#and the hair on my neck bristles

[iamthepulta]

Staring out at this lake, I have so many thoughts about The Broken Earth trilogy that I would actually have to reread TBE to articulate.

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, husband nanami, fıngering, praise, talking you through it, squırting, dirty talk, mdni.

“don’t be shy, sweetheart. get it wet, atta girl,”

nanami would murmur right up against your ear, warm breath fanning against the shell of your earlobe. it tickles, and as you’re laid flat back against him with a few fawn strands of his chest hair brushing up near you, you whine. your legs were unapologetically spread wide open with a bundle of your toes curling up exquisitely. the back of your head rubs and rubs against his bare chest, and he’s got the softest smile. “ah ah,” he whispers, watching as your own crumped up finger buries itself into your cunt and lazily moves around. “remember the method i taught you. circle it around, yeah,” and your breathing hitches the moment the tip of your digit encircle a slippery swab of your sheeny slick. “here, let me take it from here for a bit.”

with your laced panties pulled back near the crevices of your thigh, you collapse flat against his chest. his warmth, a single moan escapes from your lips at how close he was to you. his scent, nanami’s cologne engulfs in your nostrils and it’s such a rich, citrusy aroma. “o- okay.” was all you could manage to whimper out, feeling the cold band of his g-shock ghost against your thigh.

“it’s gonna get messy, my love,” he warns you, a bit of humor in his tone — you throb, two fingers of his smear against your drooling heat and your mouth slowly dangles open. “ooh, my oh my. she’s quite the talker today huh,” he hums at the sounds of your weeping cunt - sloshing and creating various laments of squelches from his consistent rubbing before you whine. “let’s hear what she’s got to say, hm?”

“f- fuuuck.” you’d mewl out, feeling him slowly ease a finger inside of your slit. by this point, he’d taken out your finger and replaced it with his own. nanami’s pointed chin rests against your shoulder as he watches intently.

even your colorful swears sounded angelic. behind you, you could feel his dick twitch in his boxers at just the sound of your voice. already, you were soaked heavily. nanami felt like being a bit of a tease tonight though.

with one hand focusing its attention between your thighs - another creates a tantalizingly slow, trail up and down your body. his fingertips dance against your skin as he glances at you jerking and shuddering. all from his touch, he wanted to make sure to savor your body.

in a way, you were like art to him, a breathtaking canvas that was forevermore priceless.

“gimme your hand, my love,” he requests, lukewarm plush lips pressing a chaste kiss near the inside of your neck. a breeze of his minty fresh breath sets against your sinuses before you comply. as he takes ahold of your wrist, nanami makes you start a trail of your own. gradually, he’s dragging your arm further down your body, making sure your fingers get a feel of every single part of you. “nice ‘n slow, good. doin’ so good.”

a breathy pant starts to rip out of you, hauling out of your lungs abruptly and you’re panting like a dog - he’s so gentle, his words only added more fuel to the fire before you feel the brief pangs of heat between your legs intensify.

nanami’s thick finger turns into two and you let off a melodic whimper as he’s stretching your pussy open. “open for me baby, focus on those breaths,” and as you’re just sluggishly pressed up against his chest, he gives your you another kiss. this time, it’s near the top of your head. “my good girl.” he purrs, voice raspy and filthy—pouring with nothing but admirable love and affection.

it was as if a feverish, fire was bristling against your skin. it was subtle, real subtle. you sigh deeply at his two fingers leisurely prod their way inside of your accepting, gummy walls. “k- ken,” you whine out, hearing the lewd sloshing sounds of your own arousal. it’s wet, you’re wet. nanami’s still guiding you to touch yourself in a way that makes your perked nipples throb. a gentle hand firmly but sweetly grabs your wrist, having you feel right near your heaving chest. your breaths were shallow, short brief inhales coming out of you before your eyes start to roll and flicker back. “your fingers, ‘s long, ken.”

“oh, are they now?” he utters, a tender grip compressing against his pink glossed lips. “i’d hope so, they’re just the right size for my wife, are they not?”

by the second, you could feel yourself coming close. you could feel yourself reaching your inevitable, destined peak. “c’mon, big girl words. talk to me,” he shushes your sweet, babbling moans. you were speaking a good sentence of gibberish—inaudible whimpers mewling out your throat at each millisecond that passes. you’re squirming a bit in pleasure, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, creating a bite. nanami then slides his slender fingers out so you could do the rest. you whine, trying to copy his method. your digits slickly coat and drip against the outer part of your cunt before sliding your fingers in. huffing, you feel a pulsating pulse near your aching labia. “how’s it make you feel, sweetheart. feel good?”

“feels good, ‘ken,” you puff out a single exhale in dry, irregular breaths. you felt your own slick stick against your pried open legs like glue. it was a mess indeed, and before you knew it, you were right there. “kento, finish for me, please p-pleaseee.”

“but my love,” he hums a dulcet tune against your ear, your thigh tapping and tapping in anticipation. it’s a salty taste pouring into your mouth but as the seconds progress, it’s turns sweet,

bittersweet.

the filthy, moist squelches became so loud that it starts to echo through the thin walls of your cozy, homey residence. “you’re supposed to be doin’ this, not me. ‘m just showing you how.”

letting off a near pornographic moan—you were cut off the minute your fingers thrash against your g-spot. your noises made him hard, so whiny and pleasing to the human ear. once you feel the twitching muscle, it’s soft and hollow with a squishy surface, scratching such an orgasmic itch in your brain. you could barely even form words with how dumb you were right now. “right there ‘ken. i feel something.”

“keep feeling there, baby. ‘s okay,” he holds you from behind, feeling your body continue to slump back against his chest. your legs vigorously shake like an earthquake - its intensity was jittering you to your wits end. with two eager fingers swirling around the insides of your needy cunt, your jaw drops. a pocket seed of ecstasy welts and surges all through you. as he grabs your wrist again, nanami’s helping you finger yourself with your entire wrist — helping you do a bowling ball grip with two fingers. two stuffed inside, the others just being idle. it felt so good, you weren’t gonna last a second longer by this point. “you’re so close, sweetheart. use those pretty fingers, mhm. so close, make a mess on me, make a mess on your husband so i can clear you right up.”

a pitched ringing sound goes in your ears and right back out. as you’re zealously twitching from the touch, the stimulation, you let off yet another long, pitched moan. it’s a lengthy moan, nowhere near short.

you elongate a single syllable and lasts it for a good four seconds until you realize you’re cumming. one wave comes, then two, then three until everything’s all crashing down on you.

“k- kento,” you whimper, feeling your digits tangle up inside and get soaked from top to bottom with your honeyed slick. but it doesn’t stop there, in fact, once you look down, not only were you coming undone but you were also gushing out. it sprays, a translucent splashing tint dampens against the satin ruby sheets and nanami simpers. “oh my g- goddd.”

he feels your soddened rapture pouring all out, electricity like currents traversing all throughout your body and you grow limp. “aw,” he speaks first, seeing how your climax took everything out of you. nanami brings a hand down between your legs, a thumb swiping against your swollen cunt before he smears your juices right on your entrance. “my messy girl, did you just squirt on me?”

you don’t reply—your breathy, shaky moans being your answer and a hand of yours squeezes his wrist. it’s so many nerves, a bundle of them being touched and convulsed strike right within you before he kisses the top of your head. “seems like my wifey’s a little squirter after all,” he purrs once more, his voice as smooth as silk. as nanami slowly makes you pull out your filth covered fingers, a cobwebby string of lustrous gloss runs off from the tips of your fingers. “look at this,” he grabs your wrist, holding it up in front of you before he does what you’d last expect.

nanami gingerly wraps a hand around your wrist, inching it toward his face before he pops two of your slippery slick digits into his mouth. he groans at your cherry sweet taste - making sure to savor and relish the toothsome flavor before his tongue curls around your fingers.

“mhm,” and as he’s sucking on your digits to clean them just like he said, you could feel yourself throbbing again. once nanami finally removes his mouth from your two wet fingers, he lowly chuckles against your ear. “such a good girl,” he praises you one last time before getting his own fingers wet, wiping them both near your sopping clit. “let’s do that again. now spread these gorgeous legs wide again for me, my love. gotta get my wife just a little bit wetter.”

[s0dium]

I fucking hate him

A/n: One of the dialogues is lightly taken from "God of Ruin" by Rina Kentaken (plz check it out) Enjoy!!

Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: You detest Yuji's uncle, Sukuna. His demeanor is rude and abrasive, and he is undoubtedly a sadist. You don't even try to hide your disdain, but the more you try to distance yourself from him, the stronger his opposition grows. Each attempt to push him away only seems to draw him in closer, closer, ever so close.

"You're fucking insufferable," you spat, your eyes narrowing with hatred. "You're pretentious," Sukuna shot back, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth." No, you're a narcissist," you hiss" Yeah, but I turn you on," he purrs

Warning: Hate sex, rough sex, biting, fingering, edging, cowgirl, size kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism, breeding

You remember the day you met Sukuna for the first time like it was yesterday.

It was during the somber occasion of Wasuke Itadori's funeral—Yuji's beloved grandfather. The day was draped in a heavy sorrow; after the ceremony and the lowering of the casket, you followed the Itadori family back to their home. Being practically family yourself, and living just next door, it felt natural to join them and if not grieve, support the grieving family alongside them. While everyone gathered in the garden, sharing hushed memories and quiet support, you slipped inside the house to charge your phone.

As you stepped into the room, the air felt suddenly charged, like the prelude to a storm. There in the living room, was a man, a large man, lounging on one of the sofas dressed in a black suit and tie. The first thing you notice is his striking pink hair contrasting sharply with the dark, intricate tattoos that crawl up his neck and frame his face. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, fix on you the moment you enter, and his smirk is like a crack in a mask of indifference.

"You must be the famous dear friend of the family, Y/n right?" he drawls, his voice as smooth as silk and just as dangerous. "Heard a lot about you. All good things, I promise." His voice drips with sarcasm making you thickly gulp.

You hesitate by the doorway, your initial smile freezing on your lips. This was the Sukuna Ryomen? The man you'd heard only in hushed conversations between Jin and Choso, the man Yuji calls his uncle? You try to muster your composure, crossing the room to stand at a respectable distance.

"I wish I could say the same," you reply, aiming for polite but firm. Your voice wavers just slightly.

Sukuna chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. "Oh, come now. No need for such defenses. I'm not the monster they painted in their tales. Or perhaps I am, and that's what intrigues you? What do you think so far" he bends forward. "Am I intriguing?"

You bristle at his words, the arrogance dripping from each syllable like poison. "I-I dont know about that." You curse yourself at the way your voice comes out as a stutter. "I'm here out of respect for your family."

"Respect," he repeats, tasting the word as if it's something exotic. "Funny, I never put much stock in that. The old man sure tried to teach me, shame he is gone. But perhaps you'll teach me its value?"

What the hell does he mean by that?

He stands suddenly, closing the distance between you with a few measured steps. You can’t help but step back, your back hitting the wall. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating.

"Why so tense?" Sukuna teases, leaning close, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "I'm just trying to get to know you better. After all, anyone who loves my family must have some redeeming qualities, hidden though they may be. Although," he tilts his head, as if analyzing you. "I wouldn't be surprised if they just kept you around cause you're a pretty thing to look at."

You feel a flush of anger and embarrassment heating your cheeks. "I think you've gotten to know enough for one day," you snap, ducking under his arm and striding toward the door. His laughter follows you, low and mocking.

"Oh, don't be like that!" he calls out. "We're just getting started!"

It only took a minute. One minute for you to decide that you hated Sukuna with a fucking passion.

Unfortunately, the fact that Sukuna had just gotten out of jail, did nothing to hamper your hatred. It seemed like ever since he got out, he was not only determined to stick to the family, but to you, like glue.

The Friday night dinners with the Itadori family, once cherished and loved, had practically turned into a battleground. What used to be a warm gathering was now filled with endless teasing and arrogant attempts at flirting. You were even hesitant to stay over now, as you were never to sure when you’d turn a corner and there Sukuna would be with some sleazy remark about your pajamas.

You tried talking to the Itadori family about it, tried complaining to Jin and raise your concerns. And as receptive and understanding as they were, you knew that for them, blood was thicker than anything, and in some part, you knew that applied to you too.

Still, you persisted, even now as you sat at another Friday dinner you were determined to just enjoy yourself with the family you loved so much.

Key word, tried.

"Well, Jin, I must say, this food is... quaint.” He says through a chuckle and you have to bite the inside of your cheek from throwing a fork at him right there and then. “Did you burn it on purpose, or was that just a happy accident?"

"Dude," You breathe a sigh of relief when Choso speaks up, his voice calm but firm. "Can you go one day without being a jerk?" His eyes are fixed on Sukuna, echoing the frustration you both share about his behavior. This solidarity is one of the reasons why you feel closest to Choso in the family. His understanding and shared grievances with the insufferable man were one of the reasons why you two were best friends.

"Please, I bet this food beats anything you had in prison." You whisper under your breath, but audibly enough that others catch it when you hear Choso breathe through his nose in a laugh-like snort.

Sukuna sets down his silverware and leans forward with a grin, his eyebrows raised in amusement as he gazes across the table at you. "Oh, someone's got a sharp tongue," he remarks. "Careful, angel, you might cut yourself."

You roll your eyes and sharply cross your arms. "Funny, coming from someone who probably had to beg for scraps behind bars. Do you even know what real food tastes like?"

You don’t miss the way Yuji chokes on his pasta, stifling back laughter making you smile.

Sukuna's lips curve into a sly smirk as he locks eyes with you. "Oh trust me, I've tasted a lot of things. But I guess you wouldn't understand, being so... sheltered."

Unfazed, you shoot back with a dismissive wave of your hand, "Sheltered? Please. At least I don’t need to rely on prison slop to remind me of home."

This time, Sukuna's response is a silent, piercing stare that makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Even though you were wearing a sweater and shorts, his gaze made you feel like you were naked.

From the corner, Jin clears his throat, chuckling nervously. "Um, maybe we should all just calm down a bit—"

You cut him off, your voice firm as you defend the meal laid out before you. “No way, not when he disrespects your food, which is great, may I add.”

"Oh, I love it when you get all fired up." Sukuna's eyes glint with mischief as he watches your rising frustration. "It's adorable."

Feeling the heat rush to your cheeks, you stand up abruptly, pushing your chair back with a scrape. "Excuse me, I think I'm full," you declare crisply, gathering your dishes with a clatter and storming off to the kitchen to dump them in the sink. Without a backward glance, you stride toward the living room, your footsteps echoing your irritation.

"Come on, why do you always gotta be such an ass, Uncle?" Yuji mumbles, shooting a glare at Sukuna who only responds with a shrug.

As you sank into the couch cushions, you let out a deep sigh of relief, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of your favorite spot. You turned on the TV, dazedly watching whatever was on, trying to distract yourself from the day's tensions. Of course, thoughts of Sukuna kept creeping into your mind. What was his problem with you? Did the man get dropped on the head as a baby? How and the hell were he and Jin brothers?? Surely he was the result of some fucked up science experiment.

Engulfed in your thoughts, the passage of time slipped unnoticed until a shift in the couch's cushion snapped you back to reality. You turned, and -

Oh what the fuck.

Sukuna settled next to you, leaning on the armrest of the other side of the couch, a tattooed hand settled on his thigh, He had changed into a white tank top and sweatpants, and you feel your heart jump when your eyes unconsciously travel to between his leg where a slight budge pressed against the fabric. Shit. The tips of your ears turned red and you bit the inside of your cheek. That's another thing you loathed about Sukuna; how the scent of his old spice shampoo made you dizzy, how the way he towered over you made your breathing stop, how despite how fucking insufferable he was, he was so so so attractive.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you choked out, your tone edged with disbelief and irritation.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "What does it look like? Watching TV," he replied coolly, his eyes briefly scanning the screen before settling back on you. "Everyone's gone to sleep, you know."

"No, what are you doing sitting next to me?" you hissed, the proximity suddenly feeling far too close despite the physical distance. Your eyes narrowed, locking onto his vermillion eyes.

"Why you afraid I'll bite?" He says, gnashing his teeth together in a teasing display before moving closer to you. "Don't worry, I only bite when I'm asked."

"S-stop talking to me like that," you say, trying to shuffle back, but find yourself already trapped against the armrest.

"Like what?" Sukuna's voice is teasing, almost playful.

"Like I'm your toy."

He tilts his head slightly and leans forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "More like my doll."

"More like your grim reaper. I'll slice your throat if you touch me," you retort sharply, the tension between you crackling. You watch the way his eyes rake over you like a porn magazine, making you cross your arms as if to shield yourself.

He laughs, a sound rich with amusement. "You're such a menace. I want to gobble you up."

As he inches closer, the scent of his shampoo fills the air—a fragrance so intoxicating you want to bury your nose in it, yet you resist. "I'll give you indigestion, asshole," you snap, trying to maintain your composure.

"Worth it, muse," he counters smoothly, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Sure you're going to be thinking about that when I punch you in the face?"

"Oh, and make me bleed? Blood?" He licks his lips. "Yum." He feigns shock, leaning even closer. "You just keep ticking all my boxes today. Did you do your research on me?"

"Not even if you were the last man alive," you choke out, his proximity overwhelming, his face just inches from yours now. A slight move, and your noses would brush against each other.

"Last man to everyone else? No. To you? Highly likely." His whisper is a taunt, his breath a warm tease against your skin.

That's it.

As you attempt to rise from the couch, Sukuna's large hand swiftly lands on your thigh, pressing just firmly enough to guide you back down onto the cushion. You react instinctively, trying to swat his hand away, but he's quicker; he catches both of your wrists in his grasp, holding them gently yet with an unyielding firmness.

"What the hell are you doing?" you demand, your voice sharp with alarm and a flare of anger, your eyes locked intensely on his, searching for an explanation in his steady gaze.

"Jesus christ Y/n" Sukuna groans, rolling his eyes, "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” He chuckles.

Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, and get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so.

“I-fuck you” The words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and stern. You stay silent as you watch him examine your face. He leans in, close enough to kiss you, raises his right hand and runs his finger tips down your face.

"Will you bite my tongue if I kiss you?"

"Maybe"

Sukuna's mouth crashes onto yours, hard, angry, and demanding. He doesn't even give you a chance to resist, not even a breath. His lips are fierce against yours, stealing every breath you try to take. Your hands instinctively move to push him away, but instead, you find yourself gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.

You meet his aggression with equal force, your lips moving furiously against his. His hands cup your face roughly, holding you in place as his tongue demands entry. You respond with a whine, opening up to him, your tongues tangling in a heated dance.

Every kiss is a challenge, every touch a dare. You bite his lower lip, drawing a groan from him that vibrates through you. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. The intensity of the moment leaves you breathless, hot, and angry.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging sharply as if to remind him you won't be dominated easily. He retaliates by pressing you harder against the cushions, so you have no choice but to melt into him.

In one swift motion, Sukuna pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing muscles lined with black tattoos beneath. Before you can even take a breath, he’s back, his mouth claiming yours with renewed fervor. His hands move to your shirt, fingers pulling at the fabric of your sweater. You break the kiss for a mere second as he tugs your shirt off, then he dives back in, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin.

His hands roam over your newly exposed skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the waistband of your pants. He undoes them with a practiced ease, pushing them down and leaving you in just underwear and bra, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"W-what do you think you're doing?" you stutter, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replies, his voice low and filled with a wicked amusement.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I'm gonna fuck you." His hands slide over your hips, pulling your pants down completely, and you shiver at the sensation of his touch.

You whine when he places his knee between your legs which pushes against your clothed crotch. You involuntarily buck up your hips to try and gain more friction, making Sukuna chuckle; his shit eating grin widening.

“Needy, arent you?”

Your instinct is to tell him to fuck off, but he is already hooking a finger under your pastel pink panties; pulling the material down to reveal your cunt. You mentally curse yourself at the fact that you're already wet, a fact that will sure to swell Sukuna's ego.

Your hands fly down to hide yourself but he swats them away, giving you a glare before sliding a finger up and down your wet slit; collecting the juices before pushing a digit into your tight hole.

"S-shit." your groan, and the moment you clench around him, a sickening grin spreads across his tattooed face.

"Always knew you where gonna feel great around me."

The first curl of his fingers knocks the wind out of you, as it hits the sweet spot inside of you that you could only dream to reach on your own.

