sit. Please.” He does, his hands folded in his lap as if waiting to start a prayer.

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” she says softly.

“You’re a mind reader now?”

“I don’t have to be. I should have started with the most important news,” she says, waiting. He knows she wants him to look at her. He braces himself before he lifts his eyes to hers. Hers are brimming with tears, just like his own.

“My cancer has gone into remission.”

Mulder stares at her, not understanding. These are the words he wants to hear. Remission. Cured. Yet, he can’t believe them.

“You believe everything but not this?” she teases, her voice shaky.

“You’re- and the cancer? It’s- it’s.” He doesn’t know what to say. How do you describe a miracle? It just is.

“Like I’ve been trying to say, I couldn’t accept that there was no improvement. My mother… my mother and I prayed together and then I knew I couldn’t give up. I asked for another PET scan and more blood tests. Mulder, I don’t know what… something changed. Whatever it is, whether it’s the chip or, or-”

“You’re in remission,” he repeats, his brain finally catching up. She nods.

“I’m in remission. The PET scan shows great improvement. The tumor is shrinking.”

“I can’t- it’s shrinking? You’ll be fine?” He reaches for her other hand, needing to feel her. Again, she nods, smiling.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers. Mulder stares at her, watches her, and sees his whole future. Their future. Together. His lips quiver again, but this time from joy. Scully nods, understanding him without a single word spoken.

“Come here,” he says, desperate. He lets go of her hands and engulfs her in his arms. Their positions on the bed are awkward, but they make it work. His heart thumps against her chest, and he feels hers, too. He doesn’t care if it was the chip or a miracle. For once, he doesn’t care about uncovering a secret truth. He just wants to hold her in his arms and have her by his side for as long as she wants to be.

“Will you stay?” she asks into his neck. Her lips are warm and wet and her touch brings him back into the here and now.

“I’ll stay,” he says. He’ll stay as long as she will endure him in her hospital room.

“I need to call my family,” she whispers and he loosens his grip on her. Her face is as wet as his own feels and he wipes at her eyes with his thumb. Her blue eyes are almost translucent and he’s in fear of losing himself in them. Instead, he finds himself nodding along, reaching for the cell phone on her bedside table and handing it to her.

“Tell them right away,” Mulder says. “Say you have good news.” He smiles sheepishly. She doesn’t need to know about what he’s gone through in between her call and her breaking the news to him. Still, he’d like Mrs. Scully and Bill Jr. to know what they’re in for so they won’t have to worry anymore. There’s been too much heartbreak already. Scully nods at him, new tears falling from her eyes.

“It’s a Christmas miracle,” Mulder muses and Scully’s eyebrows knit together.

“It’s not Christmas,” she says with a chuckle and he takes her hand into his, entwining their fingers. She lets him. He marvels at their laced hands, remembering the song from earlier. He hopes the woman found a river to skate away on. He hopes she found her happiness somewhere along the way. Or maybe what she was looking for was right in front of her eyes the whole time. He knows what’s that like. 

Mulder lifts his head and grins at her, falling deeper in love with her, allowing himself the full force of his emotions for once. The skepticism in her expression lets him know that she’s about to call him crazy. Or she would if this weren’t the exact moment her mother picks up the phone.

“Mom?” she says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. Mulder squeezes her fingers to remind her he’s here with her. “I have something to tell you-…,” Scully goes on and looks at Mulder. There are so many things unspoken between them, and so many possibilities now for their future. 

“It’s good news.”

[ticklish-hanji]

These light touches

Warning: This is a tickle fic. If you don’t feel comfortable with this kind of fiction, I’d recommend you don’t read it

lee: jisung

ler: bangchan

It was a normal day. Chan and Jisung had a wired autocomplete interview in a few hours and they were getting ready. Doing their makeup, wearing clothes that fit the HOP aesthetic and then left for the studio.

Once they arrived they sat down and chatted a little with the staff. Jisung turns to his hyung and expresses an issue he has.

“Hyung” he said, “I’m a little nervous. Do you mind us practicing English a little?”. Bangchan felt like he’d just been hit by a wave full of cuteness. He pets his first kid’s head and says “Of course, Jisungie. What kind of question is that?”, he says as he tickled his chin. Han lifted his head once the ticklish sensation took over his skin and let out a smile. “You really are sensitive to light touches, aren’t you?”, Han’s cheeks now had a beautiful pink colour, and the best part? It wasn’t his makeup. He was indeed sensitive and too shy that his weakness was known to every of his members.

The interview started not long after that and they reached the point of the questions that go like “Which is Han’s/Bangchan’s…”

It was Bangchan’s turn to hold the template. He rips off the last sticker which was hiding the following question: “Which is Bangchan’s weakness?”.

“Oohhh,” said Chan, giggling nervously. He wasn’t too open about his weaknesses, just like every person. “I think this is something Han should reveal.”.

Han looks at him and starts giggling mischievously. He looks at the camera and says “When we don’t pay attention to him. He sits in a corner alone and pouts.”

Although he didn’t say anything false and although Chan was proud of his English, that didn’t mean that the oldest felt exposed.

Moving on, it was Jisung’s turn. The first question was the same as Chan’s last. Han holding the template he rips off the sticker and reads, “Which is Han’s weakness?”, now he was a nervous blushing mess. He even felt a little helpless. He knew however that his hyung wouldn’t say anything that’d be too private. “Would you like to answer, hyung?”, he said, his (nervous) smile not leaving his face.

“Of course! We were actually talking about this before the interview started.”. Han was confused, he was trying to remember what they’d said, until he realised what it was.

“So, Han’s weakness is light touches. He can’t stand them, they tickle him sooo much.”, said, tickling lightly his neck, resulting Jisung letting out a small squeal and grabbing his hyung’s hand “DO NOT” he said, in his British-like accent. Chan laughed it off and they continued the interview.

Once it finished, they thanked everyone and got in the car to go back. Sitting next to each other, chatting, laughing etc., Chan suddenly pokes Jisung’s sides.

“AH! No no no, don’t start.”, Jisung said, smiling nervously. Everyone knows his ticklish he is, Chan knows that also. Better than anyone else. “Why not Jisungie? Are you ticklish?”, he says playfully. Han looks at him confused at his question. Did they live in a different dorm? Were they in different groups? Didn’t he an hour or so ago say himself that Jisung was indeed ticklish?

“Chan-hyung, are you okay? Of course I am, just like you”, he stated, trying to remind his hyung that even if he got him now, Han would get him back later.

“I know I’m ticklish, Han. Too much if you ask, but that doesn’t make you less ticklish, you know. I might be reaaally ticklish, but, man, you’re ticklish as HELL.”. He wasn’t wrong, he also knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make Han feel vulnerable so the tickles he’d receive later on would have a stronger effect.

Jisung was now blushing, he knew everything Chan had just said was true, whether he liked it or not. “Stop it. I know. You are not any better though.”, he said, trying to get himself out of the trap he felt he was in.

“Actually I am. I know, I’m ticklish everywhere, but not at the same level as you. Where do you even want me to start? You neck? Your armpits? Your ribs? Your sides? Or your feet? And it goes without being said that you already feel ticklish at these spots, just by me mentioning them.” It was true.

“Hyung…”, he could see it in Chan’s eyes, he was about to get tickled and there was nothing he could do about it. He was too tired after all, he wouldn’t be able to fight it for long. After a certain point, he’d just have to bare it and let it happen.

Chan made an attempt to tickle Han’s belly. Jisung grabbed them both before he could touch him “Don’t” he said. He was smiling however and, even if he wanted to seem scary, he wasn’t able to. Chan made it out of Han’s grip and tickled him anyways. Han just felt his hyung’s fingers all over his stomach, being already sensitive, and fought with his life to protect the spot that was now being tickled.

“AHAHAHAHA DOHOHONT!”. Chan was in awe watching his baby being tickled, especially when he knew how ticklish he was. When he noticed that Jisung was too busy protecting his tummy, he moved on to his armpits, wiggling his fingers in them. That’s when Jisung absolutely lost it and all his powers left him. He was now in his hyung’s mercy. He wasn’t able to fight back, so he just let him do it. He knew after all that sooner or later everything would end.

“HYUHUHUNG IT TIHICKLEHES HAHAHAHAHA”, he said, hugging himself. “I know Hannie, I know.”, Chan said. He stops. Han looks relieved and takes a deep breath. He thinks that it’s over now, it must’ve been a century. At least that’s what it felt like.