“Hah~ I cant-” You whimper, stomach clenching and legs trembling from the pleasure. You want to say you hate this, tell him to get off of you but you can't, you can't even think straight. You even push your hips out, angling them so his digits reach deeper into that sweet spot that sends tendrils of electricity through your body. But before you can fully bask in the pleasure, before you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, he pulls his fingers out.

"You think I'm gonna let you cum so early? After all the shit you have pulled?" His hand flies to your throat wrapping around it with a force that belies the strength behind it. Your breath hitches, a strange mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through your veins. His touch is firm, and commanding, but there’s an undeniable pleasure in the way his fingers tighten slightly, reminding you of the power he holds.

"Nah no way." Sukuna chuckles "Your just gonna have to suck it up."

You try to speak, but his grip tightens just enough to cut off your words, leaving you gasping. The pressure on your throat is intoxicating, a strange pleasure mingling with the discomfort. You can feel your pulse throbbing under his hand. You are so dazed that you don’t even notice he has pulled out his dick until you feel something big pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something, what, you do not know, but all of a sudden Sukuna pushes his dick into you until his hips are flushed against yours. It feels like you're being split in two, and the way his tip smushes against your cervix makes you unable to find your breath. The unfamiliar feeling has you squirming and clenching around his cock; body desperately trying to push out the foreign intrusion.  

“Shit you gotta loosen up doll, cant fuck you like this.” There were veins popping on his temple as he started to rub tight circles on your clit. Bolts of pleasure shoot up your body, and you desperately try to relax your body.

“Atta girl” He coos, withdrawing his hips before slamming into your.

The first thrust completely knocks the wind out of you. The collision with your gspot has you arching your back of the couch; eyes screwed shut and letting out a loud moan. He's girth spread you so well, so much, and the friction was so delicious, tears blotted your eyesight. Your skin is buzzing, and your entire lower half is shaking from the pleasure. Sukuna's pace is brutal, unforgiving, and he has to grab the arm rest above you with one arm to help his brutal and unforgiving pace into you.

Your mind grows hazy, lost in the sensation of how good he was fucking you, but then, without explanation, a spark of defiance ignites within you. Suddenly, you find the strength to flip him over, his dick not leaving the warmth of your cunt once and so you were effectively laying on top of him, your legs on either side of his body. With your chest flushed against his, and your ass perked up in the air, you begin to fuck yourself on his dick, raising your hips up and down his length as if he was a dildo.

"Oh thats it." Sukuna is not a whining man but here he is, his voice cracking from the feeling and sight of you riding him. "Fuck yourself on me shit shit shit."

You are practically drooling on his chest, your eyes rolling back from how good he felt against your G spot.

You let a whine when you feel yourself start to get tired so Sukuna grabs your hips and starts fucking you on his length.

Fap.Fap.Fap

"Gonna cum in you baby ok?" He murmurs into your ear and you dazedly nod.

Suddenly you feel your stomach dip and your mind go blank. Your mind feels as though it’s been dipped in pure euphoria, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind, replaced by an overwhelming wave of bliss that drowns out everything else. Your body responds in kind, muscles tensing and releasing in perfect harmony with the pleasure coursing through you. It’s as if every cell is vibrating with delight, your skin tingling with a heightened sensitivity that makes even the slightest touch feel like a divine caress. The heat of the sensation is intoxicating, making your limbs feel weightless as if you’re floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated joy.

Sukuna is quick to follow, shooting ropes of thick cum that glide down his shaft onto his balls.

"See? We are practically made for each other."

[shotmrmiller]

Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

--

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?" 

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn. 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside. 

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there��s not even a simple stop sign here. 

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

[solbaby7]

Good Enough to Eat

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: porn with little plot, the less obvious take on size-kink, swearing, minors DNI, size kink, implied pre-existing friendship with almost in a relationship/mated undertones? whatever tickles ur fancy, prolly typos

summary: Azriel never really took a notice to little things—until you.

—

If Azriel was being honest with himself, he could admit he’d gotten carried away.

He just hadn’t remembered ever noticing it before—how large his frame was in comparison to a female. Not until you came around with a body too small to put into words with five times as much fire inside to make up for it.

He'd lost count of how many times his mind had wandered to less than savory places in your presence; fixating on the strain of your neck when peering up to look him in the eye as you rambled on about your day. A low hum of distant acknowledgment rumbles through his chest, an attempt to seem like he was paying attention to the words coming of your mouth instead of fixating on the inviting plush of your lips. "Az, are you even listening to me?"

"Of course," A lie saturated in sweet honey and presented on a golden platter but you eat it up all the same, smiling up at him with a knowing look buried in your iris. "Keep going."

There's a brief pause--a hesitation where you contemplate questioning that faraway look etched in his features. You decide against it, shaking it off with a little laugh before continuing where you left off.

Azriel hangs onto every quirk of your lip, the etherial glow that emanated from your form as the midday sun bristles through thin curtains. Such glorious beauty enhanced by the abyss of black that draped enticingly over your chest, twisting and crossing at your midriff until it blended seamlessly into the flowy little skirt that teased at your thighs.

He drinks in every inch of bared skin, fingers clenching into fists of barely contained want when picturing those legs thrown over his shoulders with your body propped against any surface sturdy enough to withstand your weight and his mouth buried between your...

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

A mix of guilt and embarrassment should burn in Azriel's chest for being caught not paying attention but with his brain so lost in the clouds, the truth just seems to spill right out. "You're so cute." A blush grows at the apples of your cheeks, neck jerking forward just a little to push your hair against your face to hide but Azriel has already seen it—already grown addicted to it and yearns for more. "Like a little doll. Makes me want to carry you around everywhere and see how high I can throw you."

"I've killed men three times your size."

"Even cuter, a murderous little kitten."

Your nose scrunches, lips poking into a pout and when your arms raise to cross at your chest in defiance. Azriel nearly groans with need, mouth salivating at the thought of marking that skin with endless reminders of who you belonged to. “I’m far from feline and I’m not little.”

Azriel’s brow raises in silent challenge, his hands moving before he can second guess himself and in an instant you become weightless. The surprised cry that pulls free is instinctual when you’re thrown about, limbs grasping at open air for purchase. “I don’t know,” He muses, catching you and flipping you over his back with an annoying ease. “You feel like lightwork to me.”

To and fro he twists you about, a bright smile stamped on his mouth when your frightened shouts shift into unrestrained giggles and grabby hands for stability. “Azriel,” The syllables are broken up from your choppy breaths, cheeks red and thoughts scrambled. “Put me down.”

“Put you down? I hadn’t even noticed I picked you up to begin with.”

“Azriel,” You repeat, more urgency in your cadence when you feel the soft fabric of your skirts teasing up the smooth length of your legs. “I’m serious—my dress!”

“What a dress it is,” The calloused drag of his hand is sinful when sliding its way up the back of your leg, working the material up, up, up until the chilled breeze from the opened window hits your exposed flesh. “I’m a little more interested in whats under it though.” A low groan pulls from his chest when his golden gaze eats up the pale blue pair of sheer panties. Azriel could feel the thin grip he had on his restraint slipping until nothing was left in his grasp but the hypnotizing malleability of your ass. “Not so little down here, huh?”

You should tell him to stop.

You could easily use that training Cassian taught you to wiggle from Azriel’s hold and throw him to the ground as reparations.

But like the whore you are, your hips raise ever so slightly, urging his inquiring touch to shift a few inches further. “Not sure if I can say the same about you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle rumbles against your belly, his nose training up the exposed curve of your hip before he’s shifting you once more. It’s more careful this time—his hand placement more intentional when sliding you down his front, hooking your legs at his hips until you’re forced to meet his eye. “Are you brave enough to find out?”

Breath hitches, snippy words caught in the back of your throat as Azriel crossed this imaginary line drawn in the sand with all of these implicating touches. You swear your heart is fixing to lurch from your chest from the anticipation of it all, thighs clenching tighter around his waist and before you can restrain yourself—hips roll against the hard bulge straining against his breeches. “Guess so,” You utter back, pupils blown out and fingers starting their exploration in the softness of Azriel’s messy ebony strands.

A groan pulls from his throat, grip tightening at your waist and with two steps your back is braced up against the wall. Azriel’s movements are a little sloppy in his eagerness, fingers catching on crossed fabric but it doesn’t seize his exploration of you. Warm palms skim over the length of your stomach, slowing over the tantalizing swell of your breasts. “I think about these a lot.” Azriel confesses shamelessly, voice rough with want; the fan of his breath against such sensitive skin forcing a shiver down your spine. “Seems almost unnatural for such a little thing like you to have these less than little assets. You make it hard for me to get things done around here.”

Your brains a little foggy, clouded with pure lust and distracted by the concentration it takes to maintain the steady rock of your hips against the clothed cock between your thighs. “I’d say sorry but—Azriel.”

Dark promise is etched into every stunning feature when he slowly works a thumb over the length of your bottom lip. It must be instinctual, the way his tongue traces over his own in sync. “This mouth of yours has nearly gotten you in this same position dozens of times.” Need pools in your underthings, seeping through flimsy material and dragging deliciously against your clit with each desperate rut. You barely notice when the golden warmth of the library fades into the cool darkness of Azriel’s room.

It only adds to the lusty delirium, his scent engulfing you like a wave and finally his lips press against yours. Twin moans fill the silence, curious shadows following their masters command in easing your hair from your shoulders and sliding the straps of your dress free.

Every touch feels like puzzle pieces slotting into place.

His tongue in your mouth, your hands tangled in his hair while his shadows blocked out the rest of the world until nothing was left but Azriel and you. “Nearly dozens?” You breathlessly repeat, neck craning to offer more space for the myriad of marks he intended to place there. “What took you so long?”

Insecurity. Cowardice. A million different reasons had stopped Azriel from ever daring opening this door but now that the knob has been turned and the threshold breached—he was happily trapped; proud to be held prisoner as long as you desired. “Who cares? I’ve got you now.”

Melting into him is as easy as breathing, kisses desperate and hands heated when tugging off any offending clothing without breaking the connection.

Years of exposure to Azriel in the training ring prepares you plenty to see his bare abdomen and the densely packed muscles that’s housed there. The rest, however, has your mouth watering, teeth biting into your bottom lip when the heavy weight of his cock settles teasingly between your legs. “Is that what you want? To have me?” He doesn’t bother with words, only nodding once as his mouth is entirely too occupied learning the shape of your breasts and the noises that sound when his teeth graze at hardened peaks. “Then, please stop teasing before I handle this myself.”

Probably the wrong choice of words, even if they are harmless and fueled by errant desire.

“Handle it yourself?” A surprised noise escapes you when the position is swiftly shifted, Azriel’s back now propped against the headboard and his arms don’t even shake when bearing the brunt of your weight. “I’d love to see you try.” The smug expression he bears is slightly worrisome and yet you don’t resist when the weeping tip of his cock is rubbed against your folds, slipping between and easing inside.

“Fuckkk,” The word drags off your tongue, lids shut and lashes fluttering from the pleasure of it all—you felt so full. So unbelievably full that all you can do is whimper your praise and hope that your body was able to handle what you were going to put it through.

Azriel knew he’d gotten carried away.

You just sounded so pretty. Looked well on your way to being so perfectly ruined with your hair splayed messily down your shoulders as you struggled to take the full length of him, even with arousal dripping onto the satin sheets. “You’re squeezing me too tight,” Azriel croons soothingly, attempting to ease the tremble of your calves with the slow drag of his palms. “Gotta breathe, baby.”

It’s easier said than done and after a few seconds of trying to force your lungs to do their fucking jobs, you ditch the efforts altogether and delegate to more pressing matters.

Azriel doesn’t anticipate your determination but he falls harder when your brows furrow with the effort, a deep groan rumbling right through him when your hips go flush with his own.

You barely give yourself time to adjust, too eager after finally being granted all you’d desired. It’s almost as if there’s all the time in the world and still not enough time at all when Azriel’s sat so sturdy beneath you, his eyes raking up every inch of your body and committing it to memory. “There you go,” He praises with hands on your hips to guide the lewd movements. “Just like that, perfect girl.”

You all but preen under the worship, hypnotized by the devilish rasp he adopts and everything combined ignites a dangerous desire to please.

To give and give and give until there was nothing left but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when the process felt so godsdamned good. “Az, I’m so close.” The coil in your gut grows unbearable, the steady rhythm you’d maintained begins to falter but Azriel’s quick to pick up where you’ve left off, hips bucking up into you over and over and over until one orgasm blends into the other. Every muscle goes pliant, curling around him like a lifeline as he takes his fill.

You can barely remember your name when his release follows, his chest glistening and hair in complete disarray when plopping down to the mattress, easing you beside him.

There’s a moment of awkward silence where you suddenly aren’t sure where to put your hands. Is this the part where you were supposed to leave?

When you can finally move your legs again, you make a move to slip from the warmth of the covers, bare toes skimming the harsh bite of hardwood floors when Azriel stops you with one hand is gently curled around your arm. The deep navy sheets are lazily covering his lower half and it’s near impossible to drag your eyes away from the sharp cut of his physique now that you know what it felt like up close. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“It’s the middle of the day, I still have so much to do—I should get going.”

“Blow it off,” It’s almost embarrassing how easily you melt into the request, sinking into the way he tugs you back into him, shadows tucking you securely under the covers. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

[metranart]

hi! it’s me

i wanted to ask you how would the jjk guys react to you getting their lips tatted on you..?(specifically gojo)

like you got them with lipstick and they kiss a paper then the tattoo artist makes it a stencil in red and you put it right under your boob..?

(don’t do this if your uncomfy with it! also take your time your probably busy)

xoxo,em! take care

Hi sweets, sorry for the long wait, I've been awfully busy but here it is, I made it specially smutty to compensate lol hope you like it :) btw... I love your requests ;)

How would the JJK guys react to you getting their lips tattooed on you 💋

Ft. Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Choso, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna.

SATORU GOJO

Five missed calls and four unseen texts. Gojo sighs, scratching the back of his neck, he hated it when you left him on read. What could you be doing that was so damn important to ignore him.

The sound he had been waiting for since the day started makes his ears ring with excitement and without wasting a second, he opens the text message with your name on it.

Gojo Satoru's eyes widen, and his black glasses slide down the bridge of his nose almost comically thanks to his jaw dropping a little, all at the sight of the picture attached to a cute and adorable message that says:

"Do you like it?"

Gojo growls under his breath, subtly pulling with a shaky finger at the collar of his shirt, suddenly it's too hot there, his cheeks turn an accusatory red and his breathing has grown labored. Even his palms are sweating, for fuck's sake! What's wrong with him?! It's just the shape of his lips on the delicious curve of your under-boob. Shit! He's about to bust a cap inside his pants.

"Satoru-" Nanami's stoic voice breaks his trance and looking around almost as if had forgotten he was in the middle of a briefing, gets up and without any further explanation than: "Emergency!" Leaves the school, leaving behind and unattended, all his duties and mental sanity.

"Did you see the message on his phone, Geto?" a puff of smoke lazily comes out of Shoko’s curious mouth and Geto shrugs. "I saw that it was from (Y/N)." The black-haired snickers and everyone let out a unison, heavy sigh.

Gojo arrives in less time than is humanly possible at your apartment and without warning, not even a ‘hey, babe’, or a: ‘I just teleported myself into your room, hope you don’t mind’. You are dragged by your tall and strong boyfriend, special grade sorcerer and stripped of your top.

"S-Satoru, baby?"

You try to figure out what has him so bristled and with the delicacy of a saint but the curiosity of a child, he yanks your bra up, your delicious breast spills from underneath and his tattooed lips greet him.

"Shit!" is the first word you hear him say and it's almost a painful pant. "Those are my lips, aren't they? This is why you asked me to kiss that paper using the lipstick-...." he sounds accusatory but also incredibly excited.

You nod and let out a sigh that you didn't know were holding. "Phew! When you didn’t answer my text, I thought you didn't like it-"

"Not like it..." he sounds almost offended, and your bra is discarded when he pushes you on your back in the bed. "Not like it?! I love it! I want to eat you whole, (Y/N), I'm only holding back because I need to ask something first."

Being pinned down by his weight and his gentle hands on either side of your jaw, Gojo steals the little space and whispers his question against your ear. "Are you still sensitive from the tattoo, or can I give you a new one with the original source?" 

He kisses your earlobe playfully, and you can’t help but giggle dumbly, as you can't help your voice from shaking with excitement. "I’m not made of sugar-"

You can't even finish the sentence when his lips begin the endless and shameless work of awakening every nerve ending in your skin, the desperation palpable in the white-haired sorcerer as every piece of clothing is torn from your body and his and discarded on the floor as impure.

Purple mockeries of your tattoo in the form of hickeys adorn every patch of your sensitive neck like a new necklace, small bites from the small curve of your shoulder to the sinful curve of your waist, nipples swollen and perked from the greedy skating of his tongue on them. Gojo is not being rough, but he is not being gentle either, he is brutal in his advance but methodical and careful that your moans do not change tone.

"I'm going to tattoo myself on you from the inside out," his warn is muffled against your breast as his mouth devours the plump peak of flesh. Paying special attention to pressing his lips against your tattoo over and over and over again, as if certifying its authenticity and quality. The silhouette was exact, the perfect shape of his greedy lips. It was an almost erotic sight for him.

"Huh?"

"Sure,” he chuckled low before keep going, “white ink specially made for you. You'll see, I’m an awesome artist," having you panting, sweating and squirming isn’t enough for him. Oh no! he needs more, Satoru Gojo claims for something more permanent than a mere tattoo. "...My tattoos last nine months inside, and eighteen years outside, they talk and call you mommy, I’m that talented, sweets" tangled between his muscular limbs, your new resting place, he does whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

You feel the massive shape of his warm cock against your thigh, he’s been pumping himself no end, not letting you touch him not letting you aid him for fear of wasting his first load, that tasty, thick load he's been preparing especially for you. The mere graze of your fingers on him will be his end, he knows it, so he won’t ask nor accept your help, even when he longs to wrap your fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut. Or better yet, wrap your perfect mouth around his cock and suck him off– NO! he now’s not the time for him to be negligent. 

Once loaded, abandons his quest for relief and rests his warm palm on your belly massaging it as if molding it to fit something of his, while the other keeps playing with your cunt, enjoying the way you suck his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. 

“I never thought someone would be able to awaken my paternal instinct-... did my clan hire you, sweets?” he scoffed, playfully. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy moans and whimpers but the way your muscles are tensing and spasming around his digits. The desperate rocking of your hips against his palm, as a firm beg for relief.

“It's just a tattoo....”

“Na ah!” His hand continues playing with your tummy, your navel, the curve of your waist almost obsessively while his tongue makes out with the curve of your neck. “This was your way of telling me that you want me forever..." long finger prod at your gummy walls, searching for that hidden blessed spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

"Let me show you how gifted I am, my sweet girl..." 

He finds it in matter of seconds, and you lose all kind of restriction and complaint and Gojo can’t help but smirk against your neck as you tighten and quiver around his digits. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his thumb pressed over your clit, flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles a deep purple hickey on the skin. Long, thick fingers guiding you through madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, oversensitive body to handle.

"Y-Yes, Satoru, shown me, fill me, mark me-… do whatever the fuck you want-"

You convulse in the spare seconds of glorious pleasure before cumming with a strangled shriek, and Gojo’s groan muffles against your skin when can finally sink in one roll of his hips, feeding you that fat cock he’s been pumping to the edge just for this exact moment, buries deep inside you, kissing your cervix in that one thrust of raw meat. With an animalistic grunt, spills his soul inside your womb, pouring every last drop of cum he's been cooking in those heavy balls until he empties himself, flooding your inside with his gifted seed. A rush of juices gushes from your trembling cunt onto your connected lower halves, and you feel and hear him pant like a dog next to your ear, as both come down from the high. 

"Am I your favorite tattoo artist or what?"

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

NANAMI KENTO

He's stoic and serious, almost unmoving in his unflappable staring as you lift your shirt so he can see your new tattoo. His silent disposition is starting to make you more than a little nervous, since you know that Nanami Kento isn't exactly a crazy animal, but rather, a calm and quiet being who hides a wild side that he only shares with those closest to him. Making you wonder if you fall into that category or not, as his silence as he inspects the tattoo of his lips under your boob is virtually killing you with anxiety.

"Those are your lips, my love." You explain again, even though you've already done it three times, and you receive the same ‘mphm’ sound he made the first three times. 

"Remember? -… remember when I ask you to kiss a paper?"

"I do."

"Well, I gave that to the tattoo artist, and he made it a stencil in red and then I ask him to put it right under my boob...?"

"I see."

Those calm eyes, analyze from every possible angle the tattoo of his lips on your skin, it had never been so difficult for you to read your boyfriend. "Do you like it, do you hate it? Tell me anything, Kento."

Silence and more close observation.

You close your eyes, squeezing your eyelids shut as you take that deep breath of air, you need so much, and you are about to demand an answer when you feel it...

Your eyelids suddenly open looking down and there you find him: Your stoic, boyfriend, the sensible and calm man who is always in control, kneeling in front of you while pressing his lips against your tattoo, the round softness of your boob loses its shape momentarily as the blond pushes his face more firmly against the plump skin. The most unexpected kiss that you have ever shared and for some reason, the most erotic, too.

"K-Ken?"

"Did it hurt?" he asks suddenly from his kneeling position and the threat of you stuttering makes you just shake your head. Nanami steals another kiss against the softness of your breast like he can’t have enough of the sensation. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

You nod, mesmerized by the sudden attention this blond showers you with, his hands caressing your bare back from top to bottom, slow and gentle with the tips of his fingers, it's delicious and it melts away the anxiety you may have been feeling, now, malleable in his hands. You let his face sink further into the curve of the tattoo of his lips and you moan his name as if you want to taste it rolling down your tongue.

"Nanami."

"... Do you still have the lipstick?"

"Huh?" That request brings you out of your reverie a little, and you look at him with some confusion, to which he smiles, that smile that makes you weak in the knees. "Y-Yes, it's in my purse."

"Lend it to me, darling."

With his palm splayed wide open he waits for you to hand over the lipstick. Digging for the cosmetic, he waits patiently until it's resting in his open hand and before you can air your doubts, he stands up, lifting you into his arms to take you with him, those muscular limbs feel like the safest place in the world and you nuzzle your nose into his neck to breathe in his scent combined with his cologne, and it’s intoxicating, so much so that you almost miss his next question.

“I’d like to suggest a few other places where my lips would look just as amazing on your body.”

“Kento!” you startle, it’s adorable to him and closing the distance, he presses his lips to yours, tasting, nibbing and licking as he carries you to his room. “You take suggestions don’t you, sweetie?” 

He chuckles at the flush growing wild on your cheeks, and you feel the softness of the mattress on your back as he sets you down with the care of a saint, before beginning to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Your body shivers in anticipation and his lips curve up into the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen him make, his large hand reaching out one elegant finger towards you and beckoning you with it. 

You’re on your knees in front of him in seconds, his knuckles running down the length of your jaw in a silky caress that has you purring like a kitten, leaning into his touch. That smile only stretches further, as your eyes flutter shut and you feel the greedy grip on his lips, hunting for another kiss. 

Unfortunately, it ends too soon, and your mouth holds that pouty shape that demands another sweet kiss, but instead of his fleshy lips, you feel the creamy slick of lipstick painting your lips.

“Tell me, (Y/N),” Nanami is delighted with how docile you are to him as he finishes painting your lips red, and it’s the sound of his pants zipper coming down that catapults your eyes open, “what would you think of me tattooing your lips right here?”

His finger points along his defined obliques and your mouth waters, this man was sincerely praised by the gods themselves, every muscle in his abdomen defined, those deep lines going down to his crotch giving that ‘v’ shape to his torso, that sinful path of golden hair that disappears under his trousers. It's too much for you.

"I think I need to see what it looks like first and then I can give you an informed answer, Kento."

His broad chest rises and falls violently, sweat runs down his forehead and his cheeks are an explosion of color. This is your masterpiece. Nanami Kento’s fat cock fits with effort in your mouth, but you certainly do your best to get it to touch the back of your throat with every thrust, you can feel him getting close, his thighs tremble under your hands, his forearm covers his eyes, his cheeks are about to explode… he’s too close, and your tongue curling around the tip doesn’t help him resist, you suck him off for over ten minutes and you’re proud of that pleasurable ache in your jaw when he comes shamelessly hard at the back of your throat and your name rips through his esophagus as it echoes through the walls of his apartment. Eventually, his hand stops keeping your head pressed against his pelvis, and with a wet pop, his still semi-erect cock hangs in front of your face, lubed in your saliva.

“You’re right, I think it would look nice.”

You tell him, admiring the lipstick residue that adorns the shape of his cock and balls, a crimson kiss near the base, another at the shiny, cum-dripping tip, another resting on the roundness of his coarse balls, and you love the whole image. You want a fucking mural in your living room with this image.

“Hell no,” the blonde says breathlessly, barely trying to recover from your masterful blowjob, “…no needle is going to touch me down there,” he threatens playfully but serious enough, “if you like the way it looks, you’re going to have to paint it yourself every time.”

A giggle escapes your mouth, red lipstick smeared on your lips as you grin evilly at him. 

“You have yourself a deal, baby."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

CHOSO KAMO

Choso can't control where the blood goes since, he met you, his cursed technique is out of control. That damn tattoo of his lips on the curve of your under-boob is driving him crazy, he thinks of it and the blood goes down to his crotch. He thinks of you and the blood makes a tent in his pants.

It's a mess that he's had to control with shameful continuous masturbation sessions. Jerking himself off, over and over, with your name as a mantra and the image of his lips tattooed on your breast as his banner.

"Shit, just go away." 

He murmurs with a tight voice, while his fist milks his fat cock in fast and violent motions, his flesh swollen painfully for more than an hour, he doesn't want you to come home from work and find him touching himself, he doesn't want you to find out that he lost control of his cursed technique. He had to lower himself to watching porn, something he had never done before, but it was of no use. So, he put on cream and although it had relieved him on other occasions, this time wasn't working its charm. Fuck! Pleaaaase-... maybe he needs more cream to slide better? No, no matter how much cream he spreads on it never compares even a little to your tight, little pussy. 

And it is the desperation, that he is running out of time that drives him to this miserable act. He takes, that one photo he treasures so much, out of the frame and places it between his fingers, his excitement growing as he looks at it, it is working. He beats his piece of swollen flesh more eagerly, grunting and growling like a dying animal, Fuck! he's close...his eyes close in concentration and his hand increases speed and pressure as his mouth hangs open… almost there, he can feel his balls tensing and tightening, so close, just a few more pumps, a couple more strokes, a little more pressure, almost there… his guts tighten and his brain enraptures in the moment forgetting to mind his surroundings, to enjoy the divine sensation that grows and grows and grows and FUCK!-

Choso Kamo cums, hard and heavy, rope after rope of creamy cum shoots out of the head of his cock like a mockery of how blood usually does when he uses his cursed technique, the pressurized jet of creamy juice spills out and doesn't finish pouring for about a minute straight. Once his balls are an empty, trembling sack, Choso can breathe again, his sweaty and naked torso rises and falls with violence that calms down the more air he sucks, the sweat begins to dry on his skin and his cheeks feel less hot. This was what he needed, the photo helped him a lot, although he can feel how he bathed it in cum, he can fix it quickly, clean every single trail of his sin before you get home-

"C-Choso?"

His hand, which was riding out the last few strokes of pleasure on his ultra-sensitive cock freezes and his eyes snap open to find you staring at the mess he is, just what he wanted to avoid, damn it! -

"B-Baby, I-" he starts to stutter and stops abruptly when his eyes register what he did.

Your cheeks are painted a deep red but that's to be expected, what's not to be expected are the cum globes that slide down your pretty face, down your cheeks, varnishing your eyelashes and part of your eye, messing up your perfect hairdo, staining your work uniform. Choso enraptured himself so much in his own fantasy that he didn't notice when you walked through the door, or when you approached him.

Now, he has no idea how to begin to apologize, the words are stuck in his dry throat. Are you angry? Are you furious with him? Your beautiful eyes only watch him, better said, ogle him: pants pooling at his ankles, shirt bunched up to his neck, his cock limp but slowly filling with blood again between his trembling fingers, the cockhead shiny and pink and still, spewing cum to further mortify him. 

Choso is paralyzed, unable to move and his mouth barely managing to open to spit out any explanation, snaps shut again from the shame that crushes him.

But that shame turns to bewilderment when his eyes catch the subtle movement of your hand gathering a glob of his cum that slides down your cheek, with all the delicacy and grace that define you, and you play with it for a second between your fingers before opening your mouth and dipping the digits between your tongue. Choso's jaw drops to the floor and his breathing hastens again, his cursed technique going out of control once more, summoning blood to that still throbbing and extra-sensitive part.

Your pretty lips curve into a feline grin that makes him feel like your prey, and he swallows hard, clenching his fists to keep his body from shaking, when his eyes meet yours.

“Is this what you do when I go to work, sweetheart?” you ask, licking your lips to collect the cum resting there, “you jerk off while looking at my graduation picture?” a flirtatious giggle escapes you when you specify, “...same picture where your little brother is, too, how dirty.”

Choso is a bundle of nerves, blood just keeps pooling where it shouldn’t, he’s so hard and swollen that your eyes drop there almost automatically.

“I’ll take care of cleaning everything-” 

You interrupt his apology, raising a finger to get his attention so he can see you, as you lift your pencil skirt up to your thighs and slowly settle yourself comfortably on top of his lap, nestling his cock between your warm stockinged thighs. Choso shivers and carefully as if asking for permission, let his large hands slide down those wide, inviting thighs. 

“…How about you start by cleaning me up first?” Your warm hand tangles around his firm erection and he growls low, “Then you get me dirty again,” you slide those fingers up and down on his stiffness in shameless incitement and smile when notice his eyes roll back his skull, “and we repeat it all until dawn.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes, whatever my girl wants-…” the words rush from his mouth, “…just one request,” an eyebrow rises on your face, and he grins, warm and almost, shyly. “May I see the tattoo of my lips again?”

CLICK HERE TO READ ALL MY JJK SMUT FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

SUGURU GETO

“Do you… Do you really like it, Suguru?” You ask, lolling your head forward and humming when his fingers slowly travel up and unclasp your bra, the last barrier you have left to cover yourself.  Every little breathy sound you make comes ragged and soiled with a mix of uncertainty and excitement.

“Way too much, baby,” his low voice carefully admits from above you.  “I don’t know why you hid it from me in the first place. Don’t—don’t do that. You don’t have to. EVER.”

Your breathing keeps picking up when he keeps trailing his hands around either side of your now naked torso, running the tips of his fingers down your ribs and slowly tracing the curve of your breast, letting the pads of his fingers memorize the shape of his tattooed lips on your skin.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Suguru whisper, quite suddenly emboldened by his growing need. The gentle caresses pause at the very top of perked nipple, holding there for a second while he seems to think about it. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Soon his touch lifts away and he appreciates the sound your hands make, as those little limbs make haste in follow his request, the muffled shuffling of fabric being stripped of your skin somewhere close by and the soft noise it makes dropping to the floor, close to erotic to the first-grade sorcerer. And then suddenly—

“Oh, God—” you breathe, nearly melting into the seat of his school office when large, warm palms meet your skin and slowly start to ride the curve of your neck and collarbone downwards. Dammit, why does it feel so good?  Suguru Geto smirks, like the knowing devil that he is. “Do my hands feel amazing, baby? It’s just two palms, ten fingers-”

 “…. But they’re so strong and raspy and big….” Your mouth babbles unrestrainedly, “touch me more, Geto….”

One palm butterfly out across your breast and you moan, lewdly loud. “If Director Yaga hears, I’m going to be so fired, pretty.”

“S-Sorry…” 

Dipping and squeezing the soft, pillowy flesh of your boobs, Suguru Geto stares down at you, drinking every emotion and expression he can rip out of you. “Ho—fuck, like that.” Your approval is everything to him.

“I know,” Suguru murmurs, his voice ocean-deep and scraping across the shell of your eager ear when he leans closer from his privileged height to press one bended knee to the chair, right in between your thighs. He lets one hand drift down into the space he created and rub circles on the moist mound of flesh there, as his other hand comes up to cradle your chin, urging you to stretch your neck up and long for him. “You look so pretty like this— all naked and horny for me.”

“Someone might come in, lock the door…” you breathe in protest, remembering your shy nature, and he ignores you, slowly dragging his palm down your trembling slit.

“You don't get a tattoo as sensual as that, if you don't want everyone to drool after you,” he says, and you’re helpless to stop the embarrassing way your knees suddenly jerk farther apart when his hand moves to press a fat finger on your clit. “… Showing all the monkeys how sexy you are, and then showing them that you belong ONLY to me.”  

And then he squeeeezes your bundle of nerves, and your hips nearly come off the seat with it.

Nothing else exists besides your boyfriend’s pair of hands now gripping the bottom of the chair, to position your body closer to him. You hear yourself take exactly one shaky breath before his arms suddenly slithered under your knees, hauling you forward. Your lower back dips in at the angle, your pelvis now jutted out and propped up by the edge of the seat.  

Suguru Geto licks his lips as if he as if a banquet were being presented to him and the following is him lowering himself to the floor in front of you, running those deliciously strong palms up the length of your thighs. Your new position encourages you to spread your legs wider for him.

“I think my lips, tattooed here,” his long, cascading loose hair caresses the inner skin of your thighs as he leans down to the lower curve of your tummy and places a soft, warm kiss, “would look great, as well.”

“Y-You think?” 

Your quivering lips exhale at the feeling of his hot, plump lips meeting your feverish skin, and hearing the sound of his breath hitch at the visual you give him, goosebumps spread all you’re your body.  

“I know it,” He promises, opening you up wider, subtly moving himself closer into the gap and letting you cradle his torso with your knees.

“Mine to feast on, mine to pamper,” the special grade sorcerer rumbles quietly, his grip on your thighs tightening as he licks his lips, hungrier. “So, mine to… own.”

“….-Own?”

And then you’re abruptly cut off by your own gasp when a soft, dexterous tongue slowly envelopes your clit. His lips slick between your folds as his rogue tongue flicks out like hot velvet to flutter greedily over your clit, humming low in his throat as he eats you with unreserved gluttony.

“Fuck, this is heaven. This is fucking heaven,” he rumbles against your sloppy pussy, “my sweet girl laying with her legs open and letting me eat her after I’m done giving classes—….”  

“Su-Sugu… oh, fuck—” Your words are barely discernible through the pleasure, deformed by the sound of your breaths and gasps. “Do—Do you think someone can h-hear us?”

Suguru smirk is swallow by your folds and his snicker muffled by his need to keep eating you to even let you know that a six eyes user had been spying from the other side of the door since you started. 

“Noones at the school at these hours but us teachers, baby. Don’t worry your pretty head.” 

His fingers curl against your thighs, his tongue swirling gentle circles around your swollen clit as he sinks two of his thick fingers deep inside your cunt. Both of your hands thrust out without thinking and snatch at his loose raven mane, fingers burying themselves into thick waves of hair. “Oh—f-fuck—”

He makes a rough little growl into your warmth every time you tug on his hair, and you tug every time, he pulls his fingers out and then pushes them back in again, until it becomes a vicious circle where both do that steadily, over and over until you’re sweating, hips arching up and doing everything you can to entice him to hurry the fuck up.

Suguru snickers again at your impatience, instead, he’s unbelievably slow, continuing to lick his hot tongue through your folds as his eager finger fuck you, so utterly patient and steadfast, learning the right notes to drive you crazy.

“You are close, aren’t you, dove?” he flicks that wicked tongue applying more pressure to your abused clit, “something’s beginning to burn in your core, I can see the cursed energy spreading threateningly along the muscles in your pelvis.” Suguru narrated what he felt with his own cursed energy, without a doubt the out-looker seeing the same as he was, just in HD. “It rises through your abdomen like unstoppable wave, seeps down into your knees and wraps around them. Your breathing is getting shallower, the base of your lungs suddenly feels too cramped by the oncoming explosion. I know, baby, just let it happen, don’t hold back. You can squirt on my face. I’m eager for you to baptize me on your fountain of love—”  

“Stop it, Suguru… I’m-I’m not…. I will not….” 

Your resistance is nothing but amusing to him, this is your nemesis. You hate how sensitive you are, how easy your boyfriends read you and undoes you with his mere tongue, you hate that squirting jet that makes your toes curl and your eyes blank, but once it’s over, makes you very aware of the mess you made.

Suguru finally speeds up, and that rock steady display of ferocity makes you want to cry.

“—I-I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, everything inside pulling up fierce and tight, your chest heaving and your grip in his hair turning to iron. “—Oh, fuck, I’m g-gonna cum—I-I—”

A quiet mhmmm sound rumbles low in gentle encouragement, and then he takes a second to softly suck on your clit to push you over the edge. His fingers curl, press up hard against something absolutely fucking devastating inside you, Suguru Geto knows you so well is almost unfair, and bite your lip is all you can do to stifle a sob when your body suddenly erupts in searing burning ecstasy.

Your back arches and you cum in his mouth, wailing his name while he groans raggedly and drags you through it. It’s hot and wet, in equal parts chaos and bliss. You’re still trying to calm your breathing when a gentle softness presses against your lips, mindful of rewarding you with as much love as he can profess in one single, chaste kiss. It’s over way too soon though, and by the time you open your eyes again, you blearily blink them at him. He’s already standing, impeccable and not one strand of raven hair out of place. A swift smirk curving his lips while his stare never strays from your destroyed persona, heaving and sweating and naked in a public place. Fuck! He adores you so much.

“Are you hungry?” He eventually asks looking straight ahead instead of you, the low frequency of his natural voice not masked anymore by his arousal.

You blink up at him twice, still slouched over the seat butt-naked, trying to figure out who is he talking to, all your clothes spread around his desk and the floor when you hear some familiar voice answer from the other side of the door.

“Starving.”

CLICK HERE TO READ ALL MY JJK SMUT FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

RYOMEN SUKUNA

The euphoric sway of his hips meeting yours should be an affront to the natural order, your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, had been maintaining the same rhythm, precision and firmness in each thrust for more than forty minutes. 

You are cockdrunk, you don’t remember your own name, only his. Which comes out of your trembling lips in pieces or unfinished syllables. Your mind is a mess, a rabid mess of hormones and pleasure, but your insides are the most affected, making you endure mini-orgasm after mini-orgasm that shake your frame violently, leaving all your muscles exhausted and sweaty. Breathing ragged, face pressed against the sheets of his bed and your wrists swallowed by his large hands against the firm mattress, while he introduced you again and again to your new deity, his thick cock, which seemed just as hard and ready to continue making a mess of you. 

“…I’m sure you’ll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again now, won’t you, princess?”

Although his voice was breathless, it was still firm and solid, not like your pathetic moans.

“I…I thought you’d-…that you’d like it, Kuna-...” That sentence trailed from your half-open lips, between a sigh and a moan as he changed the angle to hit that spot of nerves inside you that made you see stars.

“I know you meant well but it was still unacceptable,” your boyfriend scolds you again, and a delicious shiver runs down your spine as his hands abandons your wrists in order to better hook on either side of your hip. The mere sensation of his thick fingers digging into your soft skin makes you cum again. "Fuck- you squeeze me so good, baby..." he praises, plunging his massive cock deeper into your quivering hole just to draw out more sensations, "-.... shit! If I cum again, are you going to keep it warm for me inside your tummy, princess?"

"Kuna, yes, always..." you moan into the sheets miserably, "don't stay mad at me, please, my love-"

"I loved the tattoo of my lips on your under-boob, don't doubt that" he affirms, firm thrusts clapping his midsection with yours, like giving his stamina a cheer. "But I HATED the fact that some guy had to do it. Don't you know any female tattoo artists, Isn't this the era of women's empowerment?"

You crawl forward and he catches you before you can shift positions. "Kuna, baby... let me ride you, so I can control the speed... I can't cum again-"

"I. Don't. care." He replies, skewering you again on his veiny, thick piece of meat that still feels like stone. "I'll put it in you as fast as I want and as long as I want until you learn your lesson-"

"Which is?"

"You, cocky little thing." He chuckles and emphasizes each word with a thrust. "Nobody. Touches. You. But. ME! Just ME."

“Mine.” Thrust, “Mine~” thrust, thrust, thrust, “MINE.” Thrustthrustthrustthrustthrustthrust—

Sukuna doesn´t hold himself back, even after he comes for the sixth time, he keeps going.