“Are you dohone?”, he asked full of hope. Chan laughed like the question he’d just heard was the stupidest thing ever. “Of course not, my little quokka. You think you’d get away with 30 second of tickling? That was just the beginning.”. Now Han lost every hope.

Chan grabs Jisung’s right leg and puts it on his lap. Han panics. Chan takes off Han’s shoe. He panics even more, you can see the pure terror in his eyes.

Chan begins by tickling lightly under Han’s knee, making him jump and let out a squeak “No no no no no, don’t you dare, don’t touch me there. And leave my foot alone. I’m too tired to fight back.”

“Even better!” Chan locks Jisung’s ankle between his thighs and lightly tickles his soles. That alone was enough for Han to laugh so hard that tears started rolling down his cheeks.

“HYUHUHUHUNG PLEAHAHASEHE LEHET GOHOHOHO” he said, turning around, jumping up and down helplessly. It was too much for him. “Is my Jisungie really that ticklish?”

“IHIHIT’S TOO MUHUHUCH! PLEAHAHASE STOHOHOP IHIHIT! MAHAHAKE IT STOHOP!”. The fact that his foot was trapped made it 100 times worse.

“Be careful kids, and please a little bit quiet. I’m driving.”, said the driver, who was trying to concentrate. Chan stopped. Jisung started breathing heavily.

“How about I tickle you and you try to keep quiet? Let’s do it like a challenge. Remember like when you were a “statue” and Seungmin was touching you along with Felix and how that tickled you? You kept quiet, you only said “it tickles.” Chan suggested.

“How about you don’t tickle me at all?”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m ticklish, hyung. I really can’t stand it, especially now that I’m tired. It tickles way too much and I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”, he said, playing serious so Chan would really stop.

“You really are ticklish, aren’t you?” Chan said, sweetly smiling at his younger member.

“Yes, hyung, I am. I’m really ticklish and when you trapped my foot I felt the ticklishness taking all over me. Really, I can’t stand it. What else do you want me to say? Okay, listen here. Chan-hyung, I’m extremely ticklish and even the slightest touch can tickle me sooo much to the point I might accidentally kick or hit someone. That day with the “statue” thing, I was so ticklish i couldn’t even stay still, and Seungmin didn’t even want to actually tickle me. I just was ticklish. Jeongin is also ticklish, more that anyone I know. You are ticklish, even at the thought of it. Every member is ticklish, and so am I. I’m a human being and a sensitive one. Is that what you wanted me to admit?”

“Yes, it was. Without the ‘you’re ticklish too’ part, of course.”, he said.

“You are though”

“I know I am. Anyways, thank you for telling me. I hope you know that doesn’t mean I’ll stop tickling you, right?”

“I’m sure about that, hyung, but I don’t mind it. As long as it’s someone from the group and it’s not too much, I’m somewhat fine with it.”

The rest of the drive was nothing special. They chatted and joked around like before Han’s torture. Only they poked a little bit each other every 5 or 10 minutes.

[1byhwng]

( drabble ) “so sweet” -  최연준 (pt.1)

pairings - classmate!yeonjun x college!fem reader

warnings - MDNI (pt.2 will contain smut)

a/n — I was gonna post this yesterday but it wasn’t finished so here’s your late present 😭. sorry for it being messy i was trying to get it done.

it was no secret that yeonjun liked you, almost everyone in school knew. The only person that didn’t know was you.

You would receive candy’s and drinks in your locker along with a note almost everyday, and every note ended with ‘ — C.YJ’ .

Considering he was also one of the most outgoing people in the school, you already ruled him out to be the secret admirer. There were plenty of people with those initials.

The night before christmas yeonjun took the time to write a decorated letter for you.

”Hi, y/n. I know we haven’t really talked much or really at all but i think you’re very pretty —“ he stops scratching out the writing on the paper before tossing it aside somewhere “that’s not it—“ he sighs before grabbing another paper and starting again.

“Hi, y/n. I’ve liked you for a while. i like everything about you. you’re really kind and sweet it’s crazy more guys don’t find you attractive. I didn’t want to say my feelings because i was scared. i can’t say them in front of you or i’ll probably become a stuttering mess. so this is my way of saying i like you. y/n please like me back.” biting his lip he finally decides to place it into the envelope, hoping you would accept it.

——————

The next day, you wake up from the sound of your alarm blasting into your ear. Sitting up, you yawn before getting out of bed and heading downstairs since you didn’t have to get ready for your class until 11:00 which was 4 hours away.

You see your mom standing at the counter cutting up something, turning when she here’s your footsteps. As soon as she sees you her face lights up and she practically runs over to you “so?” she grins brightly at you. “so..what?” you ask, making your way to the fridge with you mom following behind. “oh c’mon, “ she groans “did you tell him yet?” before you could answer she cuts you off “ and don’t you even ‘tell who?’ me, did you tell yeonjun that you like him yet?” she probed.

“mom—i didn’t tell him because—I..he wouldn’t like me back.” you stammer, trying to reason with her only to receive a groan from her.

“i bet he likes you back.” she shrugs going back to cooking. “i’m not in high school anymore mom.” you counter “he has like a million girls on him every day so why would he choose me.”

Your mom sighs, turning to look at you “just ask him y/n,” she smiles “the worst that could happen is he says no—but i doubt that will happen.” she reassures you.

You groan in defeat, “fine.” you get up before heading up to your room to get ready.

——————

As you’re doing your work, you see yeonjun walk into class. Late. As usual but that wasn’t on your mind. Today was the day you tell him that you like him. Today.

You feel butterflies fill your stomach as you think of all the outcomes that could possibly happen. What if he laughs at you and mock your confession in front of everyone. what if he already has a girlfriend. what if he says yes only to use you and leave. what if—

“hey y/n? can i sit here?” you here a voice above you. You look up and see yeonjun looking down at you. god was he tall. “y-yeah of course, no problem ?” you stutter moving your bag to the floor.

why did you feel like a high schooler with her first crush. Technically he is you first crush.

Once he’s seated, you can feel him looking at you as you work—try to work. “can i tell you something?” he speaks up holding a letter in his hand. You look over to him confused, not really sure what he would say.

“i’ve liked you for a while, y/n. So, i wanted to give you this as my christmas present.” he smiles, handing you the letter. After you read it you look at him shocked “yeonjun…I can’t believe t-“

“miss l/n. save your conversation until after the lecture.” your teacher interrupts, causing some to turn and look at the two of you. You mouth ‘i like you too’ to him before paying more attention to the school work but the fact that he liked you wouldn’t leave your head. maybe this was the best day of your life.

[mrhyde-mrseek]

Me to my deities: I’m walking down to the corner store, do you guys want anything?

Dionysus: Hot chips.

Me: You like spicy chips?

Dionysus: Yes.

Me: Uh… I’ll see what’s there and get back to you on that.

*At the corner store*

Me: *sees spicy barbecue chips on a rack of snacks*

Dionysus: Yes! Those!

Me: I mean, I was planning on getting something that I can also eat so it wouldn’t look weird to the rest of my family if I left a whole unopened bag of chips on your altar, and I don’t really like barbecue chips…

*I then spotted some crunchy Cheetos*

Me: How about those? As a compromise?