Slipping in and out of you, still rock hard, twisting you uncaringly in all kinds of positions and surfaces that his room provides, just fucking his cum inside you with every unpunished thrust.

You are tired, you are actually exhausted, you are emotional-... and you are drained.

“—I'm yours, just yours... hands off, w-world.... just y-yours~”

His hips stop, finally halting all movement when you give him what he's looking for, he just wants to hear that over and over again from your quivering lips and raspy throat, he just wants you to say it again. Maybe you should tattoo that as well.

Making you come one last glorious and almost painful time. Your naked body is left, used, sweaty and worn but warmly and safely wrapped in his arms. A huge smirk on his lips before he kisses your eyelids, so you open them again and once again you do.

"Now that we got that out of the way, let me see it again..." Sukuna asks, gently squeezing your tattooed boob inside his large palm, letting his eyes scan each patch of skin and how well he marked you with little hints of hickeys and teeth. "...I think we can play twister with every mark I left on your body," he snickers amused, "...but let's start with those lips on your breast."

“Jerk.”

He grins, satisfied. Hugging you harder to plaster your form closer to him, squeezing that sassy grin out of your pretty face.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[shy-writer-999]

Thigh Riding: Monster Trio + Law

WARNING: MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

A/N: How would the Monster Trio & Law act while you ride their thigh? What would they say and how would it be initiated? (afab reader~)

Shoutout to the anon who requested this—I was going to do Ace as well but I think that someone (@possiblyreallyme) recently did it better than what I would have been able to come up with, so I’ve linked that here.

Thigh Riding: Monster Trio + Law

ZORO

The first time you ride one of Zoro’s thighs, it’s his idea. He loves to see you get off in any way he can imagine.

“C’mere. On my thigh. I want you to ride it.”

You’re surprised because you’ve never done this before, but he’s been rabidly horny recently and he’s been getting real creative.

His thighs are thick and hairy—the perfect seat. He’s just wearing boxer briefs, so when you lower your barely clothed cunt onto his thigh, you can feel his wiry hair bristle your skin.

His cock twitches when you look at him, poised on his thigh, waiting for instruction.

His hands come to rest on your hips. “Grind on me.”

He knows just what you like best. His goal is to see you dripping wet with pleasure and a hot mess. He has no problem accomplishing that.

He smirks as your rub your sensitive spot on his bare thigh. Friction builds on your core, quickly sending zaps of pleasure from your clit to the rest of your body.

“Getting wet already?”

 As you slide yourself back and forth on his thigh, you start letting out filthy mewls and keens. Your panties are soaked through.

“How does that feel? Are you getting off by just humping my thigh, gorgeous? Must be pretty desperate.”

As you start rutting down into his thigh more frantically, your face twists into an expression of lust. After a handful of minutes, your eyes become glossy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed pink. He grips your hips tighter and pushes his thigh up into your cunt, eliciting a moan.

“Did that feel good? You like rutting your pussy on my thigh that much?”

He’s getting off seeing you hump so needy and pathetically on his thigh. He can feel the precum seeping out of his tip, making a stain on his briefs.

You’re completely lost by now, feverishly fucking his thigh. You’re making a wet mess out of this thigh and your panties are leaking. Your face is contorted with pleasure.

“You wanna cum for me baby? Wanna cum on my thigh?”

You nod and Zoro starts to push his thigh up into your cunt again. It feels so good that you collapse forward onto him as much as you can, your head coming to rest in the cook of his neck. Your lips glide over his thigh while you ride him.

A few more squirming humps and a few more jerks of Zoro’s thigh up into your cunt  and you’re brought to your peak. You cum all over his thick thigh; you’re hot and sweaty, and Zoro is about to fuck you into oblivion.

“Got your pussy so wet on my thigh—you ready for my cock now, baby? You want the real thing? God, you’re such a mess. C’mere.”

He lifts you up and you’re straddling him now, his cock pressing at your entrance. He proceeds to fuck you slow and deep until you’re even more of a babbling, fucked-out mess. Then he finally lets you cum on his cock, and you return the favor by letting him cumming inside of you.

LUFFY

You’re cuddling with Luffy, legs entangled. You’re half asleep and Luffy is too.

His thigh is pressing on your crotch, and when he adjusts it, he inadvertently grinds his knee on your clit.

You let out a soft sound, kind of like a moan but not as intense. He does it again a few more times and you grab a fistful of his shirt. “Luffy.”

The idea hits him like lightning. He scoops you up from where you’re laying together and sits up, placing you on his thigh.

He’s already hard, and as you blink the sleep out of your eyes, you pull him into a kiss. You feel his thigh under your panties and instinctively start grinding back and forth on it.

“How does that feel?” He asks in all sincerity, and you respond back with a moan “feels good”. He’s always curious about what gets you off—he thinks its hot to see you get flustered and needy.

“Fuck Luffy, it feels so good.”

“Well keep going.” He’s all smiles like usual, his hands on your hips, but his voice is getting gruffer. He notices how wet you’re getting.

He’s getting harder by the minute. Something about seeing you get off on his thigh, of all things, is about to drive him feral.

He gets the idea to move his thigh up and down—maybe it will make you feel even better. He likes to see you in bliss like this, it makes him want to rip all your clothes off and fuck you senseless.

He’s holding off on touching himself right now because he’s too entranced by you haphazardly crashing your cunt on his thigh.

When you finally cum climax on his thigh, he picks you up and puts his cock in you. His voice is strained and husky. “My turn.”

He fucks you until your eyes roll back in your head. Luffy can go round after round, no problem. You riding his thigh was the perfect appetizer to his main meal—cumming in you no less than three times. By the end of it you’re seeing stars and he’s grunting and groaning in your ear.

SANJI

cw: instance of “pretty girl” and “needy girl”

Sanji thinks it’s so fucking hot that you want to ride his thigh.

You ask sheepishly and he becomes so excited he practically throws you over his knee.

The idea that you’re using him any part of him to get off makes him feel like he’s going crazy with desire.

He loves to feel your weight on his thigh. It makes him feel like he’s holding you, like you’re close together, like he’s supporting you in some way (which, technically, he is). It reminds him of when you sit on his face, and he’s hard just thinking about it.

He literally loves you so much that his heart melts any time you look at him. He blushes crimson and attends to your every want and need.

Can’t overstate how excited he was to have you straddling his thigh.

When you start dragging your clit back and forth on his thigh, his heart skips a beat. He thinks you’re gorgeous and is intoxicated by your presence.

He just adores you and it’s apparent in his voice. He sweet talks you as you desperately start writhing on his thigh.

He’s almost breathless. “Wow.”

“Just like that my love.”

When the angle is right, he’ll pull your face near his and caress your cheek with his thumb. He pulls you into delicate kisses, kisses your neck, and swipes his thumb over your lips.

“Pretty girl so worked up riding my thigh.” His grip tightens on your hips as he gets more aroused. He was already rock hard when he initially put you on his thigh, and by now his erection is raging against his pants.

“You’re getting my thigh so wet, beautiful. So fucking hot.”

He coaches and praises you through it. He calls you lovely things and uses his hands to slow down the pace of your thrusts. He wants you to ride him slowly until you’re begging him to let you go faster.

“Mmm, you wish it was my cock instead, angel?”

Your cunt throbs and pulses as you increase the pressure on his thigh—your whines and keens go straight to his dick.

He occasionally reaches a hand up to smooth down your hair and pet your hair and cheeks. He’s so obsessed with you it’s absurd.

“So wet for me, baby. Does it feel good?” He coos in your ear, and it gives you goosebumps.

Sanji starts to bounce his thigh until you’re literally drooling with pleasure. "Go faster now, my love. Go faster." Your thighs start to shake and your slick is oozing on his thighs.

“You look so gorgeous right now. Rutting all over my thighs, needy girl. I’ll fix you up just right, but I want you to cum before I fuck you. Okay?”

When you finally cum, he gives you more sloppy kisses. He picks you up by your waist and hips, carries you to the bed, and fucks you in missionary. Sanji does all the work—think of it as a sort of reward for riding his thigh.

LAW

Law lowkey makes you ride his thigh.

You give him bedroom eyes and he knows immediately that you want him to rail you.

Law says no—sometimes he likes seeing you whine and beg for it.

Obviously, he gets immediately aroused at the thought of you pleading for his cock but today he wants something else.

“You really want it? I’m gonna need a little convincing today.”

You think that he just wants you to give him head, but he simply crosses his arms and says “that’s not what I meant.”

When you ask him what he did mean, he tells you take off your pants and straddle his thigh.

“If you want me to fuck you so bad, you’re going to work for it, sweetheart.”

You’re confused as fuck and half naked. He tells you to put your hands on his shoulders, and then he puts his hands on your waist.

“What are you waiting for?” His look is deadpan, his tone is annoyed and cold, but behind those breath-taking eyes you see a fire roaring. You’re not quite sure what he means, but you’re willing to do anything if it means that he’ll put his cock in you later.

Law starts to bounce his knee and you immediately get the memo.

“Law, you want me to get off on your thigh? That’s embarrassing.”

“I don’t care what it is. Now move.”

He uses his leverage on your waist to push you down on his thigh while he bounces his knee. Your initial confusion is quickly thrown to the side as the friction on your clit builds.

Heat starts to pool in your core.

After a few moments of rubbing your throbbing cunt back and forth on Law’s thigh, your panties start to saturate. You can see that Law is hard already.

When you start letting out needy puffs of breath and muted whines, Law can’t help himself. He wants to see you as worked up as he can.

“Pick up the pace, beautiful. Show me how badly you want it.” Law purrs, his voice is deep. He’s trying to conceal how starving he is for your pleasure. He needs to keep himself in control so he can see you just how he wants you.

You start to rut your hips faster, dragging your sopping wet panties and humping his thigh. You’re so wet that it’s seeping through his pants.

“Law, I want it.” You're begging.

“And what would that be?”

“Your cock. In me. Please Law.”

“Is that so? You’ll have to make do with this. I’ll fuck you after you cum.”

He smirks. You didn’t take long to get this desperate.

He bounces his thigh again and you start moaning his name—that heat and need building on your core are ready to explode.

“Are you going to cum on my thigh or what?”

He pushes your hips down forcefully and bounces his leg harder. It hits your clit and folds just right.

You cum aggressively, basically screaming his name. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders. It’s an overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling of pleasure. Unreal.

His bulge presses on his pants, painfully tight, and he knows that he’s about to fuck you until you can’t talk anymore.

“That’s more like it. Now take those off panties and let me put my cock in you.”

---

(´ ᴗ｀✿)

that’s all for this one :3 here's my masterlist if you're curious! and here's the initial request/my response~

ohoho? thigh riding, you say? >:3c may I request some headcanons of that with characters of your choice?

woooow anon thank u sm for this, this was amazing to write because I have a burning passionate love for man thighs. They are among my favorite things… I think I have a fetish for them or smth because I really really like them, could stare at a nice hairy thick pair of thighs for literal hours. >///<

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You get caught by your brother in a make-out session with Mattheo.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Mattheo Riddle x potter!Reader

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak tighter around himself and Ron as they crept down the dimly lit corridor. They were supposed to be pranking Draco, but Harry had gotten distracted when he saw two figures pressed close together near a shadowy alcove.

He squinted. Was that…? His heart dropped as the pieces clicked into place. You. And Mattheo Riddle. Kissing.

His stomach churned, and before he could stop himself, Harry threw off the cloak.

“What the—?!” he sputtered, his voice cracking.

You and Mattheo jolted apart, your face going beet red. Mattheo, on the other hand, just smirked, running a hand through his hair like this was all part of the plan.

“H-Harry! I—it's not—” you stammered, your words failing as your brother stared at you, wide-eyed and betrayed.

“WHAT ARE YOU—HOW DID THIS—” Harry’s voice was an octave too high. He pointed between you and Mattheo, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Mate, you didn’t know?” Ron asked, blinking in confusion. “I thought you knew.”

Harry whipped around, staring at Ron in disbelief. “You KNEW about this?!”

Ron scratched the back of his neck. “Er… yeah? Thought it was obvious.”

“OBVIOUS?!” Harry’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head. He turned back to you, his voice taking on a melodramatic tone. “Mum and Dad are not going to like this. Not one bit.”

You bit your lip, glancing at Mattheo, who was still smirking like he had just won the Quidditch World Cup. “Er, Harry… they know.”

Harry froze, his expression collapsing into sheer horror. “They WHAT?! This is a betrayal of the highest order!”

You bite your lip, fighting off the embarrassment flooding your chest. “Harry, are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” His voice went impossibly higher, and his hands waved wildly in the air. “I knew it! I knew when you were put in Hufflepuff you’d be too naive! Too trusting!”

You crossed your arms, the sting of his words making you bristle. “Excuse me? Naïve? That’s a bit offensive, don’t you think? And can you please calm down? We’re not doing anything wrong!”

Harry threw his hands up dramatically. “Doing nothing wrong? With him?”

Mattheo’s grin only widened as he looked at Harry, clearly enjoying the situation far more than he should. “Careful, Potter. You’ll burst a vein.”

Harry glared daggers at Mattheo, his fists clenched at his sides. "If anyone’s bursting a vein, it'll be you when I'm done with you, Riddle!"

You stepped forward, cutting off Harry before he can go any further, your own frustration bubbling up. "Harry, stop it!" you snapped, standing between the two of them. "I’m not some damsel you need to rescue! I can make my own choices!"

Harry faltered, looking at you like you’ve just slapped him. "But he’s—he’s Riddle! He’s trouble!"

Mattheo, still leaning casually against the wall, tilted his head slightly, the smirk never fully leaving his lips. "Potter, she’s a big girl. She can handle herself."

"Matt, don’t," you warned, shooting him a quick glare, before turning back to your brother. "Harry, we’ll figure this out. But you have to stop being so overdramatic about it."

Harry huffed, crossing his arms, muttering under his breath, "Overdramatic? I’m not being overdramatic..."

Ron piped up, "Mate, you just threw off an Invisibility Cloak and nearly exploded in the middle of a make-out session. Pretty sure that qualifies as overdramatic."

Harry glared at him, but Ron just shrugged.

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Quiet Storm [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A stormy morning and a sleepy Loki in your bed. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Mild somnophilia. Light, fluffy smut. (w/c 1.2k)

Wind batters against the windows. It buffets the eighty-seventh story with the strength of a god’s fury, rattling the glass.

Rain sounds like hailstones. It has done for the past twelve hours. And it's beautiful, in a primal sort of way. It lulled you to sleep, alone. But as you try to snuggle deeper into the duvet, you realise that most of it is missing.

Turning, you find a familiar wall of pale muscle. You smile softly. No wonder you felt so safe in the storm. He came in at some point during the night, careful not to wake you. But despite his good intentions, Loki is a chronic bedsheet thief. Always has been.

Dull light makes a faint line across his body, from his neck and over the thick of his back. Loki’s hair spreads against his pillow like ink on fresh towels, curling and winding its tendrils into every available space. Your nose traces the sharp line of one shoulder-blade, inhaling the warmth that lingers on his skin.

He showered. Steve said it might be a messy one last night.

The god is facing away from you, one leg draped over the other, bedsheets trapped between his thighs. The room is cold, and the more you awaken, the more you notice the ripple of goose-bumps bristling up your calves.

Loki is fast asleep, that’s plain enough. The portion of his torso visible above the sheets is rising and falling steadily. Peacefully.

Rain slaps against the glass, another gust of winter gale howling around the panes. Without looking, you know that one arm will be tucked under his pillow, the other bent at a way that makes his triceps bulge in that effortlessly sensual way. You place a sleepy kiss between his shoulders, no more than an angels touch. And with all the care you can muster, you try to tug the sheets in your direction.

Loki stirs, groaning with unintelligible annoyance. You snuggle closer, squashing your cheek against the hard expanse of his back. Fingers creep tentatively over the ridges of his abdomen, pausing to ghost the solid dent of his obliques. His breaths rise and fall in undisturbed slumber.

The hand comes to rest in the centre of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, the same as your own. One leg rises and slips beneath the sheet he hoards, your thigh finding its home against his hipbone. Loki’s perfect ass presses against your lower belly, the increasing heat from your exposed sex millimetres from his skin. One calf lies flush against his, bent at an angle. Tangled over him. “Mornhnigk.” he grumbles sweetly, voice thick with sleep.

He’s not awake, not really. You smile against his neck, closing your eyes.

Nuzzling into his hair, you appreciate that this is the god you see. This is the Loki you see. The one who feels safe in your bed. The one who feels safe in your love.

Another kiss finds its way pressed against his hair. You nose rogue strands aside, capturing the edge of his delicate earlobe between your lips with a gentle sigh. He smells so good, like fresh cotton and your shower-gel.

He came straight here, you think, heart skipping as you imagine him striding from the Quinjet in darkness and making a beeline for your apartment. Stripping off in your bathroom, not his own. His leathers a tangled heap on your hallway floor, no doubt. He came straight home.

Irresistible. That's what he is. Even if you wanted to leave him be, not touch him, adore him, you don't think you could. The quiet storm of love you have for him rages inside you with all the ferocity of the one outside. Unstoppable. Undeniable.

Loki’s back arches slightly as he works his face deeper into the pillow. It presses his muscular ass into your crotch. Your fingers slip down his stomach, pads catching on the silken trail of fine hairs leading towards his groin. Heat increases as you move closer to his centre, radiating from his skin. Suddenly aware of how cold your hands must be, you flinch as the head of his cock brushes your pinky. The tip is slightly wet.

He’s usually horny as hell when he comes back from missions. It must have taken all his willpower not to wake you. Or at least resist the urge to hold you, burying his erection between the curve of your cheeks. The thought of his gentlemanly resistance makes your stomach flip with desire.

A small sigh escapes him as you trail a solitary digit up his velvet cock, tall and strong against his stomach. You’ll never get used to how soft the skin is. Chalk and cheese to the way he can make you cum as he rails you masterfully with the force of a wild tempest. The finger catches on the thick vein that runs to the root, and you play with it, grazing up and down its route with a ghost-like touch. Loki sighs again, shoulder-blades twitching.

Needy fingers wrap around his girth, squeezing gently.

Loki purrs. A low, rumbling sound which chimes with the patter of raindrops against glass. His cock twitches in your hold, eager for his mistress’s adoration as you trace your delicate grip to the tip. The god’s hips thrust lightly into your hold, rocking himself deeper into the tantalisingly pleasure his sleeping form finds itself. His foreskin gathers beneath your fingers as you massage gently, before sliding it back down.

Loki gasps. The mattress shifts as your lover’s waking body turns with care, shoulder muscles clenching as he pushes up against the bed and lays on his back. One of his hands stretches up and slides behind his head while your own continues its slow pump of his swollen cock beneath the covers. So slowly, back and forth.

He blinks several times, watching the work of your hand before his sultry stare finds your own. His eyes flash, still hooded from dreams. “Did you miss me?” he asks groggily, knowing the answer. Loki leans forward, kissing you deep. His warm tongue searches your own, strands of his wild hair sticking to your lips. You can feel his lower body clench and jolt as your strokes grow firmer, his left hand itching against the sheets as he clenches and unclenches a fist.

A particularly ferocious wave of wind slaps against the window, making you flinch. Your hand grips his cock even tighter, making him hiss with pleasure.

As you loosen, Loki’s brow furrows in feigned pity. “Are you scared, little one?” he purrs. It’s tipped with loving condescension in that filthy way that only he could muster. “Do you need a big, strong god to to protect you as the realm’s elements rage?” You bite your lip to stifle a smile, nodding. “So scared,” you confirm in a girlish whisper. Loki sniffs, raising his chin. He looks down from half-lidded eyes, un-styled locks of curl falling around his jaw. “Come then,” he utters, moving the hand behind his head to pat your pillow. “We must ensure you are thoroughly...protected.” You squirrel down in to the blankets, facing away from him while he draws you near. His throbbing cock pulses against your ass, against your thighs, searching kisses working a trail up the curve of your neck.

“I will always protect you,” he mutters earnestly as you feel a hand slip between your bodies.

The crown of his manhood slides against your entrance, slipping against wetness. He hums contentedly, nudging the tip as you clench around air. Loki's body melts against yours like a finger dipped in wax. His abdominal muscle pulses against your back as he tries to steady his breaths.