Dionysus: That works :)

(I have now eaten half the bag and left the other half for Dionysus near their altar since there’s no space on the actual altar for it, they seem happy now)

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[tojbnuy]

mini part 4 for gojo day 🧁 next part will probably be the finale. thank you for showing best friend toru so much love even tho he is fairly toxic. art by @ _3aem on twt!! part one part two part three

warnings: a very vague birthday bj, some feelings? MDNI

birthdayboybestfriend!satoru who waits with his phone in his hand ignoring all his other messages and skipping to your contact because he knows you’ll say it at bang on midnight. he is then smiling so hard at his phone suguru actually gets worried.

bestfriend!satoru who obviously has party of the century going on at his place. being the star boy he is, he is soaking up the attention. however he has been dyingggg for your arrival, he makes sure to tell every girl that approaches him that he is booked and busy for today.

bestfriend!satoru who tackles you into a massive hug when he sees you and picks you up just to make sure everyone else sees this. you’re wearing white (his favourite) and he knows for a fact you did that on purpose.

bestfriend!satoru who disregards everyone else’s presents for the time being so he can give you and your presents his full attention. unfortunately he is nosy and had scrolled through your google tab last week so he already knew what two of them were going to be.

bestfriend!satoru who (staying true to character) asks you for a birthday kiss. ‘can i have my last present now baby?’ and then he’s pressed up against you and his familiar taste is all you can take in. ‘toru people can see us’ ‘let them see baby’

bestfriend!satoru who wraps your ponytail around his fist whilst you’re talking. sometimes even pulling you back a bit so he can take a long inhale at your neck.

bestfriend!satoru who is actually very annoyed that he got a hot tub because now there were multiple gawking at you. suguru even wolf whistles at you at one point just to rile him up and he got a mouthful of tub water because of it.

bestfriend!satoru who catches you whispering to suguru and finds he definitely does not like the look of that. you had a worried expression which he made a mental note of to ask suguru about later.

bestfriend!satoru who casually gropes at your chest. (you allow him of course) (however you put an end to it when his fingers start to creep into the material of the lace covering your breasts.) (there were simply too many people present but satoru was content with just holding your tit) (stressball >__<)

bestfriend!satoru who makes his closest friends go round the tub and say what they like about him most. suguru is the only one who gives him a slightly heartfelt message, sukuna calls him ugly, toji calls him an airhead, nanami says he is ‘special’ (whatever that means?), shoko says he makes her want to smoke. and then it’s your turn and gojo actually tears up at your beautiful words. your voice and your eyes staring only ever at him saying that he is your person and you really do think he the strongest individual you know. (then he grabs your face and kisses you and the crowd boos until he stops)

bestfriend!satoru who is dead set on you staying with him for the night. ‘you’re not gonna cuddle your best friend on his birthday?’ and how could you everrrr say no to that.

bestfriend!satoru who has his head on your chest, you hands running through his hair and scratching at your scalp. his thighs are covering yours and he lazily kisses at your collarbone. the tension in the room is thick. you can both feel it. it was simply a game of who would move first. satoru knew you wouldn’t, always the more timid and shy one of the two so he took it upon himself to drag his fingers across the waistband of your shorts. ‘wait toru we can’t i’m, i’m your friend?’ god you were too sweet for this earth. ‘it’s okay baby. we don’t have to, but no one’s gonna know. just us.’ and he litters even more feather light kisses to the spot right below your ear until you were letting out soft little sighs. ‘then. then i want to do it, yk since it’s your birthday.’ he knew you weren’t the most conventional best friends but this, this was further than anything you’d ever done before. and he was on cloud nine.

bestfriend!satoru who was now realizing that he had never experienced true joy before this moment. before he had felt your velvet soft lips wrapped around his tip. your tongue licking at his crown so softly, so sweetly. he’s always been a moaner but now he had no shame in the sounds that were leaving him. ‘that’s it baby, just like that. that’s my girl’.

bestfriend!satoru who was a head pusher. he let you set the pace in the beginning but he was growing desperate, something he hadn’t experienced before. your little mewls as he holds you in place right at the base of his dick. your nose nestled against the faint hairs there, and your tears dropping directly into his skin. he had given you the chance to move but being the amazing best friend that you were you swallowed everything he gave you, even opened wide and let him take a look, that to make sure. ‘fuck baby that was the best gift ever’

bestfriend!satoru who snores like a truck directly into your ears and grinds his hips into your thighs whilst he sleeps.

taglist : @haruhatake @moncher-ire @startwithrecords @ranatherealestsigma @chjinua @sukuxna0 @suechii @whozeurdaddy @purp1eha1o @greensunflowerjuna @jjkysnk @tibibibi123 @missthatgirl @macchiatoast @adanfore @namjooningera @jaeminsmilk @tojicvmslut @hachichann

[billymayslesbian]

Before Lionblaze could argue, another shape burst through the billowing smoke to stand beside Squirrelflight. His eyes glared; his gray fur was matted together and stuck with bits of burnt leaf and twig. Confused by the smoke and flames, Hollyleaf almost thought she was seeing one of her warrior ancestors, until she recognized Ashfur.

Squirrelflight dropped the branch. “Help me push it into the fire!” she yowled.

Grabbing the branch in strong jaws, Ashfur thrust it past the wall of flame and into the ever-narrowing patch of ground where Hollyleaf and her brothers huddled. But Hollyleaf didn’t feel any sense of relief. There was a look in Ashfur’s eyes that she didn’t understand: the look of a cat who had just spotted an unexpected juicy bit of prey.

The branch made a bridge through the flames, but Ashfur stood at the other end of it, blocking the way to safety. Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his paws; Hollyleaf took a step toward the branch, then paused. She felt a cold weight in herbelly when she looked into Ashfur’s glittering blue eyes.

“Ashfur, get out of the way.” Squirrelflight’s voice was puzzled. “Let them get out!”

“Brambleclaw isn’t here to look after them now,” Ashfur sneered.

Hollyleaf felt her fur beginning to rise. What did Ashfur mean?

Lionblaze’s golden pelt was bristling, too. “What have you done with my father?” he howled through the flame.

Ashfur looked at him pityingly; his eyes were twin points of fire amid the burning forest. “Why would I waste my time with Brambleclaw?”

The main branch was too solid to catch fire easily, but the leaves on it had shriveled and the twigs were beginning to smoke. Hollyleaf realized that they didn’t have much time before their bridge to safety would be ablaze.

Squirrelflight staggered up to Ashfur. Hollyleaf had never seen her mother so angry. Her fur bristled with fury; she looked like a warrior of TigerClan. Yet it was obvious that the climb to the top of the cliff, followed by her struggle with the branch, had weakened her, and she was exhausted.

“Your quarrel with Brambleclaw has to stop,” she hissed. “Too many moons have passed. You have to accept that I’m Brambleclaw’s mate, not yours. You can’t keep trying to punish Brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be.”

Ashfur’s ears flicked up in surprise. “I have no quarrel with Brambleclaw.”

Hollyleaf exchanged a shocked glance with Lionblaze. “That’s not how it looks to me,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t care less about Brambleclaw,” Ashfur continued. “It’s not his fault he fell for a faithless she-cat.”

Faithless? A growl began to build in Hollyleaf ’s throat, but then she stopped and watched the cats on the other side of the blazing branches. Something ominous was taking place in front of her, and even with flame roaring around them she felt a sudden chill. She shrank closer to Lionblaze and Jayfeather, whose head was up, his sightless eyes intent, as if he could see the confrontation between his mother and Ashfur.

“I know you think I’ve never forgiven Brambleclaw for stealing you from me, but you’re wrong, and so is every cat that thinks so. My quarrel is with you, Squirrelflight.” Ashfur’s voice shook with rage. “It always has been.”

Horrified, Hollyleaf took a step back and felt her hind paws begin to slip on the edge of the cliff. Her head spun as lightning stabbed out and thunder drowned all other sounds, even the roaring fire. For a heartbeat she dangled over empty air, and she let out a strangled yowl.

Then she felt firm teeth meet in her scruff; blinking against the smoke, she realized that Lionblaze was hauling her back to safety. But there was no safety: only the hungry flames, and Ashfur blocking the end of the branch with fury in his eyes. Fiery sparks floated down on all three young cats, scorching their fur, and flames licked the underside of the branch; fear flooded afresh through Hollyleaf when she saw that it was already beginning to smolder.

Ashfur has to let us get out! But Hollyleaf couldn’t find any words to plead with him. What was happening here didn’t have anything to do with them, even if they died because of it.

“All this was moons ago.” Squirrelflight sounded puzzled. “Ashfur, I had no idea you were still upset.”

“Upset?” Ashfur echoed. “I’m not upset. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood. . . .”

His eyes clouded and his voice took on a wild, distant tone, as if he could see the blood spilling out of him now, sizzling on the burning ground. Terror burst through Hollyleaf and she pressed closer to her brothers. This cat was more dangerous than the storm or the fire, or the fall lurking perilously close to her hind paws.

Desperately she tried to step onto the end of the branch. At once Ashfur rounded on her, fully conscious again, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stay there!” Turning to face Squirrelflight but keeping one paw on the branch, he hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t know how much you hurt me. You are the blind one, not Jayfeather. Who do you think sent Firestar the message to go down to the lake, where the fox trap was? I wanted him to die, to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain.”

Hollyleaf ’s shocked gaze met Lionblaze’s. “He tried to kill Firestar?” she gasped. “He’s mad!”

Determination glittered in Lionblaze’s eyes, and he bunched his muscles for a giant leap. “I’m going to fight him.”

“No!” Hollyleaf fastened her teeth in his shoulder fur. “You can’t!” Her words were muffled now. “He’ll just push you into the fire.”

“Brambleclaw saved Firestar then,” Ashfur went on to Squirrelflight. “But he’s not here now. He’s not here—but your kits are.”

Squirrelflight’s eyes blazed. For a heartbeat Hollyleaf thought she was going to pounce on the gray warrior, but she knew that exhausted and in pain, her mother would have no chance. Squirrelflight seemed to realize it, too. She drew herself up, head high; she was trembling, but her voice was clear and brave.

“Enough, Ashfur. Your quarrel is with me. These young cats have done nothing to hurt you. Do what you like with me, but let them out of the fire.”

“You don’t understand.” Ashfur looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time; his voice was puzzled and petulant. “This is the only way to make you feel the same pain that you caused me. You tore my heart out when you chose Brambleclaw over me. Anything I did to you would never hurt as much. But your kits . . .” He looked through the flames at Hollyleaf and her brothers, his eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “If you watch them die, then you’ll know the pain I felt.”

The flames crackled threateningly closer; Hollyleaf felt as if the heat was about to sear her pelt into ashes. She edged backward, only to feel the edge of the hollow give way under her hind paws. The three of them were pressed tightly together, so close that if one of them lost their balance, all three would be dragged off the cliff. Hollyleaf couldn’t control the trembling that shook her whole body as her glance flickered between the cliff and the fire.

Jayfeather was crouched close to the ground, looking tinier than ever with his pelt slicked flat by the rain. Lionblaze’s claws were unsheathed, glinting as the lightning flashed out again, but the tension in his haunches didn’t come from preparing to leap at Ashfur; it came from the effort of keeping himself on the top of the cliff.

Squirrelflight raised her head, her gaze locked on Ashfur’s crazed eyes. “Kill them, then,” she meowed. “You won’t hurt me that way.”

Ashfur opened his jaws to reply, but said nothing. Hollyleaf and her brothers stared at their mother. What was Squirrelflight saying?

Squirrelflight took a step away from them, and glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Her green eyes were fiercer than Hollyleaf had ever seen them, with an expression she couldn’t read.

“If you really want to hurt me, you’ll have to find a better way than that,” Squirrelflight snarled. “They are not my kits.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Biology

“Uncle”!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 5.4k

Summary: Joel hurt his back at work, so you've been helping him around the house until he heals.

Content/Warnings: able-bodied, female sex anatomy, and inherently fem!reader. No description of reader, everything is neutral (ex. “your bottoms,” “the curve of you” — nothing is specific in the way “you” are described). Age gap (reader early 20s, Joel in 50s). EXPLICIT MATERIAL PRESENT. HEED THE WARNINGS. WEIRD boundaries are crossed…you're not blood-related to Joel, but you were raised like you were. You call him “uncle.” Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, etc.). Pussy pronouns (she). Innocent touches until it isn't. Sexual tension galore. Slight dub-con. Icky Joel. Icky reader. Pussy grinding. Dirty talk. Slight degradation (“bitch” is used only once). Multiple orgasms. P in V unprotected. Reader is on top. Lots of teasing about the nature of yours and Joel’s relationship. If there’s anything that should be up here but I missed or I made any improper tags, please let me know!

A/N: Hi, my loves! This is slightly different than what you’re used to coming from me… All I can say is, you’ve read the warnings! Don’t bite if it is not your flavor! But for those who do like, I really hope you enjoy! And to my love @strang3lov3, thank you for prompting this and encouraging this side of my brain to finally stop hiding in the shadows. And thank you for your eyes on this and the mood board as well. I love you.🩶

masterlist | notifs blog

“Hey, hon, when you headin’ over to uncle Joel’s?”

You glance at the timer on the oven. “In about ten minutes after these cookies cool. Need something from me?”

“Can ya grab my toolbox before ya leave? Forgot it there the other day,” he replies. “Figured you could get it since you’re already goin’ there today.”

“Sure thing. It’s not the heavy one, is it? Because I don’t know if that old man’s back is ready for a heavy lift like that yet.” The timer on the oven beeps. You slide on your oven mitts to pull the tray out. “Made two batches by the way. How many you want? I’m taking some to Uncle’s, too.” 

About a week ago, Joel had a contracting accident. Some newbie wasn’t watching the older man’s back as Joel climbed up a wobbly ladder, and the next moment, Joel’s footing slipped. He landed right on his lower back, a piece of wood perched on the ground, sitting at just the right spot on the floor to render him immobile. Tommy, Joel’s younger brother, and your father, his best friend since before you were born, are the only two Joel trusts to get the job done perfectly, so Joel put them two in charge until he heals. 

Bed rest, the doctor had ordered Joel, for at least three weeks. It’s been one so far, but with you offering to be his nurse — one that forces him to stay in bed unless he needs to eat or use the restroom — he thinks he just might be back to work by next week. If you’ll let him, that is. 

“No, it’s the small one, hon, you got it,” your father reassures you. He lovingly slaps his growing belly as the trays hit the kitchen counter. “Y’know, darlin’, ever since you moved back, I’ve been gainin’ some weight. Can’t imagine what you’re doin’ t’ Joel over there.”

Your lip pulls up in a smirk. “Joel is in good hands, y’know. And technically, I don’t have to leave you any,” you say with a challenging brow, pulling the cookie trays out of his reach. 

“No, no, I’m not sayin’ that,” your father’s eyebrows raise in worry. His daily cookie is very important to him. “You can leave me like… five… or six.” 

“I’m just gonna leave you a whole batch. The six are gonna be gone before I even leave the house,” you tell your father as his hand subconsciously reaches for the cookie tray. 

He scoffs, “Ya have no faith in me.”

“So what’s in your hand already?”

“Whatever,” he mumbles, walking away with a mouthful of warm cookie dough and melted milk chocolate chips. 

“Uh huh,” you yell back. “Gonna be leaving in just a sec. I’ll see you later.”

It takes less than ten minutes to get to your uncle’s house. You unlock the door using the spare key he gave you as a teenager, and immediately, nurse mode is activated. 

“Uncle Joel!” You yell, exasperated. He turns around from his place in the kitchen, painfully slow. He’s going to make his back worse. “What do you think you’re doing?” You place the fresh cookies on his dining table along with your keys. You cross your arms angrily for good measure. 

“My coffee’s cold. I was warmin’ it up,” he huffs, annoyed.

“Bed, please.” Your hands find his waist, and you guide him back to his room. “You know I’m here around this time. You didn’t wanna call me first to see where I was?”

You ease him in a sitting position at the edge of his bed. He grunts as his ass meets the mattress. He grumbles his response. “Need to start gettin’ back to everythin’ independently, y’know that, don’tcha?”

“Is your memory going with your back, too, unc?” 

“‘Scuse me?” He looks at you incredulously. 

“Three weeks were the doctor’s orders. Not one,” you tell him, putting your foot down. 

He lays himself down with another wince at the motion, no acknowledgement to your words. God, he’s so stubborn. 

“I’ll go make you a fresh cup,” you tell him, feeling sympathetic for the man. His work is his life, and it’s not going to get any easier with age. 

Making your way back to his kitchen, you wash out the coffee pitcher, replace the grounds and the filter, and do some light cleaning as you wait for the bitter, brown liquid to brew. 

It’s only been five minutes since you returned to the kitchen, and the painful moans and groans from his bedroom have only gotten louder. You search around the place and find the heat pack you bought a few days ago and pop it in the microwave. You grab some pain meds, fill up a glass of water, and just in time, the microwave sings to you, telling you your contents are ready. 

Ignoring the coffee for a moment, you make your way back to Joel’s bedroom. His eyes are closed, but his entire body is tensed up in pain. Poor guy. You knock at his door to catch his attention before entering. “Unc?”

One eye peels open. “Yes, nurse?”

“Funny.” A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat. “Come take these.”

He makes no move to get up. 

You set the painkillers and the water on his bedside table, the heat pack wedged underneath your armpit. You start to reach for Joel to help him up, but he stops you. “I got it,” he grunts. You let him have this win. 

You hand him the glass of water first, then the pills. He swallows the painkillers in one big gulp, swallowing down the rest of the water in another. He eyes the heat pack in your arm. 

“Do you want-”

“Yes,” he says immediately, reaching for the soft warmth. 