In moments, a dark moan floods your ear as he squeezes inside. The feeling of peace is immediate. Loki stills, breathing softly against your skin.

“Always,” he groans quietly as he bottoms out.

He only withdraws an inch with every careful thrust, rocking you gently as you move against him. With him. You’re vaguely aware of his dexterous fingers toying with a nipple, the suck of his kiss on your neck, the happy sounds of your own moans as he fucks you in rippling waves.

All the world dissolves. All you hear is the white noise of his loving praise. His delicate pleasures. Safety.

All there is, is him. And outside, the storm rages on.

Tags (contd in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

[larcenywrites]

My Little Animal

Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW | rough sex | unprotected p in v | lots of foreplay! | biting (with tongue and fangs!) | collaring (Logan) | growling | smelling??? | calling Logan an animal (affectionately!!) | feral Logan??? | oral (F receiving) | Not really Dom!Reader but not exactly Dom!Logan either? | maybe the real Dom in this fic is just the love we made along the way :) | I guess I ended up using the taller hugh jackman version of wolverine for this sorry short king Logan 😔 | no real plot just lots of porn with an intro | some HCS for collaring here

Word count: ~2,400

A late night was normal around here, and a late night waiting up for Logan was hardly newsworthy. Neither were the heavier-than-usual drag of boots outside the door, nor the irritated huff after he closed the door a little too carefully.

Your eyes are drawn from the book in your lap to the larger man sitting on the end of the bed, back to you. Remaining silent, you watch him, his hand scratching through his beard and through the hair on the back of his neck. His tension is obvious in his movements, and more obvious in the tight muscles of his back as he pulls his white tank over his head, tossing it aside with a huff.

"Tough day?" You finally break the silence, trying not to let your tone hint at the longing in your eyes as you ogle.

"Always," he only replies gruffly, making you huff with an irritated amusement. You continue to eye him from your spot, deciding not to scold him this time for wearing his suit's yellow and blue pants on the bed. This time.

"I think you're just being dramatic," you softly tease, placing your book on the bedside table. With a disgruntled grunt of disagreement, Logan bends to work on getting his boots off, bare shoulders just inviting you to touch them. Shrugging the covers from your lap, you shuffle across the mattress to his seated form, eager to slide your palms over his heated skin. There's no reaction even when you nuzzle into his neck, the only sounds being the thump of boots being tossed aside and the rustling of fabric as he removes his pants. And those black boxer briefs didn't leave much to the imagination when he kicked the yellow and blue fabric aside, his flaccid bulge moving with his thigh.

You knew he could pick up your spike in arousal at the sight, and you could feel the elevation of his heartbeat when you hooked your arms under his to rest your hands on his chest. It was only when he felt your tongue on the shell of his ear that he finally reacted, a low growl vibrating through your hands and chest where you pressed against him.

That was really all you needed to know.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, pulling away from his tense form. Instead, you roughly thread your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling more low rumbles from his chest. Like a grumpy ball of putty in your hands, he lets you push his head down, chin to chest. Just another little push, and he lowered himself, kneeling at the foot of the bed. He sighs heavily when you steal your touch from his hair, but it's far from one of relief. His cheek tilts your way as you shuffle over the sheets again, listening as you move back to the nightstand.

You can't hide anything from him. He knows which drawer you open. He knows what's in it. He knows what it means. Yet he still doesn't move when your hand pets over his neck. You could practically feel him bristling with excitement. For being so tense and stubborn, he always allows you to bind his neck with the collar. You wrap the brown nylon fabric around his throat with care, its gunmetal gray fastens jingling as you fix the buckle, keeping it loose just the way he likes it.

Wrapping a few fingers around the now-fitted collar, you carefully tug it up towards you, keeping his head down while your nails scratch over his scalp. Another soft growl makes you smile. Stepping off the bed next to his kneeling form, you drag his collar with you, the rough fabric sliding over his skin as you stand in front of him. You continue your petting, letting him adjust to his new headspace until he finally leans further into your grasp, nuzzling against your bare thigh and resting his cheek against your skin with a growly sigh.

"There's my little animal," you coo, tightening your grip on his hair and abruptly tugging the collar up, making him face up at you, your knuckles against his jaw. Logan's mouth parts in a silent moan, lip curled in a silent snarl. He narrowly eyes you through his lashes as your thumb pushes his bottom lip down and leans obediently into the rough petting on the side of his head. The pad of your thumb presses into the point of his fang and is met with his eager tongue, languidly lapping and swirling over the digit.

You take your hand from his hair to trace fingers over his lips, watching him close his eyes in ecstasy as he laps at your other fingers. Tongue and lips press against your palm in a sort of kiss before fangs gently bite into the soft flesh between your thumb and finger. You know they're just itching to get that tension out, and what better way than guiding that bite down to your thigh. He eagerly latches on, exploring the skin of your thigh with scraping fangs and long licks while bringing his hands to hold the backs of your thighs in a bruising grip.

You can't help but finally moan at his feral-ish nature, holding onto the back of his collar while threading through the thick curls on the back of his neck, encouraging more of those sharp nibbles and wet trails drifting closer to the inside of your thigh. He can't help but taste the softer skin beneath his tongue several times before sinking his teeth in just a bit harder, growling low in response to your moan.

Your grip on his hair tightens in surprise as he noses against your panty-covered clit, cheeks feeling flushed at the sound of him inhaling the scent of your arousal straight from the source. Fangs press ever-so-gently into your mound as his tongue finally meets your sensitive bud, swirling over the fabric and massaging deeply the more the mix of his saliva and your slick dampened the thin material that hardly kept you separated.

You desperately clench around nothing when he pulls back, teeth bringing your panties with him as his fingers tightly grip around the band and impatiently tear them from your legs with ease. There's no time to think about scolding him before your knee is forced onto his shoulder, falling into an awkward angle against him as his lips devour you again.

"Oh fuck, Logan," you sigh, only able to claw at his shoulders while firm hands pull you into him. His hot breath fans over your sensitive flesh as he practically pants, cleaning up the arousal pooled at your core and his nose bumping against your clit. The only noises in the room are your mixed panting and the crude lapping sounds from between your legs, supplemented by the low, warning growls every time the prickle of his beard causes you to twitch away. The same prickling friction that drags through your folds as his tongue meets your clit again, leaving your legs trembling in his grasp with every swipe. He knows you're close-- he can smell it, hear it in your whimperish panting, feel it in the way you try to grind on his tongue. It only spurs him on, tilting his head against your thigh as if to settle in while he pushes you closer to the edge.

It isn't long before your nails dig into his hair and pull him closer, and your legs awkwardly tensing and closing against him as you finally come on his tongue. He laps deeply at your over-sensitive bud several more times to ride you through it before attacking your entrance again, drinking your essence like a starved animal. Every brush of his beard and nuzzle against your clit becomes far too much to keep handling as he continues, but there's no escape from his grip on you. Wrapping your hand around the collar, you try to tug him away, only met with a deep rumble that borders between a growl and a moan, hot breath fanning over your core again. He was as stubborn as he was greedy, knowing well that he was far too strong for you to pull him away, especially from between your legs. Maybe he even enjoyed the rough material of his collar threatening to choke him.

"Logan, please," you plead breathily, thumbs hooked around the collar. As if to make a point, he deeply laps at you several more times before turning to sink his fangs into your thigh in aggravated obedience with a low growl that gently rumbles against your skin. He keeps his teeth in your leg even while you lower your knee from his shoulder and holds onto you while you recover for the moment. But only for a moment.

The sharp prick of fangs finally leaves your thigh, only for them to brush across your tummy with a wet lick as he nuzzles under your shirt. Your fingers brush over the tense hands that grip your thighs, feeling those claws flex beneath his skin, naturally responding to their owner's pent-up emotion and energy in the only way they ever knew how. He's obviously still unsatisfied, raging to let loose. You're jolted from that thought as he bites into the soft side of your waist, licking over his bite in a soothing way. Helping him out, you slip your shirt over your head, tossing it aside like every other piece of clothing. Without a word, he gets to his feet, taking it as his cue to lick his way between your breasts and into the crook of your neck.

He roughly pulls your hips flush to his, his chest practically heaving from the deep inhale he takes from where he stays buried in your neck. He's never been one for subtleties, especially not when those hips start to hungrily rut into yours, and his hard-on, hardly hidden in his briefs, is straining for attention. Grinding with him, you hook your thumb beneath the burlap brown band as your fingers tangle through the dark locks of hair on the back of his neck.

"You're not very good at this taming thing," he finally breaks his silence with a cocky grumble, pressing his lips to your cheek. At his comment, your hand wraps around the front of his collar again, knuckles to his throat.

"Good thing I don't want to tame you," you softly sass back, turning to meet his lips and tracing them with your tongue. He shows off his fangs with a low growl, grip tightening on your thighs before he roughly hoists you up to wrap around his waist. It's only seconds for him to spin around and plant your back on the bed, his much heavier form coming down with you, wasting no time to ravish your throat with sloppy kisses and lovebites.

You can only tilt your head back and moan softly to the ceiling, much to his purr of approval as he continues his assault, even while awkwardly shuffling between your legs to rid his too-tight boxers. You know he's finally done it when the heat of his cock presses at your entrance and a hand pushes a thigh aside to give him more room to work with. Despite still being soaked from your romp just minutes ago, he's still not the easiest fit when he pushes into you, mirroring you with lips parted in a silent moan and eyes screwed shut. Even with the sting of your nails in his bicep, he keeps sinking into you, giving you no time to adjust to the pleasurable burn of him filling you to the brim.

Cock sitting heavy against your cervix, Logan grinds you into the mattress, nestling back into your neck tongue first. Muscular arms cage your legs against his hips and his fists wrap into the sheets as he instantly ruts into you like an animal in heat. Once again, the only sounds filling the room are whimperish moans and heavy panting being outshined by the lewdness of how wet each thrust of his cock and each slap of his balls sounds against your soaked heat.

Hot breath fans over your skin with a low rumble when you pull at his hair, the growl vibrating from his chest through yours and only adding to the growing tension in your core. He lifts himself when you tense around him, bowed up above you as if in concentration and chest heaving with his wild panting. You look up at him through your lashes, a few dark strands hanging over his forehead and loose collar hanging over his collarbones. The sight alone could send you close to the edge, already throbbing around him, but you needed him close again.

Dark eyes flicker to you at the feel of your hand on his chest, playing through the thick body hair there before wrapping around the burlap brown band hanging from his throat. He obediently lets you pull him down with the little strength you have left, his own hips faltering as you pull his face into your chest. He moans low, tongue lolling against your skin as he picks up the pace again, hips stiff and fists tight around the sheets. He's just as close as you are, but his deep and well-aimed thrusts are determined to get you there first.

He can smell it, hear the soft whines from your chest and feel your legs squirm under his arms, and groans deeply at how tightly you clench around his cock and hold his face to your chest as you come around him. His steady pace finally slows, stilling as deep as he can within you and cumming with a low growl. He keeps you caged and pressed into the mattress, panting hotly against you. Your fingers gently play with his hair while you come down, other hand still holding onto the collar while he gently nuzzles and rubs his face between your breasts, as if you didn't already smell like every part of him.

After several moments, he finally lifts himself from you, pulling out from your messy core and wasting no time going down on you, savoring the mixed scents of your essences and greedily cleaning you up. With a gasped-out moan, you tug desperately at his hair, only being answered with that possessive growl that means he isn't letting you go anytime soon.

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Pic credit: @cupcakeinat0r

Warning: Rough sex, overstimulation, dumbification-ish?, name-calling, breeding kink

It started with you making your way to Miguel's office to drop off your mission report and some food from the cafeteria since you were certain he hadn't eaten today. Just before you reached the door, Lyla appeared in front of you. "Hey girly. You here for the boss?" She asked. "Yeah Lyla, I know he probably hasn't come out for food today. Plus I need to drop off my report." You answered. Lyla gave you a sheepish look. "Ummm just be careful...or maybe come back later? It might be better. He's not doing so hot. It's uh...his time of the month?"

You paused at first. You were so busy taking care of anomalies you forgot to check the calendar. Miguel's spider DNA gave him a mating cycle. The first time had taken you by surprise and your muscles ached for 2 weeks. Since then you'd been careful to time it properly and stretch but saving the multiverse from sudden collapse was becoming more and more difficult lately. You totally forgot about Miguel's "heat".

"Oh...um..maybe I'll still go check on him. Just so I can make sure he doesn't hurt himself." You reasoned to her. Lyla shrugged. "If you say so. Don't say I didn't warn you though, girly." You smiled and waved her away playfully as the door slid open in front of you. Miguel's office felt unusually cold, like he had turned the AC on full blast plus some. You didn't even have a chance to speak before hearing Miguel's voice shouting. "LYLA I told you not to let anyone in here!"

Your spider sense pinged just as you saw one of Miguel's huge monitors flying towards you. "Miguel! What the hell, it's me!" You shouted, catching the monitor before it took you out. The force of it did send you back a couple inches but you were otherwise unharmed. You swung up to his platform and set the monitor gently on the floor. "Oh...I-I'm sorry, hermosa. I didn't know it was you." He apologized. He was hunched over in his chair, his large frame curled almost into a ball. He didn't even look up at you but you could see him tense up as you neared him. "You shouldn't be here, querida. It's not safe. I don't wanna hurt you."

You put your hand on his back and Miguel bristled like a cat. "Amor, estoy serio! If you don't leave, I don't think I'll be able to control myself." He warned, his tone was harsh but also pleading. You stood firm. "I'm not afraid of you, Miguel. And I'm not fragile either. You know I can handle it. It'll hurt you more if you don't." You placed your hands on his shoulders and started to massage his muscles when he shot up from his chair and whirled around to face you. "You don't know what you're asking for this time, querida. I tried to take a suppressor and..it didn't work! It only made it worse." He growled. You could finally take in the sight of him fully as he towered above you. His hair was disheveled and sweaty, his normally maroon-colored eyes were a blazing, almost glowing, red. He was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched in tight fists like he was using every ounce of strength to keep them to himself.

You raised your hand to his face, concerned, but Miguel caught your hand in his tightly. "Miguel-" "Why do you insist on torturing me, amor? Don't you understand that the closer you get to me, the more I'm having to restrain myself?!" He pulled you to him and pressed his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. "Dios mio...you smell so sweet, princesa. I bet you taste even better." He growled against your skin. Arousal coursed through you as you felt his hard length press against you. "Miguel...I can take it.." You spoke, trying to reassure him, your voice barely making it above a whisper. He leaned close to you, gripping you by your jaw. "I won't be gentle, hermosa. I can't." He rasped. You nodded and gasped as he began to grind his hips against you. One hand ran up the back of your neck and tangled in your hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, Miguel yanked your head back and latched his mouth to your neck. You cried out as his fangs sunk into your skin, marking you as his. He sucked on your neck before pressing his lips to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His other hand ran down your body, squeezing and groping your flesh as he went. He stopped just under your bellybutton and gripped a fistful of your suit. Your eyes widened as you felt a tug and heard the rip of the material.

You pushed on his chest, trying to protest his destruction of your suit but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind you, and smothering your noises with his kiss. Breathing heavily, he released you long enough to growl out "I'll make you another suit, querida" before shredding the material on your chest, freeing your breasts. He wasted zero time sucking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth before rolling the other one between his fingers. You let your head roll back and threaded your fingers through Miguel's hair. His warm tongue flicked across your nipple, making you whimper in pleasure.

Miguel stood up straight and pushed you back against the table. Turning your body away from him, he got on his knees behind you. "Bend over for me, princesa. Let me taste you." He demanded. You bent over the table, your ass and dripping pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel groaned as he massaged your ass. "Fuck, you're so wet already, amor. You're driving me crazy."

You choked out a loud moan as Miguel shoved his tongue inside you without warning. His hands dug into the meat of your ass as he wiggled it against his face. "Oh f-fuck, Miguel! Your mouth feels so good!" You whined. Miguel hummed as he sucked on your clit and flicked his tongue over your wet hole. Two of his large fingers replaced his tongue inside you and began pumping inside you fast and hard. Your legs were already beginning to shake and you knew Miguel wouldn't have mercy on you just yet. You felt yourself coming undone as he ate you like an ice cream. You couldn't help but rock back against his face, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

Laughing quietly to himself, he stood and wiped his face before cleaning off his fingers one by one, savoring your taste. He went back to rubbing your clit in circles as he positioned himself behind you. He pushed on your back until you were completely flush against the table. You heard his suit turn off and squirmed against him in anticipation.

A loud scream was pulled from your throat as Miguel fully sheathed himself inside you. Giving you absolutely no time to adjust, he began fucking you at such a rough pace, the monitors began to shake from the force of his thrusts. "Ay carajo, bebita...you're so fucking tight....gonna fill this pussy up so good, querida. You're gonna make such a beautiful mama." Miguel moaned. You couldn't form any words. Every ounce of your strength was going to keeping yourself upright. You gripped the edge of the table and held on for dear life. You could see your face reflected in the monitor in front of you, the orange lights illuminating your fucked out expression. Your lips were slightly puffy from Miguel sucking on them and your eyes were half open. Miguel noticed you looking into your reflection and smirked.

"You like watching me fuck you, amor? You do make such a beautiful sight. You can barely keep your eyes open, can you? Do I make you feel that good, baby? Answer me."

"Y-yes, Miguel you- ohmygod- you make me feel amazing. You're so deep inside me...fuck, you're gonna make me cum soon!" You cried. Miguel laughed darkly. "Oh you're gonna cum a few times for me, cariño. As many times as it takes." He growled. Hooking his arm under your knee, he lifted one of your legs onto the table, angling himself so he could fuck deeper into you. His pace sped up and the feeling of his cock so deep inside you had you screaming. The monitors not attached to the ceiling toppled over and crashed to the floor of the platform but Miguel kept his pace as if he didn't even hear them. You didn't even have time to announce it before your orgasm hit you, soaking Miguel's cock and stomach with your wetness. Still his pace did not slow. If anything, it spurred him on even more. "Así baby, cum all over me, princesa. Fuck you're such a good girl for me.." Miguel groaned in approval.

Grabbing your hair, Miguel pulled your head back and pressed kisses to the side of your face as he continued fucking you. "Que linda...eres tan hermosa, amor." He murmured, his gentle words a stark contrast to the rough movements of his hips. "Tell me you love it, princesa." "Ohhhh I l-love it s'much! S'fucking good!" You slurred, your brain foggy from the overstimulation. You were so blissed out you didn't realize your mouth had been hanging open and drool had fallen from your tongue. Miguel smirked when he noticed. "Oh princesa you're drooling, huh? Am I fucking my baby stupid? This cock too much for my dumb little whore, hm?" All you could do was nod and whimper in response. "Oh pobrecita..." Miguel crooned.

He reached around you and rubbed your clit as he slammed his hips against your ass. Your moans and whimpers grew loud as another orgasm washed over you, your nails clawing at the table.

"M-Miguel please...I c-can't." You sobbed, your legs shaking, dangerously close to giving out. Miguel bent over you and nibbled gently on your ear lobe. "What happened to 'I can take it, Miguel. I'm not fragile, Miguel'?" He taunted. You let out another sob of pleasure as he lifted your leg back onto the table and smacked your ass before gripping it tightly. "Don't worry, princesa. Gonna fill that pussy up soon, gonna put a baby in you and make you a mama. Fuck, amor, you're gonna look so beautiful all swollen with my babies. Gotta fuck it into you deep, baby." He moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at his words. "Fuck yes, cum inside me Miguel. Please fill me up! I need it!" You begged. Miguel cursed and gripped your hips hard enough that surely bruises would be there later. Sweat dripped from his hair and a thin sheen of sweat made his chest glisten.

He pounded into you hard, chasing his release. Your screams of pleasure filled his ears and soon he was seeing stars as his release finally hit. His whole body shuddered as he emptied his load inside you, coating your walls in his warm, sticky cum. With a loud grunt, he pressed his hips flush against your ass, making sure he was totally spent before pulling back out of you. Your legs gave out completely and you collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Miguel quickly joined you, pulling your trembling body against his sweaty chest. Panting against your skin, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and brushed your hair away from your face. His actions were gentle but as he kissed your cheek, he murmured in your ear.

"Get your rest now, amor. I'm not even close to done with you."