“Lay down first, I’ll put it underneath you.”

Without another word, he positions himself. His body jerks when your soft hand slips underneath his back, pushing him to lift a little while you slide the heat underneath. “This okay?”

“Mhm,” he forces out, eyes clamped shut. It’s not okay, you think. 

“How would you feel on your stomach?” you suggest. 

“Dunno. Never tried.”

“Well, then.” You set the heat pack down, and it’s your turn to crawl, uninvited, into his bed. You walk on your knees towards the opposite, unoccupied side, adjusting the pillows in a way you think might be the most comfortable. This isn’t your first rodeo dealing with an old man’s back; you’ve got your dad. This is, however, your first rodeo dealing with an old man more stubborn than a screaming goat not getting his way. “Come on.”

“No.” 

“What do you mean no?” 

“That ain’t gonna be comfortable.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. “I swear to God. I will flip your ass over myself if I have to.”

“You’re bossy,” he spits.

“So you’ve said.” 

Not giving him a chance to prepare, you hook your one hand at his side and your other on his hip, and you pull him towards you. It doesn’t fully flip him over, but it does the trick in getting him to finish the rest of the action himself — albeit, with a very strained yelp from the back of his throat. 

He groans for a few minutes more as you adjust some flat pillows underneath his belly and then prop the lukewarm heating back right at the base of his spine. You’ll probably have to heat it up in ten minutes again, but it’ll do for now. You stay in your spot for a minute, and already his pained noises begin to subside. 

“Better?” You know it is. You just want him to admit it. 

And when a single huff with zero protests from the grumpy man reverberates around the room, you know you’ve won this round. 

“I’ll go get your coffee now,” you hum. 

A soft rasp of your name has you spinning back around as you reach the room’s threshold. 

“Hm?”

“Thanks,” he tells you. 

“It’s what I’m here for, unc.”

You put his fresh cup of coffee in a thermos this time. You can’t imagine how often he’ll get up being in this position, but at least the freshness will be there with every sip he does end up taking. 

“How’s it going?” You ask him as you set his coffee nearby. You feel the heat pack on his spine, and it’s as you called it to be by now: room temperature. “Want me to reheat it?” 

“‘M okay,” he replies, voice groggy. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“Okay.” You stand there for a moment. You can tell the heat helped, but his body isn’t entirely relaxed. He’s still tense, as if a nerve or something is being pinched. 

You recall your memory from a while ago before you moved back with your dad. Your brother, who is a mixed martial arts athlete, had a sparring session that hurt his back, nearly in the same area as Joel. He had you running his massage gun over his muscles nearly every night for a month straight. “It needs to uncoil somehow,” he told you. An idea crosses your mind then. 

You saunter to Joel’s en suite bathroom in search of some type of lubricant. Sitting loud and proud on the center of the bathroom counter is a little bottle of Equate’s Personal Liquid Lubricant. Your brain falters for a second, the bottle of lube throwing you off your original plan. That is absolutely not the kind of lubricant you were looking for. Shaking away the image from your mind, you bend down to look in the cabinets underneath. Bingo, a bottle of Aveeno body lotion. This should do. 

You invite yourself onto his bed for the second time today. “Let me give you a massage.”

“What?” His head turns to you now, utterly confused. He definitely heard you wrong, he thinks. 

“Let me give you a massage,” you repeat. “It’ll help.”

A massage actually does sound nice right now. But you’ve been nothing but bossy this last week while Joel lays here helplessly. He’s bored. And he’s had enough. “It ain’t gonna help.”

“How do you know?”

“I jus’ do.”

Jesus. Haven’t you had this conversation before? You mentally slap your forehead. Again, leaving him no other options, you reach for his flannel atop his shoulders and begin to pull them down. 

“Hey, hey, wait, now what in the hell-” He tries to stifle back a laugh as he wriggles in your hold, trying to playfully push you off without hurting himself more in the process. 

You quickly release his clothes, hands up in surrender where he can see them. You’re just realizing now just how forward your action must’ve been. “How am I gonna massage you-” 

The embarrassment written all over your face has Joel tearing up as he tries to hold his wheezing laugh in. With his eyebrow quirked at you, he responds, “If you wanted me naked, kiddo-”

“Jesus, ew! Really?” An unbearable heat spreads across your cheeks. Your eyes are downcast, looking everywhere else but him. “It- it’ll be better if I can directly touch-”

Only then do you feel the bed shaking with his laughter. He’s fucking with you. And here you were, about to offer something that would relieve a whole lot of pain. “Oh, fuck you,” you scoff, pulling yourself up and making your way off of his bed. 

“No, okay, wait,” he laughs, trying to catch his breath. “Jus’ messin’ with you, who am I to deny a massage?” He raises his eyebrows once, twice. Still messing with you, seeing how far his taunting with you can go. 

“You’re disgusting,” you deadpan. 

“‘M not the one tryin’ t’ massage her uncle,” Joel says as he attempts to shrug his shoulders at you.

“I’m gonna leave now.” One foot makes it to the ground before Joel speaks again. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, ya can’t take a joke? I’m only messin’ around. Come back. Gonna leave me hangin’? In pain? C’mon, nurse.” His tone falls softer, sweeter. You can hear the shit-eating grin in his words. And, fuck, why is it making you heat even further, in places beyond your face? In places you shouldn’t be?

“Fine,” you relent. “Stop saying weird shit then.” You still can’t look at him. Not after the way your body decided to react in the shift of energy. An abrupt shift of energy, as far as you can tell. 

He’s your dad’s best friend. Your uncle, for crying out loud. Not by blood, but still. There’s never been a feeling beyond that. Sure, you’ve had your silly little school girl crush on him during your young teenage years, but that was your hormones being your hormones. You grew out of them. Even your own father can’t deny the conventional attractiveness of his best friend. 

Plus, suggestive commentary is bound to make anyone feel hot. It’s basic biology. Your response is nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. At least, that’s what you convince yourself of when you climb back into your uncle’s— no, into Joel’s bed, trying to ignore the way your panties stick dutifully against your throbbing core.

Joel leans onto his side as you get yourself situated, unbuttoning the bottom half of his flannel, so you can flip up the bottom to reach his lower back. After the bottom half of the buttons are undone, he lays back on his front. “Here,” he calls your name. “Jus’ lift it up from the bottom.”

You scoot closer to him, standing on your knees, and you reach over to grab the hem of his flannel, pulling it up as gently as possible, exposing just enough to be able to reach the irritated areas. You frown at what you see. Inflamed skin, purples and yellows dancing all across his lower back, forcing him away from the very thing he lives for. He may have been a stubborn bitch this entire week, but that doesn’t stop the sympathy you feel for the man. 

You put some of the lotion in your hand, rubbing it between your two palms to warm it up a little. You place your hand on the side closest to you first, moving in circular motions and adjusting your pressure ever so often. “Let me know when the pressure is good.”

So far he hasn’t said much, a slight groan here, an exhale there. You feel a knot as you move lower, so you increase your pressure. You’re met with a literal moan, and you swear you have to bite back your own vocal response. “Fuck,” he sucks in a sharp breath. “Yeah, jus’ like that, ‘s perfect, darlin’.” 

“Okay,” you squeak, your thighs clenching together to attempt any kind of relief to the heat between your legs. 

After a few more passes over the area — and a few more indulgent, harder presses of your palm to pull more angelic sounds from him — you switch to the other side. Except, at this angle, you don’t really have as good an angle as you did before. Your leg swings over his ass, bracketing him in between your thighs, before you can even register the move your body just made. A soft gasp falls from your lips as you feel the new angle you’ve just given yourself. 

“Joel?” You call sweetly. Innocently.”I- I’m not hurting you or anything, am I?”

Hurting? No. Putting him through Hell? Close enough. 

Joel has done many questionable things in his lifetime. Getting involved with taken (married or otherwise) women, couples who wanted a third… Joel has lived through it all. Mainly in his younger years, but nevertheless. He has done and seen many things. But none of these things have ever included getting a fucking hard on for a girl — a woman? — he practically had a hand in raising. You call him uncle, for crying out loud. 

His physical response means nothing. It’s basic biology. The tender yet skilled touch of your warm hands directly against his even hotter skin, lighting every single nerve ending on fire, forcing the blood to course through his veins, to make its way down south— 

“Christ-” he snarls as you practically sit on him. His mouth shuts instantly as his eyes shoot open. He didn’t mean for that to come out. “Y-yeah,” he corrects. “‘M alright.” 

“Just- just let me know,” you tell him. He can hear the shake in your voice. He can tell biology is doing a number on you, too, based on your tone alone, if the heat engulfing his rear as you try your best not to make contact with it isn’t enough to go by. 

He focuses on his breathing as best he can as your hands push slightly past his jeans, getting underneath the seam of his boxers, and then immediately softening your touch as you run your fingers up his spine, awaking a chill he never knew was possible until now. You rub beyond the exposed area of his lower back, reaching his shoulder blades and entirely up to his shoulders, forcing the flannel to rise with your hands. He’s so broad and warm, and you would absolutely be drooling all over him by now if you weren’t so shocked at how tight his muscles really feel. How has this man not gotten any injuries sooner? How was he still doing all this heavy lifting? You dig the pads of your finger tips further into the thousands of tiny knots you feel, and his body jerks in actual pain this time. 

“God damn, girl,” he snaps. “What are you doin’?” 

“How the fuck do you even function?” You sound genuinely horrified. 

“What-”

“Your shoulders and neck are fucking covered in knots how do you even-” you cut yourself off with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You need to flip over.” 

Fuck. 

“Why?” He asks defensively. 

“I’m gonna break these knots. I need to start from the front.” 

“Ya ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my neck, I swear to God-”

“Quit being stubborn. What did I say earlier? I’m gonna flip you myself if you don’t-”

“Alright, fine, gimme a sec,” he bites. Joel takes a deep breath, at war with himself for how he’s going to handle his next course of action. 

Whatever happens next, there is no avoiding the fact that you will be made aware of the bulging erection between his legs. You can know about it, that’s fine, but the second you make contact, he doesn’t know if he’ll have the strength to control himself. Which is why he rips off the band aid quick. Flipping himself over with you still hovering over him, he tries his best not to touch you. Though, the second he’s comfortable, his focus is on your waist, grabbing you immediately and missing the way your eyes widen at the tenting fabric of his jeans. He pulls you higher up to sit on his lower tummy. 

You squeak out a little gasp as he adjusts you, and fuck it makes the pulsing between his legs even worse. He releases you, bringing his hands back to his sides. 

“Comfortable?” you whisper. You try so hard not to use your voice, worried that it’ll reveal just how turned on you are by this situation you’ve put yourself in. He gives you a single nod, and with that, you lean to grab more lotion. 

The angle you are at forces you to lean the front of your body onto Joel to be able to reach his shoulders. You can feel his body tense underneath you; you can hear his labored breathing as your hands further push away his flannel, working away at each knot. 

You lean forward further, giving yourself the ability to reach just below Joel’s neck. With this action, your hips shift, pressing down against Joel’s belly in a way that sends a sudden jolt of butterflies through your core. Your hands freeze in their movement, breath and fingertips stuttering as your entire face and neck heat up. You sneak a quick glance to Joel, and his eyes are still relaxed. He didn’t notice. 

It takes you a moment to start your movements back up again, but when you do, you can’t help the way you repeat exactly what you did before — allowing yourself another experimental roll of your hips against his soft abdomen. Only this time, you’re way less sly, for the whimper of pleasure you thought you could hide slips right out, right for his sharp ears to take note of. Shit. 

“Y’ alright there?” His eyes are trained on you now; he knows what you just did. Joel sports a quirked eyebrow as he waits for your response. 

“Mhm,” you rush out, ignoring his piercing gaze. 

It takes every ounce of willpower for you to run over the knots in his shoulder again without driving your hips into him, but even the push and pull of your arms is a full body movement, and you feel it. You feel the growing wetness in your core, the growing heartbeat that his bare tummy no doubt can feel now. 

Your body is splayed across him, the warmth of you leaking through your bottoms and onto his hot skin as you pathetically try to play off the fact that you aren’t grinding your wet cunt across him right now. With a rasp of your name, he takes a sharp breath in. “What are ya doin’?” He grunts, pained. Conflicted. 

This is so wrong. But it feels so good. Your arousal — how utterly desperate you are for the older man underneath you — is shone all over your face, brighter than any other feeling of disgust or wrongness you’re trying to convince yourself of. But the internal battle is still there, though, and it forces your hips to come to a full stop. It forces cries of apologies from your lips. It forces regret. 

“I- I’m sorry,” you choke back a sob. “Please, I- this is so wrong, I’m so stupid, uncle, I-” 

God damn it. Joel is too damn hard to deal with this shit now. “Oh, Jesus Christ, will you cut the fuckin’ uncle bullshit?” He finally snaps. His hands spring to life, finding their way up your thighs, tightening once they reach your hips. He forces you to move again. “Ya think I wanna hear that fuckin’ word while you fuckin’ soak me? Huh? While ya rub on me like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

“Shit,” you moan, the strength of his hand making the assault against your mound all the more intense. “Joel, please,” you cry, your fingers shaking as you hold onto his chest. 

Your thighs begin to tremble as he maintains a rough pace to your movements, his bed creaking with every shove of your hips against him. His grip on you is one of steel, the pads of his fingers digging into your flesh, no doubt leaving tiny bruises as a reminder of today’s actions. 

He is fucking covered in you — the slick of your desire pooling through your bottoms and into his skin, making each grind smoother. He licks his lips at this, his eyes dark as he drinks you in from above; your own eyes glossy and a sheen of sweat along your skin. “Look at ya, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice low enough to send a fresh wave of arousal pouring from your hole. “Fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby. Needed me that bad, did ya? Was tryin’ t’ tell ya earlier,” he grunts, “Y’know ya just had to ask.” A lazy smirk pulls across his lip. 

You let out a whimper at his words, your hips finally rolling alongside his own guidance, instinctively searching for more friction. “Atta girl,” he groans, “That’s it, fuck- makin’ a fuckin’ mess a’ me, darlin’.” 

You’re panting now, the rhythm and pressure mixed with the filth of his Southern drawl ignites every single nerve ending throughout your body. He watches you with a dark intensity, the brown of his eyes replaced with pure black lust, his eyes unable to stray away from the pleasurable desperation filling your features. 

“Gonna come like this, sweetheart?” He taunts, driving you into him even harder. 

“Mmm- my God, yeah- yes,” you cry out, eyes rolling back as the coil in your belly finally tightens, your breathing ragged as needy moans escape your lips. 

With a final roll of your hips and the utterance of a that’s my girl, the coil finally snaps, pleasure crashing over you, coursing through your veins as you come all over him, your slick unable to stay within the limits of your clothes, leaking and dripping down the sides of him and onto the mattress below. Your thighs convulse around his waist, his hold on you continuing your thrusts, dragging out your orgasm until your own hands find his and rip him away from you.

“Ya ain’t done yet, sugar,” Joel gruffs, grabbing the globes of your ass cheeks and dragging you down, letting you feel his ignored and now raging erection. 

“Never said I was,” you purr, a soft moan blessing his ears at the feel of his bulge against your ass. He can feel your smirk against his chest. 

Body still trembling, Joel lifts your ass in the air, sliding your bottoms down over the curve of your body. The stickiness of your panties pulls off with a wet squelch, the cool air of the room mingling with the wet warmth of your bare pussy, the stark contrast forcing chills to run through your veins. 

“God,” he murmurs as you give a little wiggle of your ass in the air. “Pretty as a peach, huh, darlin’?” He guides you lower, pushing you down onto his bulge. The hardness of him beneath you immediately sends a fiery need to your core. Your hands move on their own as you pull your body up, reaching for the buttons and zipper of his jeans, undoing them with ease despite the eager shake of your hand. You pull the jeans down just enough to let his cock spring free, thick and angry and leaking. 

“Oh, fuck,” you swallow your gasp. “God, I need you so bad,” you whine, already lifting up to line the tip of him to your swollen cunt. 

You sink down with a breathless moan, your head flying back as your hands grip onto his tummy to keep you from buckling. 

Joel’s breathing stutters, his moans filling the air as you practically choke his cock. “Shit- so fuckin- fuckin’ tight.” His hands find their home on the meat of your ass, holding you tight, grounding himself from coming like a damn teenager.

You move slowly at first, savoring the way he feels inside of you, how big he is. God, you don’t think you’ve ever taken anything quite as long and as thick as him. Your heart skips a beat at that, knowing that he’s ruined you for anyone else. 