[bettysupremacy]

Omg imagine james doing something stupid (not much imagination needed there) and r is telling him of (lovingly) and he’s just like “yes ma’am🫡” and the others are like side eyeing him I just NEED james to call me ma’am in an argument

i hope you are having a great december so far my love

(not much imagination needed there) LOL

i could kiss you this idea is so cute thank you lovely

“Oh, my boy.” You croon to the mess tumbling into your lap. Softly, you brush some hair from his fluttering eyes. “What‘ve the evil twins done to you.”

“Evil twins!” Sirius gasps.

Remus laughs. “That’s a new one.”

You don’t look up from the sickly boy careening for your touch. “What did they feed you?”

He moans into you, muttering something you can’t pick up. He’s gone all right, ten shades of flushed and warm to the touch. It’s already a warm night, but this is no warmth that came naturally.

“We didn’t do anything.” Remus denies impishly.

“Puking pastilles again?” You eye them. “Do you know how long we sat by the toilet?”

“That was not our fault.”

“And neither were the nosebleed nougats?” You sigh. “Seriously thought his brain was coming out his nose.”

Sirius nods in agreement nose scrunching. “Not his finest moment.”

“Because of you.”

“Don’t start with me, woman.” His finger points between your eyes.

James is malleable under you, nose pressing into your thigh coyly. You see the corner of a smile as you fuss, guilty pleasure at your roaming touch. The room is hot, warm bodies passing and going as they please through the small flat. You fear he may run a fever, though that’s uncommon. James immune system is a rock, solid at anything thrown to it.

You press your hand to his forehead. “Has he had to much?”

The boys eye each other suspiciously. “Too much?”

You scoff. “To drink?”

“Depends.” Sirius shrugs

“On what!”

Their dubious behavior alarms you. These boys are up to something, or rather, were up to something, and now they’re avoiding dealing with the consequence of you.

“The substance.”

“Substance?” You sit up straight, shuffling the boy under you. He grumbles in protest.

“Potion.” Remus gives.

You frown apprehensively. “You didn’t.”

“We didn’t,” Sirius starts.

“he did.” Remus finishes.

Felix Felicis. They’d been talking about it a couple weeks ago, getting their hands on some. You protested, begged them, to forget it. It’s too dangerous, your voice of reason lowered their spirits, James you’ll be sleeping on the couch if you risk yourself like that.

“No,” You whine, fretting over the intoxicated fool. “how much?”

“Ask loverboy.”

“The whole,” James takes a deep breath mid sentence. “bottle.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes wide at the older boys standing. “he’ll be puking all night.”

“Maybe not..”

Your face drops into your hands exhausted. “Puking Pastilles all over again.”

“M’sorry.” James moans under you. “M’so sorry, lovely.”

“That was so stupid.” You scold lightly, hand coming down to flatten over his collar bones. “So, so, so, stupid!”

You're ruffled, shaken at the thought of him downing such an expensive, easily tainted, potion.

“Do you listen to everything they tell you to do?”

“No,” he starts slowly.

“Seems like it.” You bristle, pulling him up to sit. You look into his eyes seriously and he shuffles, nervous under your gaze. “Get a mind of your own.”

His fingers twitch at the hem of the dress you’d picked out tonight, squeezing it in his grip, grounding himself in reality. “Yes ma’am.”

Sirius scoffs behind you, shaking his head at Remus who looks equally perturbed at James’ extra affection. Under them, you wrap your arms around his neck surely. Besides the soft sent of sickly sweet potion, he smells of pine and cologne. You let yourself recognize his body is continuing to function as it should. Untouched, mostly, by the yellow inebriant.

“I can’t stand you, do you feel well?”

“I’m feeling better.”

You stick your face in his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“No, I don’t feel well.”

You sigh into him, pressing a kiss into his freckled skin. He won’t sleep on the couch tonight, though you aught to teach him a lesson.

“We’re going home.”

“What?” James frowns. “We only just got here.”

“D’you have another pool to jump in?”

He cringes at the memory of his fireball spree. “Kay, coming.”

You collect your coat and purse as you stand, leaving James to fend for himself behind you. “Felix Felicis isn’t a joke, one wrong tincture of thyme and you’re in St Mungo’s- James, were are your shoes?”

[verstappensrealwife]

"Because he likes you!" - Lando Norris x Reader

angst, smut, fluff.

approx. 2800 words

warnings: slow burn?, sex, tiny hint of carlos sainz jr x reader, ofc sex. Reader “rewarding” Lando for winning!

lando norris masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

From the earliest memories of childhood, Lando Norris was a constant presence—a thorn in your side, a tormentor, a source of frustration. He revelled in teasing, in taunting, in making your life just a little bit harder. Your parents' dismissive explanation, "It's because he likes you," grated against your nerves, a feeble attempt to rationalize the torment. You did not like Lando Norris. Not at all. Not even the littlest bit. Not at all.

But hate was a strong word.

In your teenage years, Lando's torment took on a different form. The physical assaults of hair pulling and tripping you onto your face may have ceased, but the verbal jabs and the mocking laughter persisted, carving deeper wounds into your already fragile heart. It was as if he revelled in your discomfort, delighting in every opportunity to belittle and humiliate you, all under the guise of adolescent affection—a twisted notion that your parents foolishly labelled as "liking you."

Your family received the coveted invitation to his Formula One debut in Australia—an event that filled you with a conflicting mix of emotions. The pits pulsed with an electric energy, a cacophony of roaring engines and frenetic activity, cameras capturing every moment of the spectacle.

AUSTRALIA, 2019 With the guest pass draped around your neck, you navigated the bustling pits, your younger brother trailing behind you, wide-eyed with excitement. His adoration for Lando bordered on obsession, his youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the simmering resentment that burned within you.

Blehh!

You finally located the Orange garage, the vibrant hue catching your eye amidst the bustling chaos of the pits. With determination in your step, you made your way over, anticipation building with each stride. But as you reached out to tap the shoulder of the figure clad in orange- he was not the man you thought he was.

"Lando— Oh, hi, not Lando,"

The man before you exuded an undeniable charm, his smile lighting up his features and drawing you in despite yourself. There was an aura of confidence about him, a magnetic presence that commanded attention and left you momentarily breathless.

"Hello," he replied, his voice smooth and warm, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "I could be Lando for you," he flirted, his words tinged with playful intent.

"Would rather you not, he's not my type," you quipped.

But before you could dwell on the awkwardness of the moment, your younger brother, who had been tugging on your hand impatiently, finally spoke up, his excitement palpable. "HI CARLOS!"

Carlos.

"Hi, little man." He looked down- not even noticing the young boy when you approached. "Is he...?"

"Not mine! Brother." You cleared up.

He smiled softly before turning his attention back to entertaining the 5-year-old, leaving you to absorb Lando's sudden presence with a mixture of surprise and nonchalance.

"Didn't think my biggest hater would come," Lando remarked, his hand landing on your shoulder with a familiarity that made you bristle.

"I'm not here for you," you replied with a smile, gesturing towards Carlos who stood nearby, engrossed in conversation with your brother.

"Him? Why?" Lando's skepticism was palpable.

"Well, just look at him—those eyes, that accent, not to mention those muscles," you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to indulge in some light-hearted banter.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop you right there," Lando interjected, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "He's not that hot," he insisted, though his tone betrayed a hint of uncertainty.

You chuckled in response. "Oh, believe me, he is," you insisted, your gaze lingering on Carlos as he interacted with your brother. "I would," you added casually, shrugging off Lando's incredulity.

"You would?" Lando's brow furrowed with genuine curiosity. "What would you do?"

Ignoring his question, you watched as your brother returned, proudly displaying Carlos' autograph adorning his shirt. "Bye, Carlos," you called out, offering a warm smile and a nearly imperceptible lip bite, to which Carlos responded in kind. Then, without sparing Lando another glance, you turned and walked away, leaving his unanswered question hanging in the air.

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?!" his voice echoed after you, but you were already lost in the crowd, your thoughts drifting back to the captivating Spaniard you had just left behind.

After the race, as Lando jogged over to his and your families, the tension from the race began to dissipate, replaced by a mix of relief and begrudging acknowledgment. You couldn't deny his skill on the track, but that didn't mean you had to like him.

When he approached, surrounded by congratulations and well-wishes, you offered a lukewarm response, the bare minimum required to acknowledge his achievement. "Well, I mean I'm glad you didn't die?" you quipped, injecting just enough sarcasm to deflect any further attention.

Lando nodded in your direction, his own smile tempered by your evident lack of enthusiasm. You responded with a tight-lipped smile of your own, a silent reminder that while you might share the same space, any camaraderie between you remained strictly superficial.

SILVERSTONE, 2019

As Lando finished the race at Silverstone, notching an 11th place, you couldn't resist a playful jab at his performance. "Maybe one day you can get points!" you teased, your tone dripping with faux enthusiasm.

Lando's comeback was quick, his words laced with sarcasm, "Maybe one day you can stop being such a virgin." You burst into laughter, thoroughly amused by his attempt at banter, though he seemed puzzled by your reaction. His confusion only deepened when he followed your gaze to Carlos, who was nearby.

"Oh my god! Him?" Lando exclaimed, catching on to your playful insinuation.

Lando's playful challenge caught you off guard, his smirk daring you to match his boldness. "So if I DNF, you'll sleep with me?!" he quipped, his tone teasing but tinged with a hint of curiosity.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, suppressing a laugh at his audacity. "Pfft! You do that plenty! Win first maybe?" you retorted, firing back with equal parts sass and amusement. The banter between you continued, each remark a playful exchange that danced on the line between rivalry and camaraderie, reminding you both that despite any differences, there was still room for light-hearted teasing and mutual respect.

But you still didn't like him.

MIAMI, 2024

What a mistake! Because here you were, in the Miami heat, watching Lando beat Max by 5 seconds.

Honestly, you had forgotten that deal long ago.

Lando had not. He had thought about it at every close call of winning, every podium, every late night...

You were scared for him, you didn't like him- you just didn't want to see him fail... You don't like him...

When he passed the finish line he was shouting into his radio, thanking alot of people before you heard your own name.

"...and Y/N, I hope you remember Silverstone 2019!"

People looked at you for answers but you had none.

Until he got out the car, sweaty, tired, hot– warm! Because of the heat...You didn't think he was hot.

That was when you had the answer.

Gosh... Long day ahead.

As he practically flew out of the car, his eagerness palpable, he landed amidst a bustling crowd, his body unexpectedly colliding with yours. The force of the impact nearly sent you stumbling, but before you could fully register what had happened, his arms encircled you in a tight embrace. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the surroundings, there was a brief interlude of serenity as you found solace in his warmth.

But the tranquillity was short-lived. His whispered words shattered the fragile bubble of peace, leaving you reeling in disbelief. "Gonna fuck you so good tonight," he murmured, the unexpectedness of his crude remark contrasting sharply with the tender embrace moments before.

A mixture of emotions surged within you, a turbulent storm of confusion, disgust, and an unsettling flicker of attraction. It was a disorienting mixture, leaving you struggling to make sense of the conflicting feelings swirling within.

When he finally released you, his touch lingered, his hands reluctant to part from your waist. His gaze held yours for a fleeting moment, a silent exchange of unspoken words passing between you, before he abruptly moved on to greet the next person in the crowd. Left standing there, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that had settled over you like a heavy fog.

Hours later, as you walked briskly towards the hotel, he trailed behind you, his presence an unsettling reminder of the encounter earlier. Unsure whether to match your pace or maintain a discreet distance, he hovered awkwardly, his uncertainty palpable in the air between you.

"This feels creepy, Lando," you remarked, casting a sidelong glance at him. "Just catch up with me; you look like a stalker."

"It's not creepy!" he protested, his cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment. "We're heading to the same room... for the same... things."

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Things," you echoed with a wry chuckle. "You can say sex, Lando."

His blush deepened, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Sex... with you. Wow."

"I... I thought the crush I had on you since I was, like, born, was pretty obvious," he confessed, his hand gently resting on the small of your back, a tentative gesture of intimacy.

The admission hung heavy in the air, an unspoken confession of long-held desires and hidden emotions. Caught off guard, you stumbled over your words, struggling to process the revelation.

You halted in your tracks, the weight of his words sinking in. "Huh."

"Yeah..." he murmured, his gaze softening as he met your eyes. "Well, Repunzel was right—mothers do know best."

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you resumed walking, his hand still lingering at your back. "It wasn't Repunzel; it was Mother Gothel," you corrected, a playful glint in your eyes. "And yeah—I'm a Repunzel fan, so what?"

His laughter echoed in the night air, a shared moment of levity amidst the weight of the conversation. "Shut up," he teased, gently nudging you as you walked side by side.

"Make me," you shot back, a playful challenge laced with a hint of something deeper—an unspoken invitation to explore the tangled emotions that lingered between you.

His laughter danced in the night air, a melody that seemed to weave around the unspoken tension between you. As his gaze met yours, there was a flicker of something more profound, a silent invitation lingering in the air.

A playful grin tugged at his lips as he leaned in closer, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Challenge accepted," he murmured, his voice low and husky with anticipation.

In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you suspended in a timeless embrace. His fingers traced a delicate path along your jawline, igniting a trail of sparks that seemed to dance beneath your skin.

With a gentle tug, he drew you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. It was a delicate dance of longing and desire, a silent symphony of unspoken emotions finally finding their voice in the touch of his lips against yours.

As the kiss deepened, the world around you melted away, leaving only the sensation of his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer with each passing moment. In that fleeting instant, there was no room for doubt or hesitation, only the overwhelming rush of love and longing that seemed to bind your souls together as one.

And as you finally pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, there was a silent understanding that lingered between you— upstairs. Now.

The kiss continued unabated, an unrelenting torrent of passion that seemed to consume every ounce of your being. With each step towards his room, his touch ignited a fire within you, sending waves of desire coursing through your veins.

In the confined space of the elevator, his hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and contour of your body with an insatiable hunger. The air crackled with electricity as his touch lingered on the curve of your ass, his fingers tracing patterns of longing and desire against your skin.

The journey to his room was a blur of messy kisses and frantic touches, the urgency of his desire palpable in every brush of his lips against yours. His cock strained against the confines of his jeans, a silent plea for release that echoed the longing pulsing through your veins.

As he fumbled with the keycard, his impatience was palpable, his focus solely on the tantalizing promise of what awaited behind closed doors. The moment the door swung open, you were both consumed by a primal need that eclipsed all rational thought.

With a forceful push, you tumbled onto the bed, the weight of his body pressing against yours as the door slammed shut behind you. In that moment, there was no room for hesitation or restraint, only the raw intensity of two souls drawn together in a frenzied embrace.

–

"Was that Lando?" George asked, with popcorn and a bottle of water in his hands, looking over at Alex who held the same.

"What the fuck-"

–

His movements were urgent, desperate, as he sought to satisfy the burning desire that raged within him. He had barely been able to put the condom on with how shaky his hands were.

With each thrust of his hips, there was a raw intensity that bordered on reckless abandon, the rhythm erratic and frenzied. The sound of skin against skin filled the air, punctuated by the rhythm of your ragged breaths and the soft, breathy moans that escaped his lips.

His forehead was damp with sweat, pressed against yours with an almost possessive fervor. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, creating a heady cocktail of desire that hung thick in the air between you.

Every touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands roamed your body with a fevered urgency, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he traced every curve and contour with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

In that moment, there was no room for restraint or inhibition, only the primal need to be one with you, to lose himself entirely in the depths of your passion. And as he surrendered to the intoxicating frenzy of desire, he found himself consumed by a blissful oblivion, lost in the heady rush of ecstasy that washed over him like a tidal wave.

You were a mess, a writhing wreck, unable to keep still as he pushed his entire cock into you. In and out, hitting the perfect spot every time. Each thrust earning another lewd moan from you. He was so proud he could make you feel so so good. But he couldn't keep going any longer after you came on his cock, the feeling making him so overwhelmed he couldn't keep it together as he came.

Not able to keep himself up anymore, he fell ontop of you.

"Ouch!" You giggle as he rolled off, beside you. You lay there, breathless and trembling, your body still pulsating with the aftershocks of pleasure as he collapsed beside you. His weight pressed against your side, a comforting presence amidst the disarray of tangled sheets and scattered clothing.

"So, how was that..." he ventured, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You turned to him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you met his gaze. "Surprisingly good," you admitted, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Surprising?!" he exclaimed, his brows furrowing in mock offense. "What, do I not seem like I'd be good?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his incredulous expression, reaching out to playfully tousle his hair. "Oh, you were good," you assured him, your voice laced with affection. "More than good, actually."

His lips curved into a satisfied smile, a sense of pride flickering in his eyes. "Well, I aim to please," he quipped, his tone light and playful. "Does this mean you'll go on a real date with me?"

"Maybe win again and we'll see!" You joked, making him playfully smack your leg. "Joking.. I suppose I can," You shrug.

"You won't regret it, I promise," he vowed, his tone earnest and sincere.

<>

He led you to a charming café nestled in the heart of Miami a few days later, the bustling streets alive with the vibrant energy of the city. As you settled into a cozy corner booth, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the tantalizing scent of pastries, creating a welcoming ambiance that enveloped you in its warmth.

"So, you and Carlos..." he began, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned in closer.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden topic of conversation. "What about him?" you questioned, the curiosity evident in your voice. "If it's about 2019, we didn't actually do anything," you clarified with a casual shrug. "Did go on a few dates though, but he met another girl he liked," you added, your tone nonchalant and unaffected.

The playful smirk on his lips faltered slightly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "You didn't even— You didn't even sleep with him," he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of disbelief that drew the attention of a few nearby patrons.

Your smile remained unwavering as you shook your head. "Nope," you confirmed.

"I guess its because 'I liked you' or whatever..."

Okay so maybe you did like Lando Norris... Just a little- maybe a lot.

[pin-k-ink]

shadows // hoshina soshiro

tw ⇢ possessive!hoshina, strong sexual tension, semi public fingering, nipple play, biting, hair pulling, slight asphyxiation, dirty talking, making out

wc ⇢ 7.8k

a/n: this is for the lovely anon who loved my ruination fic <3

The acrid scent of smoke and kaiju blood hung thick in the air like a suffocating miasma. Hoshina's nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath, the familiar tang of ozone and charred flesh doing little to dull the thrill still thrumming through his veins. His body felt electrified, every nerve ending still fizzling in the aftermath of battle's adrenaline spike.

Lazily, almost meditatively, Hoshina's gaze traced the ravaged landscape - rubble and viscera as far as the eye could see. A hard-won victory once again, but one that came at a cost chalked up in the newly formed craters pockmarking the streets. His lips quirked faintly at the sight. Just another day's work.

Amidst the wreckage, a familiar figure stood out in sharp relief, their combat suit leaving little to Hoshina’s imagination. He knew the toned curves and compact power coiled beneath that sleek, form-fitting material all too well after countless sparring sessions. A slight hitch stalled his next inhalation as Hoshina’s mind forcibly recalled exactly how it felt to have that whipcord strength undulating against him, slick skin gliding along his, breath intermingling in harsh exhalations of exertion.

Shaking off the inappropriate reverie with a mental scoff, Hoshina returned his attention to studying you dispassionately. At least, that was the intent before his gaze snagged on the subtle sheen of perspiration beading along the elegant column of your throat, tracing a tantalizing path towards the shadowed hollows left temptingly exposed by your suit. He found himself unconsciously licking his dry lips as he drank in the tiny details - the way your chest rose and fell with each controlled inhalation, the part of your lips as you tersely relayed information, the furrow of intense concentration etched between your brows.

Completely and utterly focused on the task at hand, oblivious to your audience...or the heated direction his thoughts had abruptly detoured down. Again.

Shaking his head sharply, Hoshina wrenched his traitorous mind away from that particular path before it could wander any further. What was wrong with him today? This was his trusted squad mate - his friend, more like an annoying kid sister most days than anything else, if he was being honest. Continuing to blatantly ogle you like a piece of meat left a sour taste in his mouth, an unfamiliar itch of discomfort prickling at the back of his neck.

And yet, even as Hoshina pushed those inappropriate thoughts away, he found his feet carrying him inexorably nearer with that same lazy, rolling gait. Something underlying those reckless musings had taken hold, an ember burning with increasing intensity the closer he drew to your presence. By the time he sidled up beside you, an easy smirk was already curving his lips as he drank in the way your shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly before your spine straightened with rigid formality.