It isn’t long before the raw need takes over, and you move faster, hips rolling back and forth as you ride him, the wet sound of skin against skin as you alternate to a bounce ever so often. 

Despite the risk of hurting his back even more, he can’t stop himself from gripping you tighter, his nails digging into your flesh as his hips buck up into you, starting their own rhythm, meeting every one of your thrusts. The sensation is overwhelming with the size of him; it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, mixing sweet whines of ecstasy with whines of overstimulation, and it’s the best music to have ever graced his ears. 

“Look at ya,” he grunts. “Fuckin’ made for this, weren’t ya? Fuckin’ made for takin’ this cock, huh, sweetheart?” 

You nod weakly at his words. They send a flutter down your belly to your pussy, and his mouth is all it takes to send you to your second brink of collapse — your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you move, as he drives himself into you without abandon. 

Every thrust pushes you further to the edge, the sting of the stretch, the sensation of being so full — it’s almost too much to bear. He can hear it in the way your cries change. It’s becoming too much. 

“Y’ can take it, sweetheart, almost there,” he grunts. His hands take over in guiding your movements, urging you faster, harder, bringing you both to the cliff’s edge. 

“C’mon, baby, can feel her squeezin’ me, know she wanna come, baby. Breathe, doll, jus’ let go,” he rasps, his words coming in staggered.

The wet tightness of your walls, both the feel and the sound, causes Joel to fall first — a low, guttural groan filling the room as he fills you with his hot, thick spend.

The sensation of him pulsing inside you, unloading everything he’s worth, sends you over your edge, your pussy clenching around his cock as you come, the sensation rippling through you, shredding your vocal cords as you scream out in pleasure. 

Everything goes dark for you, nothing but the fuzzy sound of Joel’s sweet praises at the top of your head as he guides you through your come down. 

“Did so fuckin’ good f’ me, darlin’,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

For an asshole, who knew he could be so sweet? 

You roll off of Joel as soon as your heart steadies, your entire body on fire from all the exertion. You can feel Joel’s body stiffen as you use him for support. His back is killing him right now.

A few moments pass as your eyes slowly start to close, but the deep gruff of your name stops you from dozing. 

You turn your head to the man beside you. “Yes?” 

For the first time today, it’s Joel who can’t make eye contact with you. “Can you, uh… can you-” he clears his throat, trying to rid himself of his awkwardness. “Can you warm up the heat pack again?” 

Your smirk lifts your cheek before you can even try to stop it. “Come again?” 

He lets out a frustrated huff. And he can’t turn away from you. His back is killing him right now. “My back-”

“Yeah, what about your back?” 

“You fuckin’ little shit-”

You giggle as you flip onto your side, your hand holding your head up to get a better look at him. “Your back is hurting, baby? Need me to get the heat pack for you, hm?” 

He doesn’t respond. He just has the deepest, most grumpiest scowl known to man on display. 

“Oh, come on. You need my help, is that it? Need to hear you say it, unc.” You emphasize the last syllable of your sentence, a belly laugh threatening to escape you. 

Oh, two can play at that game. “Yeah, baby, I need your help. I need the help from my beautiful, beautiful niece, hm? My beautiful, needy niece whose pussy gets all soaked jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout me, huh? Gets all wet and needy thinkin’ ‘bout her uncle-”

Your resolve finally snaps, your eyes clamping shut as you cover your ears, loud la la la’s coming from your mouth as you ungraciously roll yourself off of his bed. “Enough, fine! Fine! Fuckin’ nasty,” you groan as you make your way to the kitchen. 

“‘M not the one who started it, sweetheart,” Joel says, a triumphant smile plastered across his cocky face. 

“I made you cookies by the way,” you yell after a beat. “Want one?” 

Joel’s hand reaches for his belly. He doesn’t need one, that’s for sure. “Yeah,” he responds not a second later. 

You come back to his bedroom, heat pack in one hand, no cookie in the other. You hand him the heat pack. You make him adjust it himself. 

“Where’s the cookie?” He asks, a tinge of impatience on his tongue. 

“Oh, I thought you were gonna come down and get it.” 

He looks at you incredulously. 

“I just figured you wanted to start being more independent and all. Given how strenuous you were being a few moments ago,” you offer with a faux innocence.  

“I swear to fuckin’ God, when I get my hands on you-”

“Your hands on me? Yeah? When?” You start making your way out of his bedroom. “Come get me if you wanna show me a lesson. Know you been dying to all week.” 

If he can fuck you the way he did, maybe full-time bed rest isn’t what Joel needs. He needs to stretch and move around; he needs to activate his muscles, especially being on the older side. It really is basic biology.

I would absolutely love to hear what you guys thought of this! Any and all your love and commentary truly keeps me going and motivated even when the writer’s block is at its strongest. Wouldn’t be here without you all. I have so much love in my heart for you! Talk to y’all soon🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

Leaf divider by @saradika-graphics

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spanking, pain kink, pussy slapping, caught, hints of jealous!reader, fingering, belt used to choke you, face spitting, hints at a quickie outside/outdoor sex, bondage with a tie/light choking with said tie, pussy inspection, praise/degradation, teasing/begging, daddy(Toji, Kento & Suguru’s)/sir(sukuna’s)/lil mama(suguru’s)/brat, edging/ruined orgasms, choking, pussy inspection, oral (receiving), hints of cock warming, grinding your cunt on suguru’s fat cock, suguru plays with your nipple, biting, mating press, prone bone, vibrator/vibrator goes up your ass

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: you're such a fucking tease, you know that? ❜ sukuna 🙏🏻

Fey: maybe she shouldn’t have flirted with your man (Sukuna) / @maxellera remember how we were talking about Toji getting annoying when you ignore him after a fight well, why not purposely dress up for him to add the cherry on top

𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

“It’s been all fuckin day! First that damn skimpy maid outfit, and tonight you’re walking around in this?” He grabs a handful of your sheer nightgown ripping it off your body and dropping it. Pushing two thick fingers into your soaking wet cunt with a loud squelch.

His thick rings rubbing your lips, “You’re are such a fuckin’ tease dumb lil slut!.” Your grasp on the edge of his desk tightens as your toes curl into the carpet.

His fingers feel too good stroking your soft soaking wet cunt. Clenching his fingers and crying when he smacks your ass. The sharp stinging on your sorry cheeks feels too good.

Whining, “Thank you for spanking me sir!” Pulling his fingers out and slapping your cunt until your thighs are trembling. His desk keeping you from running.

Your cunt is throbbing with a sharp sting. “I just wanted to check on you sir before turning in! See if you needed anything from me.” Sukuna’s assistant walks in and Sukuna yanks your head back by your hair.

He nudges your lips apart pushing three fingers in knuckle deep whilst ordering, “Tell her I’m busy.” There is a small satisfaction when you realize it’s the assistant who was flirting with him earlier.

Pumping his fingers faster making it hard to talk without moaning. “He-he’s busssy nnn fuck he feels so good. He’ll call for you after he cums in me!” Sukuna let’s your hair go, squeezing your throat whilst pumping his thick fingers faster.

Your soaking wet cunt’s squelches are getting louder than your moans. His fingers are magic in your cunt fucking you closer towards cumming.

Sukuna snaps, “Leave, you’re ruining the moment, looking at you is making my cock soft.” The assistant quickly scurries off and Sukuna glides his fingers out of your sloppy cunt.

Letting you go to rid himself of his clothes, looping his belt around your throat. He keeps it loose whilst asking, “What makes you thinking I’m gonna cum in you instead of on you?” Gliding his fat cock head between your lips.

You’re quick to answer, “Nothing sir! I wanted to make her jealous I know she wants to be in my place. I’m a jealous slut!” Tightening the belt around your neck, he yanks you back onto his cock by your throat. Filling your soft tight cunt up with his fat heavy cock.

Sukuna croons, “Aw you want my fat cock all to yourself?” You’re clawing at his desk whilst taking his punishing thrusts. Sukuna’s fat veiny cock is hitting too deep. His hips snapping against your ass with loud smacks.

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

All Satoru can think about is how he can see your wet, pretty cunt underneath your skirt. There is a tight throbbing in his cock and his balls ache. He can't think straight.

Pinning you to a tree, “I can’t do this anymore you win.” Satoru’s cheeks flush pink, “You fucking win god fucking damn you’re such a fuckin’ tease I love it.” Slipping his hand underneath your skirt, you grab his wrist to stop him.