"Oi, [Y/N]-chan," Hoshina couldn't resist drawing out the affectionate lilt, purposefully exaggerating the syllables just to nettle you further. "Ya plannin' on documentatin' every grain o' rubble all night? Might wanna breathe between those reports."

True to form, you bristled at the half-mocking jab, eyes sparking in that fiery way Hoshina secretly reveled in provoking. Another tiny thrill licked down his spine at the brief lapse in your consummate professionalism as you sputtered with ill-concealed affront. The faint bloom of pink dusting your cheeks was an added dollop of sweet cream atop the taunting sundae.

A part of him knew he shouldn't bask in unravelling those tightly wound threads of control so gleefully. Not when years of tempering that internal furnace into an asset on the battlefield had clearly become an uphill struggle of late. Yet Hoshina found he couldn't quite muster any scrap of remorse for his relentless needling. Not when it provided such enticing glimpses beneath the rigidly professional veneer...

He felt his grin stretch wider, all cocksure bravado, entirely unprepared for the sudden flare of want—no, possession —that pulsed through his veins like a thermobaric detonation when your eyes finally lifted to meet his squarely.

You turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise as if you'd forgotten he was there. "Vice Captain," you acknowledged with a quick nod. "I'm just ensuring all the details are properly documented. It's crucial for future—"

"Future missions, data analysis, blah blah blah," Hoshina interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The unconscious gesture drew his gaze downwards, pupils dilating fractionally as they traced the elegant lines of your neck, the hollow between your collarbones where a bead of perspiration had collected. He could practically envision the path it would take down your cleavage, trickling tantalizingly along the sensitive dip before disappearing beneath the sleek material hugging your chest. Hoshina swallowed hard, abruptly hyper-focused on the subtle rise and fall of your breasts, the nearly imperceptible sheen of exertion still lingering on your flushed skin.

"Ya sound like a broken record, ya know that?" he managed to force out, gaze skating back up to your face as he ruthlessly clamped down on the sinful direction his thoughts had begun meandering. Except his eyes instantly fell back to your lips, that full pout left slightly parted as you drew breath to reply.

Hoshina’s mind unhelpfully supplied a vivid recollection of those very lips a hairsbreadth from his own after one particularly intense spar session. He'd had you pinned beneath him, chests heaving with the lingering thunders of exertion as your eyes met and held in the electric aftershocks of battle's intoxicating thrill. Your lips slightly parted as you gulped down air, face flushed, pupils blown wide and dark as a solar eclipse. All it would have taken was the slightest tilt of his head and...

The memory scattered like optics glare dispersing as you huffed out an exasperated breath. Hoshina physically wrenched his gaze upwards, anger and frustration warring with the steadily smoldering embers of pure, undiluted want rapidly reducing his higher functioning to tattered ruins.

Just what in the ever-loving fuck was happening here? This was you - solid, stalwart, ever-reliable and determined [L/N]. The rock steady foundation his division depended upon, certainly, but hardly someone who made a habit of hijacking his libido so thoroughly. At least, not until recently.

When had that shifted, exactly? When had the sight of you begun igniting this strange, magnetic pull low in his abdomen rather than mild exasperation? Or was this driving lust something new, catalyzed by the smoke and viscera of combat and simply fixating on the nearest convenient target as an outlet?

Whatever the reason, Hoshina recognized that this unexpected thread of complication between himself and his most trusted subordinate could easily unravel into a tangled disaster if left to unspool unchecked. Especially with you still obliviously lecturing about protocols and debriefing procedures as if the very air didn't hum and sing with unreleased sexual tension.

"-thorough documentation is essential for—"

"For keepin' ya from actually livin' a little, seems like," he cut across your next torrent of words, fighting to reassert his usual laidback aloofness even as his pulse thundered like rolling artillery bombardments. Unconsciously, Hoshina invaded your personal space, not consciously trying to crowd as much as resorting to tactics long engrained. Pressing an advantage, denying the enemy ground...

Except there was no enemy here besides the jarring, elemental drive that had inexplicably roused itself within the eye of the storm that was your undivided attention. Hoshina felt his nostrils flare as your familiar, intoxicating scent enveloped him in palpable, tactile waves. Earthy and green, tinged with a faint smokiness and the slightest undercurrent of something floral that he'd never managed to put a name to.

"When's the last time ya actually relaxed, [Y/N]-chan?" The endearment rolled off his tongue without thought, honeyed and thick like a physical caress ghosting across your sharpened senses.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by his probing question. "I... I relax," you defended weakly.

Even to Hoshina’s ears, the words rang hollow - a reflexive denial undermined by the taut lines of your shoulders, the minute twitches of muscle betraying your body's ingrained conditioning. He found his lips quirking upwards in a slow smirk, dark appreciation uncurling deep in his core at your admittedly pathetic attempt to deceive. As if either of you could be so easily misled after decades of coded language and subtle tells ingrained into your very bones.

"Oh yeah?" he purred, purposefully pitching his tone low to shave away any lingering aloofness. Letting you hear the silky undercurrent of challenge thrumming through each syllable as plainly as a physical strike. "Prove it. Come have a drink with me."

The flare of your eyes, dark pewter sparking to life behind those ridiculously long lashes, told Hoshina all he needed to know. He didn't bother suppressing his growing smirk, secure in the knowledge that he'd already landed a critical blow without raising so much as a fist. Your surprise was quickly subsumed by the familiar furrow of consternation overtaking your brow, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish as your mind instinctively scrambled for protocol, for procedure, for anything to deflect the utterly disarming idea he'd presented.

"Now?" You sputtered at last, sounding almost painfully young despite the steel undertones bred from years of combat conditioning. "But sir, the clean-up crew—"

"Can handle things without ya breathin' down their necks," Hoshina easily overrode your feeble attempt to reassert control over the situation.

Shooting you a pointed look from beneath lowered lashes, he reached out with studied nonchalance and plucked the commlink from your fingers. You flinched minutely at the contact, whether from surprise or simple tactile overwhelm he couldn't tell. But it was enough to make something predatory lurk at the edges of his smirk as he brushed aside your instinctive move to protest.

Rotating the slim device between his fingers, Hoshiro made a show of reestablishing the open channel with base, keeping his deep timbre a study in pure insouciance. "Okonogi, change of plans. [Y/N] and I won't be needin' that transport. We're makin' our own way back."

It was only after ending the transmission, effectively severing your official tether to duty and responsibility, that Hoshina allowed the molten heat banked in his depths to bleed overtly into his stare. His gaze raked over you slowly, deliberately, as if peeling away every layer of propriety with surgical precision until only the panting core remained exposed and quivering in the open air between your parallel stances.

"Now then, [Y/N]-chan," he murmured, dipping his voice into a low, gravelled octave carefully cultivated to shave away the last vestiges of resistance. Of self-control. Hoshina didn't miss the minute bob of your throat as you swallowed shakily, nor the way your widened eyes became transfixed by the sweep of his tongue wetting his lower lip.

Yes...that's it, doll. Let go.

The endearment hung unspoken yet palpably present as he took a calculated step closer, near enough to feel the erratic puffing of your breaths ghosting across his jawline. Close enough to drown himself in the delicious, rapidly building torrent of heat and want and sheer undisguised awareness he could sense thrumming through you in increasingly apparent waves.

Close enough for Hoshina to see the wild thundering of your pulse in the hollows of your neck, the dilated slivers of your pupils rapidly devouring irises that had long since been swallowed into the deepest onyx in thrall to his physicality alone.

He could end this now, finally. Could close that last infinitesimal distance separating your parted lips and swallow your shocked exhale with his own. Finally slake this brutal, wild thirst he could no longer deny or contain with anything less than total possession.

Instead, Hoshina forced his features to smooth into an expression of wry geniality, a faint mockery of good humor crinkling the corners of his eyes as his hand lifted to brush away some errant speck of debris from your shoulder. The innocent gestured belied by the deliberate, searing trail his fingers trailed in their wake, lingering with irrefutable intent along the line of your clavicle before dropping away completely.

"What do ya say we go find out if ya even remember how to have fun?" Each word was carefully measured, deceptively light yet daring you to discern the subtleties of challenge, of promise , that danced like shimmering heat waves through every syllable.

At your side, Hoshina’s hands had fallen slack, utterly unthreatening and open in contrast to the rigid control with which he kept the rest of his body angled minimally away from yours. An intentionally decentralized posture, leaving you an option to disengage without any hint of menace or physical coercion.

Just words. Simple, innocent words to confuse the raging bonfire of pure, undiluted want scorching through his veins with every shuddering inhale of your scent, your aura, your presence.

The ball, as they said, was in your court now. All Hoshina could do was hold that burning intensity burning in the depths of his gaze and wait for your inevitable deflection...

Or surrender.

The walk to the nearby bar passed in a heated silence, the air thickening with every measured stride. Though Hoshina strode slightly ahead, his legs setting an unhurried pace, he couldn't quite shake the blazing awareness of your presence trailing just behind.

It prickled along the back of his neck in a shivering tingle of hyper-sensitivity, the fine hairs dusting his nape seeming to rise in anticipatory alertness with each scuff of your boots against the pavement in his wake. Shallow inhalations parted his lips infinitesimally, persistent wisps of your subtle floral essence intermingling with the metallic tang of combat's aftershock already coating his senses.

The juxtaposition was jarring - the visceral reminder of hard-won victory at odds with the gradually encroaching softness teasing the edge of Hoshina’s consciousness. Without even realizing it, his body had already recalibrated to a new, heightened state of somatic priming. One that shifted his senses onto an entirely different theatre of operations altogether.

One distinctly centered around you.

But he mustn't get ahead of himself, not yet. Not when there were still miles left to trek in this strange new territory you'd found yourselves navigating. So instead, Hoshina reined in those scorching impulses with a reflexive inhale, focusing on meticulously maintaining his usual front of casual aloofness as you stepped up beside him.

"Figured you could use a break from keeping those grunts in line all the time," he tossed out, not glancing over as you fell into step just off his shoulder. "Maybe even cut loose a little for once. You know, as a reward for not getting any of them killed back there."

It was a poor attempt at deflection through needling, Hoshina knew. But he couldn't seem to resist sliding a sidelong look at you through the shellac of his lashes, gauging your reaction to the barbed remark. Not that he had any delusions of you rising to the bait, of course. If anything, he fully anticipated you straightening your shoulders in silent rebuke before mechanically rebutting with some impeccably by-the-book rundown of proper conduct and procedures.

Which made the tiny smirk that began tugging at the corner of your lips all the more disarming.

"That all depends on how you define 'cut loose,' Vice Captain," you murmured without even sparing him a glance, tone laced with an edge of playfulness Hoshina couldn't recall ever hearing from you before. "For all you know, I could be an utter wildcard behind closed doors."

The words hung in the air, dangled like ripe fruit begging to be plucked from the vine even as your strides carried you onward in sync. Hoshina felt his brows hiking upwards despite himself, the vivid flare of surprise and interest alike crackling to life in his veins. Since when did you engage in this sort of shameless baiting? More importantly, since when had you mastered that particularly lethal combination of coy indifference and blatant suggestion?

He was gaping, he realized abruptly - standing slackjawed in the middle of the street like a minnow gulping at air while you continued on unhurriedly. As if you were utterly unaware of the punishing right hook you'd just landed squarely on his sense of propriety, not to mention his composure.

Snapping his mouth closed with an audible click of teeth, Hoshina hurried a few steps to realign himself by your side, shooting you a sidelong look rife with newfound curiosity. Up close, the slight curve to your lips was even more inscrutable, your expression carefully neutral save for the glint of challenge flickering in your lowered lashes.

Well, two could play at that game. Hoshina refused to let you rattle him that easily, refused to betray any outward sign of the conflagration you'd abruptly stoked somewhere south of his ribs. Instead, he pressed forwards in a silence that stretched just shy of uncomfortable, trusting his body to communicate all the unspoken implications and undercurrents his words could never fully articulate.

At least, not without shattering the gossamer threads of tension enveloping you both in that shivery, electrically-charged stasis entirely.

The bar he led you to was a familiar haunt, if not necessarily one you'd expect. From the outside, it looked like any other nondescript watering hole - a hole-in-the-wall tucked away on a side street just far enough from the main drags to avoid an excess of foot traffic. Shadows, the place was called. Though whether as a nod to the infernian faction or merely the dim, cozy ambiance, not even Hoshina could recall.

As you stepped over the worn threshold, however, a far different atmosphere seemed to permeate the very air surrounding you in a tactile weight of obscurity. Of anonymity.

The lighting inside Shadows was kept deliberately dim and muted, all flickering candle arcana and soft ambers that sculpted the contours of every surface into hazy, indistinct planes. Every solid edge blurred subtly into peripheral smears of suggestion rather than sharply delineated shapes, even the small crowd of patrons scattered throughout appearing more like roiling plumes of vapor saturating the air.

Perfect for shedding the concerns of the outside world in exchange for an altogether different existence - one fueled solely by pursuit of the senses and catered pleasures of the flesh in all their myriad forms. Hoshina had indulged in his fair share during the infrequent stretches of downtime his duties afforded, though tonight marked the first time bringing a...guest, so to speak.

He shot you a sidelong look as your steps slowed infinitesimally, no doubt drinking in the smoky, incense-tinged atmosphere for the first time. An alluring flush clung to the high arches of your cheekbones already, whether from the abrupt shift in ambiance or something more inscrutable. The tiny darts of pink flame dancing across your skin mesmerized Hoshina, widening his pupils further with each passing second.

Catching himself, he cleared his throat softly, careful not to shatter the sanctity of hush draped over the room. "Suppose it goes without saying, we aren't exactly in polite company here at Shadows."

His murmur pitched low, thrumming against the shell of your ear like a heated caress. Close enough to make you shiver minutely in response as he trailed a hand along the small of your back, guiding your steps through the swirling currents of muted sound and motion.

Hoshina placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you towards a secluded booth in the corner. The simple touch seemed to burn straight through the thin material of your suit, raising goosebumps across your skin. You found yourself hyper-aware of the heat radiating from his palm, the slight calloused rasp catching on the fabric in a way that made your pulse kick up instinctively.

As you slid into the shadowed nook, the cushioned bench dipped beneath your weight, cradling you in a nest of dimly-lit intimacy. The flickering candles adorning the table seemed to cast Hoshina’s features into sharp reliefs and soft curves in turn, the constant shifting dance of light and shadow mesmerizing. One moment his jaw would be etched into harsh angles, only for the next breath to soften everything into a melted, honeyed mask of smoldering suggestion.

You swallowed hard, mouth abruptly dry as Hoshina settled himself across from you, movements radiating an unhurried sort of grace usually reserved for stalking predators. His gaze openly roamed across your form, hooded and lingering in a way that made you want to squirm under the weight of such unabashed appraisal.

"So, [Y/N]-chan," he rumbled after a protracted moment, the rough timbre bleeding straight through your sternum to resonate in hollow, thrumming echoes against your ribs. Hoshina cocked his head slightly, the simple motion shifting the play of shadows to cast his eyes into flickering hollows of smoky invitation. "What's your poison? And don't you dare say water or I might have to report you for insubordination."

The low purr of his voice curled through the air like a physical caress, silken promise roughened into wicked taunt by the rasp of his native Kansai burr. You couldn't quite stifle the shiver that traced down your spine in its wake, nor the way your lashes fluttered under the onslaught of such unabashed temptation cloaked by irreverent humor.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir," you managed to murmur by sheer force of will, proud of yourself for keeping your tone level despite the sudden reemergence of that damnable flush heating your cheeks. "Surprise me."

It was a risky move to issue such an open-ended challenge, one your tactical mind instantly began dissecting and mapping out potential vulnerabilities. But the way Hoshina’s full lips curved higher at the corners in a quicksilver flicker of unholy delight instantly made the risk feel more than worth any imagined cost.

He leaned back against the low bench, forearms bracketing his sides as he stretched those long limbs out in an exaggerated picture of casual ease. The subtle shift in position drew your gaze helplessly to his broad shoulders and chest straining against the thin fabric, every metabolic shift of his body suddenly thrown into stark, intimate relief.

When Hoshina spoke next, his voice seemed to radiate directly from the iron-hewn column of his throat, scraping like rumbling granite scored across granite. "Now where would be the fun in that, hmm?"

The simple question hung in the smoky air between you both, lingering like an opiate fog made solid and potent. Hoshina held your widening stare easily, a tiny spark of challenge flickering to life in the lavender depths as his tongue stole out to wet his lower lip in a move of unconscious, blatant provocation.

You couldn't look away, utterly transfixed and helplessly pinned by the heavy-lidded heat singeing through his stare. Brief flashes of half-formed fantasies sparked in the hazy recesses of your mind - images of straining, bare flesh and ragged gasps intermingled with the roaring of your pulse thundering in your inner ear.

Then, as quickly as it seized you, the moment passed with the appearance of your drink gliding across the table's battered surface. Blinking rapidly, you broke free of the thick, headily-charged tension with a sharp inhale, refocusing your gaze to the bartender's retreating form while sternly marshaling your composure.

"Let's see if we can't loosen you up a little, [Y/N]-chan," came the low rumble from across the table, his husky timbre dripping with layers of unspoken implications and promises.

Shooting Hoshina a sidelong look through your lashes, you lifted the glass and took your first sip...

You savored the smoky burn of the liquor as it trickled down your throat, letting the pleasant warmth bloom outwards from your core. Across the table, Hoshina’s eyes seemed to smolder even brighter as he watched you with undisguised appreciation, his own glass forgotten for the moment.

"Not bad, right?" he murmured after you'd drained the last swallow. With a subtle gesture, fresh drinks appeared as if by magic, the dim lighting casting flickering amber highlights across the broad plane of his chest.

You tried not to let your gaze linger, though the way Hoshina lazily stretched and resettled himself made it extremely difficult. There was an edge of blatant satisfaction in his expression, a silent challenge sparking in the glint of his eyes that made you wonder just how premeditated this little foray truly was.

Lifting the fresh glass, you took another slow sip to buy yourself a moment's reprieve from those piercing violet eyes. The taste was richer this time, more complex notes of oak and spice unraveling across your tongue. You couldn't resist darting out to capture an errant droplet that clung to your lower lip, despite the way Hoshina’s gaze seemed to blaze even hotter at the unconscious gesture.

"Now," he drawled after a beat of heated silence, "how about we just...talk?"

You blinked at the unexpectedly casual suggestion, straightening a bit in your seat. "Alright. What would you like to talk about, Vi—" You caught yourself before letting the formal title slip, mouth snapping shut as a flush crept up your neck. "...Soshiro."

His name on your lips without any honorifics felt startlingly intimate, sending a shiver skittering across your skin. The way his eyes hooded at the sound didn't help matters, that perpetual half-lidded bedroom stare dragging you down into unknown depths thick with tension and secrets.

"First off," Hoshina rumbled, deep voice rolling over you in a velvet caress. "How about something simple?" One broad shoulder rose and fell in a languid shrug that made your mouth abruptly dry. "What d'ya like to do for fun, [Y/N]-chan?"

The innocent question caught you completely off guard, both from its disarming simplicity and suggestive undercurrent as he held your gaze steadily. Your first instinct was to rattle off details about your usual training regimens or combat preparatory routines. But something in the heated air surrounding you both made you reconsider revealing the full extent of your dedication to the Defense Force, at least for the moment.

So instead, you opened your mouth to offer some benign response about reading or meditating...only for the words to die unspoken as Hoshina’s tongue stole out to wet his lips again, slow and deliberate. Your attention zeroed in helplessly on the tiny gesture, watching the way his mouth glistened in the dim candlelight.

"Well?" His voice dragged your eyes back up with a start, the lids now heavy and hooded in a way that liquefied your thoughts. "I'm waiting for you to tell me exactly what gets ya excited, [Y/N]-chan."

You sucked in a sharp breath at the blatant innuendo laced through his words, the husky purr curling deliciously low in your belly. Hoshina cocked one eyebrow in a wordless challenge, his lips curved in the faintest of smirks as he leisurely swirled the contents of his glass.

The thickening silence stretched as you struggled to formulate a response through the heated fog rapidly clouding your mind. Just what exactly was his game here? And more importantly - did you even want to indulge this escalating provocation, consequences be damned?

One look into those blazing indigo depths, now glittering with naked hunger and keen intelligence, told you the answer even before your mind could catch up.