Looking up at him smiling, “Say that again first!” He unzips his pants and pushes them down letting his pretty cock stick out.

He steps back giving, stroking his cock in front of you whilst smirking, “You win! N’ you’re reward is cumming on my wonderful cock.” Letting his cock go, it sticks out straight, softly bobbing as he slips his clothes off.

He’s beautiful, soft white hair catching the sunlight. Sliding his fingers through his hair. You can't see his eyes but you know he’s staring down at you. “This will have to be quick but tonight you’re coming to mine, I'm tying you up and taking my time with every fuckable hole.”

Reaching for your skirt Satoru protests, “Don’t, I want to fuck you in your skirt.” Pushing you against the tree, unbuttoning your shirt pushing it open and tugging it off you.

“Since I'm the one who won shouldn't I be making the calls.” You’re folding for him so easily despite this. Keeping your skirt on and sliding your hands down his chest. You’ve been wanting to feel him up since he lifted his arms to stretch and his shirt lifted to show his silver happy trail and a strip of skin.

Satoru croons, “This bra and your wet cunt has me thinking I'm the real winner, so really it's debatable.” Snapping the bra’s strap against your shoulder, then raising your arms tugging the bra up t bind your wrist with it.

You lift up one leg wrapping it around Satoru’s waist. He grabs his cock rubbing his warm head between your lips. “I thought you didn't like debating.” Pulling him closer with your leg around his waist, moaning as he cock glides into you.

He smirks, “That’s why I'm not debating I'm telling you, I win.” Pinning your other thigh by your side he groans, “I’m the one getting to fuck you, you’re so wet n tight for me.”

Satoru fucks you harder, loudly groaning, “Fuuuuck! Squeeze my cock with your wet cunt! I definitely win! Look at me, you’re so beautiful when you cum i want to see your face.” Holding your wrist above your head and squeezing your thigh.

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Toji lets you get a few gasp of air before he’s squeezing your throat again. “Nah you wanted to ignore me so you get to be quiet n take this fat cock. Stupid slut beggin' me to help you cum after ignoring me for an hour over a dumb ass fight.”

Using his heavy weight to press you into the mattress whilst you’re on your side. One leg bent the other straight between his legs. Toji grunts, “You’re such a fuckin tease putting on lingerie when you’re mad at me. It makes it so hard to argue with you when all the blood is rushing to my fat cock.”

Rutting his hips faster as your sqlueching cunt clenched and quivers around his fat, veiny fat. He smirks and croons, “Awe my stupid brat is about to cum!” Pulling out and smacking your cunt, replacing the tingling pleasure with a sharp pain.

Writhing underneath Toji he sits on your leg partly pinning you making it hard to avoid his punishing smacks. “Poor lil slut does it hurt? Is your poor little cunt throbbing?” Letting your throat go he grabs a toy turns it on its highest setting then presses it to your sensitive clit.

Pleading with Toji, “I’m sorry I won't do it again! Please lemme cum!” Your throat is sore from Toji’s firm grasp yet you can't stop begging. “Wanna cum! I'm sorry! I wanna cum on your cock! It feels so good!”

Swirling the toy on your clit, thrusting his fat cock into your tight, sloppy wet cunt. Toji groans, “That’s bullshit! You’re a brat n ya like gettin’ your attitude fucked outta ya too much.”

Clenching his fat cock, moaning, “Please please please please please! I'm a bratty slut for your cock daddy please! I'll be good after this!” You’re so pent up after several ruined orgasms your getting so close to cumming too quickly.

He grunts, “I know you will be, I'm gonna make sure you’re be too exhuasted to be a brat.” Pulling out taking the toy away at the last second, slapping his heavy cock on your lips. He rubs it in your face, “That was so close, you almost came there!”

Pushing the small vibrator into your sensitive cunt. Clenching the toy pushing it out onto his palm. Toji smacks your ass the shoves the wet toy into your other hole. Leaving the string with its heart shaped button sticking out.

You can feel the strong vibrations in you cunt from your ass. “Keep on begging n’ trying to convince me to let you cum.” He rolls you fully onto your stomach, grabbing your hair, gliding his cock in with a quick thrust.

Toji leans over you, his heavy weight pinning you into the bed as he fucks you prone bone. Groaning in your ear, “If you stop begging I'm pulling out, then we can find out if you’re worked up enough will you cum from a vibraotor in your ass. Or if you still need my cock in your sloppy wet cunt.”

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Suguru is fighting for his life with how your shifting on his lap, rubbing his throbbing cock against your clothed cunt. You’re soaking through your underwear yet your attention remains on stardew valley.

Controller in hand you running towards your farmer’s house before running out of energy and passing out in the yard. “Aw damn I didn't get out the mine fast enough.” Leaning down Suguru kisses along your neck, biting softly when you falter.

He suggests, “You should carry some coffee around.” Slipping his hand underneath your shirt, sliding his large hands up your sides. It’s was already difficult to to focus with his hard cock and now he’s softly rubbing your nipples.

Moaning, “I should, nnn Daddy! You’re such a fuckin’ tease! You haven't been able to keep your hands to yourself all day.” Setting the control down on his bed. “My cunt is still sore from the last round.” After three hours you could still feel his fat cock in you.

He softly gasps, “I’m a tease?” You can hear the cocky smile in his voice. “Lil mama you’re the one making my cock hard squirming in my lap. If I didn't know better I say you’re grinding your cunt on my cock on purpose.” Holding up his fat cock, Suguru is long enough he covers your wet cunt.

You lean back against Suguru, grinding your hips sliding your sloppy wet cunt on his fat, veiny cock. Moaning as his head rub your sensitive clit. Slipping your fingers into his dark hair knocking his messy bun loose.

Rocking your hips faster, rubbing your clit below his cockhead. “It feels too good not to! I've been horny all day and your fat cock is so thick and long it hangs past your balls. N’ you’ve been groping me since before you opened your eyes thus morning.” Dipping his head to bite your neck.

Whining, “It’s all your fault!” Looking up at Suguru’s beautiful face when he sits up. The angle reminds you how much taller Suguru is.“I love how big you are, your cock, your muscules, your height, I get wet just being near you.”

He gloats, “That sounds like a you problem, but I'll help you just daddy what you need lil’ mama.”

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Kissing your forehead then ordering, “Bend over for me so I can see if you’ve touched yourself in the past ten minutes.” Undoing his tie, it's errotic watching his thick fingers tug on the tie’s kno. You want his thick fingers in your wet cunt getting you ready to take his fat cock.

Bending over for Kento “How can you?” Kento wraps his tie around your throat then tugs your wrists behind you back to bind together. If you tug your wrist or hang your head you’re choking yourself.

He pushes the sheer skirt of your babydoll lingerie. Slowly dragging his finger over your clothed cunt. “By inspecting your beautiful cunt, don’t tell me you think I can’t tell what she looks like after you cummed.” You fight the urge to squirm as he pulls your underwear aside spreading your soft lips apart with two fingers.

He kneels behind you putting his handsome face close to your wet cunt. “Stunning.” Kissing your soft lips then slowly thrusting a thick finger in. Watching your small hole stretch to take his thick

Kento slowly thrust a thick finger in eliciting a soft moan from you. Pumping his finger slowly, he’s taking his time feeling your soft cunt and your frustration bubbles over. “I’ve been good all day! Please you’re such a fuckin’ tease with all those pictures of your cock and that video of you cumming in your hand, please daddy I've been trying so hard to be good!”.

Slapping your cunt, biteing your ass and squeezing a handful of your other cheek. When he slaps your cunt again you can his wedding ring hitting your lips. “You were good, but I can't let get away with slipping up just now. I know you’re frustrated but that no reason to give me any attitude.”

Pleading with Kento, “I’m sorry! It won't happen again!”

He warns, “If it does I'll edge you until you cry.” Kissing your sore cunt, nudging his tongue past your lips. The position makes it easy to sit on Kento’s handsome face. His soft tongue feels so good rubbing your sore cunt, easing the stinging.

“Please let me cum! I'm so sorry daddy! I shouldn't have given you any attitude please take care of my cunt!” Pulling his tongue out Kento stands up and you can hear him undo his belt.

He tugs on the taunt tie between your shoulder blades pulling you upright. Kissing the top of your head, he slides his large hand up your side. “I know you’re sorry which is why you’re going to good for me and keep my cock warm and wet whilst I finish a glass of 1792 whiskey.”

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