Your tongue stole out to moisten your dry lips, watching in satisfaction as Hoshina’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "You know," you began carefully, each word seeming to wrap around the both of you like layers of finest silk. "For all your talk earlier about loosening up...I'm not convinced you truly grasp what that means for me, Soshiro."

His name emerged rich and savored, a purring taunt of challenge issued beneath lowered lashes. You allowed the implication to hang heavily between you for a stretched breath before continuing in a lower, throatier tone, "—Unless, of course, you'd like me to show you?"

The muscles in Hoshina’s throat bobbed convulsively as he swallowed, hard. His free hand drifted up to rub along the stubbled line of his jaw, eyes burning straight through you with smoldering intensity. For a suspended heartbeat, he made no further movement, no affirmation of your thinly veiled offer save to simply drink in the sight of you with undiluted focus.

Then the hand dropped away, and Hoshina was leaning forward with leonine grace, braced on both forearms as he closed the distance between your bodies.

"By all means," he growled, lips curling in a slash of wicked invitation. "Enlighten me, [Y/N]-chan."

The challenge hung searing between you in the smoky dimness. You could practically taste the heated tension sparking in the scant space separating your bodies, a heady blend of whiskey and simmering desire. Hoshina’s eyes bored into yours with an intensity that stoked molten tendrils of want coiling low in your core.

"Well?" His graveled rumble sliced through the silence like a whipcrack, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. "I'm waiting for this supposed enlightenment, [Y/N]-chan."

You fought back a reflexive smirk at the undercurrent of impatience bleeding into Hoshina’s tone. So the great Vice Captain wasn't as unflappable as he pretended to be. Good...that just made this little game all the more intriguing to play.

Keeping your expression carefully neutral, you drew the moment out with a slow blink and even slower inhalation. You caught the way Hoshina’s nostrils flared infinitesimally as your subtle movements, dragging in the thickening clouds of arousal and sin swirling around your hushed alcove.

"Patience was never your forte, was it?" you murmured at last, letting your lips curve in the faintest of smiles.

You didn't miss the way Hoshina’s jaw tightened fractionally, another hairline fracture splintering across that impeccable veneer of nonchalance. Holding his heated stare, you brought your glass up in an affected sip, letting the smoky liquid trickle decadently over your tongue before swallowing with delicate care.

When you finally spoke again, your voice had dropped into a lower, throatier register thrumming with unspoken promises. "If you want me to...enlighten you, Soshiro, you're going to have to earn it."

His sharp inhalation was quiet yet clearly audible in the smothering intimacy of your nook. You watched in satisfaction as Hoshiro's pupils blew wide at your blatant provocation, feeling a lick of triumph at finally rattling him. Shifting slightly, you allowed one knee to brush against his beneath the table in a featherlight caress calculated for maximum impact.

Sure enough, Hoshina’s body reacted in a reflexive tightening, every tendon and sinewy muscle coiled like tripwires under his tawny skin. His eyes, however, remained locked on yours in a heated battle of wills, the irises now eclipsed into blazing amethyst embers ringed by inky black.

"Is that so?" he rumbled after a strained moment, the words seeming to shave against his clenched jaw. The hand braced on the table flexed minutely, fingers splaying in the barest aborted twitch before curling into a tight fist. "And just what did you have in mind, [Y/N]-chan? Some kind of...test?"

He somehow managed to imbue the final word with equal parts challenge and smug certainty of victory. As if you were nothing more than another combat scenario mapped out in his mind, every potential obstacle and pivot point already neatly dissected. As if there was no chance of you emerging the victor through sheer tenacity and underestimated resolve alone.

You arched a single brow at Hoshina’s boldness, feeling a frisson of mingled indignation and undeniable arousal sizzle through your veins. Always so confident, so unflappable in the face of adversity...until you thoroughly demolished those smug assumptions time and again.

Well, if the great Vice Captain felt so assured of besting you at your own game, you'd simply have to dial up the intensity. Push past the flirtatious banter and thinly veiled wordplay to a threshold Hoshina had yet to truly encounter.

"A test of sorts, I suppose," you acceded, letting your shoulders roll in an exaggerated shrug of nonchalance. "Though I'd ask that you refrain from treating this as just another playacted scenario, Soshiro. After all..."

Here you leaned forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, near enough to feel the erratic gusts of his quickening breaths across your mouth. When you spoke again, your words emerged in a throaty purr that vibrated straight down to his very core.

"...I don't plan on playing by any rulebook's constraints tonight."

With that, you abruptly sat back, leaving Hoshina frozen and body taut as a live wire in the wake of your retreat. A muscle ticked in his clenched jaw, the only visible sign of how deeply those last words had scored. You didn't try to suppress your triumphant smirk this time as you reached for your glass once more, allowing a flash of devilish delight to dance across your features.

"So?" you prodded after a beat, thoroughly reveling in having the upper hand for once. At least for the moment. "Are you willing to put that ego on the line, Vice Captain? Or will you forfeit before we even begin?"

The molten challenge sparked and smoldered in the heavy air between you, undulating in tempo with the flickering candlelight. For one suspended heartbeat, everything hung in tantalizing suspension as the gauntlet was thrown down with audacious finality.

Then Hoshina blinked, tension shattering like glass scored straight through his formidable self-composure. His lips peeled back in a ferocious slash of a grin, eyes burning like banked amethyst fire.

"I'm going to make you beg before this night is over, [Y/N]-chan," he promised in a low, sandpaper growl. "And not for mercy."

A tremor of undisguised anticipation rippled through you at Hoshina’s low, graveled promise. You felt heat bloom across your skin, a delicious frisson of combined exhilaration and challenge sparking bright in your veins.

This was quickly evolving past the bounds of casual banter and suggestive badinage. No, you could both sense the unmistakable undercurrent of tension ratcheting up another notch entirely - a wildly spiraling game of provocations and reactions with no clear path or endgame in sight.

Just pure, unadulterated want slowly stripping away all remaining propriety and inhibition until only the raw, primal need remained.

You held Hoshina’s burning stare for a protracted moment, letting the heat shimmer and intensify between your locked gazes. Then, purposefully, you dropped your eyes in a slow perusal down the powerful column of his throat. Over the broad, heaving expanse of his chest just barely concealed by thin fabric. All the way to the junctures of his hips barely visible above the table's edge.

It was your turn to lick your lips, letting your tongue sweep out slow and deliberate while holding Hoshina’s focused attention. You felt a lick of satisfaction at his sharp inhalation, the subtle tightening along his jaw as his eyes followed the path of your mouth with undisguised hunger.

Yes, let him stew in the rapidly simmering heat for a while longer. Let him chase that high of anticipation, of wanting something badly enough to burn from the inside out. He'd had the upper hand for far too long with his usual nonchalant arrogance and deflective taunts.

Now, it was your turn to dangle the prize of satisfaction just out of reach, keeping Hoshina teetering on that razor-edge of control through every torturous moment.

Sliding one hand across the sticky surface of the table towards you, you tilted your chin down as if suddenly shy beneath the weight of that smoldering violet stare. You waited a beat, letting the heavy atmosphere condense further before darting your tongue out again to wet your lower lip.

Then, with exaggerated nonchalance, you started toying with the zipper pull at the hollow of your throat, giving the smallest of tugs.

The effect was instantaneous. Hoshina sucked in a sharp breath, the tendons in his throat jumping convulsively as the hand splayed on the table clenched into a tight fist once more. You caught the abortive shift of his hips beneath the concealing tabletop, the instinctive forward lean that his torso quickly aborted back to a slouch of feigned ease.

Still, you didn't lift your eyes to his, keeping your focus solely on your hand as you toyed with the zipper's metal tab. One infinitesimal tug at a time, incrementally revealing the barest tantalizing strip of flushed skin glistening with perspiration. You let out a tiny, breathy sigh of fake overstimulation, merely to ratchet the torment.

That seemed to be the final straw for Hoshina’s rapidly faltering restraint. With a low, visceral growl that sent skittering tremors racing across your hyper-aware nerves, he was abruptly kicking the table aside with enough force to rattle the flickering candles. In the next blink, Hoshina had maneuvered himself from across the table to directly at your side, one iron-banded arm snaking around your hips to haul you bodily against him.

You didn't even have a chance to so much as squeak in surprise before Hoshina’s free hand was clamped around your wrist, stilling the tortuous descent of the zipper with ease. He leaned in so close, surrounding and enveloping you with the scorching heat of his body and heady, earthy scent of combat sweat and man. When he spoke, his lips grazed the feverish hollow of your pulse in a blatant possession.

"I wasn't aware we'd reached that stage of the evening already, [Y/N]-chan," Hoshina growled, low and dark and dripping with unholy promises. His next words seemed to shred directly against your convulsing throat. "Unless you're simply making this too easy..."

With a twist of his wrist, Hoshina applied the barest amount of pressure on the trapped zipper pull. Just enough to ease it down another tantalizing fraction, revealing another sliver of feverish skin and the hint of lace lying just beneath. His touch was featherlight, yet it scorched a blazing path from your wrist straight down to your rapidly contracting core all the same.

A soft whine slipped free before you could stop it, a plea and demand all twisted into one soundless vibration. Hoshina’s only response was a low, rumbling chuckle vibrating against your cheek as he nuzzled closer still, thoroughly invading every single one of your precious personal spaces.

"Easy there," he rasped against the swell of your jaw, tongue lashing out to taste your thundering pulse in a blatant spark of possession. "Can't go havin' your pretty suit disintegratin' before the real fun's even started, now can we?"

Hoshina’s broad frame curved around you possessively as his fingers toyed with the zipper tab at your throat. You held your breath, trembling finely, as he deliberately inched it downwards with agonizing slowness.

"Look at you," he rumbled in a low rasp against the heated skin of your neck. "Already coming undone just from this..."

You let out a shuddering exhale as another tantalizing inch of feverish skin was gradually bared to Hoshina’s smoldering gaze. The metal teeth parted with a rasping whisper, allowing the barest glimpse of the lace-edged swell of your breasts peeking into view.

Hoshina growled something wordless and approving against your thundering pulse. You could feel the vibrations skittering across your hypersensitized nerves like tiny sparks, stoking the banked coals of arousal glowing brighter with each passing moment.

"Do you have any idea," he murmured darkly, "how long I've wanted to unwrap you just...like...this?"

Punctuating each word with another fractional descent of the zipper's path, Hoshina nuzzled his stubbled jaw over the exposed juncture of your neck and shoulder. His tongue swept out in a scorching, openmouthed caress that had your fingers spasming against his immovable frame.

"Soshiro..." His name emerged as a breathy whimper despite your efforts at control. You felt more than heard the low, thrumming chuckle vibrating against your stripped skin in response.

"That's it, [Y/N]-chan," he growled, the roughened timbre seeming to shave against your senses with delicious friction. "Let me hear how much you need this..."

Another scant inch of zipper parted with a whisper, baring the tops of your breasts in their lavender-scented swell. Your head lolled back against the solid support of Hoshina’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut in a haze of white-hot sensation as his lips traced searing paths across your collarbones.

Desperate, needy keens were tumbling from your lips in a constant stream now as Hoshina’s wicked mouth blazed lower inch...by...scorching...inch. Soon you were trembling like a livewire amid the cradle of his corded arms, entire world contracting to each indolent sweep of his tongue and graze of blunted teeth.

Coherent thought was rapidly becoming nothing but ash and ember swirling in the bonfire engulfing your senses from within. You burned, burned with a wildfire of molten need unslaked no matter how Hoshina stoked the flames ever higher with each agonizingly slow pass of his hands, his mouth—

Just when you thought you would surely disintegrate into cinders, Hoshina wrenched his mouth away with a low growl that seemed to vibrate straight through to your core. You cried out at the loss, eyes flying open in a desperate, panting daze, only to be pinned by the endless depths of hunger blazing in his onyx-drowned gaze.

"Easy there, [Y/N]-chan," he rumbled after a steadying breath, the words seeming to drip like molten sin against your sweat-dampened skin. One hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb tracing your swollen, parted lips in a claiming caress you could feel throughout your entire body.

"We've got all night to relearn what makes you come undone..." Hoshina’s grin slashed across his features, dark and full of wicked promise. "...and beg for more."

You could only keen helplessly as Hoshina pressed his thumb past your slackened lips, sinking deep in a blatant parody of the things you both craved. The rough pad grazed the softness of your inner cheek, pressing down against your fluttering tongue in a silent command.

His eyes were utterly blown now, twin pools of midnight edged by the faintest ring of burning indigo. Your lips closed around the intruding digit, sucking and swirling with a moan of undisguised eagerness. Hoshina growled, low and primal, as his hand flexed in the cradle of your jaw.

"Gods, I'm gonna wreck you for any other man," he snarled against your fevered skin. You shuddered in a ripple of goosebumps at the dark promise, the sheer force of desire radiating from his every pore.

Then his thumb slipped free with a lewd, wet pop, only to be replaced a split second later by the scorching press of his mouth. You whined into the searing kiss, opening to the insistent sweep of his tongue. Your own curled around the hot muscle, suckling and twining in a filthy dance of lust and greed.

Hoshina swallowed your gasps, devouring them along with every ounce of resistance left in your trembling body. His hand shifted from cradling your jaw, sliding down to wrap around the column of your throat instead. He squeezed gently, applying just the slightest bit of pressure that made your head swim with renewed want.

When you finally managed to drag yourself up for air, you were trembling from head to toe, the zipper of your suit now pulled completely free of its metal tracks. The top half of your suit was gaping open, baring your breasts and torso in their entirety.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to find Hoshina already watching you, his chest heaving visibly with exertion. His pupils were blown wide, a mere ring of smoldering amethyst eclipsed around bottomless black. The hand cupping your jaw slid lower, curling around the exposed curve of one breast.

He gave a gentle squeeze, drawing a keening whine from your throat as his thumb traced over your peaked nipple. His gaze never wavered from yours as his head dipped lower, until the rasp of his stubble scraped against your sensitive skin in an open-mouthed, possessive claim.

You moaned, loud and shameless, as Hoshina's teeth latched onto your nipple, tugging lightly as his tongue laved over the hardened peak. Your entire body trembled with the force of your arousal, the raw need throbbing low in your belly.

Hoshina growled against your breast, the sound reverberating straight through your sternum, as his free hand slipped down the gaping vee of the uniform. It danced over your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Then lower still, teasing over the top band of your panties.

You arched into his touch, desperately seeking more. But Hoshina refused to be rushed, his lips and tongue continuing their assault on your other nipple. When his fingertips brushed ever-so-lightly against the aching bud of your clit, you cried out, only to be immediately silenced by the bruising crush of his mouth on yours.

His tongue invaded with a savage growl, the fingers teasing at your folds increasing their pressure until you were writhing uncontrollably against his grip. Then, without warning, Hoshina's mouth ripped away from yours, the hand tangled in your hair yanking back sharply to expose the vulnerable curve of your throat.

"Be fuckin' quiet," he hissed in your ear, the words barely more than a ragged whisper. "Unless ya want to have an audience..."

Your breath hitched, a jolt of pure heat searing through your core at the suggestion. Hoshina growled again, the sound reverberating straight down your spine as his fingers finally sank home. You bit down on your lip to stifle a whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his thick digits stretched you mercilessly.

"Fuck, you tightened right up at the idea," he murmured, low and filthy. "What, you want the rest of the bar to watch while I fuck ya into oblivion, hmm? Wanna show them just how good I make ya feel?"

A fresh surge of liquid heat spilled over his fingers, prompting another low chuckle. "Oh, I see..." Hoshina leaned in close, his stubbled jaw rasping against the flushed curve of your cheek. "So, if I told ya to get on yer knees and suck my cock, right here, you'd do it, wouldn't you? You'd let everyone watch ya take me down that pretty little throat."

His words sent a wave of molten want spiraling through your veins, the mental image of being used, claimed, in front of an audience setting every nerve ablaze. Your inner walls fluttered around his thick digits, hips grinding against his palm as the coil of pressure building within tightened another notch.

"Maybe next time, then," Hoshina promised, low and husky. "For now, I want ya nice and quiet while I ruin this pretty little cunt."

His lips crashed into yours, swallowing your cry as he curled his fingers and sent you careening straight into white-hot oblivion. You trembled, writhing, as your release ripped through you, every single neuron set alight with the force of it.

Hoshina growled his approval into your mouth, working you through the shattering climax with unhurried strokes and nipping kisses. As the aftershocks subsided, he gently eased his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch. He broke the kiss then, holding you steady against the broad wall of his chest as you sucked in greedy gulps of air.

You barely had a chance to catch your breath before Hoshina was hauling you back against his body, fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back into a straining curve.

"I'm not done with ya yet," he growled against the curve of your exposed throat, stubble rasping deliciously against the oversensitized skin. You felt his cock twitch, heavy and thick, as it pressed against the cleft of your ass. "Not even fuckin' close."

[luveline]

Hi love thank u for putting out all these fics and amazing writing! U don’t have to write this if it doesn’t speak to u I’m not sure if u write for sunshine reader but I would LOVE to see a sunshine reader with hotch

thank you!! boyfriend!hotch x sunshine fem!reader

cw mature themes mdni

Hotch can't help smiling at the sound you make when you hop into the shower. Your apartment isn't frilly, the shower a showerhead that's been installed inside your bathtub, curtain falling off the rungs. He can see a slice of your naked body if he looks, but he doesn't look. 

"Too hot?" he asks. He knows the sound well. The hot water hits your skin and you, a mixture of apprehensive and pleased, say, "Woah," or "Oh," or sometimes the less comprehensible, "Wohh." 

"It's really nice!" you assure him. "Are you sure you don't want to come in with me?" 

He's a thousand percent certain. You're lovely, but there's no time for standing behind you in the spray, shivering and trying to let you let him wash your hair or kiss your soapy shoulders. He's super late. You're even later. 

"You get paid better than this," he says, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto his brush. His, because you insisted and he practically lives here, a bamboo handle with purple bristles. It's strange, but you like them and he likes you. 

"Pass me my toothbrush, please?" you ask. 

Hotch squeezes toothpaste onto your brush and offers it through the gap in the off white curtain. You pop your head out, soaked, water running down your face and your arms. "What do I get paid better than for?" you ask, confused. 

"Your apartment, honey. I've had push bikes with more space." 

You put your toothbrush in your mouth. Conditioner has your hair glossy and darkened. You have the sense to pull the curtain to cover your naked body, though Hotch thinks sense isn't the right word. He'd wanted to say self-preservation, but that's too aggressive. The point is, if Hotch gets a look at you he might make you even later than you already are. 

"That's such a grumpy old man thing to say," you remark, beaming, toothpaste on your lip. You disappear back into the depths of your shower. In tandem, you finish brushing your teeth. 

"Hotch?" you ask. 

"Aaron. Call me Aaron, please. Hotch is work only, and you know that." 

"What about baby?" you ask genuinely. 

"Anything but Hotch." 

"Sugar pea?" 

"What did you want?" 

The water runs and runs, slapping the bottom of the tub and glancing off of your shoulders. "I really love you, you know? It makes me so happy to get to do this with you." 

The water shuts off. Hotch grabs your towel off of the warming towel rack and stands in front of the tub, barely enough room for you to get out and step down. He wraps the warm towel around you tenderly. 

"I really love you, too," Hotch says, wiping a missed glob of conditioner off of the top of your ear. "This is the best part of my day, even if we're like two sardines in here." 

You smile happily.

"I think I love you most like this," he says. "You look really happy." 

"Hotch, I'm always happy around you." 

"More like you're always happy. You're like a ray of sun," he says without drama. It's as true as saying the earth is old and grass is green. "But if you don't start calling me Aaron, we're going to have a problem." 

"What kind?" you ask, like this is a delight you're eager to receive. 

He ushers you out of the bathroom toward the bedroom so you can change before waylaying him anymore. He watches you get dressed, hands at his neck tightening his tie, and he knows how lucky he is to have you, how fortunate he is to get to watch you put your earrings in, tip of your tongue making a guest appearance between your lips in concentration. Eventually, despite all his willpower, and despite it being the really wrong time, he stops you in the middle of the bedroom and attempts to kiss you dizzy. 

"You really should've showered with me," you murmur happily, giving him two punctuating kisses in quick succession. 

"I really wish I had," he says. Even in your tiny, draughty, slip-and-slide tub. "Come on, before I make an unprofessional decision." 

You hold hands all the way to the BAU.